Kathmandu

A phone call was all it took to start me wondering what Nepal would be like. Walter called from somewhere in China. He was at least a week away from the border to Nepal and only a few days away from Peking. He wasn’t quite sure what the fault was but he knew it was serious. He had taken his eyes off the road, just for a split second, to look behind him and check where his competitors were. That was when the car hit a boulder, a rather large boulder. The car had jumped into the air on impact and came crashing down with the nearside front and rear brakes jammed on. Something had also hit the nearside rear wheel square on and moved the rear axle backwards on that side. On inspection, Walter had spotted some paint was flaking off halfway along the left axle tube. His analysis was that the rock had bent the axle backwards which had taken up the slack in the brake cables and therefore pulled the brakes on hard. The rear wheel no longer looked central in the wheel arch, it was definitely pushed back. Walter decided the axle was bent and he knew he wouldn’t be able to carry out repairs locally because there wouldn’t be any parts available. 

That’s when I got the phone call, there was a little desperation in his voice but he was also apologetic because he’d damaged the car. He described the problems to me over a poor satellite phone link. I wasn’t convinced the axle was bent, it was more likely to be chassis damage. If the axle was bent, then the chassis or spring would had to have to moved as well. But Walter said everything looked in good order except for the axle.

Walter asked me if I could come out and repair the car. He told me he would keep driving it but at a much slower pace. After I put the phone down I kept thinking about the extent of the damage to his car. It didn’t quite seem right that only the axle tube could be bent. I then started thinking about how I might get to the far east and carry a load of car parts through customs.

I decided I would make the journey and meet Walter in Kathmandu, Nepal. I would take a spare axle tube with me, a half-shaft, in case that was bent too, a differential housing and of course as many relevant tools as I could carry. Over the next couple of days, Pat my wife made all my travel arrangements. In turn, I had to visit my doctor and have all the necessary inoculations. The plan was to fly out on Friday to arrive on Saturday, which was the day all the rally cars should arrive at Kathmandu. But then, out of the blue, another phone call came in. This time it was from an American, on what can only be described as the worst phone connection ever. After much frustration and repetition, I established the American was ringing on behalf of Walter. The situation had become worse because the right-hand rear spring mounting had broken off Walter’s car, now the whole car was completely un-driveable. 

Walter wasn’t alone in his Bugatti, he had Fritz his co-driver with him. They had decided to organise a truck to haul them to the border. But their problems didn’t end there. It was a desperate situation because they were located on top of the Himalayas, in an open car with no heater and the prospect of freezing temperatures overnight. 

The problems with the car were on a very different level now too. How was I going to repair a broken rear cross member? The rear cross member on a Bugatti T40 is like most other Bugattis, it’s fixed together when the chassis is assembled. It simply cannot be removed and replaced. I had to find a way of removing the old damaged cross member and replace it by not using the standard method of shrinking the spring mounting lugs on to the end of the cross tube. I managed to sketch a quick design and my team made me a special cross member. We had no stock of spring lugs so two were fabricated from solid lumps of steel, turned, bored, drilled, milled and then welded together. One end would be shrunk on as standard, the other end was made so it could be welded on. The only problem was that it weighed about 56 lbs. Add that to the weight of the axle spares, this meant I would have to carry around 120lbs on to the plane. There's no way I'd get away with that in my hand luggage. Everything had to go in the hold and I'd have to pay any excess charges.  

With all the spares wrapped up and still warm from the welding, my bag packed and me in possession of my tickets, money and passport, I was off down the motorway to the airport. My thoughts were not as you might think. They were not about what I might find, but who I had just left behind. There was Tim in the machine shop that had made the parts with nothing more than a few sketches. Tim solves problems as he goes along and at a pace that suits the urgency of the situation. There was also Steve and Tim D who had fitted ‘red hot’ lumps of metal on to tubes that required several tons of pressure on the press to push them on. My wife Pat who had booked me a seat on an almost full aeroplane. She’d also sorted out my visas, hotel bookings and the currency. I’m sure Walter and Fritz had no idea what had been achieved in just a couple of days. 

Being a Friday the motorway was as usual jammed solid. Is there ever a time when the M25 isn’t? It was a good thing I had left with plenty of time. I went to the baggage check-in, paid the baggage excess and bought a book to read. I made my fond farewells to a worried but confident Pat and gave a hug to my son Steve. As I went through the x-ray machine I wondered what the authorities would have thought if I’d tried to carry the axle tube on to the plane. One of the lads at work said they'd arrest me for carrying parts for a super gun. But I’ll never know – or will I?

The plane was about half an hour late taking off but the captain assured us he would make-up the time. Our first stop would be Frankfurt, then on to Dubai and finally to Kathmandu. I sat next to a young Gurkha soldier who was returning home on leave. He hadn’t been home for three years and was very pleased to be on his way. He told me quite a lot about Nepal, mainly about the hill country where he lived. He didn’t like the city and never spoke much about it. He did say I wouldn’t like it either. 

Frankfurt came and went. It was dark outside and could have been any airport in the world. Once again we were late taking-off, but this time it was the fault of the Gurkhas. Some of them had got lost in the airport and had to be found. Apparently this was a frequent problem I would experience later. A very short night later we arrived at Dubai. All you could see from the plane was sand and more sand. Then there were some white houses with lots of sand around them too. The pilot certainly saved some time with his landing procedure. It seemed he was free from the constraints of a busy international airport so he literally dropped from 30,000 feet like a dive bomber. I found it quite a thrill, but there were others who thought the plane was going to crash.

After a safe landing, we all shuffled off the plane and walked straight into an inferno. At 7.30am it was over 30 degrees Celsius. Even though I only experienced that heat for a few minutes, the air-conditioned buses were very welcome. During the trip to the terminal I saw lots of construction workers building a massive airport complex. They start work really early there and finish at midday, most likely to avoid the worst of the sun. I was delighted I hadn’t arrived in the afternoon, I’m sure the heat then would have been unbearable. 

I couldn’t see why they needed to build a bigger airport. As far as I could see there was nothing there but sand and a coastline. There were no obvious hotels along the beaches, no major city or ancient buildings. Nothing except sand. It wasn’t until I arrived in the duty-free area I realised why the airport had to be bigger. It was all to do with gold and there was lots of it. There were lots of people buying it too. They were buying everything like there was no tomorrow. There were expensive cars being raffled at $150 a ticket. If you won the car it would be delivered to your door. The gold could be bought as individual items or handfuls by weight. I saw at least three people buying it by weight and paying for it in cash. They simply emptied their money belts on the counter. 

The plane was called early because we still had time to make-up. While we were waiting in the departure lounge, I started chatting to a fire inspector who was also travelling to Kathmandu. He told me the other magnet of Dubai is cheap fuel which attracts the smaller airlines. Perhaps he was right, when I looked around the airport I didn’t see one major airline. So there we were back on the plane and waiting. You've guessed it, the Gurkhas had gone missing again. Half an hour went by and we were still sitting on the tarmac. At last a police van arrived with the missing passengers and we could finally take-off. Apparently the Gurkhas were trying to get out of the airport after being directed to the transit lounge. The authorities couldn’t make them understand the rules for transit passengers, so ultimately the police were called.  

For the final part of this journey I managed to get a seat by the window. I swapped places with Yan my Gurkha friend because he wanted to talk to his pals across the aisle. It suited me because I much prefer a window seat. I had never flown over so much uninhabited land before. Mile after a mile of nothing except desert. Occasionally, I could make out some barren mountains and empty valleys, but there was no sign of life or trace of habitation. With perfectly clear skies I could see for miles. I saw dried-up river beds, worn down mountain tops and sand dunes that looked as big as mountains. It went on for hours and hours. At long last I did spot signs of life. I could make out a small track, it was just visible and as we followed it I noticed it was becoming a bigger track. Then it became a small road that led to a farm with buildings clustered around a small patch of green. I wondered it if might be an oasis. Ultimately of course, civilisation did arrive. Farms became more frequent, then came the villages and then the small towns. We were travelling across India, the last country to cross before Nepal. It was only then I really started to think about repairing the car.

