About seven years ago now I bought a Ford Ka. Since then I've bought no other. When I get home I return to a Vauxhall Astra 1.9 Turbo Diesel Estate I've just bought. In every way it's an upgrade. It's got leather seats and CD player (Feeder fans I'm looking at you here). It's got automatic windows and central locking. It's got masses of space. Something called leg room. It's easy to drive and comfortable. It looks professional. It's 0-60 is phenomenal.
The Ka has never been any of those things. Ever ever ever. It's never been professional in turning up to shoots. It never fails to raise an eyebrow and bring on a joke. It's 0-60 isn't exactly quick.
It's been called many things. Filthy being the word used more frequently. A girls car. A hairdressers car...
But what the Astra isn't is exactly what the Ka has always been.
It's aggressive. It's small. It's quick in the low speeds. In reaching twenty it just comes off the blocks. It's nimble. Especially in the city. It's got an amazing first gear, an even better second. It whips around corners and engine breaks like a harrier landing on a ship. It's loyal. It's so responsive to everything you do that it just feels connected to you. It's fun to drive. There's no ABS. There's no frills or safety bits that come over automatically. It doesn't drive itself or get away from you. It does exactly what you tell it to. It's yours.
It's mine.
No one at work believes that my Ka can do this. Jamie, my partner in crime at Left Eye Blind worries when I drive it to Manchester. I have to text him when I safely arrive in London. My garage, the establishment that has serviced and maintained my car for the last five years has bet me an MOT it would not survive the trip. They pulled me to one side and thought it best if I reconsidered this entire adventure. Honestly. This mechanic, a gruff bear of man always lined in oil and grease has never said a word to me other than car parts and in paying Bills. Never once has he exchanged a word beyond vehicle related vocabulary. And he meant it very seriously. A hand on the shoulder. Direct eye contact. He even referred to me as Mr. Maude (I shudder still when this occurs).
Not one person I know has told me not to worry. That we will be fine. Our mothers have implored we take a satiellite phone. Our fathers have tried not to look worried. But each have asked to see our travel insurance. As far as I'm aware each of our parentals read this blog with a zeal that could be considered incredibly interested if not, appreciativily protective. There have been conversations that have taken place in which our parents have rung each other and gradually persuaded themselves to contact first the Adventurists... And then next our respective Foreign Offices.
No one has said to me, sounds fun. You'll be fine. That we'll make it there, not only in one piece, but here without problems. Here without hitch. Here without breaking down. Without breaking apart.
For me, I think this process, driving this Ka, has been particularly strange. As I've driven this car nearly everywhere since I was 18 - to the shops and office, to the Alps and back, to Mums and Dads, on roadtrips to Scotland, Ireland, down to London six or seven times a year, to yours and mine a thousand times, the discovery that the car is now in Mongolia, safe and sound, is somewhat surreal. Somewhat surprising. Because on this trip I have woken, every day, and just driven it like I would do at home. And I don't mean into ravines, or over mountains, into and out of rivers towed by tractors and Land Drovers, across landscapes that four by fours have shuddered and succumbed to (there is nothing, nothing more satisfying than overtaking a Land Cruiser on a Mongolian 'road'), I mean just driving. Half way across the world. Each day we've just woken up driven it East. Two, three, four, five, six, seven hundred kilometers further than it was the night before. It's been almost normal. It's been the everyday that has been the last of my seven years. It's been what I've always done. Getting me to the place I have needed it to be. And safely. Easily. Wihout break down or problems. Here without hitch.
I know too that the state of my car would probably earn me a couple of hundred quid back home. Even then it would be for parts and little else. Possibly the metal. But it's worth to others is nothing in comparison to it's worth to me. To us. The entire trip rests within it's seats. As do all the other journeys that I have taken within my adolescence
In doing this trip, and all the others of the last seven years, it's value is unbelievable. This sentiment has been only further cemented by this trip. Dramatically. Because now, when people ask what happened to my old car - 'Did it break down en route to TopShop?' 'Did it fall apart when you hit it with a hair dryer?' - I'll be able to tell them that I donated it to Charity. That I had to drive it to Mongolia to do so. And that it didn't break down. It didn't shudder once or ever fail to start. That it fucking destroyed everything it passed over. That people's eyes grew wide when they heard it had driven from London. That it carried four fairly stupid but enthusiastic people all the way to Mongolia and probably would have done back again if it were asked of it. That it did so without problems. Without breakdowns. Without hitch. That I said goodbye to it in the best way I could think. That someone here will give it as much fun as I hope I gave it.
And when I've looked beside me, to the passenger seat or back row I see the people I've known for years. With the trip ending I'm not saying just goodbye to the car that has taken me everywhere. I'm saying goodbye to this team. This family. This experience. And something else too
Simon has been my older brother my entire life. Now going on twenty six years. He also doubles well as one of my best friends. He surfs this balance easily, strafing between a protectiveness of an older brother and the freedom that comes with friendships. He's able, like no one else in my life to help and guide me while still letting me make mistakes when I need to. And I don't mean in the whimsical sense. In a higher calling that somehow comes with being the oldest sibling. I mean that he lets me do what I want to do even when he feels like I shouldn't do it. And he catches me when it does go wrong. It's what friends do. He's one of the largest sources of support in my life. He know how I feel even when I'm not sure myself. He just listens and suggests. And he provides so often the question that needs asking rather than creating an answer
Si is a brilliant human being. If you haven't met him yet make time to do it. This trip has confirmed all the previous suspicions I've had for years. He's a very special human being. In massive quanities Si possesses great qualities of love, understanding, compassion, humor, leadership, fearlessness, light heartedness, and patience. You can put Si into any room with any stranger, no matter what the time or the country, (even or especially when there's a lack of language) and he'll have friends in giggles by the end of the hour. In so many ways he's led this team. He's just always been ready to do anything. No matter the hour, or how wet he is, or how tired he might be. He's not cranky. He's the team's optimist. Always keeping us lifted. Always catching. He's driven this with me. In more ways than being just behind the wheel.
