Into the clutches of the desert.

Yesterday's report, today. Try to keep up. I'll ask questions tomorrow.

Ian and Sheila singing, "I believe I can fly"

So, Day 1, the first proper race day in the dunes, and usually a day when the organisers have just a modicum of sympathy for the racers so the course is slightly shorter and easier than the following days. Of course Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom decided that meant the competitors were all pansies, so she turned the wick up. RIGHT up. Many of the moto riders, including friends of the team Alan Boyter and David Mabbs, retired from the race due to heat exhaustion, or accidents brought about by the effects of the same. Ian and Sheila didn't succumb to the heat but sadly, after making good progress for the first 200kms or so of the stage, The Beast did.

Without warning and with no prior indications that there was a problem, suddenly Ian discovered he had no drive. No efforts to engage drive seemed to help, and after a while, they called in the A Team to come and rescue them from the clutches of the dunes.Which was ironic since as they would find out later - much later - it was in fact the clutch which was FUBAR.



The underside of a UFO

 Nor was that the only drama, for as Rick and Kate were driving out to the point on the road where the fantastic Sweep Team had recovered The Beast, their own Patrol (actually Ian's Patrol, not Rick's Patrol, although he does have one, nor Dawn's Patrol) overheated, meaning they had to abandon their attempt to meet The Beast, so Jason drove up instead and stood guard over the race car whilst Ian and Sheila, who had no clothes (well, obviously they had SOME clothes - their sweaty race overalls) headed back to the bivouac with somebody (frankly I've lost track) and then couldn't shower. Yeeuch.

So Jason spent his birthday baby sitting a sorry looking Patrol, Rick spent his evening fixing a different Patrol, Kate did some knitting, Cristina contemplated the solar system, Phil wondered where everyone had buggered off to, and The Phantom Blogger (oh, that's me) worked out how to blog.

Finally The Beast got a lift to the bivouac and Rick and others ( I know not whom but I guess Jason and Phil) ripped its innards outward, decided the clutch was bereft of life, and summonsed T-Phlog sur la telling-bone. "Though shalt go to 1000 Dunes garage at 8 am tomorrow, go to the main workshop doors, walk inside 8 paces. 7 paces is too few, 9 paces is too many, and 10 paces is WAY out. Turn left, walk 5 paces (not 4, not 6) forward, reach down with your right hand and LO, there shall be a box marked "This is the clutch you are looking for" at your finger tips. Collect said clutch and anything else you can lay your hands on, jump into a rapid automobile and drive, drive like the wind, for yet another illicit liaison with the great Kate. Don't be late, remember, start at eight."


Today's News now - well done, you've caught up.


No-trix racing today so...
"Sam Sunderland"

So I was all ready to do so at 7.15 this morning when I received a message. "It's the gearbox, delay your visit to 1000 Dunes". So I did, and had a nice cup of coffee, disturbed by Rick's urgent phone call at 8. "No, only kidding, now it's 45 minutes later and we wish you were there, it's the clutch, hop to it, sharpish now, stop buggering about". You know that noise Muttley used to make when Dick Dastardly annoyed him? That.

So great haste was made, clutches were clutched, doors were slammed, petrol was consumed, roads were punished, and I was rewarded with hugs and kisses by not one but TWO fair maidens at the side of the road halfway to Qasr Al Sarab - underneath a never opened restaurant disguised as a giant Land Rover, and in full daylight! Which makes a change because when Kate and I usually meet, she likes to switch the lights off.

Cristina proved her petrol-head credentials by looking at one of my car tyres and saying 'Looks a bit flat' and lo (low?), she was right. A difference of only 4 psi (37 not 41 - yes it's high but so would you be driving at 140kmh when the outside temperature is 50C) but well spotted that girl.

They raced back, I raced forward, Rick paced backwards and forwards, Phil was a little forward, Jason laid back, and Ian and Sheila spent the day in a bar getting wasted (it's not true but hey, this story needs an angle - Fake News!!)

Metallic things were bolted, unbolted, wobbled around, lubricated, aligned, spanked, torqued to nicely and generally manipulated, until The Beast was a car again and the whole team had a beer. But of course, being Newtrix, that wasn't straight forward, oh no. The clutch plate was a different diameter, so the flywheel didn't match, and the replacement flywheel had no starter gear ring, so that had to be fitted, and we're using the old release plate, new fly wheel, new clutch etc. Once that was finally finished, Ian and Rick took it for a test drive, got stuck, there was no phone reception, so they couldn't call for help, they walked back to the bivouac, Jason went out and winched them out the sand, etc. etc. etc. Just another day at the DC really!

Some like it hot. And muddy.

Lights, camera, "Action"

It's that time of year again, when all hell breaks loose in The Empty Quarter, Ian and Sheila go off in search of glory, Rick and Kate go off in search of paradise, Jason goes in search of his birthday presents but ends up in the desert anyway, and Phil asks himself what the hell he was thinking. Yes, it's DC time! Nothing to do with David Coulthard, other than a bit of stubble and a crash helmet, it's the other DC, you know the one - "Damaged Car". But I'm getting ahead of myself, which, given how slow I am, is not very difficult.

The Beast's behind.

Yes 'tis I, the Phantom of the Blogger, soon to be the subject of a terminally dull musical by Andrew Webbed Feet and starring Sarah Brightspark for no other reason than she's ever present in his worst musicals. i.e. all of them. She'll be wearing half a mask, which is a shame because it's Mr. Webbed Feet who should probably wear the mask. But anyway, I digest.

Those of you who were expecting me yesterday probably forgot to reset your clocks last weekend. Either that or I must apologise; "If there weren't no bloggin', it's 'cos I couldn't log in". For some reason (probably my age and decrepit brain cells weakened due to excessive consumption of Cabernet Shiraz grapes as a food source. I thought "5 a day" was a glasses of wine requirement) I was unable to access Mr. Barker's secret code and sign into the blog, so I swore. Today however, using, I swear, the exact same passwords, "I got in". Hurrah - no more swearing.

"No wheels!". Give me wings....

"Prologues" I hear you say and yes, there was one. Now for the purposes of this post, I'm going to pretend that today was yesterday, so here is 'today's' report from the prologue........."Not as muddy as last year, otherwise exactly the same". i.e. rather like 2015's, but a lot less dusty. The cars went round and round, the bikes went round and round, local hero AND 2017 DAKAR WINNER Sam Sunderland won the prologue in front of an adoring home crowd (at least three of his mates were there) Nasser Al Attiyeh did as Nasser always does and won the prologue in the Autos, and Ian and Sheila sauntered round in a sauntery fashion, which is like Primark fashion but MUCH more expensive - because racing cars cost more than racy cardigans. Do Primark even sell racy cardigans? Sexy sweaters? Pullover Provocateurs? Maybe not. But anyway, I divest.