I hoped Walter and Fritz could get to Kathmandu with enough time for me to fix the car before the next leg of the rally was due to start. The breakdown would have meant they’d already picked-up some heavy time penalties. Before the clash with the boulder, they were one of the leading cars on the rally. My plan was to get them going again with all the repairs done and a service carried out on the little Bugatti. This would also allow the crew to have a rest and give them a new lease of life so they could catch-up as much lost time as possible on the next leg. 

As my mind drifted, I began to realise that India is a very large country to cross. I was thinking, it has to end soon, but it went on and on for hours. More roads, houses, the odd city. In the distance I could make out power stations, railway lines and rivers with barges. It was surprising what I could see at a height of 30,000 feet. Eventually the pilot told us we were approaching our destination and I started to scour the horizon for a glimpse of the Himalayas. But it wasn’t to be. When the plane was high enough I was on the wrong side of it to see the mountains. When it turned to make its landing, it was too low. My first sight of Nepal was valleys filled with tumbling waterfalls and hills covered in trees. All of the hills were very steep and some of them pushed right through the clouds. Occasionally I could make out clearings on the slopes and a scattering of terraced fields. Each group of fields had a small building or two, they were probably farms. I couldn’t help thinking the workers here must be really fit and tough because the slopes on those hills looked almost vertical. 

We were flying in a valley, bumping along the turbulent air as we passed through the clouds. Those first hills I saw must have been at least 5,000 feet because Kathmandu is 4,000 feet above sea level. We veered into a much wider valley and the first building I saw was a tall chimney. Then I noticed another and I soon realised there were dozens of them. I found out later that each one is a brick kiln that has their own pile of red bricks beside them in the drying sheds. The whole valley is a rich source of suitable brick clay. 

The airport runway must be the shortest ever. As soon as the plane touched down full reverse thrust came on hard. The brakes were fully applied too and I heard the tyres screech over the roar of the Rolls Royce jet engines. Luggage flew everywhere. Peoples’ belongings slid along under the seats, the overhead bins popped open and it started to rain hand luggage. As the reverse thrust came off we started to turn left with the brakes still on hard. As the plane swung round at right angles I could see the end of the runway sloping steeply away dropping 50 feet or more. The plane started to tip as the wing dipped even lower to the ground but it finally straightened up. As it did so, I saw crowds of people waving from the spectators’ balcony on the airport buildings. I’m sure they were waiting for the plane to go right off the runway. If it hasn’t already done so, I’m sure it will do soon. It’s an accident waiting to happen.

When the plane came to a stop, I could see the airport service vehicles approaching. But, there seemed to be something not quite normal. The baggage trolleys instead of being pulled by a small tractor had two men struggling to pull three of them. Their struggling turned into a squabble. Then one of them slipped over. His partner still pulling like mad ran him over and the poor man got stuck under the trolley. After a lot of arm waving, they both carried on and there appeared to be no harm done. The truck that supplies the catering for the plane arrived, but that was also not something you'd usually see. The first thing I noticed was the smoke billowing from its exhaust, it was thick and black. It also poured from under the cab, out of the doors, and through where the windscreen should have been. When the truck stopped alongside the plane, its doors flew open and at least eight men came rolling out. Before long, we were surround by dozens of men. Not one of wore anything that resembled a uniform, they looked like they’d just come off the streets. I thought there must be someone important on board to generate all this staff. But I was wrong, they all had a job. Even if it took three men to one suitcase, it kept them all busy doing something.

As I stepped on to the stairs to exit the plane, I felt the warm humid heat of the tropics. It had just been raining and the air smelt like it does after a rain storm on a summer’s day. I walked the short distance to the terminal buildings following my fellow passengers into the door marked "Arrivals". There was a large sign marked "Nationals" and half the passengers disappeared. The rest of us stopped because there were no other signs to direct us. There was a long desk across the other side of the hall with around six people behind it. They didn’t seem to be interested in anybody but themsleves and appeared to be arguing with each other. I decided to go there because it was the only place left to try. I was spot on, it was the desk for arrivals with no visas.

We had filled in forms given to us on the plane so I assumed this was going to be a fairly simple process. I was wrong, the head guy on the end of the desk waved me over and took my form. He started crossing bits out violently with a thick felt tip pen. Every time he ran his pen across the form he moaned. When he got to the end he asked me for a picture to stick on it. I told him I didn’t have one but there was one on my passport. He said he wanted one for the visa form which now looked like a three-year old’s nursery school painting. He continued to strike at it with his felt tip. I protested but he insisted I came up with a picture. We were getting nowhere. I could see there were no photo machines in the airport and I couldn’t remove my passport picture. I asked him what I should do. He said; if I gave him an extra fifty dollars in addition to fifteen dollars visa fee, he would find me a picture to put on the form. This was my first encounter with official corruption and the queue behind me was getting longer. I conceded and gave him the money. Then I moved on to the next position along the desk. I watched as the offcial placed the 15 dollars in one drawer and the 50 dollars in another. I began to wonder what was going to happen next. Fortunately all went smoothly along the next six positions. Each official stamped or wrote over a stamp. Everything could have been done by one person but it took six. I was to find out later this was the Nepalese way. If there's a job going it has to be shared by as many people as possible. As I left the end of the desk, I overheard somebody at the other end arguing about a picture. I chuckled to myself and moved into the baggage hall. This turned out to be the same hall as arrivals just simply separated by the long desk.

The baggage came out very quickly and to my relief I saw my spare parts parcel. After collecting the parts I waited for my suitcase. The carousel must have jammed a dozen times and I waited a good half an hour before my case arrived. I was told by a grinning local, if I wanted to get my bags quickly I simply had to go behind the conveyer and help myself, just like he had done. It was too late for that now but I did take a look to see all the locals picking up their bags while the operators repaired the carousel. Dozens of passengers were kept waiting for ages not knowing their bags could have been collected from a pile just the other side of the wall.

I wrestled a luggage trolley from a tangled mess of twisted and wheel-less lumps of bent iron piled up in one corner. I loaded it up with my parcel and suitcase and headed off towards the green channel. Halfway down the green channel, I noticed it was also the red channel. There was no dividing fence between the two signs and there were no customs officers present. It was just a corridor with no doors leading to the main exit. The signs were there only to look good. I found out later gold smuggling is a problem in Kathmandu. So, rather than have regular customs officers, they have plain clothes men wandering amongst the passengers. When they catch a smuggler, they take his gold and send him home on the next plane. The gold gets dispersed amongst the airport staff who apparently only work there for a maximum of three years. After your three years, someone else takes your place and gives them a chance to become rich.

I walked out of the building with some relief but only to be met by, what can only be described as, a mob of hundreds of people all waving and shouting. I looked behind me to see if some sort of celebrity had walked out with me, but I was on my own. Everyone was shouting at me. I was glad to see a policeman standing between me and the mob. The policeman stepped towards me and the mob followed close behind him. When he turned around they scurried back. it was just like the kid’s game ‘What’s the time mister wolf?’

