UPDATE: Volgograd, Russia on 7/24, blogs from 7/17 to 7/23

Sorry for any brief or partial entries as I have some catching up to do....

Wednesday, July 24- Rostov-on-Don, Russia to Volgograd, Russia:  currently staying the night and hope to tour sights in the morning before departing towards Astrakhan to the south.  Had to skip Moscow for practicality but will make the most of our new route….

Tuesday, July 23- Prymorsk, Ukraine to Rostov-on-Don, Russia:  Daily mileage: 212, Total mileage: 2874

We were very excited about getting to the Russian border following two days in Ukraine but anticipated a long wait once we arrived at the crossing.  Needless to say it was another early start.  Lisa admitted that she hadn’t slept all that well, having stayed up well into the night keeping vigil armed with a large rubber mallet.  Morning revealed that the strange sounds Lisa associated with some drunken, prowling stranger had more likely emanated from our neighbor the cow, who had been foraging nearby all night.  There was a large spider in the corner of the tent, something Lisa very calmly pointed out and then evicted as we emptied the tent and packed up our belongings.  A number of unwelcome ants made the job somewhat more difficult than usual and I received several bites, but mercifully we hadn’t pitched over an entire nest.  We worked in shifts crudely smashing them with our thumbs while rolling up sleeping mats and stuffing sleeping bags.  It would seem we hadn’t done all that bad at selecting our first free-range camping location, no small accomplishment in this particular country.  Once we were back on the road there was one last city for us to pass through, called Mariupol, and the Russian border lay just beyond.  Yet again, Ukraine did not disappoint in its ability to consistently present the dustiest, dirtiest, most chaotic and dilapidated arrangement of roads, bridges, houses, buildings, buses and streetcars even in the easternmost of its southern cities.  Mariupol was the crown jewel, complete with a massive industrial complex on the far side of town whose sole purpose seemed to be the production of noxious fumes, rust, grit and broken glass for export to the rest of the country.  It must have been a proud sight when it was new, and although it appeared to be fully operational it had clearly not aged well.  All teasing aside I did feel there was more to Ukraine than what we had seen and experienced and probably a heart-wrenching explanation as to its condition.  I could very well be unfair in my assessment, but as I was ignorant of such things I remained unmoved at that particular moment.  And so, having passed through the country’s lower digestive tract we finally approached the Russian frontier.  To our amazement, it was pristine.  The border crossing was the cleanest and most modern we’d yet seen.  The roads appeared to be entirely normal.  As the car’s dedicated driver I felt a smile creeping across my face as I drove up to the passport control area without steering wildly to avoid gaping holes or massive bumps.  Following a brief glance at the contents of our trunk we were told there was some paperwork to fill out, and the Russians were most particular as to how it was done.  I filled mine out and Lisa hers, a guard approached, inspected it gravely, shook his head and handed us another form.  After three attempts I finally managed to complete a very simple, single page form to the satisfaction of the border guard sporting the largest hat and the most stars on his epaulettes.  Stamps were applied, our paperwork was handed back and then redistributed to other guards and they waved us through without so much as a passing glance.  All told we had spent just two hours leaving Ukraine and entering Russia.  Before us lay an arrow-straight black ribbon of the most luxuriously smooth pavement I’d seen since leaving the EU.  It instantly reminded me of the U.S. and again I found my expectations were entirely wrong.  Russia was not the crumbling post-Soviet dinosaur I had expected it to be.  We stopped first in Taganrog and as we approached the city center we found it to be relatively clean and well maintained, which puzzled us.  We were making a necessary stop in search of a currency exchange, a quick meal and some wifi access and were bewildered after finding all three in the space of an hour and a half.  Up until now we had never accomplished so much in so little time, and we therefore agreed that we both loved Russia.  Driving further to Rostov-on-Don we stopped once again for groceries, this time for another package of frozen shrimp which we hoped to incorporate into our evening meal.  We’d actually tried this the day before from Malitopol and it worked well enough.  The roads snaking out of the city ran through an industrial area and were more akin to those in Ukraine, but eventually we were back on a well-travelled and well-maintained road.  It took us north along the banks of the Don River through what was an area of riverside resorts and restaurants, though many were in various states of disrepair.  We noticed numerous pull-offs and roads leading into the woods, the traditional method by which Russians must have enjoyed the outdoors.  We’d noticed that signs marking campgrounds had all but disappeared beyond Romania, which made sense considering the vastness of Russia and the relative informality of the people.  They needn’t bother with campgrounds as there was an absurd abundance of countryside.  We picked one such road near several other cars and found a modest clearing in the woods, the main road still in sight but obscured by trees.  As we set up and began to cook a small doe-colored dog wandered into camp, clearly very hungry and hoping for a meal.  We obliged and found him to be very entertaining company.  Being just a pup he was at times overbearing and occasionally an outright nuisance, but we noticed him guarding our campsite from the occasional interloper.  Cars would often pull off the main road in search of a spot, and our new friend kept a close eye on them in exchange for a portion of food.  We had time to build a fire, which also served as a sort of “occupied” notice, and slept soundly through the night with the dog lounging right up against the tent.   

