Basket case

So here was the thinking: we need something up top to put spare tyres, jerry cans and bags of the random crap currently clogging up the inside of our car. We're overflowing, and it's only going to get worse. The roof rack isn't cutting it, the sleeping bags and a small grip wrapped up burrito style in a tarp barely fit inside it. We figure we need a basket. Not a roof box, as it screams "break into me", but a basket of some kind. So the plan was made - head for the beautiful town of Lviv in western Ukraine and give ourselves 36 hours to get it sorted.

We got in late, found our hostel and slept like logs. Woke up late, then the team went off to explore while I set about getting Ka-put set up with a roof basket. Possibly the nicest and most helpful hostel manager in the world (BIG shout out to Denis - you rock!) sent me off to a camping store that might be able to help. After getting slightly lost came across a shop that seemed like it belonged in Covent Garden with Ellis Brigham and North Face, not the middle of nowhere Ukraine. Prices to match too - the best they could offer was €350 and wouldn't be available till Tuesday, not looking good. But Roman, my ever so smiley and friendly Ukrainian shop assistant, was determined to get me sorted, so hopped in the car and took me to a discount car parts market on the other side of town. Completely went above and beyond (a common theme in this tale), the guy was an absolute legend.


I was feeling good, things looked positive, I was walking into a massive complex of maybe 100 autopart shops with a translator possessing boundless optimism and a mission to make sure I didn't get ripped off.
Alas though, despite my friend's best efforts, and many fat mustachioed men laughing at our intended destination, we left bearing no fruit strapped to the roof rack. Roman did everything he could, but we took off pretty dejected, him more so than me I think. No one had anything that would fit a car as small as our little three seater Ka-put. Home empty handed.


Not to worry. Our man Denis has been on the case in the meantime. We're told to be at some random address at 14:50, where a big mechanic lady will meet us.


Matt and I jumped in the truck (I know, I know, but at least let me dream) and headed out. What with having no idea how to read Cyrillic, directions are getting increasingly harder but we did make it there pretty close to on time. We're confused, pulling up outside a random bank building, and are thinking that that might be her, but she's not what we're expecting. The lady standing in the middle of the car park doesn't look very big, or very mechanicy. Ilona is tall, slim, blonde and actually dresses well (Ukrainian women seem to have a different style to what we're used to and don't appear to follow the cat-walks of Paris and Madrid), and confuses us even more when we got no word of hello, just 'follow me'. Which we tried to do, but not very well, mainly due to her being much better at driving head first into oncoming cars and cutting across three lanes of traffic before the lights go green than we were.


She got much friendlier once we got out of the car at the mechanics though, and it was then that her reason for being here became apparent. Ilona didn't really speak English, nor did she know anything about cars. What she did know was how to sweet talk men into doing what she wanted, especially so a crowd of mechanics. Within 5 minutes she had a bunch of about 15 of them all coming up with ideas of how to help us. She couldn't translate, but she had Denis on the phone the whole time doing it for us. Absolute legends.


Long story short, Ilona strutted her stuff, we drew lots of terrible pictures of cars with roof mountings, we get introduced to Costa, the most excited mechanic I'll ever meet, he drives us to the scrap yard to pick up some metal for 20 quid, we leave him to do an all nighter on making us a basket and we're offered a lift home. Your car will be ready tomorrow before 6. All of this, and all we've done is spend €11 on a hostel bed. Notable moments include the mechanic boss coming out to see what was going on, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and only saying "ka-put?", and Costa deciding he is Xzibit but not understanding me when I ask him if he can install a fish tank in the dash.

Matt and I choose to swagger home on foot full of manly pride in getting the job done, and resolute in the belief that Ukrainian people are amazing. Tomorrow we will sleep in, eat well, look around the city then come back and collect our new pimped out babe-magnet. Things are going to plan.

"Hungary's trashy, I kinda dig it"

I've always had this weird superstitious thing that when things are going great, and you, for instance, have the  "BEST DAY EVER" it is just the calm before the storm and things will eventually start to go down hill. I guess it is an ebb and flow kind of perspective on life. I've been waiting for as long as I can remember for this niggling feeling to be put to rest. However, I'm sad to say Hungary has not freed me from my ebb and flow perspective. 