It was at this point my luggage trolley gave up. A wheel jammed solidly and my stuff fell off in front of all these people. As I bent down to pick up my suitcase this guy came up and asked if he could help. I told him the hotel I was staying at had arranged for somebody to pick me up. He asked me the name of the hotel. I told him it was the Yak and Yeti. With that he pointed to a tiny sign on a stick amongst twenty others all waving furiously. I beckoned the sign over, complete with its pair of hands, that was because it was all I could see amongst the crowds of people. Suddenly a terrible thought came over me, will all the signs come at once, will I get squashed in the stampede? Suddenly, from behind came a hand and it grabbed my suitcase. Then another grabbed at my parts parcel. My suitcase soon disappeared into the crowd but the parts didn’t go anywhere. This was because it weighed-in at over 200lbs. The carrying strap I’d made for it jerked tight and a small brown person hit the tarmac. His legs were still running even though he was flat on his face. I realised I had nothing to lose. i presumed my suitcase was gone for good but I must hang on to the parts at all costs. I grabbed the strap and hauled the still wriggling young boy back towards me. He turned to face me and screamed “Yak and Yeti” and we started a tug of war. Of course, he had no chance of winning. Just as I was about to grab him by the throat another guy in a suit came over and apologised to me. He was from my hotel and began swiping the kid about the head. Apparently the hotel staff don’t like mixing in the crowd. So, they arrange for these ‘helpers’ to do the sign waving and bag carrying for them. They don’t pay the ‘helpers’ it’s left for the passengers to give tips. The rule of thumb is the best hotels have the biggest tippers. So, the competition is high to be chosen by them. Over enthusiasm rules and the job must be done at all costs.
    
I got to the hotel mini-bus which had to wait in the car park for another passenger to arrive before it could leave. I’d paid off the porters and looked around the car park. All the cars were at least twenty years old and mainly Japanese models, Toyotas, Datsuns, Nissans, all of them were small, four-door saloons. There was the odd younger car but not many. We left the car park and got on to the main road. The vehicles we followed were definitely different. There were three-wheeled vans with small diesel engines of perhaps two cylinders. They had canvas rear bodies and inside these were about eight passengers. You might think this is a reasonable description of a lightweight bus until I tell you the whole thing is no longer than a Mini. The wheels are smaller than the wheels on a bricklayers’ wheelbarrow. They all looked to be really old and belched out black smoke. It was so bad, when you follow one you have difficulty in seeing where you're going. We proceeded into heavier traffic. The first thing I noticed was the unusual amount of use of the horn. Every time we came up to another vehicle, be it car, bike, motor bike or bus, our driver blasted the horn. But he wasn't the only one, everbody does it. The traffic became thicker as we progressed into the city. It got so bad we were hardly moving. It didn’t stop the continuous hooting though, every car and bike just endlessly blasting their horns. 

The city roads seemed to be continuously full with the fussy, smoky, dusty traffic. It was a relief to pull into the hotel courtyard.  A doorman escorted me to reception, insisting my luggage would be taken care of. It felt as if something special was happening at the hotel, the atmosphere was tingling. All of a sudden, a dusty character arrived at the hotel lobby. He was one of the first rally crews to arrive in Kathmandu. He should have gone to the rally conference centre and left his car there. But his crew, along with several others, decided to come straight to the hotel. He was greeted by someone waiting for him with great enthusiasm. For someone to cross China in the way he had just done, he deserved every enthusiastic greeting available to him.
    
The hotel staff were not quite sure what to do with me. There was a special desk for rally crews to sign-in and they thought I was part of a crew. I told them I was there to repair and deliver parts for a broken car. This totally confused the hotel staff but I eventually managed to make them understand. My luggage, including the spare parts, were escorted to my room. I passed the rally check-in on the way and enquired as to the whereabouts of car number three. The answer was a little vague, they’d heard it had broken down on the other side of the border but had no idea of its location.
 
So, there I was lying on my hotel bed relieved that I’d arrived. I had my luggage, tools and spare parts. But now I didn’t know if I had a car to fix. I started to work out a plan to get to the border and recover the car from China. I would need a truck, a translator and possibly a visa to enter China. All of this would have to be arranged if indeed the car was stuck in China. I decided to tackle those problems tomorrow, Sunday, if Walter didn’t turn up tonight. 

The hotel was grand, and I couldn’t be more satisfied. My room was air-conditioned and as advertised ‘deluxe’. After showering, I phoned Pat at home to let her know I’d arrived safely. I was keen to get downstairs and eat something other than aeroplane food. I also wanted to find out if anybody had heard from Walter and Fritz. I decided the bar would be the best place to get information. After all, if I had just travelled across China, only stopping in poor hotels at best, my first stop would be the bar of a civilised hotel. Well I found them all right. There were four or five crews talking amongst themselves or to visitors. I heard one group speaking English so I asked after Walter’s car. They said it had a broken chassis and the crew were waiting for a truck to bring them to Nepal. Waiting for a truck wasn’t news to me because the American had told me that three days ago. The report about a broken chassis was something I wasn’t prepared for. The crew explained they were some way ahead of the rest of the cars and their information was a little old. They suggested I waited for a later car which might have more up-to-date news.

Several cars later but still no more recent news. I started to talk to people about a rescue mission into China. I was just about to start taking this rescue plan seriously when another crew arrived. I questioned them like all the others. This time the news was better. This crew had actually seen the car in China being loaded on to a truck. However, they'd also encountered landslides and they doubted trucks would get through for fear of dropping down the mountainside. They also said there were trucks waiting at the Nepalese border to haul any cars to Kathmandu. This gave me some peace of mind and I gave up on the rescue plan there and then. I remembered what Walter had said to me “I’ll see you in Kathmandu”, all I had to do was be patient and wait. While I waited, I kept thinking about the broken chassis which almost every crew had mentioned. Were they getting mixed up? Or did the car really have a problem that we weren’t prepared for?

There was a choice of three restaurants in the hotel. One was a buffet, one had waiter service and the last served local vegetarian food. I chose the buffet, it was cheaper and if I found something I liked I could go back for more. I ate very well that night and did go back for more. The food was excellent, well prepared and presented. Full-up, I strolled into the bar and caught up with some new arrivals. Several crews had now confirmed the little Bugatti was on its way and the best estimated time to arrive was about midnight. I found a comfortable chair in the hotel foyer where I could keep an eye on the road that led into the hotel car park. With a glass of beer regularly refreshed by some very attentive staff, I sat and waited. 

It was about nine o’clock and dark when a battered old truck pulled up halfway along the entrance road. I thought it can’t be them because the truck didn’t look big enough. Just then a tall figure walked from behind the body of the truck. I thought to myself, that’s no local because all the natives are only about four feet tall. Then I saw a reflection of light from a pair of glasses. I was out of my chair in a flash and made for the door, I realised it was Fritz.

He staggered towards me stretching and shaking his legs. Then he saw who was walking towards him. He shouted as loud as he could “our angel”. He grabbed hold of me with both arms, almost breaking my ribs in a vice-like bear hug. A cloud of dust engulfed us both. After a bit more hugging and back-patting, I looked around for Walter. I watched him climb down from the truck cab. As he walked towards me, his familiar grin broke the dust on his face. I don’t think he'd smiled for days and I couldn’t think of any reason why he would want to. Their situation was desperate. But, they had at least made it to some sort of civilisation. 

Walter’s greeting, although just as sincere as that of Fritz, was more sedate. A double handshake was vigorously applied and equally dusty. With the welcomes over, we started to talk about the problems with the car. Walter was talking about retiring from the rally because he thought the damage was too bad. He described the crack in the chassis and noticed the concern on my face. I told him we had made parts to repair the rear cross member but chassis repairs had not crossed my mind. 

I decided whatever problems we had with the car I could fix them. I couldn’t go on a breakdown job like this one without being confident in my own abilities. Walter and Fritz however are not mechanics. After some hours travelling in a beaten-up old truck with a broken car, they seemed dejected. I told them their problems were really quite simple. It would take some hard work but the job could be done and they'd be able to continue the rally on time. All my optimism didn't do the trick though. They said I needed to see the broken chassis before I could say how long it would take to repair.

The first job we had to do was get the car out of the truck. The truck driver and his mate needed to get home. We moved the truck under some street lights and came up with a plan to get the car out.  Everything we touched on the truck was covered with a thick layer of fine grey dust. It was everywhere. The Nepalese driver eventually got the tailboard undone. It had been lashed on with about a mile of old rope. The tailboard dropped down with a crash as yet another huge cloud of dust billowed from the back of the truck’s canvas cover. They had loaded the car into the truck using a gravel bank and some short planks of wood. Now the truck deck was four feet off the ground and the angle for the planks of thin wood was far too steep. 

