Originally posted on August 8, 2006 somewhere in the middle of Kazakhstan
That Part of the Movie
You know the section of any adventure movie where everyone gets demoralized and does not believe they will make it through. We are currently at that stage of the adventure.We pressed on. Sure enough shortly down the road things went dramatically pear shaped as the road turned into rumble and we were once again forced into the dirt track. Patrick was at the wheel of the Fiestavus and later described the incident as, "The road ended, we were in the air for a second, then there (lots of hand motions indicating swerving), I thought we would get rear ended for sure." Our dreams of Aral were crushed and we were forced to camp in the desert for a fourth straight night.
The Beginning.
I am pretty sure I was banging around in a cloud of dust when I wrote the above entry, sitting in the passenger seat of a 1989 Fiesta, zooming down a dirt path in Kazakhstan. This is the first time the name Fiestavus was ever used in print to refer to the 1989 Ford Fiesta that we piloted from London to Ulan Bator.
We were driving from Aktobe to Aral, just about dead center of the Kazakhstan mess. The day before, we had left the scamp ralliers behind in Aktobe. They were the first of our convoy to drop out with a car failure (caught on fire in the desert). Our hopes had been falsely raised in Aktobe that the road ahead would be smooth. Our minds were filled with delusions of speedy progress. As indicated above, these dreams were crushed in an instant. It seems kind of silly, knowing all that we were in store for, but this may have been the lowest point of the rally for us.
I was absolutely convinced that the Fiesta was bound for a major suspension failure and we would be the next team on a plane bound for home, dreams completely busted. Out of these times of despair, the Fiestavus name was born, a cheeky reference to Seinfeld, a glimmer of hope in a hopeless expanse, a belief that smiling in the face of despair may just make the impossible happen.
Check the "vus" tag in after the "Fiesta" logo on the back, how's that for added proof.
About 3 weeks later in Siberia
We were just south of Lake Baikal in Siberia, about 300 clicks from the Mongolian border. The interior of the Fiestavus was a tangle of three miserable ralliers and the stuff of three miserable ralliers. Our team had lost a driver to the Kazaks two days earlier and a car to the Siberian forest the night before. We were in an all out charge to get across the border before the gates crashed to a close, relegating us to an extended stay in a Siberian prison. Things were actually looking relatively positive until we stopped for gas.
Originally posted on August, 22 2006 safely in Ulan Bator
The smell hit me first then I saw the rapidly growing puddle of precious petrol forming below the car. Dominic and I went to work trying to diagnose and remedy the source of our spill. At some point, a man in a suit wandered over and started lending advice. He disappeared for awhile, returning with some rubber, screws, and a bit of metal plate. Then he pointed out a nice pit to drive the car over for easier access. Once in place we had a good view of the 1 inch crack that had formed in the tank. I took the finger in the dyke position and Dominic worked with the suited Russian to find a fix. A bit of caution, when gasoline reaches your armpit it really burns, a really really deep burn. Finally the guy in the suit had enough of our feeble attempts and jumped in the pit. He packed the crack with soap, put the rubber over it, the metal over that, and screwed the whole assembly into the tank. The leak stopped, we thank him profusely, and departed.
Somehow the Fiestavus held its internals in long enough for us to squeeze through the border, the last vehicle allowed to cross. Only a precious few times, have I experienced that level of pride and relief.
We had endured countless warnings from locals that there was no way the Fiestavus could handle such a charge. The Mercedes mechanics were so worried about our safety, they called ahead to all the dealerships along the way and made us promise to call once we were safely in Mongolia. That car was not supposed to reach Mongolia and yet it did.
As we pulled away from the border, it was as if the Fiestavus exhaled and all of its ails came crashing out. The brakes went, the gas tank started to leak profusely, the rear tire was rubbing on the wheel well, and on and on. It was like a rescuer hopped up on adrenaline that finally feels the job is done and collapses. The Fiestavus seemed to know we were safe and finally let everything catch up.
I piloted the Fiestavus into Ulan Bator, working the gears and handbrake to navigate Asian traffic without the aid of traditional brakes. We pulled her across the finish line and put her into a parking space in front of Dave's place in the center of town.
The Fiestavus in front of Dave's place. Notice the lack of stickers, I pulled them all off in Siberia when we thought we were ditching the car.
I never drove the Fiestavus again.
The final known location of the original Fiestavus at the orphanage, photo sent to us by fellow ralliers.
We had to drop the car off at an orphanage in Mongolia where it would be auctioned off to fund the facility. I refused to drive, I refused to go, I refused to have anything to do with that final part of the Fiestavus story. I flew away from Mongolia with only a few pieces of the Fiestavus in my possesion, the license plates, the Fiesta(vus) logo from the dash, and the spare keys.
Little did I know that the story was not over and that the Fiestavus name would be revived and tagged to another Fiesta. This one constructed 20 years later.
The finale (of part 2) of the Fiestavus story coming soon in "The MVMT (part 3 of part 2)".
This is the original video I cut when I arrived back in the states. Apologies for the low, low quality. It still gets me misty.