In Kass I truly have a sister. She's more than an in law. She knows me so well (that she knows at any time... my exact age). She's such a friend. I only met her five years ago but in every way she is just a sibling. In India we bridged any insecurity that may have existed. Being in the vicinity of so much mutual gas will bring any two people together. As you've just said 'WE HAVE NO SHAME ANYMORE'.
Here I think we've cemented our sibling-ness within this trip. We've taken on another challenge and nailed it.
Kass has challenged so many things on this trip. For a girl self declared as three showers a day and caffeine dependent she's a full on transformed woman. There's plans to go camping. Regularly from what I hear. The words 'I will never drink coffee again' were uttered on this trip
I've learnt more about Kass on this trip than I did in India or in driving across Ireland. I've seen such strengths in her. Such determination. I hope I'm not pissing her off by saying this but I think more than any of us, there have been certain circumstances in which Kass's perimeters (or better put - her comfort zones) were really stretched. Situations that had the potential to be dangerous or slightly creepy she's handled amazingly. She's told people to fuck off when it's needed to be said. She's led us away from places we didn't need to be. Our guardian
Of all us too, Kass has been the central planner. The researcher. The route. She's made choices based on solid time behind the computer or within guide books. We haven't stayed in shit places when we've planned ahead. Not one. Mainly because Kass is just so freaking on it. She's so organised
And Meghan... For a girl I'd never met before the trip began we stepped into the brink of friendship really really quickly. Within three and half minutes of meeting we'd already created trip jokes of 'instant jizz' and 'five months of passion'. We laughed a lot. In huge quantities. Considering I still know so little I feel like I know so much. On a trip like this, the extremes of your personality are seen. They are tested. You see the core of someone's being. Across these landscapes, these conditions, sitting for hours and hours, 7500 miles within the same cramped seats, surrounded by our belongings in rain or shine, desert or streams, I'd imagine you'd see the best and worse of someone's personalty. Within these conditions anyone would snap or be argumentative. But I can see and have never seen no weaknesses in Meghan's personality. No deficiency of character (ones that I have in spades in myself). She is such a strong, intelligent, funny and emotional connected human being. She's aware constantly of what is happening. Apt and able to lend a supporting hand or listening ear. When in times of real shit, real lows, especially on the three days we called pretty dark times when we over did it miles and time, it was always Meghan who would say 'One day we'll laugh about this'. And so often we did. Either later than night or the next morning. She's Waffles. Our group's sunshine.
She's also got two nicknames:-
'PassOutPrincess' - as she had the incredibly ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time and at any road quality.
'Camping Girl' - as Meghan is just the shit when it comes to anything camping. She could put up a tent and pack it up in a speed that could only be described as military.
We're saying goodbye to all this. This beautiful experience. Of always seeing something new. Always travelling. In places and within ourselves. We're saying goodbye to being on the road and all the amazing qualities that experience brings. It's places and peoples and coincidences.
There is however, another goodbye to this experience
I say goodbye to a large extent, these challenges. Over the last four years we've done some pretty crazy things together, Si, Kass and I. We took on India, traversed Ireland, walked a hundred kilometers in 24 hours. We've spent years living in the same country never far from one another's care and reach.
But in less than a year Si and Kass move to America. Twelve hours away on the plane, an entire eight time zones. More than just the two hours on the train it's been for the last few years. And although it's been softly spoken, transitioning slowly, I can see in Si and Kass a pretty big move. One into adulthood.
This is a big thing to say. But we can all see it. Anyone close to these two amazing individuals. The choices they are making now, of mutual futures, shared bank accounts, children. It's all very adult. It's all a mass of responsibility, a relationship that is just so... Mutual? Trusting? Loving? Brilliant? Words fail me. It's one you just have to see to understand it. This Simon and Kassie
I don't want to say it but it was mentioned before the trip began, when we considering traveling back on the Trans Siberian Express, that this trip, this experience will be the last time that we dedicate ourselves to such adventure. To such time away together without responsibility. We're saying goodbye to doing things like this
Now, here we are. 12,000 kilometers away at the finish line. And it's time to hand the keys over to a new family. To give my car to charity. We say goodbye to this incredible experience we have shared together
I do so trying to be cheerful. Trying to find it all easy. Trying not to be sad. I am so ready to return home. To put into practice things I have learnt on the road. To remind myself constantly to just stop and just see. To look at things. To see my family and friends more regularly.
I am so ready to see my Lauren.
And I know back home there will be other adventures. More stories to create with these incredible people. Our adventures into growing up. Into becoming a little more adult. And attaining all the new experiences that come with it
I hope it understands, this little tin can of joy and brilliance. I hope it knows how loyal I feel to it. To the car that has carried me, and everything I hold dear, safely. Easily. Without hitch. With so many incredible memories. To Mongolia.
written by Matt
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