We had already attracted quite a crowd, something that was going to be a regular occurrence. Every time something unusual happens dozens of people arrive to watch and help. Amongst the crowd were the hotel security guards who were following orders from the hotel deputy manager. On seeing our predicament, they kindly took off in search for some suitable ramps. I clambered up into the truck to see if I could see the damage on the car but it was far too dark. The car was covered with so much dust it had lost its black colour and looked grey.

The guards soon came back with a huge steel channel about twenty feet long, perfect for a ramp. We placed it on the back of the truck and the guards stood there waiting for something else to happen. Without being too pushy, I asked them when they were going to fetch the second ramp. They started to answer me in broken English but at the same time there was lots of arm waving. I found I had to be quite assertive if I wanted something done. If I wasn't we'd just stand there and argue forever. I shouted ‘stop’! They stopped and listened. “Where is the other ramp?” I asked again. The tallest of the guards answered and said that there wasn’t another one. I then asked if they could find something else that might make a ramp. I explained anything strong and long would do. At the same time I was having my chat with the security guards, Walter and Fritz were talking to a different group. Suddenly, both groups seemed to take-off at the same time but in entirely different directions. I thought was a good omen and would improve our chances of getting a ramp of some kind.

After about ten minutes we heard a loud grunting and groaning. A gang of men came shuffling towards us. It was both groups surrounding what looked like a large section of railing fence. It turned out to be a gate made of large steel bars and it was very heavy. There must have been fifteen men struggling with it, the trouble was it was about eight feet square and far too short. We asked them to place it at the back of the truck to see how short it was. Fritz suggested if we used all the timber in the truck we might be able to increase its length a little. By this time, Walter was getting somewhat frustrated and he decided the hotel bar was a much better place to be in right now. He gave us a look that said, you get the bloody thing out, I’m going for a stiff drink. With that, he turned and left us to it.

Fritz and I were uncertain about these ramps. The gate was still too short even with all the planks on it but we decided to give it a try anyway. I climbed into the truck again and started the car's engine. A huge cloud of stinking smoke drifted around me and I thought the car was on fire. I stopped the engine and took a look around, I couldn’t see any flames and the smell was not so strong now. I restarted the engine but the smell came back again. I soon realised it was the exhaust fumes trapped inside the truck that made the smell so intense. However, it wasn’t a smell I was familiar with. It suddenly dawned on me. It must be the poor quality of fuel we'd been warned about. In this case, it smelt like diesel and paraffin probably mixed with petrol. Petrol is very expensive in China and all the other fuels are cheaper. So, they make the petrol go further by adding anything cheap that burns. All I'll say is, it stinks really badly.

I started to drive the car off the end of the truck. I couldn’t see much so I relied on Fritz to wave me on. By now the audience had grown by another 50 people. As the car moved down the ramp, the gate slipped from the truck. I felt it slip and quickly selected reverse gear to get the car back inside. The gate crashed to the floor. I climbed down from the truck and was pleased to get away from the fumes. My eyes were streaming and my throat was stinging. We decided to tie the gate to the truck so it wouldn’t slip. I gave it another go but the gate fell away again. This time the car crashed onto the truck floor, resting on its sump guard with its front wheels hanging in the air. Back in the UK, I'd made the sump guard to withstand a small nuclear explosion, I knew the car was undamaged.

The problem now was how to get the car back into the truck. The guards came to the rescue. They crowded around the front of the car and just picked it up and pushed it back in. It was as easy as that. When I checked the rope that was supposed to be holding the gate to the truck, I found one end just wound around a hook and not tied at all. Another lesson learnt, never rely on the natives to do anything important. They might be willing but they just don’t take things seriously.

With the rope tied up properly, we tried again. Everything held up this time but the gate ramp was too short. The car bottomed out on the gearbox guard and wouldn’t move any further down the ramp. Fritz then showed his colours and with a bellow ordered everybody to stop and leave it until tomorrow. In reality, he didn’t quite say that but it would be wrong of me to print his exact words. Everybody, including me, stood to attention. There was silence for the first time in two hours. He ordered the helpers to take the ramps down. The helpers did as they were asked without arguing or arm waving. It was all done in a flash. We took the keys from the truck cab so the driver and his mate would have to stay the night. We were warned it would be quite possible for them not to be there in the morning if we didn’t take precautions. 

After cleaning up, I found Walter and Fritz in the bar chatting to other drivers and crews. They were all reflecting on their day’s experiences. Some seemed to find it quite tough and others made it sound like they'd been on a shopping trip. One lady I spoke to vowed she would never enter China again. She found the country and its people unpleasant. Other crews had enjoyed their journey so far and would willingly cross China again, albeit not right at this moment. Walter and Fritz were happy to eat bar food and chat rather than go to the restaurant. Later, several crews encouraged us to visit a local bar called Tom and Jerry’s. We went along with them. The bar was poor, dirty and smelly. After a few drinks and more chatting, tiredness started to creep up. Walter, Fritz and a couple of others felt the same. We found a cab and went back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep.

Before retiring I'd arranged to meet Walter for breakfast at eight. That was when the restaurant would be open for the rally competitors. After eating we went in search of the truck and its driver. They were where we left them the night before. They seemed glad to see us and we told them we were going to look for a place to unload the car. We explained we would be back in about fifteen minutes. We decided to walk around the block to see if we could find a garage or some place that had a ramp. After a while, we came upon a house with a very steep driveway down to a garage. I suggested to Walter we could drive the truck down to the level bottom and this would lessen the angle of our ramps. Walter liked the idea went to the front door of the house. Eventually, after constantly ringing the doorbell, somebody answered. It seemed we had got this fellow out of bed because he didn’t have many clothes on. With Walter’s excellent English, he managed to get permission to try and unload the car.

I had already walked back up the drive to double-check the plan. It all looked good but as I turned round I saw something I was not expecting to see. I looked up the road and a large elephant was walking towards me. When I say large I mean large. It was the biggest elephant I had ever seen. It had a driver and two passengers. The couple taking a ride were tourists going off for a trip to the hills. The elephant seemed to be in a hurry to get there. The road it was on was a wide city one. Jumbo took up one whole side of it as it zig-zagged along, swishing its tail and trunk from side to side. Its tail was under full control even though Jumbo couldn’t actually see it. Every time a motorbike tried to pass, it swung its tail out aimed directly at the rider’s head. The riders either had to duck, brake or drive around. Driving around was difficult because of the oncoming traffic. One guy had three attempts to get his timing right. Each time the tail stopped him. I watched him make his fourth attempt. He watched the tail swing from left to right. By the way, I forgot to say, this tail was about five feet long and a good three inches thick. Furthermore, it had what can only be described as a yard broom on the end of it. You can only imagine what kind of damage it could inflict. Well, this poor motorcyclist was about to find out. As the tail moved away to clear the rider’s path the accelerator opened, but this time the tail only made half a swing. It caught up with the bike and with a swing of the hips, the tail gained a little extra length and speed. It hit the rider squarely on the back of his helmet. The force knocked his helmet forward covering his eyes which caused the rider to wobble as he struggled to regain control and lift-up his helmet. Then I noticed the next obstacle, the trunk. What further trouble was Jumbo going to cause? The elephant must have had some experience of wayward traffic because he swung his trunk round to protect his flank. The bike passed on by and Jumbo swung his trunk high with a triumphant wave. All this action was missed by its passengers and driver. I would have loved to follow Jumbo around the city all day, but we had a car to unload.

