Day 17 km 4,563 - 4,874 Noukachott - Zebrabar

The muezzins start at 06:00 again, but here the harmonies and cadences have a more African tone to them. Andrew, as usual, sleeps through them. There's a planned and unplanned parting of the ways this morning, some of the teams on the Bamako run are heading in the direction of Mali and our depleted convoy (those that did not do the off-road section in the national park already left Nouakchott yesterday) gets split even further at a petrol station when the front section pulls off in heavy traffic and loses them. When we are pulled over as biker George goes back (unsuccessfully) to see if he can find them, Toubabs George notices that the freshly-repaired Cinema Team is losing water, something with their engine rebuild wasn't quite right, so they go back to the garage whilst we all agree to forge ahead.

There are two choices for heading from Mauritania into Senegal, either via the main crossing at Rosso (which everybody says to avoid like the plague as it takes hours and you can be bilked to within an inch of your life), or via the Diama Dam which is a sleepy little rural border crossing. Trouble is that to get to it you have to go via the "Washboard road", nearly 100 kilometres of unpaved road with legendary tales from previous Challenges of cars literally shaking themselves to bits. Everyone assures us that the road is much better now as it was repaired last year, so in the hands of our guide Mohammed, we set off.

We reach the Diama Dam turn-off at 11:00 and wait an hour or so for Banjul Baby and Spirit of a Star (Keira and Cassie) separated from us since the petrol station incident, to catch up. A local chap is most insistent that we buy insurance for Senegal from him, but the Roadbook tells us not to, so we say no thanks and that we will buy it at the border. "But you can't buy it at the border any more," he says, "so you should buy it here from me! Only 50 Euros!" Thanks but no thanks, we'll get it at the border. He tries a different track "Well yes ok, but the guy selling there is my agent working for me, so it's the same if you buy it here from me!" (He doesn't seem to notice the teeny little flaw in his logic on this one). So uninsured and with the tales of yore running through our minds, we set off with some trepidation.

The first 10km or so are ok, apart from the blinding, choking dust that is being thrown up as we bump along at 60-70 km/h, trying to avoid the worst holes and bumps on the road, snaking from one side to the other as there is mercifully virtually no traffic heading the other way. The first incident is caused by a truck that is spraying the track with water to keep the dust down. Unfortunately this means that you cannot differentiate between hard and soft ground as everything becomes a universal muddy brown, biker George hits a hidden soft spot, the front forks dig in and he's off. Sod's law dictates that he falls on his already poorly leg, so Bob volunteers to take over on the bike and George rides shotgun in Banjul Baby. Meanwhile, the front of the convoy hadn't noticed what was going on and had carried on, leaving us at the back, so noticing there's nothing behind us we pull over in the middle of nowhere and watch as the others disappear over the horizon. Great! 

We're just on the point of heading back when Banjul Baby and the others arrive and tell us what's happened to George. A minute or so later, Toubabs Taxi arrives from the front and Matt reports that there's a nasty section ahead where the Masseykissed dug in to a soft section and stopped dead and Iditotz Abroad following close behind didn't see them because of the dust and ploughed into the back of the Rover, leaving it dented but the occupants unhurt. If yesterday was like Mad Max, today is more Whacky Races.

We agree some convoy discipline; keep it slow and keep your distance, and are off again.

The landscape is becoming greener with more vegetation and large lakes. Every so often we pass through little villages and if stopped we get mobbed by groups of children demanding "Cadeaux, cadeaux!" (pressies, pressies).

The road (if you can even call it that) deteriorates considerably and is now little more than an off-piste dirt track with terrible horizontal ridges that make everything rattle and vibrate to the point where the fillings are almost coming loose in your teeth. We are following behind the little Lancia Y10 which is making a noise as if someone was shaking a sack full of aluminium saucepans, surely it must have shaken itself to bits by now! Keira imitates a World Rally Championship driver as the battered Toyota is flung back and forth across the track as she skilfully avoids the worst of the bumps. Trailing behind in between his teeth being slammed together Andrew manages to mutter "If this is it after it's been fixed, I'd hate to have seen it before!"

Just as we are starting to think that the shock absorber is going to start poking through the bonnet again, we reach the border which runs down the middle of the Senegal river with a road running across Diama Dam. The Mauritanian customs and police controls are a lot harder as we do not have a fixer with us this time and everything seems to cost 10 Euros, 10 to process your car documents, 10 to stamp your passport, 10 for a district tax, etc. 