Monday, July 22- Odessa, Ukraine to Prymorsk, Ukraine.  Daily mileage: 324, Total mileage: 2662

The roads leading eastward from the city improved only slightly, with some occasional smooth patches and higher quality pavement interrupting the usual mixture of holes and mounds of asphalt.  In all honesty driving in Ukraine was still extremely demanding due to numerous road hazards and uneven pavement.  The further east we drove we would still encounter dangerous patches full of deep holes and high ridges threatening to burst tires or tear open the bottom of our car.  When we weren’t completely preoccupied dodging the aforementioned obstacles, the countryside passing by the window consisted of near endless sunflower fields and the occasional roadside stands selling honey or, more often than not, watermelons.  As we passed one such stand we noticed the old Soviet flag flying and had a good chuckle.  It’s no wonder they reminisced about the Soviet Union, as it appeared nothing in the entire country had been at all maintained since at least 1990- around the time Ukraine gained its independence.  It did not appear that they had done anything of significance since, besides growing copious amounts of sunflowers and watermelons.  We made a stop in Malitopol for groceries and found it to be an equally depressing and disappointing destination.  The grocery store, however, was very nice and the young woman at the checkout was all smiles and very helpful.  Otherwise southern Ukraine was turning out to be a complete disaster, very much to our surprise.  We had expected an improvement from Romania but were constantly faced with the opposite, realizing that this country or at least the southern coast was far worse off than its western neighbor.  We drove as far as Prymorsk in hopes on camping near the shores of the Sea of Azov, turned off the main road and clumsily searched for the turn into the town proper.  There didn’t appear to be any sense to the road network leading in, nor were there any street signs to the center of town.  I assumed we were there when we passed several shops and then a square with a statue of Lenin, which I enthusiastically pointed out.  The town was a relic!  A little ways further and we indeed made it to a beach complete with patrons, but the public nature of the causeway road leading to it and lack of private areas to camp forced us back inland in search of a place to sleep.  We passed by what looked like run down and abandoned apartment blocks and then a soccer field.  This was another remnant of Soviet times, as it was enclosed by a fence sporting a motif of the Olympic rings and symbols of the 1980 Moscow Olympics (see picture below). 

As we left town and headed back towards the main road to the north we saw a dirt track leading off the road next to a church graveyard.  It seemed promising and looked passable for our car, so we turned off and explored it a bit further.  As luck would have it, there was a private spot far removed and a nice, flat area for the tent and the car.  We pitched up in this cow pasture in the company of one brown cow grazing nearby, parking next to a concrete wall that enclosed another field.  We settled in, brought out the camp stove and cooked our dinner with relative ease.  From that point on we heard nothing but the distant barking of a few neighborhood dogs, then dozens, then hundreds, then what sounded like every damn dog in all of southern Ukraine until about 3am. 

Sunday, July 21- Constanta, Romania to Odessa, Ukraine.  Daily mileage: 344, Total mileage: 2338

Guys selling fish on the side of the road, the town of gypsies on the banks of the Danube where everyone appears to be offering free hugs, long 3.5 hours at Moldova and Ukraine borders, then shocked by the appalling roads on way to Odessa.  The first town was Reni, a small, cramped and dusty community with streets in such poor condition that they rivaled what you might expect on an active missile test range.  None were marked either, so without our satellite navigation system we could well have wasted an hour just trying to find the best route out of town.  Headed for Ismail and then followed signs to Odessa as they came up.  Ran into another rally team on way, convoyed for a bit and attempted to avoid the endless string of potholes, ruts and long parallel ridges that comprised the majority of Ukrainian road surfaces.    Shockingly they never really improved and stayed more or less in the same state of disrepair all the way to Odessa.  Didn’t make it before dark and so we again fell back to the satnav to find a place to stay.  It turned out to be a four star hotel and in my haste I simply paid the $179 and took it as an acceptable expense.  It frightened the other rally team off pretty quickly as well. 

