Into Mauritania, prepping for the Sahara desert

From Mirleft in Southern Morocco, Dusty Springs and the Terranauts set out on the long 2 day drive down through Western Sahara. Breathtaking scenery surrounded by undulating desert rock and the Atlantic ocean on our right side, over 450 km on a long flat straight road to the ends of the earth – at least thats what it feels like.

Toward Laayoune – the largest town as we move South and a small UN presence keeping the peace in the Western Sahara territory. They have had a lot of rain here which is extremely rare – and we came across a flooded desert road where 50 trucks and many more cars were waiting to cross 2 foot of water. After this delay we arrived by sundown at Camping des Bedouins, a remote desert campsite run by a Belgian couple who escaped from Rwanda just as the knives were drawn in the civil war. Camel stew and beers, and bed.

Next day was another epic drive to Dakhla, around 450k – it really gets remote on this stretch of road with little or no traffic apart from other rally cars. We drive all day through moonscapes as the red clay desert turns to fine beige Saharan sand. We started to feel quite small as the road stretched on ahead mile after mile, hour after hour. Every now and again we meet a police checkpoint, grin at the officer, say bonjour in our best French and hand over our affiches. Usually they are friendly – curious about the journey and ask about the YouthAIDS posters on the car. It has become a point of conversation and the tags are a big hit! We feared some people might be put off by the association with AIDS but have been surprised at how many officials praise the effort.

Dakhla by nightfall and our rest stop for 2 nights. Time to meet the group and prepare for the desert crossing. We crashed in a fleabag hotel and got up early to fit a sumpguard over Dustys front underside. You can find someone to fix anything in this town. Car wash and new tire and on to the market for camping provisions… We have a meeting with the teams in the afternoon and divide off into groups of 6 or 7 cars for the desert crossing. Greatest surprise is seeing Benni, my guide for the rally last year. We both yelp with surprise while he gives me a bear hug almost wrapping me up in his jelaba, a heavy wool coatdress with a pointed hood worn by men. Benni is from Nouadibou in the north of Mauritania and was awaiting our arrival for several days with some other desert guides. Grinning he says he will take us through the desert again this year.
Dusty and ourselves are travelling with a multinational group of 16 – a few Brits, 2 Norwegians, 3 Swiss, 1 German, 2 Mexicans…and 2 Americans. Apparently I have an American accent. Urgh.
Writing now from Nouadibou after a long day crossing the Moroccan border and into Mauritania. We arrived at the frontier just as the guards left for lunch, literally. The whole border crossing took 6 hours and no toilets. Roaming off to a craggy hillock wasnt an option as the area is still heavily mined.

We just ate Chinese food – lots of Chinese here in town – but rather surreal. The tags are in hot demand and are now proudly worn by the money changers, the guides, the jewellery salesman and the young men and women at the campsite. AIDS is a big issue here.

Tomorrow into the desert – we will be off roading for the next three days through the dunes. Happy New Year – hope we make it out OK!!

Marrakech and on into Western Sahara

So, when we left you last, our exhaust had just fallen off again 2 hours from Marrakech in the dark, in the middle of nowhere. Dustys luck again as two friendly Morrocans pull over in a clapped out VW Golf and we ponder what to do. The best solution, with 20 tonne trucks zooming past, was to yank off the exhaust pronto and shove it in the car. Our new friends wanted to put it in the trunk Moroccan style – i.e. with about a meter of the exhaust pipe overhanging into the road. We explained that in the interests of not taking out every pedestrian and moped en route to Marrakech, perhaps the exhaust should go INSIDE the car. After some headscratching we got the exhaust nestling nicely in the car from back left to front right and out of the passenger side window. After giving the Moroccans a push start, Dusty was back in action sounding like a prehistoric fanged beast.

Marrakech. Finally. Navigating traffic chaos under the admiring gazes of fellow Mercedes taxi drivers, we eventually found Group 1 in Hotel Tazi near the main square. Sharing news of our escapades so far over beers and chicken tagine, it was time for bed – mainly because the waiter had turned out all the lights. The next day we sharpened our bargaining skills in the souk buying pointy slippers, leather bags, trinkes, a kitchen sink, some apricots and figs. Bartering like berbers said one store owner – the Terranauts found that hugely flattering.

Time running short and the rest of the group zooming ahead, we said goodbye to Marra and set out on the road toward Agadir, 250 miles south. Our destination by nightfall was Mirfelt, a sleepy coastal village with a crescent of white sand on the Atlantic ocean. As the green Atlas mountains fell away behind us, we entered the clay red plains that turn to desert as we work our way into the Western Sahara.