After leaving the magical gem that is Bled we set off for Hungary. I've been to Budapest and remember it as being beautiful and one of my favorite European trips that I took last year, so I was hopeful. Instead of hauling ass to the capital we thought it would be best to hit up the countryside and pitch a tent at Lake Balaton. On the ferry ride to France we met a Hungarian man who even suggested the Lake. We were hopeful and in good spirits. The sunshine was out, we were riding the Bled high, all was going according to plan. 

Hundreds of kilometers later we were waiting in line for the ferry that would take us across the lake to the camp site. The campground's website boasted about a huge water slide, restaurants, showers, etc. basically the works, camping with some class, if you will. What we didn't expect was the Jersey Shore does Lake Balaton. Tents were piled on top of each other, there was a tattoo parlor, a mini golf course, a bar with creepy men sporting socks and sandals, men, women and children rocking the mullet, a massive water slide that didn't go into the lake, but instead into a piss pool - it was car camping at its worst. Too many people, no open spaces. The beauty of it all is that I suggested camping. If you know me at all, you'll know this was a big moment for me. 

We quickly went to sleep only to be woken up by the rain. We quickly packed up our gear, threw the tent on top of Meghan and I in the backseat so it could "air dry" and pointed east towards the Ukrainian border.Hungary did us dirty.

Ukraine was our first "official border". We've heard that border crossings can take hours and sometimes days, so we were prepared to wait it out. We stocked up on food 10 miles before the border and got comfortable. We saw the line for the border much sooner then we saw the border itself, people were stood outside of their cars and it was at a standstill. We swiftly passed through the Hungarian exit border and joined the masses in Hungarian/Ukrainian purgatory. Then to our delight we get told to follow a car that drives past the miles of cars lining up and we end up second in line to be checked into Ukraine. The guy we got told to follow, we later found out, was some official and somehow we got put into his entourage. We handed over our passports to the obligatory grumpy, cold border guard, got approval and even scooted right past customs, which is a small miracle in itself considering the state of our car.  You've seen the pictures, it doesn't look good. What could have been an all day affair was a painless two hours. Ebb, flow, ebb...to Lviv. 

Living like NASA

To some the comparison might seem a little far fetched, arrogance perhaps. But if you look a little closer, a little harder at the potential comparison between ourselves and the world's one time largest space agency you'll indeed see that we're near enough exactly the same.

Like Nasa, our team has assembled the brightest minds across the Atlantic to take on this challenge 

We, like astronauts, live in cramped conditions, strapped in, unable to move without hitting something

We, like Nasa, are going where only few have been before, on a journey of discovery and exploration

We like Nasa, are totally underfunded and under prepared for what they do every day

And we, like Nasa, are travelling in a vehicle that might explode at any time, at any place (too soon...?)

So when you next see a Ford Ka zoom past you at the speed of a lawnmower, look up into the sky and think of your friend's Atlantis space shuttle currently flying somewhere over the Ukraine. 

Written by Matt Maude

Our Shuttle Launchpad - KA-put

The inside of our shuttle, clean as a whistle.

The Team before take off.

Best Day EVER!

Not many of us knew what to expect of Slovenia but let me tell you - this place rocks! We left Salzburg yesterday afternoon and started heading South through the Alps. This was quite possibly the most gorgeous part of our road trip so far. There was still a bit of snow on the tip tops of the mountains and a sheer mist lingering through the crevices while rainbows flickered in and out of sight. Cruising along we came to a major traffic jam and were forced to take a detour that took us alongside a beautiful mountain lake and through quaint little Austrian villages - taking the scenic route - never a bad thing! We eventually crossed the border into Slovenia and arrived in Lake Bled around 8:30. We had booked a room at a B&B not far from the lake that reportedly had the 'nicest lady in the world' running it (not true at all as we would find out the next day when we asked about breakfast - it being a B&B and all - and we were told that we should have asked the night before - really?). So we dropped our packs and walked down to a local pub for some much needed local Slovenian cuisine and brew. After a night of drinking at the 'Czech Out' party followed by several hours in the car - we were over the moon to have a delicious cheap meal in this beautiful little mountain town. All of us slept like a log and woke up feeling well-rested and excited about our day. We had heard that a wander around the lake was a pleasant way to spend a few hours in Bled but we were not prepared for the absolute sheer beauty of this place. With a medieval castle looming above  and crystal blue water glistening below, the landscape could not have been prettier. It wasn't long before the boys jumped in the water to swim across to an island and Kass and I found a swimming beach. We couldn't have been happier (especially Simon who turns into a little kid when he swims). The whole time we were wondering to ourselves - how have we never heard of this place before? It truly is a little gem nestled in the Alps. After a dip in the water we continued our way around the lake and ended up finding this delicious little pizzeria (thank you Lonely Planet) where we gorged ourselves on pizza and salad (you never know when your next meal is going to be on the road so it is always advised to load up!) As we ate it began to rain and just when we thought Lake Bled couldn't get any prettier it did. All of us had underestimated Slovenia and if we weren't on such a tight deadline to get to Mongolia we might just quit our jobs and move to Lake Bled permanently. I have a feeling that on Day 28 of this trip when we are stuck on the side of the road in the Mongolian desert we will look back on this day and think, 'damn - that was the best day EVER!'