Muddy car, jet wash, generator.
Just add water. 250 litres of water.

A veritable plethora of horsepower and automotive engineering was on hand to support In'she'la including a Patrol, a Raptor, a three tonne truck and a sexy six tonne truck. The Patrol is Ian's, the Raptor is Ian's, the three tonner is Ian's (OK it's Al Thika's) and the sexy six tonner complete with 250 litre water tank, is Tim's Travel Truck, and it rocks. Doubling up as a temporary fire engine, Tim brought his mobile water supply so the Beast could have a wash after the race. So once Ian was clean, Rick then used the jet wash and cleaned the race truck too. Much mud was removed and then we walked in looking like dynamite with our Tiger Feet. Sorry - too much Mud? The Sweet were better anyway.

Georgy Gomshiashvili (who wins today's blog award for the most difficult name to spell correctly first time) who races in the EDC with his Saluki built buggy, was so impressed by the team's car wash facility that he asked if he could bring his along too. For a moment the Newtrix team were hesitant but then Georgy said the magic word - "Beer" - and was immediately welcomed with open arms.

Ian and Sheila finished the prologue in 24th place, making a mockery of their 25th place seeding. Mind you with the rain we've been having lately, most seeds are doing better than expected this season. Tomorrow is another day (no it's not, see the 4th paragraph) and it's off to the desert we go. Tonight (last night) however there will be much quenching of thirsts. Damn it was hot out there (yes(today).

Here's to the crew

I've been so caught up with the rebuild of the Beast that I haven't taken the time to pay tribute to the NewTrix Crew who did all the hard work behind the scenes in Liwa.

Rick Carless once again resumed his position as 'Technical Director', coming over from UK to spend a week getting hot, sweaty and sandy.  He's in the process of editing some video he took, along with some of my in-car stuff, so watch this space!

Richard Bailey packed his entire inventory of tools onto the pickup and drove each day to the service point (which is not a bunch of fun in a slow vehicle). He then masterminded the reconstruction of the wrecked car, working with Rick to straighten panels, fit a temporary windscreen, fit temporary rear lights, and re-wire everything.  Sadly it was all to no avail, as the engine was full of sand after the rollover, but they worked like stars to get it finished.

Kate Stedman was a new recruit to NewTrix, also flying out from UK to help.  She took over all the various housekeeping duties which Sheila usually does, washing race-kit, sweeping and cleaning the car, and making sure we all had food and drink.  The left Sheila free to concentrate on the road-book each evening.

The mysterious Phantom Blogger (aka Ersatz von Frankenblogger) was once again on hand, on line and usually off-topic with his inimitable blend of fact and fantasy (mainly the latter).  If only we knew who he was, we could thank him properly.....

And of course, my trusty co-driver Sheila.  For the second time this season she's had to escape from a rolled race-car!  As usual her navigation was spot-on, we never missed a waypoint. When we blew the idler pulley bearing on Day 1, she was on the tools with me getting the new serpentine belt fitted, what a star!





L to R: Kate, Richard, Sheila, Ian, Rick
Photo credit: Grumpy Goat

 

Emirates Desert Championship T1 awards
Ian (1st), Ibrahim Al Muhana (2nd), Mohd Bin Sulayem, Dave Mabbs (3rd)
 

 

After the awards dinner on Thursday, the party moved on to the Y-Bar at the Rotana.  I am led to believe that security kicked us all out at 4am...

Rick and Dominic Spiller

Sheila, Ali Mirza and Stephan Schott

Phantom Blogger, Dominic, Sheila, Kate, Rick

Sheila, Ali Mirza, Claire

 

Now stop that. This is all far too silly

A large number of complaints have been flooding in from oop North (thanks Morag) and down Souf (much appreciated Mr. B) that the artist formerly known as Phantom has been, well, how can I put this, a bit sensible lately. And for that I must apologise. To be fair, try applying skin whitener and leaving it on overnight.

What with tragedies, late night delivery runs (a 500km / 310 mile round trip last night) desert recoveries, badly broken cars, incorrect parts et cetera, et cetera, I have to be honest and say my funny bone has been badly bruised for the last couple of evenings. But fear not, lovers of Phantom Philosophy, for tonight, "I be back".

To err is human, to Aaaarrrrr is pirate.

Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to begin. When you read you begin with A-B-C, when you rally you begin with 200 right 4 flat into left 2 tightens over crest Caution! Don't cut. And thus the prologue began, as evidenced by these here photos wot was taken by my talented assistant Mr. Ansell. Quite what his talent is, other than making flatulence impressions under his armpit, nobody knows, but he's claiming it anyway. As usual there was a gale blowing, causing endless misery for the spectators and indeed, for the spectres (we Phantoms notice these things.) But Ian drove steeringly, Sheila co-drove navigatorily, and thus the car went from one end of the Special Stage to the other faster than some of the cars and slower than some of the others. What's important is that they competed, and everyone got a rosette, regardless of how fast they drove.

RUBBISH! What's important is going faster than your competitors, embarrassing and belittling them and kicking sand in their face. And thus, the politically incorrect fairytale of Newtrix Racing blasted on to Day One. Which is the second day of the competitive part of the rally. Are you following? Well you would be if you were slower than Ian & Sheila.

Following the prologue the dynamic duo were interviewed by Larry King and Angela Rippon. Actually that's not true but I don't know the name of their interviewer so Larry King will have to do. What was quite hilarious was watching a cameraman who stood about 5' 3" tall, raising the tripod sufficiently to interview 6' 4" Ian. Take a look at the photo. I have no idea if Ian was even in the camera shot because frankly, neither had the cameraman or sound engineer. (If you describe yourself as a 'sound engineer' are you bragging, or understating your potential?)

Anyway, I digest.

So Day One  (the second day) consisted of Ian driving fast, Sheila telling him to slow down a bit, Ian ignoring those particular instructions, other people's cars breaking down, "Richy Ricky Kate" sitting around counting their toenails (Kate helped Ricky with the big numbers) and PB in the office scratching his elbow. At least I think it was his elbow. The Dogs finished, Richy Ricky had too much to drink, Kate and I had a late night rendezvous (woo hoo, see "Was That It?" magazine for details) and a lot of people snored.

On Day Two (which is Day Three) Ian decided to put in his application for the Australian Rally a few months and several degrees of latitude too early. Had he started out the day inverted, things might have had a softer ending. But you know how that story goes, so where did we leave the story last night. Oh yes.....

As I left the bivvy at around late o'clock, Sheila was looking for a man. Not just any man, but an FIA inspector, who all simply love being woken up and dragged out of their warm beds to be shown a badly bent car and asked 'is it OK if we race this tomorrow?". Clearly said FIA man was disinclined to accede to this request and went back to bed to count rule changes, but come the morning a different gentleman, the slightly more awake  Mr. very very nice Lionel (yes, he's a nice, helpful, charming and ever so nice Frenchman. I know. But he is named after Richard the LionelHeart so perhaps he is really English but has a funny accent.) said "bert off cours you can race mon leetle Cherie, juust straighten ze bodywork and she weel be as right as pleut". I told you he had a funny accent. But he is nice.