A short drive across the dam and into Senegal where everything also seems to cost 10 Euros; 10 for the privilege of crossing the dam, 10 for stamping your passport again, although at this point there is a minor revolt. "10 for the car and each occupant?" There is some haggling over 30 Euros per car and as the "regulations" apparently are open to interpretation, it comes down to 10 per vehicle including occupants. The customs authorities however are not so flexible. Although we know that officially it costs 30 Euros for the privilege of driving a car through Senegal for 48 hours, some teams yesterday hadn't bothered to haggle the 50 Euros they had initially been quoted, so the precedent is now set. "ah yes, but your friends yesterday they paid 50. So you pay 50 today."

So with considerably lighter wallets, we are finally into Senegal and it turns out that Steve has managed to negotiate a group deal with the insurance salesman (who is selling insurance and who hasn't heard of the guy back at the turn-off in Mauritania) for only 20 Euros per car. Bargain!

The sun is already setting across Senegal as we head to the Zebrabar just south of St Louis and we only find it by the grace of biker George's Sat Nav.

Day 16 km 4,258 - 4,563 Cap Tagarit - Nouakchott

Andrew is a happy camper. The matresses and pillows in the tent were very comfortable and we were lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves that, at high tide, were only feet away. Everybody slept like babies and after morning ablutions, we're ready to hit the road again. Only there isn't one! We are still 60km from tarmac so there are a good few hours of desert driving still ahead of us. Despite absolutely every nook and cranny being filled with a coating of gritty dust (even the boot which was shut the whole time) Phoebe is still up to the challenge, the suspension has held up, she's not overheating at all any more, she's not using any oil and if anything the engine seems to be running smoother the more miles we do.

As Andrew has got the hang of getting us through sand, he takes the wheel and we do not get stuck once all morning. But others do, so it's the usual drill that we all now know so well; stop on hard ground, walk back, push the stuckees out and then do the long walk back to the assembly point.

When we do get to the road some of us kneel down and kiss the tarmac. Solid road again!

The landscape changes again as we head towards Noukachott, we are now into the Sahel, and dunes gradually start to give way to sparse vegetation, but human habitation is still far and few between with but the Gendarmerie Nationale security checkpoints on the road far outweighing local inhabitants. We are travelling behind Cinema Team (Jacint and Gustavo) with their heavily-laden citroen AX diesel van and it's clear that all is not well, clouds of black smoke come from the exhaust every time they accelerate together with a horrible stench of burning oil and they are they are getting slower and slower on uphill sections. They have been using nearly 5 litres of engine oil for each 100 kilometres so it's probably the piston rings and the engine is most definitely on its' last legs. 

About 60 km from Noukachott their engine finally packs up. The engine oil has run dry and to cap it all their battery has also given out. Norm from Rocks Paper Scissors offers to give them a tow with his Jeep Cherokee and so our little caravan of weary, dusty travellers limps into Noukachott, 1,982 kilometres from Tiznit. Sidi parts company with us at this point, he's done a great job looking after us for the past few days, so if you ever happen to be in the Sahara in Mauritania and need a guide, give Sidi Yoba a call on 00222 6432559.

Idamo directs the Cinema Team to a local garage, but to be honest most of us aren't hopeful about their chances of getting it fixed, let alone in time for the run into Senegal tomorrow. Oh yee of little faith, this is Africa! In the space of about 5 hours and working non-stop into the night the garage locate a new engine, hoik out the knackered one, fit the ancilliaries, winch in the new one and have it running again.

Our hotel is tardis-like as from the outside you wouldn't give it a second look, but inside has vast cool tiled corridors and fortunately our room (unlike some others) has comfortable beds and more importantly than anything else, hot water and a bath. Yaaay! After 3 days camping in the desert wearing the same clothes everyone is undescribably filty, sweaty, dusty and dirty so after the most appreciated bath of my life and with clean clothes, it's all down to the bar for several cool beers. After 16 days together on the road the first stresses and tensions are starting to appear as cabin fever sets in and there are a few arguments and squabblings between and within some of the teams, but with others acting as mediators the peace is kept. Refreshed and replete everybody heads gratefully off to bed.

Day 15 km 4,152 - 4,258 Desert camp - Cap Tagarit

A group of us congegrate to watch the sunrise which is a magnificent spectacle as the sun quickly rises above the horizon and paints the sky hues of red and yellow as it brightens from black to blue-grey to blue in only a matter of minutes, although it remains bitterly cold at first. Despite the beauty of nature and the magnificence of creation, Andrew is still not a happy camper.