The trip clock says we've traveled 1,470 miles so far - not bad for 4 and half days! We are on our way to Hungary where will camp near the Slovenian border at another mountain lake (this one supposedly has a massive water slide - I'm not gonna lie I'm pretty excited about it!!!!) Ta ta for now:-)

Written by Meghan

Being Hungry in Hungary

If you were to look at the calendar you'd read a date in late July 2011. Perhaps you're reading this blog a couple of days late. Perhaps it's August. Perhaps we're back now, safe and sound, drinking cups of cocoa reading this aloud. Perhaps it's even September. Regardless... If you live in the Northern half of the world, this time is apparently summer.

I was born in England. I have lived most of my life time in the country. I'm used to living under skies usually the colour of grey. I'm used to it raining. I'm used to it being cold. I'm used it to living in a country famous for being shitty weather wise. And as an Englishmen abroad, I am now completely used to being unable to complain about other people's weather conditions due to the appaling nature of my own.

But I'm done with it. I'm very annoyed. It's gone beyond me. It might be the cramped condition, it might be the fact that whenever I sit down I have to sit in one space, and one space only, unable to move my limbs at all once they're locked in place. It might be the lack of sleep or the reality that when I'm sleeping I'm either upright in a car seat, or on a stone cold floor shielding by thin pieces of fabric. It might be all of these things that explains that I'm pissed about it being wet. I don't care that bad weather is one of our greatest exports. I don't care if it's just one of those weeks. That doesn't mean I should like it when we're near enough 1800 miles from home, in Eastern Europe, in Summer, on holiday, and it's raining. It's cold. It's grey. It's freakin' miserable.

I came on this trip for a couple of reasons. I wanted adventure. I wanted to drive across as many countries as possible to update my map status on Facebook and desperately add to my 13%. I wanted to raise money for charity. But all those reasons are fairly superficial. The latter especially. Really, the only real reason I did this trip was... to tan. I came to escape the British summer that has plagued our little island for something like the last five years.

Now, if I wanted to camp in rainy weather, drenched head to toe, then I would have gone to the Lake District. It's pleasant. Nice to look at. But the chances of you enjoying it in sunshine are like winning the Bingo down at your nearest nursing home. Unlikely. And even if you do so you have to enjoy it with a mass of pensioners around you.

So get us to the East as quickly as possible. There's a tan to be had. And I want to be Golden Brown, the texture of sun

Written in jest. Well mostly.

Bbbring bbbring, bbbring bbbring...

So, much to my excitement as I'm sure you're all aware, we're taking a satellite phone with us on this trip. Good for times when you're caught out in the kuds and realise you've run out of baked beans so have to call Dominos pizza even though there's no mobile reception.

Also good for keeping in touch with you guys, the family and friends, nearest and dearest, when we're not so near and even more dear.

Please keep in touch with us! A text from people back home when we haven't seen another soul for 3 days or so could make the difference between insanity or not! And they're free! Listen up to find out how this fancy rap-rod thingamajiggy contraption works:

If you'd like to send us a text message (free for you, free for us):

- Log onto www.iridium.com on you computer.

- click the ''Send a Satellite Message" button all the way at the top of the screen (or just click this link: http://messaging.iridium.com/ ).

- type in our phone number in the first box (To): 881621463331 (it fills in the first 4 digits for you)

- ignore the second box about reply email, we don't have this facility.

- type your message in the third box; if it's a message directed at one of us in particular I'd suggest starting the message with one of our sets of initials (you've got MB, SM, KD or MM to choose from...)

- hit send message! Your 160 characters will wing themselves up to the clever spacemen people up in the satellites who will figure out wherever we are in the world and beam it down to us. Fancy huh?