So while Sheila made the nice Mr. Lionel a soup bowl of onion and snail flavoured black coffee, Kate fluttered her eyelashes at him and buttered his baguette (you know what those French, possibly English guys are like in the morning) Ian dashed into town to buy some brake lights, because the old ones were completely braked, Richard "I've got a tool for that crushed bodywork I 'ave" Bailey and Rick "I may not be much help but I'm a bloody good shot so don't argue with me" Carless started hitting things very hard with large hammers, and I had a lie in.(Well it was a VERY tiring drive!) By lunchtime, Lionel had finally finished his cup of coffee (OK, so he is French) Kate's eyelids were exhausted and Sheila was topping up her tan. Ian was telling rude jokes to the medical staff (they'd heard them all before but morphine is wonderful stuff when you've got a tough crowd) Richard "nothing flusters me I'll just make a new roof out of this baked bean tin and some duct tape" Bailey was still hitting things and Rick "Are we there yet" Carless was shouting bad words at the pigeons. So just another day in the bivvy then.

By 7pm the car was sorted, Lionel was 'appy' (thanks for the morphine Sean), Ian and Sheila were besides themselves with Joy. Joy was besides Ian and Sheila, Richy Rick was knackered and so was the engine. Oh yes. The engine. Bad news. It knocks like an Emirates hostesses headboard, despite having access to far more lubricant. So after all that hard work, it appears that excrement may have struck the rotary airflow displacement device with considerable velocity. All indications are that 'it's reet buggered' as Rick would say, if only he'd stop eating for 5 minutes. And you know when people are using indications in the UAE, something's seriously wrong. Nobody uses their indications.

So that's that. I'm awaiting more news from t'bivvy but there's trouble at t'mill. And on that bombshell, here's a joke.

A grasshopper walks into a bar, jumps up onto a bar stool and asks the barman for a pint.

"Blimey" says the barman, "why order a pint when we've got drink named after you?"

The grasshopper looks at him quizzically and says "Seriously, you've got a drink called Graham?"


And on that note, I'll get my coat. Aaaarrrrr.
 

So that's how it happened.....

Rick's photos from the desert yesterday, after going in with the Sweep Team to recover Ian and Sheila's car.

This sort of thing tends to attract a crowd, even in the middle of the desert...

Would now be a good time to check the suspension bushes?

Towing a car out of the desert at night is not the easiest of tasks

Thanks to all the Desert Challenge volunteer sweep team for their help - and sarcastic comments !
 

It was all going so well....

The Dog's two Dicks, Bailey and Carless, worked like dogs last night, at one point losing their bearings, but that was OK because those bearings were worn out anyway, replacing them with the bearings from the pulley delivered by UPS (Unscheduled Phantom Sortie) to Kate Adie (she says she's Kate Steadman but I've seen her on the telly, I know she's Kate Adie).

Kate and I met in the middle of the desert last night at a truck stop next to a giant pyramid, a Series 3 Land Rover that's big enough to have a restaurant inside, and the world's largest globe on a trailer. No, I know it makes no sense but this is the UAE. Look up "Rainbow Sheikh Museum" and you'll see that for once, my nonsense happens to be the truth!

I gave Kate my pulley (fnarr, fnaar) and she gave me a can of Diet Coke and the rest, they say, is histrionics. Rick sent me a rude message saying I didn't know my pulleys from my elbow, but he used the bearings anyway so ner ner ner ner ner Rick.

This morning Ian and Sheila were going great guns, with no stucks and no delays - so something was BOUND to go wrong!

And it did - right now we are trying to recover the car from desert where it is resting on its roof, after a roll. Not a cheese roll, a sand roll. Ian and Sheila are OK though. More info when I have it....

UPDATE at 2am....



No, I have no idea why he was only wearing a T shirt when it was clearly snowing



The battery's flat. So's the roof.



Clean your windscreen Sir?

Well I'm just home after driving down to the bivouac and back, to deliver a large sheet of plexiglass by DHL (Dubai, Hellishlyfast, Liwa) in the hopes that it could be used as a temporary windscreen but..... having seen the damage to the car, it's going to need a lot more than a temporary windscreen fitted tonight.

As I left at around 10.45pm an FIA inspector was coming over to look at the damage. At this stage I don't know if Ian and Sheila can continue to race. If the inspectors deem the car unsafe, they will not be allowed to do so. More news when I have it.

 

Day One - not a good day

Apologies to those of you who visited the site yesterday expecting an update from the rally. Unfortunately one of the riders, Dubai based British ex pat Cameron Waugh, suffered serious injuries following a crash approximately 155kms into the stage on Day one. Despite the valiant efforts of fellow competitor Jakub Przygonski, who called for a medevac helicopter and performed CPR on Cameron 'to the point of exhaustion', Cameron succumbed to his injuries and was pronounced dead at the hospital.

Having learned this just after driving halfway to Liwa to meet Kate, to hand over a pulley wheel which turned out to be the wrong part (yes, the second time in two years I've done that) I returned home late and had no desire to sit and write some witty comments about the day's activities. Sorry.

RIP Cameron, we offer our condolences to his family.

Ian and Sheila finished the day, which is more than half a dozen other cars managed, despite some gearbox issues which we believe are related to cooling and possibly therefore, the damaged pulley wheel. Richard and Rick were trying to take the bearings from the pulley I brought down last night, to fit into the damaged one from the car. Fingers crossed.

Quick Update at 9.40am on Day 2. Richard the Fifth and Rick the Careless succeeded in pressing the bearings out and swapped them for the bearings in the old pulley. So not a completely wasted journey / evening. Well done guys.

 

Let me be Phrank

Avast there sandlubbers, 'tis I, Phrankenblogger. Yes, it's your worst nightmare come true, except possibly that one about the Nolan Sisters. The Phrankenblogger is just like Phantom Blogger but with a bolt through his neck (I blame Bernie) and a strange desire to sing 'Putting on the Ritz".

I'm just checking in to see all systems are working fine, then Ian will be back in a tick to update you on the state of his Prologue. Well at his age you have to check regularly. And that makes his eyes water I can tell you!

But to keep you good folks of Newtrix Land happy as spring daisies, in this Winter Olympic year, here's a picture of the 2014 team. Of course there should be five of them but unfortunately Richard Bailey's ring didn't open. So we spoke to the CMO and he's advised plenty of rest, All Bran and prune juice.

I'll be back tomorrow, by which time Richard should be in full flush.