  
A camel herder who had also taken advantage of our police protection during the night moves his herd off, but not before I get the chance to sample some fresh camel's milk (bit like goat's milk but nutty in flavour and a bit gritty, but then so is everything out here...)

Idamo, Julian's representative in Mauritania, explains that we have two choices today, either head straight for Nouakchott on the main road or go off-road into the Parc National du Banc d'Arguin and camp on the beach. We are a little concerned for Phoebe's well-being if we go off-road, but then she did have a new clutch fitted before we left, she's no longer overheating and the suspension held up ok in no-man's land, so along with the majority of the group (a couple of teams give it a miss) we decide to go for it.

It's about 90km to the beach cross-country and off-piste and to be honest I don't believe the majority of us really understood what that would entail. At first it goes well and everybody is soon exuberantly haring along at about 70 kmh kicking up clouds of dust and riding 4 or 5 cars abreast - just like something out of Mad Max. 

That is until the first really sandy bit where everybody comes to a wheel-spinning halt as just about the entire convoy bogs down in the soft sand. It's 13:00 in the afternoon, the sun is at its' zenith and we spend the next hour in the broiling heat (it's well over 40 degrees) digging the cars out and getting a crash course in real desert driving from Sidi; Let your tyres down to about 20 psi, don't use the brakes but ride the clutch instead, keep the wheels as straight as possible as you will dig in if you make sudden turns on the wheel, use momentum to keep you going, accelerate and drive around anyone who bogs down in front of you, don't drive in someone elses' tracks and never spin the wheels but use second gear, slip the clutch and rev the nuts off it to get out if you get stuck. Teamwork is paramount, if someone gets stuck then all teams should find some hard ground and help the stuckees get moving again.

Andrew masters the technique remarkably quickly and Phoebe does exactly what's asked of her and we do not get stuck again all day. But others do from time to time and the whole group comes to a halt to get them out again, so by mid afternoon we are hot, sweaty, tired and incredibly filthy and dusty from the huge clouds of choking yellow-orange dust that get kicked up and that finds its' way into every nook and cranny. On arrival at Cap Tagarit the first thing everybody does is jump into the clear blue waters of the Atlantic ocean, some fully clothed.

A campsite has been prepared for us on the edge of the beach on a bay under impressive cliffs with traditional local tents and inside we find carpets, matresses and pillows for 4 to 6 persons - absolute luxury compared to the last two nights.

 

Brim and Jenks invite me for a quick spin down the beach in the Black Pearl, Brim driving and Jenks up on the roof. As Brim is tanking it down the beach he drifts into the waters' edge and a sheet of water goes flying up and over the Pajero, eliciting screams of outrage and wild threats of extreme pyhsical violence from up top. of course, this is as a red rag to a bull as far as Brim is concerned and he endeavours to find deeper water for a fuller effect. By the time we get back to the campsite all three of us a unable to stand up through laughter. 

Brim finds some more unwary victims and is soon giving others the Black Pearl shower experience. Sidi strolls up just as Kiera and Cassie get up into the hot seat on the roof and asks whats going on, I explain and he gives a shout of laughter and does a little jig of delight. As we watch the Black Pearl start tanking down the beach with the girls hanging on for dear life his face shows concern. "Will they be ok?" he asks. The words "Sure, he knows what he's doing." die on my lips as it occurs to me that this is Brim we're talking about here.

 

There's a gap of about an hour and a half between sunset and moonrise and in that short space we are treated to a night sky like none of us have ever seen in our lives before. I'd heard about the night sky in the desert and it was one of the things I'd been looking forward to on the trip, and it does not dissapoint. 

A group of 5 fellow stargazers stand there all with our heads back, staring at the sky in silent awe. Wth no light pollution within hundreds of miles the sky is chock-full of stars I never even knew existed. We even have difficulty finding the belt of Orion, which usually stands out, as they are just a few slightly brighter points in a tapestry of stars. Rather than just being a cloudy smudge, the Milky Way is clearly defined and stretches from horizon to horizon. The rambling discussion about astronomy, the nature of the Universe, the origins of religion, ancient civilisations and the fragility of human existence is brought to a halt as the moon rises and spoils it all. We turn in and everone is fast asleep in minutes.