We can text your mobile back direct, but our texts are charged at 50p each, so we'll probably be keeping them brief, and it might be best to not expect them coming in every day to chat about the football scores.

If you'd like to call us (free for us, not so much for you):

Call +881 621 463 331. If you're calling from a landline in the uk replace the '+' with 00, if you're calling from a landline in the US replace the '+' with 011.

Be warned! I don't know how much it costs to call an iridium satellite phone, but I have a sneaky suspicion that it doesn't come cheap. Please check with your telecommunication company or find a calling card that does cheap rates (please email us with details if you do so we can pass it on to others!).

Our rate for calling you back is about £1.50 a minute so we could in semi-emergency situations (like mother-worry-freakouts) give you a quick bell, but will probably be looking to keep these pretty sparse (donations appreciated).

Last word on this - we're not planning on keeping the phone on us at all times as it's worth a pretty penny, so will be hidden away in our secret cubby hole. We'll do our best to keep it switched on at all times, but if you find that we don't immediately get back to you, don't fear, we'll check it a couple of times a day or so.

So... call us, don't be afraid to just call us, maybe it's late, but just call us, call us and we'll be around... we're all getting pretty good at incar-karaoke; maybe we can give you a taster when you call...

Roger that? Ka-put krusader out.

"We come to make party"

We're driving through Austria on our way to Salzburg surrounded by rolling green hills (that, I've got to be honest, are pretty alive with the sound of music...) with intentions of making it over the Slovenian border to the mountain lake town of Bled before sun-down. We're all a bit groggy and we're all a bit slower than usual. Not that these two characteristics are particularly unusual for beings that spend 95% of their existence sitting in a cramped and sticky car, but today we're all feeling pretty special because last night was the Czech Out Party...

And what a party it was. Although it might be against Adventurist policy to share Rally secrets with lay people, I'll do my best to engage my morning after the night before head to put some of what happened into words, but I can't promise it'll do it much justice (in that I can't remember large sections of the night) or that it'll be pretty.

PARENTAL ADVISORY: Sections of this blog post are not suitable for reading by your children over their cornflakes.

We rocked up to Klovena Castle with our grooves on. We'd stopped off beforehand to pick up beers, run through some sunflower fields, take photos and finally get propositioned by a full-on 'lads on tour' rally convoy in the supermarket car park (I'm certain they pulled in because they smelled females in our little Ka - one guy seriously looked at Meghan like he'd never seen boobs before). Our tunes were blasting as we came up over the hill and saw the campsite chock full of colour and crazyness. Literally hundreds of people in eccentric costumes sat next to equally eccentric cars. People have gone to town on their vehicles, our little Ka is definitely lacking in the flair department by comparison. And so are we - nearly everyone is in fancy dress, and we clearly didn't get the memo. How do they even fit these costumes in? I've packed 6 pairs of undies for 4 weeks - I certainly haven't got room for a Banana costume.

We were about to set up our tent on the hill next to the 6 people driving to Mongolia in an American school bus, but Matt did a recce and found some flat land tucked away in the trees next to an abandoned old church, with views of the whole valley - prime lo-kaysh babes!

The well oiled machine that is our team put up tent, unloaded car, finished off some beers and were on the way up to the castle in no time at all. On the way up we met rally founder Tom, made friends with a bunch of Rebel Alliance pilots and some be-suited city bankers - easy to make friends in a place were everyone's got the icebreaker "so, have you broken down yet?". Showed our wrist bands to the door lady in the burhka (Matt tells her that she has lovely eyes...) and we're in... 300 dirty smelly travelers have taken over a castle and it's all going off - Umpah bands, multiple bars serving cheap Czech beer and absinthe, a Rave Cave, Rock Bands, a 'teas of the world' chill out room with sheeshas, juggling acrobat performers, ramparts and suits of armour.

Luckily I was never part of a fraternity, but we definitely got a taste of a frat hazing party last night. Apparently if you give 300 revelers from all over the world a cool place to drink cheap alcohol 100s of miles away from their home they seem to lose all sense of shame, and egg each other on to do crazier and stupider things throughout the night. Our new friend Jim (one of the city bankers), who was basically a more friendly, funny and talkative Jason Statham, was the star of the show making sure no one ever bought the beers but him and instantly giving people nicknames that stuck all night. I was known as 'The Beard' if you're wondering... Jim also managed to pee in a cup to avoid the toilet lines and, when dared by Kassie to drink it for 40 euro, stepped up to the plate and got about half way through a pint of his own fluid (didn't get the money though, close only works in horseshoes and hand grenades). This didn't stop him scoring one of the 10 or so ladies on this trip despite his mouth smelling like a urinal only twenty minutes later. In fact, the whole party knew about it as he spent the next four minutes running around the congregation looking / begging for someone that would lend him a condom. Protection secured, Jim was cheered on by the whole crowd from the ramparts when he finally scored and sprinted back down to the campsite.