Ersatz von Phrankenblogger - be gone! It is I, The Dog, the genuine blogger (refuse all imitations), bringing you a live update from Room 663 at the Centro Hotel in Yas. The four of us have showered (not all together, of course), dined (yes, we did that bit together) and Richard (the Fifth) is already in residence at Camp Newtrix, Liwa. Sheila is now doing battle with several pages of amendments to the road book, Rick and Kate have hit the bar, and the results are online at www.abudhabidesertchallenge.com.

But to save you the trouble of following that link, I can tell you that Newtrix Racing have risen from a lowly 25th seeding to the dizzy height of 21st overall! (And if that doesn't make a mockery of the seeding, then my name's not Angus MacTavish.) Only two of our fellow UAE drivers are ahead of us - Yahya Al Helei (310) is 19th, and Nabil Al Shamsi (315) is 16th. Winner of the prologue was Nani Roma (302) in a Mini, and it couldn't have happened to a nicer chap.

So we need to be out of here by 0800hrs tomorrow, to arrive in the pre-start park by 0930hrs, for a stage start time of 1039hrs. So get on line at the aforementioned ADDC website, to follow live tracking of 326 - Newtrix Racing!

Woooh Whooooo. We finished one!!



 Pop!


The champagne corks will be popping at Yas Marina tonight. Ian and Sheila have finished the Abu Dhabi Desert Challenge, after a gruelling day which included losing not one but two tyres. Finally at 1.30 this afternoon they crossed the finish line. Exhausted no doubt.

Congratulations too to Richard and Fred, for keeping the car going over the 5 days. Well done guys. Now, you've had a week's holiday in the desert - back to work :-)

A dog called Digger. Damn. Busted.

Another day, another six hours spent hurtling like a turtle through the Rub Al Khali, the incessant rolling and pounding of the DogBox not made any easier by the fact that, overloaded as it was in the absence of its rear counterpart, (see yesterday’s work of fictitious drivel), now the front left damper has detatched itself from the front axle. So long and thanks for your support. Now the car looks like it's been set up for a NASCAR race. Yeehar, rubbin's racin' boys.....


Look, we had all four dampers in the prologue!



No doubt with his energy drained by having to man-handle a Patrol bouncier than a space hopper experiencing a sugar rush, Ian fell foul of a couple sand traps this afternoon. He tried using a wedge to chip out and although that didn’t work, he did at least realise that the car was easier to drive once he’d stopped wearing such ridiculous footwear. At one point they were stuck for close to 40 minutes, and I can tell you that if you can’t extricate yourself from a stuck in the first 5 or 10 minutes, you just know you are going to be there for the long haul, and it saps not just your physical energy but your mental resolve too. Digging yourself out of a sand dune at any time is exhausting work, but when you are dressed from head to foot in fireproof clothing, the sun is overhead, and in the background you can hear, and often see, competitors’ cars passing you at speed, the frustration builds very quickly. That in turn tends to lead to rushed decisions to try to move the car when really you should probably dig for a few more minutes, often with the result that the car just sinks down to its axles again, taking your heart with it.

But just when you feel as though you can’t go on, the kindness of other competitors often shines through, and today it was Emirati driver Mansour Al-Heli and co-driver Ali Mirza (car #217) who pulled up alongside Ian and Sheila, hooked their own Nissan onto Ian’s, and helped pull their Dognessess free from the clutches of the desert. And the brake calipers of the desert, and the front spoilers of the desert, and all the other detritus of broken cars lying around in the sand. Thanks Mansour.



Mr. R Carless from the UK wrote "More dirty photos please P.B."
Happy to oblige Rick. How dirty do you want?

 From there it was a 40 minute run down to the Finish line, where Richard was found barely alive, having lost the will to live under the weight of 115 SMS updates from Nextrix Mission Command; my chair in the office. I’d raised the Newtrix Crisis Intervention Level from DefDog 1 (lower cup of tea and frown) to DefDog 4 (Well I suppose I’d better put the deckchairs back in the boot then) when I saw they were having problems, and Richard had lost no time at all taking affirmative action. He’d told Fred to put another spoon of sugar in each of their teas, in case they needed the energy later. Sterling work chaps, keep calm and pass the scones. 

Nice to see Sunderland winning for a change.

So that was Day Four in a nut-house. Sorry, nut-shell. The only other exciting news of the day was that Ian experimented today with a new tyre set-up, running Yokohamas on the rear axle and BF Goodrich on the fronts. I could waffle on like David Coulthard and tell you that’s because the firmer sidewalls on the BFGs give Ian more feel for the camber angles on the steering tyres, whilst the firmer Yokohamas help maintain the rear bias of our torque differential and thus counterbalance the centripetal chassis yaw. But the fact is we are down to our last four decent tyres, and that’s where they ended up. Such is life on the privateer competitor side of the tracks.

Other local entries making the news include biker Sam Sunderland (#007, “the name’s Sunderland, Sam Sunderland”), who won yet another stage today, whipping World Champion Marc Coma’s butt for the second time in four day’s desert racing. Dave Mabbs #027 is currently lying in 25th place, Alan Boyter #036 in 28th, and Sean Linton #096, who is based just around the corner from our office in Al Quoz, is going great guns in 10th overall.

Ian and Sheila are currently lying in 17th overall, 13th in class (T1) and have ‘just’ 296kms of desert to cross tomorrow to make it to the end of what will be their first complete Desert Challenge. And no I’m not tempting fate, it’s got to be done, so bring it on.
.

Faster, damper, bonzer....

Today’s special silica stage would have been a lot easier on Ian and Sheila’s backs if only they hadn’t popped an Öhlins early on. Now some of you will know exactly what I mean by that, but for the benefit of those of you who believe that a) Ian is taking some sort of performance enhancing drugs with nasty side effects or b) Sheila’s done some terrible damage to a previously unheard of vertebrae in her lower spine, an Öhlins is a coilover. There. Clear as mud.

Notice the word 'WORKS'. Ours doesn't.



And a coilover is a damper with a spring around the top of it. Still not with me? Do try to keep up. IT’S A SHOCK ABSORBER!! At last, true clarity. Losing a coilover so early on in the day really put a damper on things. Well, technically it took a damper off of things I suppose but anyway, having three heavy duty and flippin expensive dampers doing their job, while the other one just sits around cleaning its fingernails, makes for a rough ride. But no matter, because our desert dueling duet ploughed a persistent passage through the simmering seas of sand which mother nature (and the race organisers) placed in their path, slalomed surreptitiously through the “Not a Service Stop”, laughed in the face of flat tyre adversity (ha ha ha, blast you, you breathless bag of bulbous blubber) just 15 kilometres from the end of the race, and thus threw down the gauntlet to their fellow competitors. Sheila picked it up again later though because she knew Ian would be wondering what he’d done with it. 