A bit further down the road, a building site provided a supply of timber planks which would make good ramps. We made our way back to the hotel finding a pathway through the back streets to the hotel garden entrance. It was in these back streets I saw my first signs of the poverty and filth in Kathmandu. I thought the sight of a woman cooking a meal on an open fire was just something people did. An alfresco breakfast seemed like a good idea in that climate. It wasn’t until I noticed the child behind her, under a shelter made from sticks and paper. I realised then this was their home and their kitchen. The source of food, toilet, and everything else was the street. I was to see more of this later but my first sighting was difficult to handle.

We arrived back at the hotel car park only to find the driver and his mate had gone off somewhere, presumably to find some breakfast. While we waited for them to return, I started to think about the elephant and his game with the motorcycles. I began to chuckle out loud and Walter turned to me and looked worried. I’m not sure if it was me he was worried about or the fact the truck driver and his mate were absent. A few minutes later the driver and his mate returned and we told them about our driveway and our supply of ramps. Neither of them had a great command of the English language but they both seemed quite concerned about the location of the house.

We all climbed into the truck and drove out of the hotel grounds. When we got to the main road we were stopped by a policeman and the truck driver became very agitated. Walter realised there was some kind of problem and climbed out to talk to the policeman. It soon became apparent that trucks couldn’t drive on certain streets in the city. In particular, those in close proximity to the Kings’ palace. Unfortunately, all of the roads leading to our unloading house were ‘palace’ roads as we then called them. There had to be another route to the house but because we had only walked we couldn’t be certain. The policeman made it quite clear we would have to find another route. Inevitably, by this time, the traffic was starting to build.

Now finding your way to a location you’re not quite sure where it is, with a driver who can hardly speak your language, in difficult traffic conditions, was quite a drama. At times three passengers using a language not familiar to the driver, were telling him which way to go and each one had a different idea as to how to get there. Somehow we did eventually found the street and pulled up outside 'our' house. We explained to the driver how we wanted him to position the truck. Unfortunately, things soon got out of hand. Walter and I basically lost control.

The all too familiar crowd was already present because the house owner had informed his whole family there was a Peking to Paris rally car coming to his house to unload. In addition to the family, it seemed the entire population of Kathmandu was there too. The truck was finally put in place at the bottom of the driveway and we pulled the large steel ramp from the truck. We tried to explain to the crowd we needed help to get the timber from up the street but we couldn’t make anybody understand. So, we went ourselves and collected several strong boards and struggled back to the truck, through the crowd and down the driveway. What should have been a calm and steady job seemed to take on an air of desperation. It must have been the presence of all the people. The constant arm waving and the shouting. It was very off-putting and when you asked for help, people just stood back. They were very friendly and enjoyed giving us their advice. But, when it actually came to giving us help, that was a different matter.

Eventually the car came out of the truck amidst a cloud of dust and smoke. Walter decided he would head straight back to the hotel in the car and asked me to tidy-up. He thanked the house owner and left for the safety of the hotel. All of a sudden I was alone with about fifty natives. I also had a truck down a hole, a pile of timber and a driver who had not been paid. The driver started waving his hands and babbling-on about money. I explained he would get paid once we returned to the hotel but we had to clear up here first. At that point, I got plenty of help and we returned the timber from where it came very expediently.

I walked up the drive to stop the traffic and help the truck reverse into the street. Suddenly, two policemen appeared and the locals appeared very frightened of them. The crowd fell silent and people moved away to let the policemen pass. The policemen came up to me and asked what was going on. I gave them the whole story. However, without the presence of the car, they didn’t seem to believe me. They certainly weren’t too happy about letting the truck go out onto the street because it was another ‘palace’ road.

Despite their fear of the police force, the crowd became even bigger and people began to block the street. One of the policemen noticed the hazard and growled an order. At least ten people leapt back on the path in an instant. The whole situation was becoming very tense and I just wasn’t able to explain to the policemen what I was trying to do. It was then a bystander whispered into my ear the word 'dollars'. I looked at him and then looked at the policeman. I remembered my experience with the airport officer and reached for my wallet. It was all very blatant and I gave the policeman twenty US dollars. That's all that was needed. Both policemen sprang into action. The crowd dispersed, the traffic stopped, the truck was waved out and we were on our way with a salute from the police and cheers from the remaining crowd. The truck driver and his mate started to laugh out loud and their amusement seemed to be directed at me. I never did understand why, but they were happy and so was I, at last we were out of that muddle. 

We got back to the hotel to find Fritz and Walter looking at the car and its contents. I was desperate to see the true extent of the damage to the car. I knew the impact had happened at the rear of the car and on the near side. I could see the nearside rear wheel wasn’t central in its wheel arch but I couldn’t see any chassis damage. Walter waved me over to the other side of the car and all became clear. There was a large crack in an area of the chassis which wasn't totally covered by the body.

The chassis was almost broken through, when you pushed down on the back of the car, the crack opened up. I was amazed the car had travelled the distance it had done so in such condition. Apart from being covered in dust and looking a little battered, the rest of the car looked in fairly good order. An attempt to repair the chassis had been made by a Chinese welder somewhere in Tibet. His efforts however had only made matters worse. There was a piece of metal tacked to the inside of the chassis and lots of messy welding on the outside. All of this would have to be cleaned off before we could repair the chassis.

I was still puzzled as to why the chassis had broken where it had. I crawled under the back of the car to get a closer look. I could see the paint cracks on the axle tube that Walter had described over the phone. It certainly looked a little bent and I knew the axle couldn’t bend backwards without the spring failing to keep the axle in place. I inspected the nearside spring. At first glance, everything looked sound. On closer inspection, I discovered the root cause of the problem. When the wheel had hit the boulder, it had broken the spring as I had suspected but in a most unusual way. The spring is made up of lots of layers of steel strips, each one being a little longer than the next one. The last one has an eye formed on one end and is attached to the axle. The other ends of all the strips are fixed to the chassis. It is the main leaf that has the eye on its end and this is the most important leaf. If the eye breaks off, the axle is not fixed to the car and this causes all sorts of problems.

By sheer luck, the eye had only broken partially. This had allowed the axle to move backwards slightly but still supported the car. This in itself was a miracle. Usually what happens when the spring snaps is it breaks the eye clean off, leaving nothing to hold the axle. If the axle swings backwards it applies the brakes on that side of the car. In most cases, the brake cables snap and the axle is free to swing under the car. This in turn normally snaps the propshaft. Depending on what speed the car is travelling and the condition of the road surface, determines the extent of the total damage. At best it ends up as a major repair. At worse, the car ends up as a total wreck. If the axle had totally broken loose, Walter and Fritz’s rally would certainly have been over. 

Thankfully, occasionally miracles do happen. The bush at the end of the spring was jammed in the broken eye preventing the axle from falling out. It had allowed the axle to move enough to bend but it couldn’t go any further. This in turn had caused the chassis to flex on the other side of the car and this is what had caused the fracture. A spare spring was part of the spare kit being carried in the little Bugatti. If only Walter had spotted the broken spring earlier he would have been able to replace it and the chassis would have held together. Easy for me to say that now. In reality, owing to the nature of the break, it was difficult to see. Even I had struggled to see it in the luxurious surroundings of a hotel car park. It would have been almost impossible for someone inspecting the car on an unmade mountain road, at high altitude. In hindsight, Walter’s plan to drive slowly to Kathmandu was a good decision. 

The next task was to get the car repaired and back on the road. A fellow competitor also had a few repairs to make to his car and had a connection with Mercedes back home. He had made a phone call some days earlier to see if there were any Mercedes dealers in Kathmandu. He had been told Mercedes had recently appointed a dealership with workshop facilities. There would be enough space to repair up to five cars at a time.