Saturday, July 20- Constanta, Romania.  Daily mileage: 7, Total mileage: 1994

Decided to take a break from the driving and enjoy ourselves.  Had mussels and grilled mullet for lunch at La Pesta, walked around a little and saw the posh, clubby areas to the south.  Lounged on the beach, swam in the Black Sea, did laundry, bought pork at the grocery store from an extremely ill-tempered clerk and had a great dinner.  Mission accomplished.

Friday, July 19- Sibiu, Romania to Constanta, Romania.  Daily mileage: 354, Total mileage: 1987

Drove a few hours and stopped at a town to see about getting the radiator fan checked out or buying a replacement that I could install later on.  Mechanic named Bobby helped us, spoke perfect English.  Romania got a lot more interesting and far more beautiful as we crossed the Carpathians.  They were far more imposing than either of us anticipated, and in one town seemed to shoot straight up into the sky.  Atop a peak there was a large cross, presumably concrete, and we wondered what it took to put it there.  Roads improved and we made better time, finally seeing the coastline come into view around 7:30pm as we got to the outskirts of Constanta.  Arrived late at Oha Beach but really at a normal time for us (8:30), great campsite but really bad bathroom facilities.

Thursday, July 18- Mako, Hungary to Sibiu, Romania.  Daily mileage: 230, Total mileage: 1633

The spotting of roadside prostitutes became a bit of sport along the way, and they became increasingly common as we left the city and proceeded into the countryside.  Country roads were very slow progress, and we were frequently behind innumerable trucks which created a constant backup.  Speeds rarely exceeded 40mph.  Stuck in a traffic jam at one point, and shortly thereafter the car overheated and came dangerously close to repeating the head gasket incident….

Wednesday, July 17- Magyarovar, Hungary to Mako, Hungary.  Daily mileage: 263, Total mileage: 1403

After a quiet night and some well-needed rest we took our time packing up the next morning, having done a little laundry that still needed to dry out.  We had everything down by around 9am but Lisa found herself searching for the car keys and her debit card.  As is often the case when people misplace something of importance, the debit card was in her pocket between the pages of her passport, and I spotted the car keys on the ground just next to the car.  Crisis averted, we set off

UPDATE: current location and blog for 7/16

Current mileage on 

Mileage update for 7/18: 88327 on the odometer, for a grand total of 1,559 miles from Thames Ditton, Surrey UK to Deva, Romania @ 3:45pm local time, en route to Sibui, Romania campsite.