Indeed so rapid and drama-less was their progress that I would be positively short of tall tales today were it not for Chris, Enzo and Ivan. Chris and Enzo you see work in the land of ‘roos ‘n emus, supplying specialised clutches to the racing and four wheel driving cognoscenti down under. Click here www.mantic.com.au for one of those new fangled hyperlink thingies – BUT only after you’ve finished with today’s jackanory. Ian had been in touch with Chris 3 months ago regarding a specialist clutch to fit twixt the Corvette engine and Patrol gearbox. To be sure of having the car finely fettled for Qatar in two weeks time, he asked me to ring Chris and see how we could get what was needed from OZ to UAE, A.S.A.P. How professional are these guys? Not only did Chris immediately remember the details of Ian’s email 3 months ago, but, whilst building an exhibition stand with one hand, holding the phone with the other, and no doubt maneuvering a slap of cold ones toward the fridge with his feet while he was talking to me, reeled off the part numbers from memory and told me to ring Enzo back at HQ, and that they’d sort one out PDQ. Bonzer blokes to the core, and remarkably, all achieved without the sound of Kylie Minogue wailing or Rolf Harris wobble boarding in the background. (No – because they had enough flaming sense to send them to the UK years ago!) Needless to say the car will be sporting Mantic stickers in Qatar. Question is, which way up do we put them?



Look closely and you'll see this tyre has a hole in it.


And what of Ivan the Terrible I hear you ask. Well first of all that’s not very polite, it’s Ivan the Knowledgeable. Ivan knows a thing or two about Öhlins, and after Richard removed the offending part from the car, the sweat from his brow and the skin from his knuckles, he presented it to Ivan and said “what do you make of that?”. Ivan paused, considered the damage and announced. “There’s an ‘ole in your Öhlin, but maybe Ivan other one”. Actually he said no such thing. What he really said was “It’s buggered but thanks for taking it off – now please refit it because your car needs the coil on board to stay level, even if the damper’s bereft of life and breathing no more”. Oh how Richard chortled with amusement at the thought of putting back on that which he had just undone. Welcome to the DC RB.

And that ladies and gentlemen is the almost entirely true story of how Ian and Sheila started out today in 21st place and ended up in 18th overall, 14th in T1 class. Like a community made quilt it was embroidered in several places, and sprinkled liberally with superfluous sequins, but hey, it kept you warm for a while.

So a top ten finish is still within reach. Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. Who knows?
.

Tension mounts. And falls off again.

Richard decided to teach me a lesson today, sending me a message minutes before Ian and Sheila set off. “One cyclinder mis-firing, suspect HT lead”. Great, just what you need to start the day with a smile. It’s just his way of letting me know that not all updates are necessary! Ian had correctly diagnosed the fault on the way to the Start line (here’s a tip Ian, next time, do that sort of thing driving to the bivouac after the Finish please) so it was a nail biting 4 hours of desert driving before they could stop at the service point in the deepest, darkest corner of Liwa. Actually, if we’re being honest, it’s really quite well lit down there at mid-day.



Richard Bailey. Top Bloke. Dodgy Overalls.

 Then Richard “Is than an HT lead in your pocket or are you just shocked to see me?” Bailey leapt into action, ripping the bonnet off with his bare hands and, having thus rid himself of the silly frilly lace up headgear he was wearing, shouted instructions at Ian as he got to work replacing the lead. But he had his back turned (see legal notice below) There was high tension in the air, which was a shame because it’s supposed to go down the cable from the coil to the spark plug, so having then remembered to put the other end onto the plug, Ian slammed the bonnet shut, gave Sheila the thumbs up and said “Let’s go love, she’s Champion”. “That’s odd” replied Sheila as the doggy duo drove desert wise in the direction of a daunting day’s duning destiny “I could have sworn they were NGKs”

Legal Notice

At no point during the “It’s not a Service Stop” did any members of the crew other than Ian or Sheila touch the car. Nobody else approached the car, looked in the general direction of the car, nor knowingly admitted the presence of a race car which may, or may not, have resembed a blue Nissan Patrol, had they in fact seen it. Which they didn’t. Because they weren’t there. They were sat next to me in Dubai at the time and I have three witnesses to that fact, only one of whom could be legally defined as being pathologically inebriated at the time. But the other two are trustworthy(ish) enough.

Legal Not Notice

Don’t worry, personal joke. You had to be there. But we weren’t there. Were we lads…..


Anyway, back to the thickening plot. With a woosh and a wave and a cheery parp parp (I blame the brussels) Ian and Sheila hurtled forth into the sandy bits, where they, um, got stuck about 45 seconds after the “Not a Service Stop”. Not to worry thought Ian, I’ll just get the car free and. Err, oh bugger. Ok well now I’ll get it free from this bit and erm… Well anyway, the view from the top of the dune was

The enitre SAR squadron, grounded. They wooden fly.

good and the radio reception meant that Sheila could get up to date with The Archers, but soon Ian was back in the car and off they jolly well trundled. If 125kmh on sand can be described as trundling. Which it can, in much the same way as falling out of a plane can be described as ‘a bit of a bump’. Speaking of industrial accidents, poor Malcolm and Patrick fell foul of a rather sad situation at the Not a Service Stop. Because so many medical evacuations had to be made (10% of the competitors had accidents today!), the helicopter refueling bowser at the nearest hospital (I know it well and have counted the ceiling tiles there for hours) was drained of its contents. In the words of Bob Marley “No Avgas no fly” and if No Fly then No Medics and no medics means that a lot of competitors who arrived shortly after Ian and Sheila departed the area, were told to return to the bivouac on tarmac and take a time penalty. Boo hiss. And STILL no cheerleaders.

Anyway at that moment Richard and Fred lost satellite reception. More precisely, I had to go and do a product demonstration 30kms from the office, so was unable to send Richard my customary “It’s two minutes since I last sent you an update as to their whereabouts” message. I would imagine Richard and Fred were frankly rather grateful. They were tension free for hours, much like the old spark plug lead.

When I returned to the office (yes, the demo went well, Thank You for asking) Ian and Sheila were just minutes from the finish line, having endured a 20 minute stuck about an hour earlier. Just imagine if during that time, a passing Khazakranianslav TV crew had been passing and offered their assistance. What a moral dilemma our glorious role models would have been faced with. Do we wave them on cheerily despite our exhaustion, or do we ask them to tow us out? Thankfully, no such event occurred, which was lucky.

Legal Notice

It just didn’t. Alright.

Ian and Sheila crossed the finish line at 4.20pm having started out at 9.45am in 39th place and finished in 21st place on the day. Coincidentally they will start out 21st overall tomorrow. Apparently before the start tomorrow, Nissan’s PR team are interviewing Ian and Sheila. Quite the media darlings now aren't they? Deny EVERYTHING guys & gals. You weren’t there. And I have the GPS data to prove it.