We arranged to meet the manager of the dealership at 10.00am in a nearby hotel called The Sherpa. We waited until 10.10am but there was no sign of the manager. The receptionist at the hotel phoned his home number and relayed our urgent requests. He said he would be there soon. Ten minutes later he arrived. At the same time, other rally crews turned-up, apparently all of them wanting to share his workshop space. Everybody was crammed into this small hotel foyer trying to get instructions as to how to find this workshop. Ten minutes passed by and we still had no address. The guy spoke fairly good English but changed the subject every time we mentioned workshop space. Things began to get a little heated, it soon became clear there was no workshop, no tools and no equipment. We had wasted the whole morning for nothing.

Walter and I left feeling a little deflated. On the way out we spoke to the hotel's receptionist because he had been very helpful earlier. It transpired he knew of a garage where large cars could be repaired. He said it had good facilities but was on the other side of the city. We needed to see it for ourselves and establish exactly what equipment was available. Rather than drive to it, we decided to take a cab. The receptionist booked a cab and marked the location on a map for the driver to follow. The driver seemed to know exactly where to go and we drove deep into the city.

This was our first experience of seeing the sights of this odd place. Just like in the UK, cars drive on the left-hand side of the road, at least they should do. Kathmandu has roundabouts, one-way streets, pedestrian crossings, traffic lights, all the normal things you'd expect. However, somehow the Nepalese have either forgotten or changed the rules of driving. Everything is a free for all. If the right-hand side of the road looks free, they go down it. Similarly with roundabouts, they went round them clockwise and anticlockwise. They just took the shortest route. Traffic lights meant very little, most of the bulbs were blown and no pair ever worked in order. As for people on foot, they just took their chances.

he accepted way was to simply walk straight out into the traffic. Pedestrians didn’t make eye contact with drivers and literally side-stepped cars and bikes with abandon. Amazingly, it seemed to work. The traffic kept moving, albeit slowly at times, but it did keep moving. As a passenger in a taxi, all I could do was laugh and hang on.

Shortly we entered a dirtier part of the city and the housing was poor. Buildings had collapsed but they still had families living inside them. The shops were less well stocked. I saw a man skinning a goat, he gutted the animal on the side of the road because there was no cleaner place. There was another man working close by, he was cutting up meat and throwing it into a large pot of steaming liquid. I noticed a poor-looking dog feeding on the goats’ entrails which lay across the road.

I spotted a new breed of vehicle which I hadn’t seen before. It was for agricultural purposes, its original purpose would have been a rotovator. It was the sort of thing you might see on small vegetable farms anywhere in the world. Something like a two-wheeled tractor with long handles that a worker steers as he walks behind it. In Kathmandu, the rotating digging blades were removed and a drawbar was installed. This was attached to a four-wheeled trailer the driver sits on and steers from. The engine was a small diesel unit which pumped out the same black smoke that everything else did. There were dozens of these little tractors most of them loaded high with vegetables of all types. They were all heading to the local distribution centre. There the produce got transferred on to bicycles or ported away by Sherpas.

We drove past several shops selling car parts. We thought perhaps we might be getting close to the car repair centre of Kathmandu. We made a turn off the main road as we got closer to the mark on our map. We took another turn and the road got smaller. This seemed to be the case wherever you went. You could drive down a busy broad road, turn off, turn again and then you would find yourself in a tiny dirt road full of rubbish and junk. This road ended in a place for depositing old trucks, with no sign of a garage of any kind. We got out the cab and asked some men standing nearby if they knew where the garage was. They started the standard arm-waving procedure and Walter looked at me for some kind of guidance. I was as helpless as he was and time was running out fast. We never found that garage so we travelled back to our hotel. I hoped we might find something on the way back or someone who might be able to help us. The return journey was just the same, busy, smoky, dusty, no garages, not even a sign. I began to wonder what the people did to fix their cars.

Back at the hotel, we told Fritz our bad news. I stayed outside with the car in the car park while Fritz and Walter went into the lobby to ask for help. They came out several minutes later with smiles on their faces. The receptionist had phoned a Toyota dealer she knew. They'd told her they had room for us to repair our car. Apparently, they already had a rally car being repaired there, so we knew at long last we had found a workshop.

The next problem was to get the car to the garage which was on the other side of town. Supposedly, it was only about four miles away. I was beginning not to believe anybody any more. With the crack in the chassis so bad and the poor condition of the roads, I was certain the car wouldn’t make it. I had to think of a way to solve the problem. Like so many problems the answer is usually simple. I over-adjusted the offside rear damper, this effectively locked the damper solid. This would support the weight of the car instead of the spring holding it up. Walter looked at me in amazement. He didn’t say a word, but I knew what he was thinking. How far could he have gone if he'd thought of that? Could he have crossed the high passes over the Himalayas? Could he have made it to Kathmandu without assistance? We'll never know the answer to those questions. I just grinned and got on without saying anything. 

Fritz and I travelled in a cab and Walter followed in the Bugatti. The suspension held together and we reached the Toyota garage without drama. We'd already lost half a day just to get to this garage. We were greeted at the barrier of the garage by the manager who welcomed us warmly. We told him we needed a workshop bay where there were lights so we could work overnight. We needed power to run grinding and welding equipment, and security in case we had to leave the premises at any time. He agreed to every request except the welding equipment. He explained he usually got their welding done at a place down the road. He suggested we did the same. We explained the car would be in pieces and we wouldn’t possibly be able to drive it. We asked if the welder could come to us. He said he would try to arrange it and all seemed well.
 
In one of the bays of the garage was a Morgan Plus Eight. Its rear suspension was pushed through its floor. Its front suspension was shattered and had all sorts of other small problems. Its crew had been told in Peking their car would never make it over the Himalayas. A wooden-framed car with a sports suspension was not a good choice for the task. However, with sheer determination they had made it, albeit a little battered. I was told there were more than eight unrepairable cars spread across China, one of which didn’t make it through day one. Even if our little Bugatti and the sporty Morgan looked a little battered, after a few repairs at least they'd soon be able to continue their journeys.
 
After a double-check of my first diagnosis, I inspected the whole car. Fritz and Walter unloaded the equipment. Apart from the damage I've previously described, the car was in good condition. The brakes would need adjustment. The clutch needed its release mechanism cleaned and re-oiled because it had collected plenty of dust that made it sticky. I noticed some battle scars on the protection plates I had fitted. There were four plates altogether, one under the engine, two under the gearboxes, and one wrapped around the rear axle. All of them had a couple of scrapes here and there but were doing their job well. The best result was the lack of oil leaks from the engine. I had taken great care to make the engine as oil-tight as I possibly could. Vintage cars are notorious for oil leaks. This was always going to be a potential problem and we'd been warned oil might be in short supply in some parts of China. Oil consumption at a normal level would not be a problem, but a leaky engine would mean carrying a lot of oil which would take up valuable space in the car. Prior to the rally, every time I tested the car a new oil leak appeared and more work was needed. But I had to stop somehwere, the start of the rally was looking. Walter informed me he'd only added one litre of oil to the engine during the entire journey across China. All my hard work and head-scratching had paid off.  

I was soon working on the rear axle and my 'crew' prepared to lift the body from the chassis. This job sounds more dramatic than it really is. The floors are easily removed and all the underfloor storage boxes can be lifted out. The bolts holding the body are fairly accessible although Fritz found removing them difficult. He told me this in his best of English swear words. I only needed enough room to weld between the body and the chassis, two inches would be fine. This came as great relief to Fritz because he thought we were going to have to take the body completely off.

The welder turned up next, the manager had sent a Toyota van down to where he worked and brought him and his equipment to us. At last, things were happening when people said they would happen. The welder was in his early twenties but his gear was much older. It was an old, oil-cooled model, that had seen better days. It was the right size and the welder said it worked well. When I asked him for a welding mask he passed me a pair of gas welding goggles. These were wholly inadequate for arc welding and using them would damage your eyes. He said it was all he had. We asked the garage manager to send someone out to buy the right equipment and he kindly obliged. 