Other notable events/sights included:

- one bear of a man (appropriately dressed in a teddy bear costume) downing an entire glass boot (Beerfest stylie) of beer and projectile chundering everywhere

- The Two Aussies in Smart cars that are planning on driving to Mongolia AND back have just found out that their ladden cars are pretty much incapable of climbing even gentle hills.

- one skinny naked dude pooping in a urinal next to me because the toilet stall was busy and he'd eaten something dodgy in Amsterdam the night before.

- 4 firemen told Meghan that she was really old (they weren't firemen, they'd just driven here in a fire engine and had the costumes) who were obviously fresh out of high school

- A team of three generations all called Bob.

- We four, plus new found friends, cutting a rug and throwing some shapes, showing everyone how to break down in the rave cave.

- Meeting a team that gave good advice on the state or lack of the roads in Kazakhstan. It'll mean, most probably spending more time in Russia.

- A meteor storm over the castle.

The night finished with us all passing out in our snug (a common theme on this trip) tent to the sounds of the after party, a gentle blend of rave music mixed with 'hit the road jack' booming across the campsite lulling us to sleep.

Twas an awesome night had by all.

Written by Simon

Five countries in one day...

We had coffee in France, brunch in Brugges, drove through Luxembourg, dinner in Germany and slept in Prague. Simon and Matt drove throughout the night and we didn't make it to Prague until 4am. Meghan and I still haven't figured out how to drive stick (ie haven't tried because we are not insured), so the boys did all the driving. Troopers. 

We got a quick power nap and then hit the city to see all the sights. The sunshine was out and it was gorgeous. By 4pm we had to get back in the car and head for the Czech Out Party in a castle in the middle of the Czezh countryside. The drive to the castle was beautiful and we even stopped on the side of the road to frolick in the sunflowers. Then there was the epic Czech Out Party...

In Brugges

So the trip begins... Currently we're en route to Brugges (on the A16 if you're interested) after spending the night in Calais. It's important to note that we stayed in a hotel that struggled to attain a one star rating, Meghan stole all the coat hangers without asking, Kass and Si put their beds together and enjoyed five months worth of passion, and I was attacked by a French dog the size of a kitten while we enjoyed coffee. But before I write on further French / Belgian matters it's important that we address what occurred yesterday in the UK. I begin this writing with 233.5 miles on the trip clock...

I left Leeds at 12.25AM. The day had involved me waking in London having spent Thursday in the New Forest celebrating the wedding of one of my best friend's. I got on the train and spent the subsequent two and half hours heading up to Leeds reasoning why the hell we were doing this trip. What we were likely to expect, and imagining my own sweep stakes of how many times we were likely to break down. From about Stevenage to Doncaster, I spent my time preparing my mental and emotional state for the subsequent month of hectic's we were undoubtedly going to incur. We, as a team, are horrifically unprepared. We are driving a car that is totally unsuitable for the task of getting to the shops, let alone Mongolia. This fact was dramatically re-enforced as the day went on...

On the train I also realised that the tooth I had a hole in would probably need addressing BEFORE the trip rather than during it. I therefore spent the rest of the day finishing work at the office, packing, in meetings, one trip to the post office for an international drivers license and currency exchange, and one emergency dentist appointment (that involved, no joke, three options: 1. Leaving it. 2 Removing the tooth. 3. Putting a filling in). As the dentist wasn't exactly the most experienced, or for that matter, old (it's increasingly worrying that dentists or members of the extended medical establishment are either the same age or younger than you), the experience provided the fantastic opportunity to experience modern dentistry without the required amount of anesthesia.

To that don't know, this involved experiencing a large amount of pain (I would describe it as having your brain set on fire from the inside) and leaving the 'practice' quite nauseous. As the dentist had applied probably two or three times the actual amount of anesthesia after my brain had been set a light (almost as compensation), I spent the rest of the day feeling like my cheek had experienced a rather large stroke, and I dribbled whenever I smiled, made any sort of facial expression or tried to communicate. Considering that the subsequent few hours I had left involved one last meeting before having dinner with my girlfriend Lauren, the last remaining images of me to both my colleagues and my love were of a nervous dribbling nauseous wreck. The day also involved three different trips to the toilet in which I had to sit down. I was officially shitting it.