So another day duned and Ian and Sheila are ready to face Day Three tomorrow. They could probably do Day Four to be honest, but that would mess up everyone’s schedules, so Three it is. As I write, Richard is servicing the car (he’s allowed to in the bivouac – FIA regulations clearly state that he is) and Fred is beavering away. Presumably making dams out of pine trees.

RIP Iron Lady.

Stop the press!

No, don't stop it, keep it running, in fact print thousands of extra copies.

Ian and Sheila made the big time!! Front cover of The National newspaper's Sports section today (The National allegedly has around 27 more readers than this blog. So well into the tens of thousands then).

Strangely there was no mention of their hard working support team. Richard, Fred and I are consequently 'having words' with our respective PR agents.



Cor blimey, we're famous



Feeling a little Thor

Pedal to the, ahem, metal....

There have been times in the UAE when it didn’t rain for two and a half years. In fact the expression ‘saving for a rainy day’ has become so redundant that most of us spend all our money instead on wine, women (or Chippendales) and racing cars. The latter usually demanding the most cash, naturally. Today however, was a rainy day. A very rainy day, with evil, tainted skies generating daylight the colour of jaundice, calamitous thunderstorms, torrential rain (typical - I only washed my bloody car yesterday!) and an air of foreboding; just one bode away from a cataclysmic fiveboding, and we all know how bad that is.

Consequently those magnificent men in their hovery, inverted egg whisk’oplanes, couldn’t see the ground beneath them and so said they couldn’t fly. Here’s a clue Mr. Pilot – you were standing on it when you said you couldn’t fly. And if the helicopters don’t fly there’s no medical cover and if there’s no medical cover the race is delayed. This may not be popular with the competitors, but it IS good practice, and as a repeat beneficiary of those kind people in the SAR teams, I know it’s the right thing to do.

Here's a photo I prepared earlier.

Thus it was that Ian and Sheila were, along with all the other competitors, told to drive on tarmac to a point about 100kms into the rally stage and wait. And wait. And wait. Until eventually the winds died down, the balloon went up (well, OK, the helicopters), and our heroes were released into the wild yellow yonder and told to make their way to the bivouac. (Quick track, bivouac, give The Dog a home). So off they jolly well sped, with yours truly once again failing to get half his work done because the annoying thing about having live tracking on your computer is that you daren’t look away. You minimise it, ignore it, then after 10 minutes the temptation becomes too great and you start checking their position again. Then that of friends who are racing, then the race leaders, then people who look like they might be stuck, then back to car 222 again, then 242, then bike 27, etc. etc. And then you finally minimise the screen. But only for 10 minutes. Repeat ad nauseum.

That's how that I knew Newtrix were briefly stuck for a few minutes at around 1.30pm, then again for just a couple of minutes at around 2.30pm, but after that it was pedal to the metal and Ian and Sheila were soon leaving a trail of cars in their wake. What I didn’t know of course was that the drop into the first stuck had caused the radiator catch tank to work loose, which would later cause occasional overheating and thus the engine would kick into default “4 cylinder mode”. Now suddenly having 165 horsepower instead of 330 is not what you want when racing in the desert – but it’s better than cooking your engine, so whilst inconvenient, it wasn’t a game changer.



That JCB would have been useful today.



Throughout this time I kept updating poor Richard down in the desert, via SMS. A couple of times he thanked me for the news, but when he replied “Thanks for the updates, even though they give me heart attacks” I decided to keep the news to myself. This evening Ian called me to say that they had also been suffering from intermittent engine ‘çut outs’ and upon investigation tonight by Richard “I’ll check my list and find the cause” Bailey, it was determined that the wing mounted cut out switches were playing up, so he’s spanked them and sent them to bed early. We expect no further problems tomorrow or there’ll be trouble.

With Ian and Sheila cruising down a track at 100kmh and just 6kms from the finish line at about 4.30pm, I sent Richard what I now realise was a stupid text. “Nearly there” I said “put the kettle on”. Oh dear. Kiss of death. Dr. B.S. will not be doing that again. Just minutes from the finish line and with only one more line of dunes to cross, the desert reached up, grabbed the Dog by the tail and hung on to it. Stuck. Really, really stuck, spitting distance from the finish line. Not that there was any spitting to be done, because digging a car out of the sand for 90 minutes, yes folks, one and a half hours, doesn’t leave you with any spit left to waste.



Malcolm & Patrick had a good day and are lying 23rd overall.

 When it became clear that they were struggling I called Richard and Fred, and thanks to the wonders of modern technology, could give them I&S’s exact position, and tell them what appeared to be a quick and easy route to the car. I thought if the car was broken in some way we would be much better off getting there in daylight, regardless of the penalties to be incurred for receiving assistance. Trouble is, Google doesn’t update its maps every day (typical – lazy swines) and so when Richard tried to follow my directions he was faced with miles and miles of fencing instead of the open tracks I could see on my screen. Undeterred he headed off into the desert, and I was able to pick out both a gate in the fence, and a circuitous but apparently well traveled path which would get him to within 200 metres of Ian and Sheila. Halfway down this track and with the corrugated road rattling Richard and Fred’s teeth down to their root canals, he then received a message to say that after their energy sapping digging, Ian and Sheila were ‘free at last’ and heading for the finish line.

Ian rang me at around 9.30pm in high spirits, because despite the days woes, the car’s in one piece, the clutch is holding up, they’ve no penalties and they are ready to rock tomorrow from a position of 38th overall. So not a bad day in the desert after all.

Cote D'dust

Ladies, gentlemen, and those of you with spectacularly tight racing leathers, like Christmas, the FA Cup and International Left Handed Day (August 13th in case you were wondering), I’m back for my once a year, never to be repeated until next year appearance. Yes, tis I, The Phantom Blogger, custodian of the three holey socks, blogger of words, blagger of parts, bugger all use, and writer of those things which were once unspoken but which are now completely and utterly pixelated before your very eyes. 

Faster than a Ferrari World Roller Coaster

BUT, my miniontastic little munchkins, you may no longer address me as “The PB” for since we last met I have been endowed, some might even say well endowed, with an Honorary Doctorate. Oh yes I have. It’s pointless, intended purely for my own self promotion , and thoroughly undeserved, yet there it is on my wall for all to see. The Phantom Blogger, Honorary Doctor of Blog Scribing. You may simply refer to me as “Dr. B.S.” for short.



My presence can only mean one thing; that it’ll be a week before this blog makes any sense. Oh wait, two things. The second being that Ian and Sheila are away making loud burbly noises in the desert with their big metal box on wheels, alongside lots of other people who feel the need to do the same. Yes,the Abu Dhabi Desert Challenge 2013 is under way.  