Chugging along in the rain, Jimmy valiantly manoeuvring in the dark, it was tough going. Where the edge of the road begins and ends was lost in the glare from truck headlights, spray and mud. Wihth the exhaust pipe still poking out the window, sitting in the back is like being in the midst of a mini tornado. Urgh. The rain finally cleared as the road snaked into Agadir and we pushed on through the night to Tiznit, a small walled town famous for its silver Berber jewellery. Beyond Tiznit, the road stretched out long and straight into the wilderness and dark. This is where Morocco ends and the Western Sahara begins. 11pm and the rain started lashing down again – all we could see left and right were ominous looming shapes of the sand cliffs.

At Mirfelt we were welcomed by 2 Morroco-Rasta boys, Hassan and Ahmed. They noticed LL Cool J on the car and we talked about music. At the height of the hippy invasion Jimi Hendrix came to the village and chilled out, they said. He gave someone a guitar which was later used for firewood on a particularly cold day. We gave them some tags and they told us how cool it was that we were telling people about HIV/AIDS.Tomorrow we leave with the group for Laayoune, close to 450 km on the long desert road to Dakhla, the furthest point south before the tarmac ends and the sand begins.

Happy Holidays from the Terranauts

Merry Christmas from the Terranauts! We are on the road from Fes to Marrakech. Rufus Wainwright is on the stereo, and it has been a mellow Dusty day so far; our only a contretemps was getting locked out of the car thismorning, but that was okay because our window pops out with a bit of bendy wire.

After dashing through France and Spain, we feel much more athome in Morocco because everyone thinks Dusty is a taxicab. We are hailedconstantly, “sorry, we’re not a taxi!” White Mercedes W123s are the most common car on the roads here and Moroccans will pat her on the back and people will with knowing affection how good a machine our Dusty is.

We are charging hard to Marrakech, where we hope to meet up with the other rally teams for the first time. We were supposed to meet in southern Spain for the ferry to Morocco, but some inevitable repairs set us back almost an entire day. Dusty dropped her exhaust in front of a trucker’s restaurant/hotel on Wednesday night, luckily only 10km from a Mercedes-Benz garage. They also repaired our hydraulics, which lifted up Dusty’s back end and made her into the smooth-cruising honey we are sailing in tonight.

Dusty’s two other breakdowns have also come in convenient places: “Dusty’s luck”. When a certain smell of burning rubber turned out notto be from the truck ahead of us, but the rich black smoke billowing from our right front tire, the team of locals who rushed to our aid sent us to a mechanic less than a mile down the road. He diagnosed jammed brakes and went into hammer the disk straight.

Of course, the bent disk was due to a minor incident on a high Atlas mountain pass, where under challenging driving conditions one of theTerranauts sent Dusty sliding gently into a drainage ditch. We’re not saying which one, but evidentiary photos are reminiscent of a New York City parking job.

But no sooner did Dusty deposit her nose downwards than helpful Moroccans appeared from all directions,which was refreshing in the Rif valley because everyone else there wants to sell you hash.

The brake job was cheap, and we sweetened the transactionwith a few YouthAIDS dogtags, which are proving to be the coin of our mobile realm.We have 1,000 of these shiny necklaces in the trunk, and they are charms which open conversation and ease our passage. The Moroccans love them, and we have given them to guides, mechanics, parking attendants, hotel managers, road saviors, and anyone who asks about the car or shows us a simple kindness, like the gas station mechanic who gave Emily two bright oranges as she waited in the car.

We gave tags to Omar the olive oil presser as well. I’ve never seen olive oil fresh from the press before, and when Omar handed me aliter of the divine stuff, deep green and cloudy with life-giving properties,and wanted only $6 in return, Emily and I had to show that our appreciationwent further than the price at hand. Out came the tags, and within a minute tenmore people had appeared, smiling and asking for one. But the point of the tags is to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS, and so there by a roadside oil press in the middle of the Atlas mountains, Emily engaged Omar and his friends in a serious conversation that they were ready to have. “Yes,” said Omar, who is no olderthan 35, “I know AIDS is a serious problem, and especially a problem here inMorocco. But no one talks about it.” One of his friends was in the Moroccan army, and told us that the military was just starting to warn its soldiers of the dangers of contracting AIDS. There was much more to say, but that small opening was enough, and we had to be on our way.

There is also much more to write, but…our exhaust just felloff again and is dragging in the road! There are sparks flying out behind thecar and we are pulling over…amazing. Already a Moroccan man has stopped to help…he pulled over as soon as he saw the sparks. Dusty’s Luck! More next time….

DONATE!

Best,

Jimmy

Traffic at Algeciras

Stuck at Algeciras with 3 days worth of ferry traffic, waiting for the boat.Waiting for more information on this.