 Blog for 7/17 & 7/18 will be posted ASAP…

Tuesday, July 16- Klenovy, Czech Republic to Magyarovar, Hungary: we woke early in the morning, around 7:30am, to a relatively quiet campsite despite celebrations lasting well into the early morning.  A small village had formed around our tent while we were socializing at the castle, and among our neighbors was a particularly rambunctious pair; an Italian and a Spaniard.  They politely asked if they could pitch up next to us, then proceeded to blast club music through their car stereo (actually it was "Get Lucky" on continuous loop) and dance on the hood.  Part of me was jealous, but mostly all I could think about was trying to sleep through the night with that going on 5 feet away with nothing between my head and the noise except for a thin nylon barrier.  Before turning in we opted to move the tent to a more secluded spot behind a stand of trees, which did the trick.  Our plan was to drive down to Austria and cut across to Hungary and the town of Gyor by around 7pm, and we departed before the actual sendoff party.  As much as we hated to miss it, we wanted to make good time.  All was going well until the next major town, when I was flagged down by a Czech policeman for going 64kph in a 50kph zone.  This was all very flattering as I wasn’t aware our Alto could travel at such fantastic speeds uphill, but his radar setup seemed legit and I had no choice but to take him at his word.  In broken German I managed to deduce that the policeman was going to fine me 500 crowns, which came out to around $24 USD.  We didn’t have any crowns on us and he refused to accept anything but, and so he retained my drivers’ license and passport so we could return to the center of town and obtain the necessary hard currency.  We returned about 45 minutes later, and surprisingly he spend about 10 minutes filling out paperwork and a receipt.  He took great care to note the amount and to show me that the documents he was returning to me were, in fact, mine.  Accepting that we had been pulled over and fined first in an EU country and not in some eastern European nation, we laughed and drove on.  The trip through Austria was again on small country roads to avoid tolls for using the main highways, and to see more of the small towns and countryside we’d miss otherwise.  The experience was a pleasant one, but we only passed through the outskirts of Vienna and weren’t able to stop for any sight-seeing.  When we reached Hungary there was a definite change in everything, even more so than from Germany to the Czech Republic.  Use of the English language was also rapidly diminishing and now we were presented with signs that neither of us could properly read nor pronounce.  There was occasional German in use, but only on signage and I presume for the benefit of travelers from neighboring Austria.  One thing we’d managed to do on the way was to seek out wifi during a lunch stop and research prospective campsites in and around Gyor.  Shamelessly using the satellite navigation, we punched several of them in as the evening wore on.  In a curious turn of events, however, we’d come to realize that camping seemed to be wildly popular in Hungary and it was doubtful we’d even need the help of our GPS unit to find a good spot.  Signage indicating nearby hotels, fuel, camping and dining locations were everywhere, even on the rough country roads we were traveling.  It soon became obvious that we’d have missed any chance of finding a campsite had we been on major thoroughfares, unless of course travelers on those roads were equally well informed by signs. As we passed through the town of Magyarovar we spotted several grocery stores, gas stations and then a very nice looking campsite/restaurant nestled on a riverbank.  Just 34km from our original destination of Gyor, we figured that seeing was believing and opted to turn around and stay at the campsite in Magyarovar.  As we arrived around 7pm, we had plenty of time to visit the local grocery store for some cubed beef and to stop at an ATM for Hungarian currency to pay our campsite bill.  We cooked a nice dinner and even ran into another rally team, two quiet Dutch gentleman who had filmed the morning events at the castle.  They were kind enough to show them to us, so we hadn’t entirely missed out on all the fun.

Monday, July 15- Chimay, Belgium to Klenovy, Czech Republic: one of several revelations provided by our brief access to wifi was that we had been mistaken regarding the date of the rally launch from the Czech Republic.  It was, in fact, the night of the 15^th rather than the 16^th.  We still planned to pass through Luxembourg on the way, a small victory in the “driving through countries we’d never been to” department but nevertheless a hollow one.  There would be precious little time for stops or side trips on our route eastward.  We would have to make spectacular time to get to Klenovy,  if only to enjoy a free meal, and convenient to our predicament a vast and gleaming ribbon of German highway lay before us.  We passed into France once again and then to Luxembourg, through several tunnels and finally into Germany.  Again, there was a problem.  The disappointing reality of our driving a 1.1 liter Suzuki Alto on this miracle of automotive transit pains me in ways I find difficult to describe.  Whatever joy I might otherwise have derived from the experience was sapped away by the chore of keeping our vehicle, traveling at around 70mph, from becoming a stationary barrier to pretty much every other vehicle on the road.  Sports cars, heavy trucks, Zambonis, tractors, mule carts, they were all rocketing past us at speeds we could only dream of.  I made every effort to stay out of their way despite any feelings of jealousy.  I felt a modest swelling of pride as we entered Baden-Württemberg and then passed a turnoff for Stuttgart, my grandmother’s ancestral homeland and also that of Porsche.  I insisted on returning, not just to revisit the old country and explore my ancestral roots but more importantly to do so in an absurdly fast car.  For the moment we were hopelessly outgunned and tried our best to make good time in our little economy car.  Anger and frustration stirred as we passed one significant landmark after another, a repeat of France, Belgium and the Ardennes.  Europe is beyond measure given the historical perspective of an American, and we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that it would take a lifetime to enjoy just a handful of what there was to see.  We would come back, of course.  Nearing the Czech border we left the frustrating reality of high-speed German highways behind, opting for the more infrequently traveled country roads.  Just as in France we passed by rolling farmland and one picturesque village after another, with one notable difference being the architecture of the church steeple/bell tower.  The sharp Romanesque profile of French churches had been replaced by the Baroque, onion-like domes of German ones.  Again I marveled at Europe, at its age and its determination to look and feel as solid as the ground it was built upon.  America wasn’t without its own wonders but the newness and modernity of it all felt hollow and fragile when compared to places like this.  Everything was so old and traditional, so supremely fashioned and solidly built that it had withstood centuries of the worst sorts of chaos mankind could think to throw at it.  Well, perhaps not here, or at least I had to think so.  No place could possibly look so serene were it not in some sort of protective bubble.  Waldmuchen was our last stop on the German side, and we had to proceed on a dirt road because of some construction.  Not long after we were back on pavement and then passed through yet another unceremonious Eurozone border crossing, this time into the Czech Republic.  Here was another entirely distinct language and culture in the distance it would take to travel from my hometown in eastern Kentucky to Nashville, Tennessee.  I remarked to Lisa that the transition was actually not unlike the border with Kentucky and Virginia, aside from the fact that language and nationality were only slightly more apparent here…..