This afternoon Ian, Sheila, Richard “It’ll be on my list somewhere” Bailey and Fred “I fancied a week off work” Santiago dragged their weary bodies down to the Prologue in Abu Dhabi. Now in NCAA football they have the Rose Bowl. And cheerleaders; Phantom likes cheerleaders….and in the NFL they have the Super Bowl. And cheerleaders. Phantom really, really likes cheerleaders. But the ADDC has what can best be described as the Dust Bowl. Which is all very well – but there are no cheerleaders. Just dust. Lots of dust. And on top of the dust, a light dusting of dust. And not a perky pair of pom poms in sight. Boo hiss.

 

Dust. Just dust. It's a must.



Just as you can be sure of overpriced roses on Valentine’s Day, so you can be sure of foul weather and DUST for the DC prologue. Of course you’ll never know that from the photos herewith attached, for such are my Lightroom skills (think Photoshop, only better) that you see only fantastic pictures of our heroic racers, but the strong winds which blew up yesterday morning continued to blow throughout this afternoon, reducing visibility to “three tenths of a little bit”. This does not please anyone who drives down to AUH for 90 minutes only to have their face and more importantly camera gear sandblasted into oblivion. But never mind, I knew it would all be worthwhile when Ian and Sheila saw me on the sidelines, preserving those precious race moments for all time. “Oh you were there were you, we didn’t see you” said Ian as we spoke later on the phone. No, well that would be because I was the only 6’ tall photographer in a fluorescent yellow vest!! But they didn’t see me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m known as “The Phantom”

  

Nextrix Racing, 2013 stylee!



Ian drove sensibly (imagine that!) to preserve the car and Newtrix finished the prologue on 25th place, exactly halfway through the 49 car field. Now you might argue that 25th is halfway through a 50 car field but I would disagree. You see there are 24 cars ahead of them, and 24 behind them, so they’re halfway. If you have a problem with that, please send me a postcard.  

1.2kms in and Mabbsy's already lost his co-driver!



Other local racers of note include Malcolm Anderson and Patrick McMurren (#242) of Team Dune Raider, who finished the day in 41st (thus making a mockery of the seeding system which had put them way back in 42nd place) Seb Husseini (Quad #139) in 4th, Colin Mercer (Quad #138) 13th, Alan Boyter (Bike #36) 47th and the inimitable Mr. David Mabbs, who, having emptied the UAE of people insane enough to co-drive alongside him, has taken to two wheels and this year is competing on bike #27 (44th in the prologue).

Ian told me this evening that he fears the race car’s clutch is not as healthy as it might be, so first thing tomorrow I’m to try to track down the only other known clutch of its type in the country. Yes, really. Looks like the DC has started! 

Almost ready - time to think

Yes, we've sorted out the troublesome hubs.  That was a late night, but we're confident that they'll hold now.  Richard refitted the battery tray with its shiny new battery, and sorted out a wiring fault to give an emergency power feed to the fans - in case we need it.  It's been up to Ben Sulayem Garage, then the RTA and received its new estemara.  Sheila's Prado, which will be the service mule, has been serviced. 

Yesterday my friends at Nanjgel Garage changed the lubes on the race car and fixed an oil leak from a front hub, but had a drama during their test drive.  The engine just stopped.  Fuel? No.  Fuel pump? Hmm, neither pump was working.  So it had to be the battery isolator.  Turned out that one of the external cut-offs had cut-off for no obvious reason, but wouldn't re-set.  Further investigation showed that the two firex switches were also u/s, so we've replaced all four external switches with new Schneider units.  A consignment of metal tyre valves turned up on my desk, to replace all the old rubber ones - the four on the car and four spares.  Arabian Automobiles called, and my sale-or-return parts are all ready for collection.  Things feel like they are coming together.

We had a Team Meeting today, which sounds rather grand.  It was three-quarters of the team - Sheila, Richard and myself.  Fred had been dragged away to do some actual work for a customer.  (Customers, eh? No consideration.)  Richard is well ahead of us in terms of lists and plans.  (He admits to being 'a bit O.C.D.', but I've reassured him that it doesn't make you a bad person.)  But it'll be his first time in Liwa, and we're bringing him up to speed with the geography of the area and the process of the rally.

I was sat at the traffic lights the other day, and just imagined being at the start.  Airing down the tyres.  Chatting slightly nervously to the other teams.  Having a final wee.  Sheila and I, fastening each other's helmet straps.  Checking the time, joining the queue for time control.  Watching the car in front disappear into the dust, into the distance.  Then forward to the start, checking we're in 4WD.  The cameras, the 'good-luck' wishes from friends we only see once a year.  The start light column, my heart racing, pounding, as its red sectors count off the final seconds in synch with the starter's hand signals.....

That's the rush.  Just imagining it sent my pulse rate soaring.  Once we're moving, I can settle into a rhythm and start to relax a little.  But it's a continual tightrope act - keeping up enough speed to be in the chase, but not pushing too hard at wrong moment, chosing the right risks to take and the ones to back away from.  This may be our last year of competitive rallying and I badly want to do well.  All the prep, all the expense, all Richard's hard work boils down to the next 2000km.  One wrong decision, and it's all down the drain.

As Streaky would say, it's going to be emotional.

Back in the old routine

For three days we were doing arguably what we do best – being part of the sweep team. Day 2 saw us attending to the dehydrated Mr Gadasin and then (sort-of) escorting him out, and then towing out one of the GoKobra team on his quad. In between, we were entertained by Streaky getting the ‘Queen Mary’ (a.k.a. Sk Hamad’s massive F350 pick-up) repeatedly stuck trying to escape from a deep bowl.

By the start of Day 3, we'd acquired a VHF radio, a FRS handset, a set of stickers and a sweep team T-shirt - so it was official. We swept from the start near Tharwaniya as far as Moreeb, before being pulled out to sweep from the restart (Hameem) onwards. The last car out was Emil Kneisser’s, which had lost 4WD and promptly got stuck in a bowl. After his support crew had finally extricated him, he set off in an ultimately futile bid to complete the stage, before pulling out at the pipeline crossing. Having cooked his engine, I towed him out to the road.

Day 4 started off the MZ road, and the first customer was our friend Jurgen in the GoKobra 243. He’d managed to achieve an impressive 720 degree roll, ending up on his wheels, the only damage being a loose mudguard! Soon we were helping Tommy Castellazzi to refill the radiator of his diesel Landie, which had blown a top hose. To his credit, he made it across to the Ghayathi road before calling it a day. I then got stuck on a piece of innocuous looking flat sand, and whilst reversing onto the sand-ladders ripped off the back box of my exhaust. After that it was just a matter of fighting our way across the soft dunes to the road, arriving just in time to stop the fuel bowser from leaving PC2. We fueled up and headed for PC4 at Arada, and after the last car went through we started our final sweep. About 2km into it, Nigel managed to drop his Patrol into The Bowl from Hell and lose a tyre.

