Welcome again dear reader to another exciting instalment of the Furballs adventure. Now, as you are probably aware, it has been quite a while since our last upload and I can only offer my sincerest apologies for the delay and offer the lack of Internet access as a poor excuse. Due to the delay of the blogs I find myself in a serious quandary, do I pretend that I'm still in the country in question? However, honesty being the best policy, I'll admit that I am currently sitting in a rather pleasant bar by the sea, the Rally well and truly over, but for obvious reasons I wont divulge where so as not to ruin the surprise of the outcome.
I believe, actually I know, that when we last last left you our intrepid travellers had picked up their guide at the border and travelled to the beautiful Algerian city of Ghardaia. After a good nights sleep in an air conditioned hotel our travelling pioneers alighted their chariots and set off for the challenges of the Sahara Desert. On route they had a chat with the guide Faruka about the suitability of their vehicles and, after the much expected laughter, he assured us that it wasn't the worst vehicle he had travelled in. Looking at the veritable display on the road, the Furballs believed him. After a hard days driving the Adventurers arrived at In Salah and, after requesting a campsite over a hotel, they were directed to a walled compound which at best could be described as derelict. However, desperate for rest, the Furballs cooked Chicken and Pasta and Craig drank Gin before retiring for much needed sleep.
At first light the next morning, and after a concerted attack by mega ants and remedial work on the vans (which will be covered in more detail in forthcoming blogs), our heroes pushed on with a monumental days driving which saw them arrive in the once tourist centre of Tamanrasset. Now, at this point, I realise that this blog isn't particularly interesting but I implore you to stick with me as I can promise a tremendously amusing anecdotes to follow. Tamanrasset saw a change of guides and the Furballs welcomed Omar, the Desert specialist, who it rapidly became apparent, was desperately needed. It was shortly after this that our desert virgins ran out of road. Engines revved, tyres squealed and the zebra bogged in, after a quick dig-out normal service was resumed. It was at this point that we discovered that the M-Tak Micra with its three inch ground clearance and poor route selection was totally unsuitable for off road driving and the rest of the day passed in a horrific blend of digging, pushing and foul language from Angry Joe.
A much needed sleep in the desert prepared the travellers for the next two days and words cannot do it justice, suffice to say it was miserable! I'm not going to dwell on the intricacies of removing a Bedford Rascal from sand but it's enough to say that none of our travellers will ever try to take a two wheel drive vehicle across the desert again. Anyway, moving on to more amusing stories, Omar, our guide, had decided to take control of the Micra as he assured us he could drive it better, now when Colin McCrae (God rest his soul) passed, it appears he was reincarnated as an Algerian tour guide. Never had anyone seen a Nissan Micra move so quickly, the average speed being somewhere in the region of 50 mph over non existent roads. It was with great difficulty that the Rascals kept up and Ian and Tony, the nominated sand specialists, found the conditions torrid. It was about this time that Tony's arrogant attitude shone through as he refused to heed sense and advice, instead choosing his own path. As a consequence the Cheetah spent a lot of time bogged in and by the end of the day the engine was in a bad way. A new morning brought much of the same and by the time the Furballs again hit tarmac Tony, wearing a mystified look on his face, announced that the Cheetah had lost all power. Refusing to accept any responsibility, he passed the van to Ian to see if it could be saved. Ian grafted and perspired and Craig stroked the fur muttering 'poor Cheetah', but alas it could not be saved and the decision was made to try and limp it to the next town. With a top speed of 25 mph and an oil consumption to match Oliver Reed on Gin, it wasn't long before the Cheetah with a final hiss gave up it's life for the good of the blog. With the Cheetah now dead, Jen stepped up to the mantle and towed her less politically named brother to In-Guezzam where Tony and Ian set about disposing of it. After three quarters of an hour sitting in the office of the local Customs head man 'La solution' was reached which involved the van being left in their compound for two months before being seized for illegal parking. Before it reached the compound a deal was stuck with some locals to strip out the excess weight and engine in return for Land Cruiser support for the leg to the Niger border. What followed left Ian speechless as the cheetahs engine was ripped apart in less than thirty minutes. A short memorial service was held and Major Dickinson, as the highest ranking Officer present, gave an inspired speech about sacrifice before slipping into a rant about Arthur Scargill and the miners strike. It really does appear that there are some deep seated issues about Silicosis. After all the forms had been stamped and all the bums tickled the Cheetah was towed to her final resting place, she will be missed by all - except Ian.
With only one van left and the Niger border a mere 15km away the Adventurers and their Toyota escort struck out. What followed was five hours of unspeakable misery that ended with the guide trying to drive the van out of a rut in third gear and, with the smell of burning clutch filling the air, Jen was hooked up to the Land Cruiser and towed to the border point. After a simple paperwork exercise, camp was set in no-man's-land with the Furball's praying that the clutch would be ok after it had cooled down.