Setting off to London I pulled up in the capital at just after 5. We would be up to begin the trip at 8. To say the least. I was quite tired. On the bright side, my cheek had resumed it's normal shape and I no longer resembled the Hunchback of North Leeds.

Saying goodbye to anyone for an extended period of time isn't fun. Regardless of where you're going in the world you want the people going away to be safe. To our families and friends were appear to be going somewhere off the beaten track, and probably somewhere further to what I'd describe as to 'unusual holiday spots'. We also appear to be going somewhere with out much planning, clue, or chance of success. And we're cramming ourselves into a car that is designed really for two people with no luggage rather than four people with four weeks worth. Saying goodbye to your girlfriend isn't any fun, and I can only apologise to Lauren, as I'm sure Meghan is to 'not Todd', that we're doing this. But we are going to come back with every limb we left with. And we are going to come back. I'm just going to miss you so much.

Waking in London I struggled to remember who I was. We packed the car. Said goodbye to brother J and cat Frankie... And hit the road.

Each of these needs explaining in detail, but packing the car requires the most amount of information. Somehow we got everything in the car. Si and Kass have packed all their belongings into one grip bag. I've got one, as does Meghan. That's the boot after tools and car spares, gone. The roof rack has got our tent in it. Other than that, we're done. Each of the others have got a day pack which is smaller than most ladies (and some men's) hand bags. We've got a kettle hanging off the window and an invertor in the car lighter. We've got three pillows and the clothes on our backs. We've packed light. The car doesn't even look full.

Before we hit up Europe we were asked go to to Good Wood race circuit. There we would pick up my passport (as I only got back from Kosovo/ Albania/ Greece on Monday my week was fairly visa filled and the Visa Machine did an incredible job of filling it while I did nothing but nervously check me email every other minute), meet the other teams and do a lap of the circuit.

Seeing the other cars doing the trip only confirmed the suspicious-ens we already had suspected. We're all idiots. Every single one of us doing the trip. Every car is small. Every team looks under prepared. But you've never seen such wider grins. Everyone is beyond happy to be doing this. We're all doing once in a life times.

There's a lot of ambulances on the grid (known hereinafter as Ambo's), one firetruck, and lots, LOTS of small cars. Corsas, a Panda, quite a few amount of Yaris's, two Smart Cars, a really new Mini, quite a few old Minis, loads of Citrons and Peugeots, one old school WW2 Medic vehicle... We may have only been the only Ford Ka on the lot... And we may have only been the car with four people in it for it's size... But we were the same as everyone else. Really. We had less paint on our outsides, less stickers, we weren't in fancy dress. But our car held up against everything else. In fact, with the amount of work that we... Kev had done our car made us realise we were in a really strong position. We were kitted out to complete this mother trucker.

True to our collective natures we were also the last people to arrive at the site. Well... other than the first Rally casualty we saw on the M25. We driven past at the high speed of the M25 (4 and half miles per hour) a Rally team of two that had crashed into the back of another car. For them, they'd have to spend the first days of the Rally getting their engine back working, and their bonnet back in shape.

So we were sat at the back of the grid, around fifty or so car in front of us. We spent a LONG time waiting to get over the start line, rev our engines, beep our horns. I also got to shake Tommy's hand (Tommy is the face of Mongol Rally... he's a bit of a legend) before Si sat on the window, put his goggles on, camera in hand and we began the race.

I've never really had the chance to race anything. Anywhere. So it was amazing to hit a race circuit, overtake aggressively as you can in a rally car laden to take you Mongolia, laugh like an idiot, and finally finish third. We nailed it. Our faces hurt from smiling so much.

Three hours later and we were waiting in Calais for the ferry. There it seemed the entire Rally had congregated. Considering a fair amount of people must have taken the tunnel, earlier ferries, and many people were starting in Europe, it makes you wonder how many people are actually going to be out at the Czech out party on Monday. It's going to get messy...

We pulled into Calais late. Had, what can only be described, as the least French food I've ever had (which was a kebah) and slept...

Trip clocks says 286.8 and we're nearly there to Brugges... Waffle time

Written by Matt