In some places the alleged roads are so narrow that we worry about touching the mountainside and having the Ranger ricochet off the cliff. They are also extremely rough. ”There were quite a few sections that were quite reminiscent of Baja,” remarks Ken Walter.
On a section in Peru known as the Inca Trail, some holes are so large that vehicles literally drive down into them. ”I was driving like a madman to go 18 m.p.h.,” complains Paris-Dakar veteran Peter Hardsteen of Holland, who is driving a cross between a Citroen and a Mitsubishi and is one of the fastest drivers.
The so-called roads vibrate tools apart, rip off skid plates, break frames and butcher stock suspensions so quickly that many teams become accustomed to the odd handling and unexpected lurches of a vehicle traveling at high speed, on a rough surface, without anything close to a functioning suspension.
”What did you break today?” becomes the usual form of greeting at day`s end. Innovation and perseverance are the keys to continuing, and it is routine to see arrangements such as using come-alongs to hold suspensions together.
One night in Ecuador, a dirty and exhausted Todd Myers of New York is working on his Jeep, which has a leaky gas tank, a broken motor mount and a cracked frame. ”I don`t think this is a good way to spend a honeymoon,” he observes, looking inside the Jeep, where his beloved is dozing.
The roads are so rocky that it`s like feeding your tires to a blender. Sadataki and I have such good luck and a plentiful supply of Firestones that other teams regularly come by begging for castoffs. Minutes before the start of one race section in Peru, an unhappy competitor wanders up. ”We have a flat,” he says, rolling his eyes toward the Andean peaks, ”and, good news, no spare!”
More than 75 percent of the time we are in the most deserted areas of the Andes, often 100 miles from the nearest village. Since two-way radios are forbidden and there are no sweep vehicles, there is no easy way to get help if we crash, get lost or run out of gas. If something bad happens, and it usually does, it`s a personal problem.
For 11 or 12 hours a day we pound the Ranger through the bare, dry mountains regularly at altitudes above 12,000 feet. Several times we hit 15,000 or 16,000 feet, where the road is poised above the clouds. In northern Chile, we drive for hours along a plateau at 15,000 feet, passing a salt lake, sulfur hot spring and herds of llamas.
We hate driving the Andes at night, especially because our driving lights fail the first night. Each day we watch the sun arc toward the horizon and try to guess how much daylight is left and talk about getting off the mountain before dark the same way that vampires talk about getting home before sunrise. Not surprisingly, there are a couple of cliffhangers. During a night drive in Peru, Reinaldo Strata, who is with his son, Adrian, of Whippany, N.J., falls asleep at the wheel. He is jolted awake and sees the headlights beaming out into eternity. A large rock snags the undercarriage, and Fred Uebelhoer, who is driving behind the Stratas, helps winch the front wheels back onto the road, ending a marvelous father-son experience. For Reinaldo, it is a religious experience. ”God put the only rock on that mountain on the ledge,” he says. ”It was more than luck. The Guy Up There said, `No, it is not your turn yet.` ”
Others are not so lucky. In addition to the Chileans who were killed, there are some other injuries. In Argentina, Akiko Fukuba of Japan sustains serious chest injuries and almost dies when her Nissan flips. John Anderson of Washington, Ill., is seriously injured in Chile when a Jeep backs up, knocks him down and drives over him, breaking his legs and badly lacerating his arm. Luckily, a teammate is a doctor and the accident takes place in a relatively civilized area: It only takes four hours to get him help.
In Cartagena, we couldn`t wait to get into the Andes. But after a steady diet of cliffs and switchbacks, we grow to hate them. Initially, the rally was designed to go through Venezuela and Brazil and spend more time in the Amazon jungle. Successful protests by Venezuelan environmentalists required the rally to be rerouted along the western coast of the continent.
”They took the Amazon out of the TransAmazon,” complains Mullin, who spent months reading about the Amazon tribes and bug life. ”I learned a lot, but it didn`t do me any good.”
The only Amazon we see is in Ecuador, where we spend a day racing along the often-rough dirt and mud roads, steadily working our way through the aggressive, leafy greenness of the jungle.
Often whole villages turned out throwing flowers, kisses and confetti, and seeking autographs. Although we are nobodies, this gives us a chance to experience the adulation normally afforded guys with names like Andretti, Rahal and Sullivan.
In Loja, Ecuador, schoolgirls in blue-and-white uniforms escape their classes to seek souvenirs and generally adore us, ignoring the nuns` efforts to round them up. In one Argentinian town, soldiers with guard dogs keep the crowds back, while a young Mormon missionary solemnly warns us, ”The young girls here would gladly have your babies.”