UPDATE: 7/12 to 7/14, from Thames Ditton to Chimay

Note: I'll be listing the mileage per day ASAP....

Sunday, July 14- Launch Day: 

Not long after waking up in what was soon to become an oven at around 8am, the crowd also began to stir and soon a fellow with a megaphone was out to get us moving.  Lisa and I walked down to get breakfast and allow the morning dew to dry before packing up our tent in preparation for departure.  Breakfast was a simple bacon sandwich and we were a little miffed about having to pay for coffee, but at this point half of our mild complaining stemmed from simply waking up hung over.  We headed back up the hill and got the tent together, then packed up the car and waited with everyone else for what came next; the awards ceremony.  There were some rather modest goodies given to teams that had raised the most for charity (The Old Blues Brothers- two very nice gentlemen named Paul and Ian driving a Smart ForFour), came far too overprepared (can't remember the team name, but they were given a large television set that had been painted gold and instructed to produce it at the finish line), broken down numerous times already (Team Serpico) and so on.  Throughout the morning young men dressed in period chain mail and armed with swords staged duels and wrestled around on the ground to get the crowd worked up, and Lisa jumped at a photo op.  This was followed by a little jousting, first by two guys on horseback and then a round of horse versus rally car just to get the crowd in high spirits.  Soon after we took some group photos in front of the stage, filed off to our cars and slowly began moving towards the stage in our cars for our official sendoff.  Our little Alto struggled just a bit getting up the ramp but I managed to get us up and over without stalling it or getting hung up on the boards, which I’d really been worried about.  That’s exactly what had happened to Team Serpico as they were driving up to receive their “least likely to make it” award, which drew a roar of laughter and applause from the crowd.  I really hope those guys make it, we’re all rooting for them.  After passing over the stage and making a short drive back around the grounds and we were on the road, heading to the ferry landing at Dover and our short trip across the channel to France.  Loading at the ferry docks went smoothly, and the sheer size and scale of the facilities used by these ships came as a surprise.  We boarded the French-flagged vessel Rodin and arrived in Calais perhaps an hour later.  After getting back on the road, this time driving on the right-hand side, we somewhat cautiously maneuvered our car down the less traveled country roads and avoided the larger highways on our way to Belgium and Luxembourg.  Being a Sunday we noted that the entire nation of France, aside from the docks at Calais, seemed to have closed up shop for the day.  I’m not exaggerating, the streets were deserted in every town we drove through (I am somewhat embarrassed to admit this but a few days later I was politely informed by my own mother that on Sunday, July 14 it was, in fact, Bastille Day- practically the French equivalent to the 4th of July).  As evening hours approached and we passed through more and more of these picturesque French villages we did notice the occasional pub open to small groups of patrons, but this was relatively rare and otherwise all was quiet.  The towns themselves were enviable in their beauty, almost as if they had been constructed solely for the benefit of passing tourists.  You could always spot them from miles off simply by looking for a large Romanesque church steeple or bell tower marking their location on the horizon.  Most of any appreciable size also had a soldiers’ memorial somewhere in the town center, often painted, rifle in hand complete with bayonet and usually sporting a uniform dating back to World War I. The countryside was beautiful; rolling farmland and tree-lined highways stretched on for miles.  It was also dotted with British and Canadian WWI cemeteries, so I presumed we were passing through what had once been the front lines of a massive battlefield.  As daylight hours dwindled we made an attempt to locate camp sites using our satellite navigation.  Though we passed a number of good spots to pull over in the Ardennes forest, facilities were of particular interest.  After a few dead ends we turned for the town of Chimay, entered Belgium with little more than a small sign to let us know we were in it and found a hotel at the last minute.  Tomorrow we set off for the Czech Republic and our last official meeting point with other teams before we all head further east.

