Do you know what? Between January 19, that final, glorious day of last year’s Dakar and the middle of November, I’d not really had the chance to think too much on this incredible event.
I’d completed my second Dakar adventure, witnessed history being made by the unstoppable Carlos Sainz in his almost other worldly Audi and I’d loved every minute of it. However, on the day I made it back home, filthy, exhausted and scrubbing the sand from crevices I didn’t even realize existed, I do remember saying to myself: “never again!”
So, when that call came asking if I’d be up for covering the event again this year, how long did I take to consider how my aging, aching, and sometimes almost breaking body might cope with another three weeks in the desert?
Yeah, you guessed it, no more than two seconds.
Dakar is an event that gets to you, it beguiles you, it enthrals you, it captivates you in a way that very little else on this earth can. The challenge is immense, the competitors are warriors, the scenery is brutal, yet enchanting. But above all else, this event has spirit and camaraderie in bucketloads.
Dakar has well and truly worked its magic on Clark. Let's see how he feels in three weeks
That’s why I found myself heading to Birmingham airport at three in the morning on New Year’s Eve, bags packed and ready for the near 20-hour journey to basecamp in Bisha, Saudi Arabia. Changing planes in Paris and the fever really starts to ramp up. Don’t forget, the Dakar is run by the Amaury Sport Organisation (ASO), the French firm that also runs another fairly challenging event, the Tour de France.
The departure lounge is full of Dakar-bound folk, organizers, teams, media types and, of course, the superstars of our sport. Sitting quietly in the corner, almost anonymous, is perhaps the greatest rally driver of all time, Sébastien Loeb. On this event he’s just another one of the boys. And over the other side, there’s Lucas Moraes, the young Brazilian hotshot who took a glorious podium on his Dakar debut. He’s not quite so anonymous; a man with the most welcoming smile and engaging personality rarely finds himself on his own.
There’s joy and anticipation in the air, and we haven’t even left Paris yet!
Seeing in the New Year was scheduled for the arrivals lounge at Bisha Airport and as we touched down and deplaned, the moment 2024 became 2025 came and went. There wasn’t much in the way of celebrations, the odd “bonne année” between old colleagues was about it. There were far more important considerations to be taken care of. The first bivouac, half an hour from the airport was our destination.
But not for me, I’d made the strategic decision to take a hotel in town. The thought of trying to assemble my tent at one in the morning didn’t really appeal. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my first two Dakars, it’s to take every opportunity to make things as easy as possible whenever and wherever they present themselves. I slept like a baby.
The Dakar is a constant learning process, and this applies as much to your sleeping strategy as anything else. No fancy camper vans or glamping options for us hardy boys and girls of the media pack, it’s old school camping all the way (apart from the odd strategic hotel for some of us oldies). The tent of choice for the younger more energetic types seems to be these new-fangled pop-up contraptions. Yes, they’re quick and easy to assemble, but I’ve seen dog kennels with more space and balsa wood models with more strength. They might be good for music festival-bound, care-free teenagers, but they are most definitely not for me with three weeks of desert life ahead. My two priorities when putting together my kit this year are space and sleeping comfort. A proper tent and a proper camp bed might take a little longer to assemble and, perhaps, be a touch more cumbersome to carry around, but my goodness, what a difference it makes.
Arriving at the bivouac on Wednesday morning, after my fabulous first night’s sleep, I was greeted by a sea of pop-ups, gently swaying in the light breeze. It was with some degree of self-satisfaction that I constructed my ‘proper’ tent and bed. It took me maybe 15 minutes, that’ll be down to five minutes by the end of the event. I then went about trying to find some order in the madness that had tumbled out of my over-packed bag. I didn’t succeed, but I did feel really quite pleased with my efforts and ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.
The first one wasn’t too long coming. During dinner and almost out of nowhere came a bone-rattling sandstorm. The sides of the enormous catering tent billowed, the roof creaked and the sand whipped against a door just about containing the ferocious gusts.
The Vango 3000 is standing firm. For now... (sorry Col, we're all very confident in your tent-building abilities!)
I wasn’t too concerned; I had my sturdy “proper” tent, pegs all firmly secured, guy ropes deployed and taught. A hearty dinner gratefully devoured and it’s time to head out and make my way back to camp. I’ll be honest, sand blowing at what felt like a hundred miles an hour sideways is not the most pleasant experience. It scours exposed skin, scratches your eyeballs and penetrates places you’d forgotten existed in the last 12 months.
The devastation was a worrying sight to behold. The pop-up village was straining at some decidedly strange angles, some had already collapsed into a sorry pile of broken poles and canvas, while others took to the skies. Not mine though, my Vango 3000 was a solid, safe island in a sea of the most turbulent waters and, boy, was I grateful for that. I climbed onto my camping cot, snuggled down into my sleeping bag and actually quite enjoyed the sounds of the sand assaulting my fly sheet, the tarpaulins snapping in the constant gusts and, and this is a bit cruel (and it might come back to bite me), the voices of those poor souls discovering their pop ups had, well, blown up.
But as I said, Dakar is a constant learning experience and I didn’t quite survive the storm scot-free. I knew sandstorms could be invasive, but I didn’t realise just how invasive! The amount of sand getting through the fine mesh air vents in the tent was testament to the ferocity of the overnight winds. My tent survived, but night number one provided another learn… I’m off to M-Sport to steal some gaffer tape to seal up that vent. I know airflow’s important and I’ll take the tape off, but not until we’ve done part two of the forecast storm tonight.
Sadly, I suspect one or two of the pop-up devotees will be sleeping beneath the desks in the media center tonight. Me? I’ll be loving life on the inside of the Vango 3000.
As the sun sets on another Dakar day, our man prepares for night number two under the canvas