Oren

Part 1 completed - Europe

Dusty arrives at Sotogrande!The mechnical repairs do wonders for team spirit, road handling, drive comfort and fuel economy.Successful arrival at Sotogrande.This concludes part 1 of the journey – the European dash.Africa comes next.

Oren

Dusty's Luck

Having some serious exhaust trouble, Dusty dragging the pipe behind and giving an impressive fireworks show, it still looked like the spirits were looking after the team. Within 5 miles of the breakdown there was a Mercedes specialist garage.Horrified by the state of the car, they get to work. It’s still about 10 hours drive to Sotogrande, but the pros are at work and for once it seems that Dusty’s future might be a little better than a declining back end.The exhaust is put back on, and the suspension problems are dealt with. A new oil line part means that ground clearance is back to normal levels. A big improvement to the road handling, too.

Oren

First News from the Road

Despite the odds, the Terranauts have managed to set off, reaching their ferry with no major problems. The long drive down France and Spain tends to bring out all those neglected faults not spotted ealier. With a Merc this old, there are always surprises, the first of which was an uneventful and breakdown free journey as far as Bordeaux.The following day, things changed, and what was starting to look like a frightfully boring drive, turned exciting all of a sudden.Major exhaust trouble around Madrid mean an early stop for the day and necessary repairs. Reports from the Team say that repairs are underway, using the two most useful items in an event such as this – wire coat hangers and gaffer tape.This is the friendly un-organizer back in mision-not-in-control. Further info when communications come in.

Oren

Meeting Dusty for the first time

It was a dark and rainy night by the time we found Maurice’s garage, the turnoff hidden from the road. A friend of my mother (Mrs H) called Alan Williamson, had put us in touch with Maurice who had kindly taken in Dusty Springs to check her over for mechanical surprises. No major repairs were needed, just a new part for the brakes, a sleeve to hold together the horribly rusted exhaust and a block of wood to hold up the passenger side window. Unfortunately we hadn’t managed to fix Dusty’s sagging suspension, lacking an essential part – a metal fuel line. Without it, the car spat out any hydraulic fluid into an undignified puddle between the back wheels. This was the one issue likely to make the trip all the more… err.. challenging. We were already anticipating the car loaded up for the desert crossing – heavy jerry cans of fuel and water, camping gear, 2 spare wheels – it would be bad enough digging ourselves out the deep sand without Dusty already hanging low enough to get buried up to her axles!

Leaving Maurice’s garage to drive up to London, Mrs H was already wringing her hands in despair – “Be Careful… Don’t go too fast. God, I can’t watch” . Dusty smelt of mildew and oil, and the steering veered slightly to the right. I felt like I was driving a tank. Once on the motorway, I hit optimum cruising speed en route to London at 65 mph, and managed to get a signal from BBC Radio 2. Quite appropriate, Dusty’s kind of pace, easy listening.

Test drive over, the Terranauts met Oren in London – our car fixer, rally veteran and Dusty’s mentor. With the addition of Reuben and Rupert, two old friends, we spent an excellent evening huddled in the car for Dusty’s baptism by beer and fish and chips, while the rain beat down on the roof.

Who are the Terranauts?

DUSTY SPRINGS
Born at the Mercedes Benz factory in Stuttgart, Germany in 1980, Dusty served at the Greek Embassy in Bonn before traveling to Geneva in the hands of a lady owner. Dusty cruised through the easy living edelweiss years, but incidious alpine winters started eating at her bodywork. Stolen in 1990, Dusty vanished for a few years before resurfacing at a car auction in Margate, England in 1995 where she was bought by the Great Nikodemus, a children’s entertainer. After Niko passed in a tragic balloon animal accident, Dusty was garaged and eventually auctioned for scrap on eBay. Rescued from an ignominious end by a Benz enthusiast from Bournemouth, cosmic strands passed Dusty into the hands of the Terranauts in October 2005. With severe rust, sagging suspension, a cracked radiator and just 300,000 kilometers on the clock, Dusty is in tip-top condition for the Plymouth-Banjul Challenge.

EMILY HORGAN
Emily is a veteran of the 2005 Plymouth-Banjul Challenge when her team, The Spandanglo Meteors, ripped the undercarriage off a 1991 Ford Fiesta and limped into Banjul with steam pouring from the engine. After learning last year that a radiator isn’t just a large iron fitting in your living room, Emily has bought an advanced mechanic's manual on Mercedes Benz reconditioning for this trip.

JIMMY WARNER
Like most native New Yorkers, Jimmy learned to drive at age 25. After three years’ experience in an unticketable NYC Parks Department pickup, and two more in a seatbelt-free Beetle dodging chicken buses in Guatemala, Jimmy is well prepped to guide Dusty across the Sahara.