Saturday, July 13:

Waking around 8am with plenty of time to spare the four of us shared a pot of fresh coffee courtesy of the now fully operations gasoline powered cooking stove.  We had a few stops to make that morning and some very important errands to run.  We needed an ample supply of dry goods for our food pantry and a laundry list of important items for the car, including two new rear tires.  The plan was to mount the old ones on some cheap spare rims and throw them in the car as cheap back-ups, but sadly the tire store didn’t have any.  At any rate they did have the new tires we needed in stock and were kind enough to leave us the old ones.  We made a few stops for additional tools; a mallet, large flathead screwdriver, jumper cables, fire extinguisher, tow rope and a spare quart of oil should the car start burning more than it should.  Despite those essentials we still lacked a spare drive belt and those rims, so we’d have to try again once we got to mainland Europe.   At Morrison’s, a very large chain grocery, we stocked up on foodstuffs and even grabbed two large plastic bins to keep everything in.  We cheerfully filled them up in the parking lot with all of our food in one and sleeping bags, pillows and inflatable mats in the other, very glad to have our car a little more organized prior to our departure.  At that point it was time to head off to Bodiam and to the startline festivities that were waiting for us there.  The drive was gorgeous, if not a bit nerve racking on some very narrow hedge-lined country roads.  The car navigation system (yes, we cheated) took us on what seemed to be a very roundabout and haphazard way, but eventually we saw signs for the castle followed by a large grouping of very tiny cars in the distance.  That was our destination.  We pulled into a spot and immediately ran into Sam Moore and Thunder from Down Under.  We’d heard they also ran into some problems with their D&K sourced car and were glad to see they were in good spirits and their vehicle seemed fully operational.  We met a nice couple traveling as “the B-team” and all stretched out for some wine and to exchange stories up to that point.  Before long word got around that we’d be able to set up our tents.  Ever mindful of just how precious a nice, flat place for your tent can be and how essential it is to a good night’s sleep we jumped at the opportunity to get moving.  Our placement was a good ways up a hillside adjacent to the castle, but certainly level enough to prevent us from ending up in a heap at the far side of the tent.  With everything set up, sleeping bags zipped together and mats properly inflated we walked back down the hill to rejoin the festivities and eventually claim our much anticipated portion of what had been billed as a feast.  This turned out to be a disappointing hamburger with sautéed onions which we wolfed down anyway, and not a half bad one either.  A short time later we were all herded off to the castle and Lisa pounced on a rare photo-op with some chain mail clad period actors.  They would be a source of entertainment throughout our walk to Bodiam a few hundred yards away, occasionally stopping to challenge each other to swordplay or some wrestling for our amusement.  At Bodiam we wandered the parapets, enjoyed the free mead while it lasted and had a brief chat with Tim the Disco Wizard.  He was an unusual fellow that bore a sort of medieval resemblance to Jack Sparrow and pointedly refused to break character.  He may well have been under the influence of some very strong drugs, but was harmless enough as he wandered around the crowd.  Enter the team clad in speedos, prompting about a half hour of staring, photo ops and a quick chat with a security guard.  I assured him those gentlemen hadn’t smuggled in anything of concern based on our observations. 

Friday, July 12: 

After a morning check-in with the mechanic, it turned out the work on our rally car was soon to be completed.  We packed up our belongings and bid London a fond but much needed farewell, as we’d dallied there much longer than anticipated.  Dave Leach advised us to catch the 2:10pm train out to Thames Ditton and was waiting for us at the station in Vauxhall, all smiles as usual.  He had very generously and enthusiastically taken off early from work to accompany us.  Once back at Dave’s house we hopped into his red ’89 BMW (aka The Rockabilly Cruise Machine) and headed down to the mechanic’s shop, The Weybridge Garage on 34 Walton Road, to survey the damage and collect our wounded car.  The shop keeper was very optimistic, stating that our Alto “had plenty of heart, and with a little care, vigilance and no small degree of luck it would get us to Mongolia”.  The butcher’s bill was a staggering 712GBP, but at that point we were prepared for the shock and honestly just grateful to have a fully operational vehicle.  Having successfully retrieved our pitiful car we said our goodbyes to Dave Leach, our savior for the last week along with Candace Blair who provided accommodations in London.  I’d been provided a useful tip for a good campsite and we headed south towards the coast and the town of Herstmonceaux.  Once there we set up camp for the night at a pub called the Bull’s Head, which had a field in the back for people to set up tents and some surprisingly nice bathroom facilities at 15GBP.  As we surveyed a plot a cheerful young couple walked up and said “you look like you’re about to drive to Mongolia!”.  That was Chase and his girlfriend, and we opted to join them across the field to socialize a bit and enjoy a flatter, thistle-free location.  After setting up our ridiculously palatial tent next to their baby blue Fiat Panda, we walked back to the pub for a nice dinner.  Bangers and mash for myself and steak pie for Lisa, and the food was excellent.  The next day was our big trip to the start line at Bodiam Castle, about 18 miles away.

