Sky Drivers

Dirt. It’s everywhere.

Gumming up the keys of my laptop computer, clogging the zoom lens of my camera. It’s in all of my clothing. There’s even dirt in my dreams. And then in the memories of unzipping the tent every morning to see another perfect, yet absolutely different-from-last-night, landscape. Dirt in my nightmares, too. Of the ground rushing up to meet us as our Porsche Cayenne tumbled end over end. There was dirt all over the inside of the vehicle and dirt mixed with blood. My blood.

Until then, all was going quite well. Ex-Porsche factory race driver Kees Nierop and I were running in the top 10 of the Rallye Transsyberia and were skimming across a grassy plain, the satellite navigation system telling us the next stop was straight ahead about three miles.

Across the plain, rally cars were scattering in a dozen different directions, following a dozen different ways to the same point. Having finally broken into the top 10 after a good run the day before, we had talked about how we were going to take things easy, maintain a steady pace and stay safe. As we drove toward the crest of the hill, Nierop eased into the Cayenne’s brakes, not knowing what was on the other side.

We expected to actually drive down. We did not expect the ground to be replaced with sky. All four wheels left the ground and we paused to hold on in midair before the front left corner dug into the ground. There was a moment when Nierop looked over from the driver’s seat to ask if I was OK, only to be cut off by the final impact that shattered the windshield into a million pieces, tore by wristwatch from my tensed arm and also detached the engine from the car, tossing it away from the main wreckage. There were parts strewn everywhere.

The crash was a horrific end to a rally that, in all honesty, had long since turned into a gong show. Since the start in Moscow, the Transsyberia organizers had added 1,000 kilometres (about 630 miles) of “stages,” or legs and cancelled, shortened and rerouted others. For Schalber Events, the company in charge of the rally that had done the route planning, things were not going according to plan. The jagged rocks on some of the special stages were cutting up tires, leaving many competitors stranded in the middle of nowhere. Of course. This was the middle of nowhere. Mud bogs had snagged several vehicles, including an Italian team that waited overnight until 5 a.m. before being rescued. Reworked routes didn’t have road books for reference, just satellite navigation references. And the Mongolian sand and mud was proving a challenge, even for the eight-wheel-drive service truck that Porsche had brought along; it became stuck for five hours on one particularly tough stretch.

It would be easy then to dismiss the three weeks spent in Russia and Mongolia driving the Rallye Transsyberia as a waste of time, as a rally that turned into a road trip that turned back into a rally at random times with, at least for us, unfortunate consequences. But the truth is that despite the mishaps and the crash, it was one of the best motoring experiences of my life. No, scratch that. It was one of the best experiences in my life, full stop. I saw parts of the world few other Westerners have ever seen. Maybe even some parts no one, anywhere, has seen.

Driving for 7,100 kilometers (about 4,400 miles) — or, in our case, just over 5,500 kilometers (about 3,400 miles) — across Siberia gives you a sense of how big it is and just how varied the terrain is. There were days in Russia where there seemed to be no need to turn the steering wheel, and others where slithering was the only way to get through the mountains.

Mongolia’s landscape, too, is incredibly changeable. In the course of a couple of hours, you can go from marsh to mountain to green plain to desert and back. So much of it is completely unspoiled. There are no power lines, no roads, no street signs, just nature, pure and simple. You are really and truly alone out here.

And the tracks in the ground. You think they lead to Point B, but sometimes, looking out into the distance in Mongolia, you can’t even imagine where Point B is. Where would anyone be going out here? What’s amazing is that there is always something out there and how the Mongolians always seem to know how to find it. With our fancy-pants satellite navigation, road book and maps, we still managed to get lost. With no tools at all, a local can guide you to a place in the middle of nowhere (often in the middle of the night) with no trouble at all.

Given the huge distances involved and the grueling nature of some of the stretches, the only way to get to the end of the day is through teamwork. Probably the biggest thing I’ll take home from the whole Transsyberia experience is an address book full of people I can call on in far-flung places if I ever drop in.

For me, it was the experience of a lifetime, three weeks with nothing but firsts. To find out what those were and to see the photos of our mangled Porsche Cayenne, stay tuned for Part Two of this two-part series.

Laurance Yap is feature writer with Wheelbase Communications. Wheelbase is a worldwide supplier of automobile news, reviews and features. Drop them a line on the Web at www.wheelbase.ws/mailbag.html.