July 15th, 2010

Dispatch from the road: Rally London-Mongolia, Part 2

Drive Like A Woman Editor-in-Chief, Michele Shapiro is setting off on a rally from London to Mongolia. She will be driving with Parag Khanna, Mikhail Zeldovich and Jen Mueller. Jen will be starting with the team in London and Michele will be meeting the team in Moscow and will switch places with Jen. The team will be driving a 1991 Land Rover Defender ambulance. Upon arrival in Mongolia the team will donate the ambulance to a local hospital. Drive Like A Woman will be posting dispatches from the journey.

Click here to read Part 1.

London: The Rally Begins
-Written by Jen Mueller

“Oh my God, it’s a giraffe.”

And there in the distance …?

“Rhinos!” Parag called happily.  “I LOVE rhinos!”

Day one of the rally was an absurdist’s dream.

Our team gathered at the ambulance—parked, somewhat conspicuously, on a shady suburban street—at 8:30 in the morning.  Parag and I had met for the first time the night before at Mikhail’s private club near Covent Garden (hey, this team parties in style).  We left the “when you’re in the middle of Russia” jokes to our friends, who were happy to supply them.  Parag was heading off to do some work before going to bed; I was finally clean, but exhausted from the day and, at 11pm, very much in need of dinner.

On Saturday morning we were in slightly better condition, and the excitement was contagious as we rumbled down the quiet London streets and onto the highway.  In addition to Mikhail, Parag, and me, our numbers included Misha’s fiancée Amanda and my friend Tonya, both along to send us off in style.

The launch was held at what the understated British might describe as an unlikely location:  a safari park on the grounds of a country estate about an hour north of the city. We were late for the pre-party, but we arrived in time for the main event:  a caravan tour of the park.  Including the gated lion enclosure, prominently marked with signs from its main sponsor:  Tiger Balm (no, no tigers were in evidence).
“This is so cool!  But . . . I don’t think they have lions in Mongolia,” I pondered as we watched a lioness watching us.

Behind us, a long line of our fellow vehicles stretched out, including two identical versions of our own Land Rover (their owner had also purchased them from Derrick, but had painted them solid white and cleaned them up; we looked like a country cousin), a Subaru, and a kitted-out jeep driven by two very excited Italians.

Back in the parking lot, they gathered us for an inspirational speech by a former rally participant.

Among his words of advice:  “You will be robbed as you head east!  And the robbers will all be wearing police uniforms.”  Also:  “That red line showing a nice straight road running from Russia into Ulaanbaatar is the greatest single lie in the history of cartography.”

Then it was time to start our engines.  The drivers, including me, took our places.  Parag was walking stiff-kneed after his two hours at the helm; the Land Rover seat is uncomfortably close to the steering wheel for my 5’6 frame; for his 6’1 form, driving was going to be painful.

A film crew that had spoken with us earlier was waiting at we processed past the exit.

“Alright guys, any last words?”  the reporter chirped.

“Mongolia or bust!” Misha cried.

“And those odds are about 50-50!” I chimed in from behind the wheel.  And we were off.

We were soon on the motorway heading down to Folkenstone, where we were going to take a car train through the Chunnel to the continent.  We were booked on the 4:50 train.  It was a drive that normally should take about 90 minutes.
“Oh no,” Mikhail said, looking at his Blackberry Googlemaps application.  (This will serve as our GPS for the European part of the trip.)  “Two stretches of bad traffic ahead.”

We were through the first stretch and going about 55mph up a hill when I realized that the engine wasn’t responding again.  I steered her into the shoulder and we coasted to a stop.

“Oh, shizzle.”  Parag climbed out of the back.  We popped the hood and ran through the same fluid checks we had performed the evening before.  We tried to simulate our experience with the cops by pushing it, but no luck.

I kept trying the ignition.  Suddenly there was a cough, and the engine caught.  I pressed the gas, and she roared to life.  Parag and Misha sprang to action.

“Get in, get in!”

We merged back into traffic, spirits improbably high again.

“It will be tight with the traffic, but we should still make our train,” Misha announced.  That was before we hit the standstill traffic.

And then the engine went again.

Denial was turning out to be an unproductive tactic.

“You have got to be kidding.”

This time, waiting didn’t seem to help.  We called Derrick, who consulted with a mechanic friend and suggested that we should check our fuel relays. We opened the fuse box and wiggled the connections.  We popped the hood.  When a passing Dutch Land Rover driver pulled off to help, we borrowed one of his parts to check to see if we had a faulty connection.

Never before has AAA seemed like such a good investment, though we had to wait a long time before the tow truck made it through the traffic jam.  The cab of the tow truck was wide and clean and air-conditioned.

Ah.

Our very nice driver deposited us at a rest area parking lot with the promise that a service technician would be with us . . . eventually.  With this being Saturday evening and everything closed on Sunday, the technician was our best hope at an answer.

So there we sat in our 1991 Land Rover.  Parag surfed the internet.  Misha made a few calls.  I worked on the team blog from my computer.  All this technology and we weren’t going anywhere.

One AA van after another came to the parking lot, but none had us on their service queue.  We had rescheduled our train for 7:50, but at this point it was unlikely we would even be seen before then.

“Are you waiting for help?”  A technician called over.

“Yes!”  I hopped off the back of the ambulance and went over to explain the situation.  We weren’t on his list, but he came over after helping another car.  He asked me to try the ignition, then rummaged around his van and sprayed something into the engine.  I tried again.  It turned over.

We were flummoxed.  “What IS that stuff?”

He handed me a can labeled Easy Start.  “Be careful with this.  You just spray it here—“ he indicated “—and it should help.  But this is a temporary solution, right?  You still need to get this looked at.”

We were on our way again.  “I’m beginning to love this car!” Parag declared as we drove up to the train terminal.

“You were meant to be here ages ago,” the woman checking us in complained.  But she put us in the queue for the next train.

The car died for the fourth time as we were driving down the ramp into the train car.

“No, no, no!  We are so close!”

“This is only supposed to happen when Jen is driving!”

“Do you guys need mechanical assistance?”  One of the train workers was heading over to us.  “We can arrange a tow.”

“No, we can get it going!”  We sprayed the magic spray into the engine.  Nothing happened.  And again.

“Look, if your car is disabled then I can’t let you on,” the attendant said.

DID THE CAR MAKE IT ON THE TRAIN? CLICK READ MORE TO FIND OUT…

I have written elsewhere about the effects of sheer willpower on impending adversity.  And we are, if nothing else, three strong-willed people.  The engine roared back to life as the service truck pulled up.

“See, we’re good, we’re good!” We leapt into our seats.

The attendant looked doubtful.  “I’m going to put you in the last car so you don’t block the others if we have to tow you.”

Our plan was to grab a room at a highway hotel as soon as possible once we reached Calais.  We fueled up and headed west, keeping our eyes peeled.

Long story short (and the next few hours occasionally seemed very long indeed), neither France nor Belgium offered highway hotels.  Worse, we could not find a free room when we did brave the local roads.  At least five hotels turned us away.

It was nearly 2am when we arrived at the Park Hotel in the center of Brugges.  We had been with the car since 8:30 in the morning.  Misha’s damaged foot was hurting from our earlier efforts to push the ambulance.  Parag had the glazed stare of someone who has been driving far too long.  I was barely awake.

The hotel attendant looked us over and quietly took back the room card he had given me and crossed out the room number.  “I will give you a superior room,” he said, writing down a new number.  “It is nicer but—” he waved his hands, “—same price.”

Three twin beds, a shower, and a place to recharge our electronics.  It sure beat the side of a highway.

If anyone snored, the others were too sound asleep to hear.