2010 Dakar

Christophe taking on the dunes between Iquique and Antofagasta (unedited). Footage copyright UNLTD CReative 2010. Enjoy!

On a homeward track now! Started before daybreak. Stopped to film some desert shots in the dawn light. Beautiful. Also stopped for a swim at a little beach on the edge of the desert. Incredible, swimming and looking back at mountains of dust and sand.

Pulled into the bivouac around 2.00pm and immediately hopped out and began what was to become a pretty full on climb up a mountain sized sand dune to get some shots of Christophe and other racers coming through.

Thankfully a Chilean guy stopped to give me a lift along the flats before the dune, but after that, I was on my own. Climbing sand is kind of like climbing snow, but it’s 3 steps forward, two steps back as opposed to 3 and 1 if you get what I mean. I kind of wished I had a sand equivalent of an ice axe (sand axe?), but eventually after 90 minutes or so, including stops to shoot bikes, trucks and cars travelling at insane speeds down a slope that can’t have been far of 40 degrees , I arrived at the ridge I’d set my sights on.

Of course, as with so many hills and mountains you set out to climb, it was a false summit. And to make things worse, there were locals who’d driven their bloody 4x4s up there. Reminds me of a story a cameraman from a classic 2nd world war movie told me. They spent a full day climbing a mountain in Norway to get a shot of the heroes skiing down. They’d been lugging kilos of heavy film equipment. When they got to the top, the mountain sort of opened and an American army officer popped out. “You guys!”, he said, “you should have told us – we’ve got an elevator in here…”

So I stood on the edge of the slope, watching tons of steel hurtle by at frightening speeds.

It’s surprising there are not more spectator deaths on the Dakar – once you get away from the arrival area, there are no markings; no one to keep people out of the way of the racers.

I didn’t have any of the anxiety of previous days, despite day 8 being the day that Christophe broke his arm on last year. When I interviewed him in his tent last night, he had an air of calm confidence around him, and there was something about today that was just, well, good. And good it was. Over the dune came Christophe, beginning the long descent to the finish line. He was going uncharacteristically slowly - I later found out that he had no back brake! Not ideal when belting down a 40 degree sand dune… I got the shot, although my shutter started playing up as I tried to track him to the finish – probably due to the 30 something degrees heat and abundant dust.

I shot a piece to camera with the desert stretching out endlessly behind me then sort of sand skied back down. Great fun to run and jump after having spent so much time cramped into a small car.

Caught up with Christophe back at the bivouac. Said he’d not wanted to be on the bike at all today and was happy to have finished. The same aura of calm surrounded him as we spoke. I asked him if he’s thought about the finish. He told me he has seen it – him and I on the Podium on Buenos Aires. If it happens, we have a dream end to Dream Racer…!

Rob Pollard had another good day at the office, despite severe pain from a fractured elbow. He finished 41st on the stage and is now ranked 41st overall. Christophe is currently 64th. Go the Ozzy boys!

In other interesting news, Annie Seel, the Swedish biker with a 100% career finishing record was rescued from a 5m deep hole in the sand by a helicopter! A crazy race indeed.

We’re half way through. Wow! There were zero guarantees that we would get this far but we have done, and Christophe, the bike, and most importantly the Fiat, are all doing well.

I’ve spent most of the day filming desert shots, doing laundry, backing up files and regaining some energy to get through the week that remains of the race. I’m not going to write a full entry today. Thank you from Christophe and I to everyone for your emails and support. It’s great to know that you’re all behind us. Fingers crossed we’ll do you proud and make it through to Buenos Aires.

Wanted also to mention a great charity here in South America - Un Techo Para mi Pais. It’s an organisation run by young people, that provides simple wooden houses to some of the hundreds of thousands of people living in shanty towns across South America. You can find out about them at www.untechoparamipais.org

It is hard reconciling the millions of dollars worth of cars, bikes and trucks rolling around the Dakar course with the abject poverty experienced by too many of the people living in this part of the world. Being here has certainly raised a number of questions for me. Why does completing the Dakar matter so much? We answer that it is an incredible challenge, a struggle against oneself and one’s environment. But this struggle seems somewhat gratuitous alongside the struggle experienced by so many people here and elsewhere, simply to find food and shelter and make it through to the next day.

I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t do the Dakar, climb Himalayan peaks or undertake all the adventures we do in poorer parts of the world. But when we do so, let us be aware of just how lucky we are to be consciously choosing hardship, to be challenging ourselves in this way.

The desert doesn’t care if you’re hurt. The desert doesn’t care if you’re tired. The desert will be here, implacably indifferent - just here - long after you’re end has come. Whether that be today round the next bend, tomorrow on the side of a mountainous dune or in 30, 40 years time at home surrounded by the memories of a life that is nothing but a grain in the interminable desert of time.

For the past few days Christophe has been having trouble with his GPS and Iritrack (the thing that allows him to be tracked and so picked up if he has a serious problem). This is obviously difficult for him - the day before last, he lost 45 minutes, lost, climbing up and down the biggest dunes of his life – 45 minutes of expending energy he could scarce afford. It’s also difficult for me. Not on a physical level, but on an emotional one.

Today, after 380km or so back from Iquique, we pulled in at the bivouac and headed straight to the media tent to track Christophe and Rob’s progress on the computer. All was looking good. They had both made checkpoint 6 and so, with two more checkpoints to go, were expected in a couple of hours. 

I went and had my first shave in about ten days. Not easy I can assure you, using the not so reflective surface of my sunnies as a mirror, hacking at my Fidel Castro-like growth in the open air. Then, tripod and camera in hand, I headed to the end of the long straight that leads to the bivouac and set up a beautiful “on the home straight” shot – empty road shimmers in the heat, dust blows across; we hear the distant rumble of an engine and then, into shot, dusty, weary but elated comes Christophe – you know the sort of thing.

One hour passes. I film bikes and cars coming home; fire off a shot every ten minutes or so to catch the slow changing of the light.

Two hours pass. Rob Pollard makes it home. His arm is sore, but he’s made it through the grueling stage and is in an impressive 46^th position overall.

Jacob comes up to the fence and shouts that Christophe has still not reached checkpoint 7. He should have been there forty minutes ago. It’s been two and a half hours since I set up the shot, four and a half since he was last shown on the computer.

My brain clicks into slight anxiety mode. My film director head likes the possibility of this same shot turning to night time, a slow shutter capturing the tracer headlights of stragglers limping home. My friend-of -Christophe head is concerned that something is seriously wrong: a big crash, a wrong turn that leads to a night in the desert or worse. My producer head is worried we don’t yet have quite enough to make a successful movie – surely the xxxxard can go a few more days – how inconsiderate to throw it all away when we’re almost half way! Director head starts thinking wide, open desert shots. The constant sound of the wind in the microphone, a tattered flag of one of the small shrines that line the roads, filling the frame. Writer head starts to compose the words with which I began this entry.

And still he doesn’t come.

When he does finally fill the frame, it’s without fanfare, without drama. Just a guy on a motorbike on his way home. When he sees me, he raises his arms – a brief celebration that I zoom out just fast enough to catch. I whoop. Producer is composed – quietly pleased that the project rolls onwards. Director likes the shot and is thinking now to setting up for a time-lapse sunset. Writer puts the full stop on the desert paragraph. And friend? Friend runs to the bike, relieved, delighted and angry all at once. Christophe removes his helmet . “Simon?” he smiles a dust caked smile: “are those tears I see in your eyes?”