Fritz is an excellent organiser. I asked him to find me an extension lead and angle grinder. He did so willingly, he preferred to do this rather than lying on a greasy garage floor. He also organised some cold coke which was delightful. I was beginning to appreciate Fritz more and more by the hour.

By now we had gathered the customary crowd. This time they were all mechanics. They were all trying to help but they kept getting in the way. Every time I stepped back I trod on somebody. When I reached for a spanner someone would hand me one, but never the right. I know they were only trying to help but it was very frustrating. Annoyingly, tools started to go missing too. Nobody had taken them, they just weren't where I'd left them, they'd been moved. Fortunately, my audience soon got bored and returned to their own work. I was glad we didn’t let them help us. All they seemed to do was hit things with a big hammer.

I soon got the axle fixed and started to remove the rear spring. None of these repairs were particularly difficult but the conditions, being hot and dirty, didn’t make things easy. The toilet facilities were disgusting to say the least, I used them sparingly.

You'll recall today was a Sunday. I wondered why all these people were at work. It transpired, the only day off in a typical Nepalese week was Saturday. But on the Tuesday following this very Sunday, the local council were about to take cast their votes to possibly pass a two-day weekend break. If we'd arrived a week later, this garage might not have been open.I soon had the rear spring off. To replace the damaged main leaf I needed an electric drill to remove the long rivet holding the leaves together. One of my many assistants dashed off to find one. He soon returned clutching a Japanese electric drill and a box of drill bits. I opened the box and realised they didn’t drill many holes in Kathmandu. The drill bits in this box had been sharpened the wrong way. I had taken several tools from my own tool kit when I'd left home. I'd also taken some from my son’s. Fortunately, I had taken a 9mm drill from Stephen’s toolbox which cut through the rivet as if it were butter. If it had been from my kit, it would have taken all day to drill it out. The extension lead that my helpers had provided caused quite a sensation. It was two strands of wire with bare ends stuffed into the socket. At the other end, the wires were twisted round each other. There was no tape and nothing to protect you from 240 volts. All too easy to step on. I held the ends of the wire to show Fritz and he quickly took photographs. The lead for the welder turned out to be the similar. I simply couldn't work like this so we soon found some tape and made the ends reasonably safe. 

The spring was almost fitted and the repairs were almost complete. I asked our welder to find me some strips of metal to reinforce the damaged chassis. He provided a tape measure and proceeded to measure the length and width of material needed. He was far from fluent in English but seemed to know what I needed. He had obviously made plenty of repairs of this nature. He disappeared to get the metal and by the time he returned, the car was back on its wheels.

The welder had exceeded my request ten times over. Not only had he got the perfect dimensions for the strip of metal, he had formed it almost to the exact shape of the damaged rear chassis. He had done this back at his own workshop without sight of the car. This man had saved me hours of work and the repairs were going to be strong and look good thanks to him. With the new welding mask, taped-up extension leads, jacked-up body and perfectly formed reinforcement plates, things were looking up. I was confident I would get the major jobs finished that day except for re-fitting the body which could be done next morning. This would just leave the service to carry out and give the car a good clean. It doesn’t sound much if you say it quickly.

The angle grinder the garage supplied only had one abrasive cutting disc and it was their only one. These discs don’t last long when you grind with them. I made good use of its short life by grinding away the lumpy bits of Chinese welding on the outside of the chassis. I cut out the nasty bracket stuck on the inside with a sharp chisel I'd brought with me. I made two long clean cuts along the route of the crack with a hacksaw which allowed me to bend the chassis back in position before welding.

I asked the garage welder for something to heat the chassis. It would be impossible to straighten if it was cold. He dashed off and came back with the biggest blowlamp I'd ever seen. It must have held a half gallon of paraffin. The manager and the garage welder set about igniting the blow lamp. Fifteen minutes later they handed me a monster roaring flames over a foot long. I doubted whether it would be hot enough but after their efforts I had to try. As soon as I pointed it at the chassis, it spat out an extra-long flame of half-burnt paraffin. The fuel tank was still installed in the car and located only inches away from the repair site. I took the safe option and put the blow lamp down, pointing it away from the car as it continued to belch out flames and fumes. I attempted to set the bent chassis straight without heat but failed. I found a long pole but this just bent under my efforts. I walked away from the car to find another cold coke. When I returned a garage worker came over with an oxy-propane welding set. This little gem had been stashed away in some hiding place for some reason. Perhaps oxygen or propane is difficult to get hold of in Nepal. Anyway, I soon had the chassis hot enough to bend it back into shape with the help of my bent pole.
 
As I began to weld the chassis, two welders sat as close to me as they could. I’m sure they were waiting for me to mess up. I think the mechanics thought we were totally mad and couldn’t possibly weld as well as repair cars. I reflected on the problems we'd experienced earlier that day trying to find a garage. It dawned on me why we had so much trouble. The skills of these people are individual. One man can weld, another repairs brakes, other people do cooling system problems, electrics, bodies and oil changes. All these separate jobs are not only carried out by different people they're carried out at different locations. That’s why we had so many strange looks when we asked for a garage. Apart from the one we had been lucky to find there were none. In Nepal, you have different people doing jobs on a car. When they've finished their job, it moves on to somebody else for their speciality and this carries on until a car is serviced or repaired. It also explains the help we got from our onlookers. If you ask a guy to help you do something that isn’t in his area of expertise, then you get bad help. If you ask someone that does have knowledge of the subject matter, then it seems to work well. Now I understood why the welders were waiting for me to start welding. As far as they were concerned I couldn’t be a mechanic and a welder. They were all set to jump in and take over.

They were to be disappointed. As soon as they saw the welding rod in my hand they became a little agitated. I made the first stroke of the welding rod across the chassis and a stream of sparks fell to the floor. I turned to look at them both. They were even closer now and squatting down right by my side. I was determined to put on a good show, so I chose a long easy weld along the repair plate. Three minutes later I had stopped welding. I knew I had produced an attractive weld. The two welders were waiting for me to chip off the slag to expose the fresh weld. One of them handed me the chipping hammer. I gave the slag a light touch, it crumbled off the weld which only happens with a neat flat weld. It was a gleaming almost perfect weld. As I turned towards my inspectors initially I could see their mouths were wide open and eyes popping out of their heads. They were soon muttering something in their local tongue.

They moved back to give me more space to work. At home I'm only a fair welder but to these guys I was good. From then on the garage welder didn’t leave my side. He wanted to make sure whatever I did he was going to watch and perhaps learn something. Everything went well with the welding, I hadn’t used an arc welder for some years because they're virtually obsolete at home. But it’s like riding a bike and you never forget. The chassis repairs went as well as expected. Walter was pleased because he knew he was going to get back in the rally without further delays. With the welding done and things tidied up at that end of the car, I started to help sort out the kit with Fritz. The lighting the garage provided was with the usual two strands of cable but this time suspended from the ceiling. With a very dim bulb installed it was six feet higher than the car and ten feet to one side, it was practically useless. I suggested to Walter as we were way ahead of schedule we'd have plenty of time tomorrow to finish off. Walter stayed on to fit one more body bolt. I wandered off to check in terms of security who was going to look after things tonight. 

Most of the staff had gone home by now and because the local electric supply is erratic, nobody works after dark. Homes are very poorly lit and there are few street lamps. I stumbled through the garage yard until I came to a group of mechanics with their overalls already off and ready to go home. They pointed out to me the boy who would be keeping watch on the cars that night. He said he would stay awake all night and make sure nobody touched anything. I wasn’t too happy about leaving this young lad looking after things. I told Walter of my fears, he'd stopped work by now and was cleaning up. As we made our way to the barrier, Walter stopped at the gatehouse. There he found someone who knew the night watchman and they went off to find him. Walter returned happy, he'd paid the watchman to make sure he did a good job. 

