When school friends James Fyfe from Fort William and George Todrick from Milnathort invited me to join them on the world's greatest banger rally, I leapt at the chance. The 3 months of hard planning and preparation included acquisition of 24 visas, 15 vaccinations and a crash course in car mechanics. We compiled huge amounts of gear, 5 spare wheels, and enough army rations for 30 hungry soldiers. But fund raising was the aim of the whole trip, and prior to departure the team raised several thousand pounds for needy Mongolians. Finally on July 21st we reached the start line in London's Hyde Park. Our Ford Fiesta was now complete with Land Rover roof rack, extra large rear springs, and a home-made sump guard.
 
The atmosphere was electric. 200 departing teams filled with excitement and anticipation for perhaps the greatest adventure of our lives. This, the 10,000 mile Mongol Rally, would take our team Minor Velocity through 18 countries, crossing numerous mountain ranges, two deserts, and the world's largest inland salt sea, the Caspian. None of us had ever driven on the right before.
 
Some cars did not make the Channel but within 48 hours we had driven through 5 countries to reach Prague. Teams chose their own routes either to the north through the Ukraine or to the south through Turkey. After months of pouring over the atlas we chose the southern route. In the first week we were through Eastern Europe where crazy drivers had sharpened our wits and mad, but helpful locals, had led us up short cuts while towing caravans with bits falling off. Upon reaching the Turkish Border we were frustrated by a seven hour wait interspersed with fanfares of irate bored Turks hooting their horns.
 
On day 12 we crossed our first troublesome border. We were warned about the low grade fuel in Georgia and filled our three 20 litre cans in Turkey. The Georgian border guards soon noticed the roof rack weighed down with fuel, and we were hastily taken aside and accused of smuggling. A shady local in a vast black Mercedes pushed to buy the fuel from us for a ridiculous knock down price. At future borders, we decided to leave fuel importation to tankers.
 
In Georgia, the birthplace of Stalin, we met generous people and enjoyed towering mountain vistas. One evening, while looking for camp, we passed a restaurant in a steeply wooded gorge. The large river nearby was a lovely place for a swim. Having dined well, the owner kindly let us sleep on the veranda.
 
We were now convoying with another team. Unfortunately, having bought their H reg Nissan Micra hurriedly they had no proof of ownership, vital when crossing non EU borders.
 
The Azerbaijan border police were not in an accommodating mood late on day 14 and held us up for nearly six hours. However after "gifting" several hundred dollars and several bottles of whisky they waved us through. Cigarettes also proved most useful at sticky borders. Our next obstacle was the 250 mile wide Caspian Sea. After waiting for days in Baku while our friends acquired car documents through the British Embassy, we had only two days left on our Turkmen visas. We were robbed on the ferry; the thief escaped. At the border, after the man's father was arrested, the son sheepishly returned to exchange the stolen money for his father's freedom. After a tedious frontier crossing we were left with just 48 hours to cover the 1000 miles of Turkmenistan. Here fuel was amazingly cheap: massively subsidized by the government, it was a mere half penny per litre. We drove an exhausting 36 hours and made our deadline, even managing a quick stop at a naturally heated underground lake. The outside temperature was almost 40°C. The hot springs in the 65m deep cave were remarkably refreshing despite the strong smell of sulphur.
 
South of the Kara Kum desert where it was 50°C, we rose early for the final push to Uzbekistan. We crossed the border and drove the 200km to Bukhara as night was falling. The ancient city with its famous minaret, medieval castle and large prison, was our first proper rest for days. The large bazaar, centre of the ancient silk route, sold everything from scissors to Persian carpets.
 
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On our last night in Uzbekistan whilst crossing the lush Ferghana valley we were invited to stay by a family of 20, all of whom wanted to test their patchy English on us. They treated us like royalty during a fantastic evening, providing unceasing amounts of delicious food. We went to bed, grateful for their kindness and looking forward to a tour of the village in the morning. Shortly after midnight we were rudely awoken. Seven aggressive policemen stood around; for nearly an hour they interrogated us on video - really frightening! They checked, and almost confiscated, our passports. For reasons unknown to us, we were rudely escorted to the border at dawn, and as a parting blow they tried to charge $100 unofficial "tax" for their trouble. We drove away in a cloud of dust without paying.
 
We were now in Kyrgyzstan, the most beautiful country of the trip. The rugged scenery and the friendly locals made our stay unforgettable.
We chose a route Lonely Planet guide described as "only suitable for 4x4's". This course included our greatest challenge, a massive mountain pass of 3062m, which our 1 litre Ford Fiesta conquered on day 27. Marked as a main road on the map it turned out to be an epic, rutted, pot holed track with sheer drops and hair pin bends - something a Land Rover would have difficulty with. We crawled carefully up, adrenaline flowing madly and at the summit were rewarded with the best view I have ever seen. Next day we were back to roads that actually qualified as roads and made progress to Issyk Kol. This large inland salt lake, once home to a Soviet torpedo range, is now a large nature reserve. We swam before crossing into Kazakhstan, and headed for Semey on a rutted Tarmac sea. Large trucks had moulded deep tracks in the soft heated Tarmac, and the huge hump left in the middle regularly smashed into the bottom of the car.
Miraculously, we escaped with only a puncture, while our friends lost their exhaust and half of their suspension! Our route then took us through Southern Siberia, via the massive Lake Baikal, containing a fifth of the world's fresh water. We had a memorable night's fishing amid an awe inspiring sunset. Drunken locals took us out in their boat plying us with their homebrewed vodka; we caught few fish. These were cooked over an open fire back at camp.
 

The last leg was approaching fast and the next few hundred miles took us into the heart of Mongolia, and the rally's finish line in Ulaan Baatar. The Mongolians eagerly gave us the fermented milk they consider a delicacy. We gratefully accepted and after trying to politely finish it made a mental note not to buy any in Duty Free!
 
We completed the trip in 43 days, covering a total of 10,171 miles. Our trusty Fiesta had six punctures but no major breakdowns. Nevertheless, it was pretty done in when finally auctioned for charity to raise further funds. The rally was one long adventure in searing temperatures, many wrong turnings, nights spent under the stars, against a constantly changing backdrop of awe inspiring scenery and a continuous game of charades to cope with the myriad languages.
 

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