This was it, the big one. We had to clear the final border check then cover 526km in one day. God help us. The early start left us grateful for the roof over our heads but fairly unwashed as we steered clear of the howling smell in the bathrooms and the shower heads that were heated by a direct connection to the mains, and some pretty exposed looking wiring. Once again we found ourselves watching the sun rise as essential maintenance for our beleaguered chariots delayed our start. We finally hit the border checkpoint after filling up at an amazingly westernised and modern-looking service station and, much to our surprise, were processed with surprising speed and friendly efficiency. The flags were remounted and we hit the now smooth roads to start eating up the miles. Spirits climbed again. But this junket wasn't done with us yet. It was the Bumblebee's turn to start shedding links and the hand-built improvisation began all over again. As we progressed it was as though we were being eased back in to civilisation after our time in the wilderness. Jasco was now needing fresh oil every 50km but John and Craig were becoming ruthlessly efficient at this process. Some time around mid-morning we stopped for one last fuel fill-up to carry us through to the finish line and were greeted with yet another village full of unfeasibly wasted locals. One guy was frothing at the mouth and, with his bottle of green booze and cigarette in hand, tried to fill our tanks with red diesel so we pressed on for the next stop. On and on we motored, battling the increasing traffic, feeding Jasco's addiction and nursing the other taxis. Early afternoon gave us a fuel opportunity at a very civilised service station and Dreagle finally let go of his battle-weary clutch cable. No problem, we thought, we have a spare. Unfortunately it was too short. However, engineering ingenuity won the day again and we bodged it to continue. A lot of oil stops and many near-death experiences with passing trucks later saw us heading away from the setting sun with hope in our hearts. The Chaco gave way to ever-larger towns as the night enveloped us and we passed the 100km to go mark with whoops and hollers. By the time we reached the 15km to go mark we were convinced we had done it. But this junket wasn't done with us yet. On the outskirts of a busy Asuncion, the Bumblebee decided to give us one more challenge and shred its chain one last time: which was a surprise as it was Dreagle's battered drive unit that had been graunching and rattling it's way down the road after losing the battle with Gareth's rucksack. The locals gathered round as we performed the final repair to ask questions and take photos before waving us off in to the night. Dave's directions were received via text and phone and we headed for the finish. To complete the day in true style we pulled over in a side road next to a park to change in to full fancy dress regalia, despite the chill of the cold night air. John's naked arse came as something of a shock to the innocent family out for an evening stroll. Indecent exposure complete - morph suits, tweed, bumblebee outfits and fur mounted up for the home stretch. Unfortunately Dave's directions were retarded and we spent over an hour circling the streets of the Paraguayan capital.
Finally though... finally, horns-a-blaring and to cheers of the fellow few who had already made it, we rode in to the finish. Elated and exhausted, we staggered from our bikes and were instantly presented with G&T's. Oh Happy day, oh joyous rapture. We had made it. Out of the 32 teams that had started, our four bikes took the total to 10. The furballers, against all the odds with so very many obstacles thrown in our tumultuous path, had made it. They had completed the hardest of the challenges set by The Adventurists; and they had done it with style, panache, Dunkirk spirit and a surprisingly small amount of alcohol. Needless to say, the celebrations were strong. The group quaffed Gin until the early hours and then found themselves presented with an interesting quandary. How to get the bikes to the hotel. The advice from the locals was drive...so drive we did. As a general disclaimer the Great Balls of Fur would like to point out that they do not condone the following in any way shape or form. Never attempt this yourselves, at least, not in any city with any form of serious policing or drink driving policy. It is neither big nor clever... but it was bloody hilarious. The mototaxis were pushed to (and beyond) the limit one last time as the wacky races screamed off through the streets of Asuncion at max speed being used as bumper cars to jostle for first place. And finally to bed.