UPDATE 7/11: In London, England listening to "Broke down west of Reading"

 It has been a while since our last update, so time to bring everyone up to speed.  Since arriving in London from Amsterdam we've been staying with my cousin Candace, who has been absolutely amazing.  She's given us a bed, roof over our heads and a much needed home base where we can explore the sights of London and effectively prepare for the coming rally launch. Met with friends on July 5th, a reunion of sorts for x-junketeers and future ralliers which was good fun and great company.  The next morning, Saturday July 6th, we boarded a train out of town, picked up the car from Dave's house in Thames Ditton and then made a short drive to a campsite in Godstone, Surrey called Osney Lodge Farm.  Driving for the first time was a little nerve racking but we arrived in one piece, having not been honked at or flipped off by anyone.  Once there we had a great time testing out our gigantic new tent, which we picked up at the bargain price of $60, along with a small camping table.  All was going well the following morning, even got the cook stove working and made a fresh pot of coffee to start the day properly, though not in English tea-drinking style.  We then packed everything up by 10am and started our drive westward on the way to Teignmouth, where we'd be visiting an old friend of the family, Geoff Bladon.  We got as far as the city of Reading, or just west of there to the A4-M4 split, before something went wrong.  

I noticed a rattling sound which I first thought was a loose exhaust pipe, but within moments the car began to lose power.  The temperature gauge was reading normal and no warning lights had come on, but I didn't need one to tell me the car was apparently dying on us.  I put on the emergency flashers,depressed the clutch, pulled onto the hard shoulder and brought the car to a stop.  It had died in the process, so I turned the key to the off position, popped the hood and got out to take a look. There were several ominous telltale signs- no fluid in the radiator reservoir but plenty of oily muck from the engine, and light blue smoke curling up from around the head gasket.  The car wasn't going anywhere, it was dead.  We spent several hours and nearly all of our remaining cellular minutes securing a tow truck.  Lee, a very nice man and our savior at that point, showed up to get us off the road and taken someplace safe.  Through conversation the subject of the rally inevitably came up; he was at first intrigued by idea, then thoroughly amused upon reflection.  "Let me make sure I heard you right; your're driving 'that' (points to our broken down Alto), from England, to Mongolia?  You're braver than you look, mate!" I took that as a compliment, as I had no other choice but to do so.  Car loaded, we had to be hauled right back to Thames Ditton where we had started the previous evening, having driven a grand total of 106 miles or thereabouts.  

Despite the early run of bad luck and the substantial hit to personal travel budgets, we're still committed to finishing the rally and getting our car to Mongolia as promised.  There is also a bit of good news; on the fundraising front the Adventurists somehow overlooked our team in the rankings, though I'm not surprised.  We read an email listing the top five team fundraising totals in British Pounds and realized that we should be on this list, given the conversion rate to U.S. Dollars.  Indeed, after doing the math it would appear we'd come in at 4th place!  We've sent a message to the Adventurists to bring it to there attention and assure you we'll work to get the recognition our donors and supporters deserve.  Dave Leach has found us a mechanic in Thames Ditton and we are waiting on the car to be fixed, hoping it will be finished by Saturday when we need to be en route to the start line at Bodiam Castle.  One we get there we have some shirts we'd like to sell off to help out with the repair costs.  The news regarding our repairs has been mixed, however, and there is some doubt as to whether or not the car can be relied upon to make it to Ulaanbaatar even after the work.  Some things may therefore have to change; our route must become more direct as we are obligated to cut down on the distance we need to travel, and we may now have to convoy with another team or teams throughout the journey.  That being said we're still making the drive and, come hell or high water, we'll make it to Mongolia.  Will keep you posted on the repairs, only a few more days to go...

Dillion & Lisa