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!

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?
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