We couldn’t even get to the axle to jack it up, so we tried to double-winch it out. My winch overheated, then his winch popped a fuse and left his electrics dead. Bugger. After a bit of re-wiring he managed to get the engine going, so we used the sand ladders to reverse it a bit, to try and get a jack under it. But a sand ladder had ended up buried precisely where we needed to put the jacking board. Bugger. Finally dug the sand ladder out, and jacked it up. However, the car was still at a lousy angle and fell off the jack. Bugger. Put in another jack, try again – not great but this time we managed to get the spare wheel under the chassis for insurance. Dug under the tyre, reseated it on the bead, connected up the compressor – and then found that the valve had ripped off. Bugger. Find spare valve, push it in from the inside, pull it through – and the car falls off the jack again. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Jack it up again, finally get some air in it, and it pops back onto the bead. Hurrah. More sand-ladder activity and eventually he’s reversing back up the slope. After three attempts he makes it out, by which time we’d spent 4 hours there and it was dark, and control had ordered a helicopter ‘virtual sweep’ to save us having to continue.
It’s a long, long drive round the crescent from Arada to Hameem, where much-needed beer and dinner awaited us.

No news is blog news...

I can only assume that the Liwa Four are either incredibly busy, incredibly stuck, or incredibly asleep, because to date I’ve not had an update on today’s events. However this does at least give me a chance to deal with some of the Newtrix fan mail which has been piling up lately, so here goes.

Ms. K Knightley from the UK writes: "You were wonderful Phantom, a real “Spirit in the Night”. Call me. Anytime."

Whilst Scarlett J writes from New York: “If the pen is mightier than the sword P.B., come on over and teach me how to spell”

Well that’s quite enough of that, Thank you ladies. What, you thought the fan mail was for Ian?

Now obviously since my true name is a closely guarded secret, known only to a couple of hundred people, my wife Carole and cat Mia, there has been a degree of confusion in the press about my real identity. So here’s who I’m not;

I’m not a female American singer songwriter who had a hit with “Damn, I wish I was your writer” from the album” Tongues and Tall Tales” That’s Sophie B. Logger

Nor am I the ghost of Three Fingered Jimmy The ‘nuck, a Candian lumberjack who drank himself to death on the trail of a lonesome pine. He’s the phantom logger.

I’m definitely not Oliver North: I think some confusion arose in the past because he was caught trying to sell McDonnell Douglas F4s to the Nicaraguans during the late 80s. And that makes him the Phantom Flogger.

I’m also not a boxer weighing between 115 and 118 pounds (a Bantam Slogger), but should I put my mind, and lips to it, I’m sure I could be the best kisser a small settlement on the A68, 5 miles south of Jedburgh, thus making me “Phantom Blogger, the Camptown Snogger”.

You see – now you’re all desperate for news from the desert :-)

So I can tell you that despite enduring a great many difficulties, Tommy Castellazzi is still hanging in there. Go for it Tommy.

The engine's sooty, so we'll sweep instead.

You were probably thinking that with Ian and Sheila retired from the rally, there would be nothing for a Phantom Blogger to do but put his feet up and enjoy a dram or two of Scotland’s finest fire water. Yes, so was he. But alas, just as I was thinking of cracking open a bottle this evening, Ian rang to tell me about his day, and halfway through the conversation, I realised that the words “update” and “blog” were about to leave his lips. I desperately tried to drop the phone in a convincing manner, but the fact that you’re now reading these words means I clearly didn’t get away with it.

Today's photo, of Ian and Sheila leaving the Start ramp at the Prologue, is brought to you by Bob McCaffrey, motor sports photographer extraordinaire. 1/400 @ f 2.8 Bob. You'll be fine.

With The Liwa Four (Sheila, Ian, Rick & Ian. Pay attention) now enjoying an early summer holiday, they decided to do what any sane person(s) would do when surrounded by sand – i.e. go and play in it, in Ian’s regular road / sand going Nissan Patrol. Their initial foray was merely to PC 1 to watch the first 10 or so cars go by, but they decided that that was as boring as watching 10 cars go by in the desert, so they low ratio and high tailed it across to PC2, where they bumped in Rear Vice Admiral Sir John Mitchell Ross, DSOB @ Bar. John is Commander of the Royal Bathtime fleet, but that has nothing to do with his title of Rear Vice Admiral. You ask him.

JMR is also a legend in his own mind, and a fully signed up member of the Sweep Team - his brush work is amazing. Sheila, Ian, Rick and Ian (you’ll noticed I swapped the two Ians around there just to break things up a bit) offered to join John in his quest for scrap iron a.k.a. abandoned rally vehicles, as a sort of ‘voluntary community sweep car’. It entitles them to the same privileges (i.e. none) but at least they don’t have to damage their car’s paint work with big stickers. So off they jolly well sauntered into the desert, hurling abuse at passing seagulls and galavanting in a manner which only they considered heroic, when they were flagged down by a somewhat concerned co-driver, Dan Schemel, whose driver Boris Gadasin was suffering badly from dehydration.

After the medic who was traveling with JMR took a look at Boris it was decided that he was too ill to continue and a helicopter was called to the scene. However in the very few minutes it took to arrive, the rehydration fluids he’d been drinking and taking by intravenous drip had begun to take effect and he decided he was well enough to drive to the end of the stage. FYI Under such circumstances race crews must actually sign a waiver to say they’ve been advised not to proceed and are doing so voluntarily and at their own risk. Boris did so and though Ian and Sheila (and Ian and Rick) were tasked with keeping up with them to the finish, that’s easier said than done when you’re chasing a rally car. Eventually they gave up the chase and proceeded to the final PC, stopping to help a couple of competitors along the way, then towing one of the same competitors the 15kms back from the final PC to the bivouac after his vehicle suffered gearbox failure practically on the finish line. Which was a ‘lucky’ place to break down I guess.

Much to their surprise, at the Driver’s Briefing later that evening, all round nice chap Mr. Ronan Morgan, who is Clerk of the Course of course, announced that for their sterling efforts today (it’s Euros tomorrow and Yen on Thursday), Ian and Sheila had won the Spirit of the Rally award. The award, four days holiday in Barbados for two people, including all flights and sun tan lotion*, is given each day to those folks adjudged to have embodied the true spirit of the rally. Ian thanked the cheering crowd profusely, and said that after blowing the engine yesterday, he couldn’t have embodied much more spirit last night if he’d tried.

* Actually, it’s two petrol vouchers, but we live in hope.

And thus, folks, you now know how a 15 minute phone call is turned into an hour’s work and 700 words of drivel, simply to keep you entertained for 10 minutes. There's no need to thank me, but if you insist, used notes in small denominations are perfectly acceptable. It's Sterling today and Yen on Thursday. You can keep your Euros merci.

In other news, Tommy’s hanging in there, whilst a few people with a lot more money than Newtrix are still chasing each other around the dunes in some sort of race. Don’t give up Tommy.