The Purchase and the First Outing

Nothing amazes me anymore, fact. Being friends with idiots somehow degrades that part of the brain that ordinarily gives you the emotions of shock and surprise. Perhaps one day I'll be the subject of some research onto it. Heaven knows that I have enough exposure to it resulting in this psychological disorder that I will henceforth name furball-on-the-brain-itus. So when I received a telephone call from friend and fellow team member Charlie to say that he had made a hasty purchase of a vehicle off e-bay for the 2009 Mongol Rally I was not at all surprised. Indeed, I was positively unmoved when he said that it was a 25 year old Dennis Fire Engine, owned previously by a person who owned a limousine business, and was therefore fitted with TV, Playstation, stereo and champagne bar.

"Why didn't you consult with anyone else?" I asked.
"Couldn't. There was only 20 minutes left on the bid when I first saw it," Charlie retorted.
"How much have you got it for?"
"Two-and-a-half-grand"
"Have you got a big overdraft?" I enquired
"No. We'll just get Tony to pay." Charlie said with supreme confidence, which some others might easily interpret as arrogance.

So, dear readers, this is how we started the ball rolling for the Mongol Rally 2009. An ageing expensive beast of unknown mechanical integrity. Insufficient funds to purchase it and our financier out of contact in deepest darkest Helmand province. All in all, standard Great Balls of Fur practice really. Shoot first, from the hip and in the general direction of the enemy, and worry about the consequences later.

After the initial flurry of excitement, slowly the colossal undertaking which we had committed ourselves to was beginning to dawn on us. Numerous questions about the feasibility of travelling 10,000 miles in a 1983 fire engine, illegal under the Adventurists' rules, filled our collective minds.

The first set of problems that needed to be addressed, was the small matter of the Adventurists' rules. As well as raising £1000 for charity, two significantly more problematic rules included the 1 litre rule and the new 10 year rule. Obviously, a fire engine has an engine size bigger than a litre and our noble stead is 26 years old, not breaking put positively smashing the vehicle has to be younger than 10 years old rule. Once again our powers of persuasion would be called forth to be used to dig us out of a sticky patch of our own creation. Powers which have had mixed fortunes in the past; success against the Metropolitan Police's finest persuading them that it is a good idea swimming the Thames at 10 o'clock at night wearing female underwear procured from black bin bags found outside a charity shop, but failure against Tunisian Immigration officials in persuading them to let a beekeeper/philosopher and a children's entertainer into the country.

Second was the issue of team members, perhaps the most important thing. Nothing worse than undertaking something of this magnitude with a bunch of idiots really is there? The fire engine itself can hold 9, 7 in the back and 2 up front. Ideally, we would want to take 9 if possible in order to cut down the running costs of driving a vehicle with a 10.5 litre Perkins V8 engine 10,000 miles. Consequently, we were going to have to do some recruiting.

The next problem was that of drivers. The fire engine had been reclassified by the DVLA from an HGV to an LGV following the removal of the water storage tanks. Good news for those who passed their driving test pre 1999 as they could drive the vehicle on their existing licence. Those fortunate enough to be too young to jump into the driving seat of a car in that year would have to get some driving lessons, once again, for their birthday.

October soon came and went. By mid November, Tony had coughed up the cash and Charlie had persuaded eligible friends to move the noble beast from the purchaser to his residence near Reading. As yet nobody other than Charlie had seen it in all it's glory so small party including Craig, the man only known as Chris Paul, and myself travelled along the M4 to rectify matters. I was not at all surprised or shocked when we arrived to find it with the engine running, thick black acrid smoke coming out of the exhaust and Charlie beaming like a Cheshire cat, "Jump in, we're off to Heathrow. I've promised my Boss a lift to the airport." Never ones to disappoint Charlie's Boss, we endured a ride to said destination negotiating small country roads, height restrictions once more puzzled looking Metropolitan Police Officers and a button for a fire engine siren that was just too hard to resist for such small minded and easily pleasured minds like ours.

The first outing of Dennis the fire engine wasn't entirely pointless. Indeed it proved to be a rather useful episode with us learning a surprising amount. Firstly, Dennis is a very thirsty boy who drinks diesel like Ian Moore drinks average tasting continental lager. However, like a petulant Ian Moore when you tell him he can't have another one, when you try to put diesel back into Dennis' fuel tank he spits most of it out onto the floor. We also learnt that the fuel gauge doesn't work properly, there is a leaking roof, Charlie looks even more camp in a fireman's helmet and ripped jeans, that it is possible to get a car pass to enter a military establishment for a fire engine, that the unladen vehicle bounces when travelling along, that I get travel sick in bouncing vehicles and that I am quite clearly the best at Guitar Hero. Oh well, it's not all that bad.