When there is trouble, whole towns turn out to help. The Fugauwe brothers have a flat tire in a Colombian village. ”Before we had time to get out our jack, the men from the village ran over and lifted up the Jeep so we could change the tire,” Chris recalls. ”Then, the villagers who had video cameras brought along the prettiest girl in the village so she could have her picture taken with us.”
Of course, everything is not hearts and flowers. Stuart Hiller of England breaks his Kawasaki 250 on a night section in Peru. He hides it in some bushes, but when he return the next day, it is gone. Although no longer a competitor, he continues on, riding with the organizers. ”This rally business is good fun, once you get rid of that dreadful motorcycle,” he says. Sadataki and I stop to make a repair one night in Colombia and are robbed at knifepoint, but the thief is happy with $10.
Many competitors are worried about antigovernment guerrillas, but close encounters are generally of the amiable kind. On a road near Popayan, Colombia, motorcycle racer Chris Keaveny goes through a small town filled with government soliders. A few minutes later he passes through another town where groups of armed, masked, antigovernment guerrillas are standing on the side of the road. ”They were cheering up a storm like everybody else,” he says.
Later, government troops and guerrillas fight. News reports say eight were killed.
Honeymooners Todd Myers and Peggy Prindible of New York City have mechanical trouble with their Jeep and fall behind the rally. This means crossing the Ecuador-Peru border alone, at the small, gritty town of Macara. In Peru, they are immediately stopped by guerrillas. ”They had guns pointed at our heads,” Prindible says one morning in Lima.
”They wanted to know, `Que pasa?` ” she says, ”and why weren`t we with the rest of the rally?” They are ridiculed and then allowed to continue, unnerved but unharmed.
Following the course is not always easy. The route books show the mileage of the next change of direction and a diagram of how the turn looks. That is fine, except sometimes the official mileages or drawings are inaccurate. And, good news, many of the teams have broken odometers. Our Ranger`s speedometer/ odometer cable is ripped out in Peru by an anti-American branch. This requires us to stop at forks in the road and play Tonto, examining the tire tracks and trying to tell which way other vehicles have gone.
That sounds amusing, but getting lost in some of the most remote areas of South America is not funny. Well, not funny if you`re personally involved. For example, Lorenzo Pearson knows something has gone wrong when the soldiers in the tiny Bolivian town want to kill him.
Pearson`s problem is that although the 8,900-mile rally is to cross five South American countries, Bolivia is not one of them. The Californian and his codriver, Jim Breslin, of Grants Pass, Ore., miss a turn while racing across a 15,000-foot plateau in northern Chile and blunder across the border in
”Bugazon,” their Volkswagen dune buggy.
They quickly find themselves surrounded by soldiers with automatic weapons, led by a particularly cranky officer in plainclothes, who champions the idea of killing the Yankee-pig-dog trespassers.
But it is the Americans` lucky day, sort of. The soldiers settle for confiscating their money, equipment, clothes and spare parts and chase them back across the border.
The Whites and Ricciardi are also lucky. On their second day of walking, they find a gaucho who helps them cross a river on horseback and then takes them to a nearby town, where they get help.
That day, the rest of the rally is arriving in Buenos Aires. By the end, of the 70 teams that started, only 15 trucks and one motorcycle are still following the rally route. Some have given up, returning home because of compound fractures of the spirit and body, broken vehicles or illness. Thirty-two other teams drive into Buenos Aires following the main highways instead of the competitive sections.
The overall winners, with 1,372 penalty minutes, are Bernard Cave of France and Victor Perez of Caracas, Venezuela, in a Toyota Land Cruiser. Second, with 1,482 points, are Paul Romero and Gustavo Yacaman of Colombia, in an Isuzu Trooper. Third, with 1,490 points, are Ron Clyborne and Ken Walters, in a Jeep Cherokee. Sadataki and I finish 11th, with 2,263 points.
Rob Shirley of the British West Indies, with 1,750 points, is the winner in the motorcycle category on a Kawasaki 650. He is also the only
motorcyclist to be classified as a finisher, although others, including
”Harley Charley” Peet, reach Buenos Aires.
It is hoped the rally will become South America`s version of Paris-Dakar. The 1989 event will be held in September, and the new organizer will be Patrick Verdoy of the Azalai Group (at 3 Avenue de Madrid, Neuilly 92200, France). Verdoy has been a key figure in Paris-Dakar since its inception.
”In 27 days we felt every emotion you could feel-the anger, relief, frustration, ecstasy, mental orgasm,” says Randy White, the Pampas behind him, drinking champagne in the safety of Buenos Aires.
Some of the competitors plan to return. But for others, the danger, difficulties and disorganization mean that once is more than enough.
”I wouldn`t do it again for a million dollars,” says a Texas competitor, who, incidentally, is already a millionaire.