We asked the gatehouse man if he could get us a cab. He said he would and told us to follow him down the road because taxis didn’t pass there very often. We all walked along the side of the road, there was no pathway just uneven dirt. The traffic consisted of mostly those rotovator-type trailer things, trucks, and buses now all heading out of town. The dust and smoke made it difficult to see where you were going and the only lights came from the vehicles. We must have walked half a mile following this man and there was still no sign of any taxis. After the day I’d just had, I didn’t need a long walk home. Eventually, we came upon a cab, which had pulled over to let its passengers out. There seemed to be a problem with payment because one of the two female passengers ran off in the direction of some houses. Her friend soon followed when she found herself surrounded by foreigners. The first girl returned very promptly and paid the driver. We climbed in and our guide jumped in too. He needed a lift into town and squeezed into the back seat with Walter and me. 

After dropping off our guide we soon arrived at our hotel and arranged to meet in the bar later. The plan was to have a quick drink first then go out for something to eat. I was looking forward to some food because I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. As soon as I got to my room I phoned Pat and told her the day’s news. I spoke briefly about Kathmandu and a lot about the car and crew. I’m sure she would have liked more detail about where I was and what it was like but she got the car talk as usual. She was delighted the repairs had been successful and I was happy too. Fortunately, Stephen was also at home and I gave him all the news to relay back to the guys at work.  

Following a wonderful shower, I dressed and hurried down to the bar. Shortly afterwards I was joined by Fritz and Walter. We chatted with other crews about their problems and ours, Kathmandu and its traffic, its filth and its smell. Somebody chirped up and said that Delhi was far worse than Kathmandu. I thought to myself I'm glad I'm not going to Delhi. After a few beers, we went off to eat. With the appetite we'd worked-up the buffet restaurant was the perfect venue. After eating we chatted and planned the next day. It was rewarding to be able to relax and have another drink or two before going off to bed. 
       
I woke up at 3.00 am with violent stomach pains. I'd heard several of the crews had suffered from severe diarrhoea during their travels across China. I guessed it was something everybody gets sooner or later when visiting the Far East. Well now it was my turn. I spent the rest of the night sitting on the toilet and taking Immodium. By 7.30am things seemed to be improving, the drugs were working but my stomach felt like it was going to explode.

I met Walter at 8.00 am for breakfast but as I sat at the table watching other people eat it made me feel quite sick. I explained my condition to Walter and excused myself. Walter was in the medical profession and he was concerned about my condition when we met a little later. He advised me to take care, drink plenty of water and keep taking the Immodium. He said if I got low on supply he had plenty. 

Fritz was going into the city to take some photographs. We had carried out the serious jobs on the car and he'd made a commitment to take photographs. In any case, we didn’t really need him today. He said he would find some interesting places to visit and if we finished the car early enough he'd give us a guided tour of the city. Walter and I called a cab and did the same journey we'd made yesterday through the city. Already it seemed like we’d done it a hundred times. We passed by the unusual sights and I tried to take some photographs. It wasn’t easy because of the constant obstructions, passing traffic and people dodging cars. We arrived at the garage to be greeted by a huge crowd. All the staff had invited their families to look at the cars. There were mums, dads, sons, daughters, uncles and aunts, all were there and of course they were very welcome. I had to admit despite my unsettled stomach, things seemed pleasantly relaxed today. 

Walter completed putting the body back together and I carried out a straightforward service. By 3.30pm, all we had to do was clean the car and drive it back to the hotel. The owner of the garage asked Walter if he would sign a letter to confirm he'd used the facilities and found them satisfactory. Of course, Walter obliged and asked me to sign it too in the absence of Fritz. When Walter went to pay his bill, he was pleasantly surprised. He was only asked to pay for the use of the welder and equipment. There were no charges for any other services. The garage owner asked if we could pose for a photograph in front of the garage with a few young ladies, of course we were happy to do so. 

As we left we waved to the mechanics and other garage staff. I was elected to drive the car to the hotel. I was somewhat reluctant to drive through the city with all its traffic but Walter insisted I did so rather than him. He reasoned if there was a problem with the car I'd be able to detect it. Driving through Kathmandu’s traffic was as bad as I feared. Fortunately, the car was very different to those driven by the locals and by now it wasn’t the first rally car that had been driven through the city. Word about the rally cars had gone round and the locals gave me a wide berth. At one time, I had a motorcycle escort with about fifteen bikes and grinning riders milling around the car. There was one point when I wished I’d had an elephant's tail attached to the car. 

After filling up with what looked and smelled like petrol, we made our way to the hotel to meet up with Fritz for our tourist trip. With my work now over and after taking some of Walter’s special high-energy drinks he’d made for me, I felt good enough to take in a few of Kathmandu’s sights. Fritz also had a German driver of another car with him and a very attractive German girl, whose father was on a diplomatic visit to the city. We hired two cabs to take us to a temple about two miles away. We were running out of daylight so we asked the drivers to drive as quickly as they could. That was a mistake. To ask two young cab drivers to drive fast in Kathmandu was not a good idea. They actually raced each other through the streets, swerving within inches of other cars and pedestrians. We were lucky to arrive safely. We asked them to wait as we made a quick trip around this unusual place. Next we took our taxis to a bazaar with hundreds of small shops and small temples dotted about. We ditched the taxis here because the bazaar was within walking distance of our hotel. After some shopping, we headed off to our hotel through narrow alleyways which were just as crowded as the busy roads. 

Our journey took us past a street market where hundreds of traders were selling just about anything. Provided you could carry it in on a bicycle you could buy it. Unfortunately, we did come across a most disturbing sight. There was a pile of rotting waste on the side of the road that had been swept up by the recent rains. Feeding from this refuse were two cows, several skinny dogs, and much to my disgust a woman. She was sifting through the rubbish and when she found something she thought was edible she ate it. I made enquiries later and was told this woman was one of the untouchables. This is a cast of people that are treated with less regard than a dog. Of all the nasty things I experienced in Kathmandu, this was the worst. 

We made it back to the hotel and by this time I was exhausted. My legs were buckling and I needed a long sit down. Fritz decided we needed a relaxing sauna so we took advantage of the hotel’s excellent basement facilities. Although the sauna was certainly good for my aching limbs, my digestive system was still upset and the extra heat didn’t help. I arranged to meet my friends for dinner a little later and left to have a rest in my cool, air-conditioned room.  
      
I met Walter and Fritz for dinner as arranged but shortly afterwards returned to my room. I was still very tired and I would have to be up early in the morning to see them off. They were to be the first crew to leave Kathmandu because they had the oldest car left in the rally.
 
At 6.00 am on Tuesday morning, the hotel lobby was full of rally crews. Some had to catch buses to take them to the conference centre where the rally would restart. I didn’t need to go to the conference centre, so I wished Walter and Fritz a safe journey from the hotel. By 7.00 am I had turned down two offers to act as crew or co-driver for the rest of the rally. The invitations came from desperate drivers who had lost a crew member due to sickness of some kind, or perhaps another problem. I had no visas to travel through the remaing different countries so it was impossible for me. I must admit though, I was very tempted.  With the last goodbyes done, I staggered back to my hotel room. I had now drunk what felt like ten gallons of bottled water and I just wanted to settle in my cool room and doze off.

I woke sharply to the sound of the phone ringing. It was the hotel reception telling me to stay in my room because there would be a call coming through from my friends. My mind was racing, the call must be coming from Walter who had left some three hours ago. The phone rang fifteen minutes later and it was the hotel switchboard again telling me to hold on for a connection. I waited for a while but nothing happened. The hotel reception told me they would call back. The phone rang again, and yes it was Walter calling from a village some fifty miles away. He had some kind of electrical fault, the amp meter was reading too high for too long. The engine was misfiring and losing power. They had made several inspections but had found nothing except the ignition coil was getting too hot. He'd decided not to continue any further because it might do some damage to the vehicle’s electrical system. Walter wanted me to find them and attempt to make the repairs.

I dashed to reception to organise a cab to take me to the address I'd been given. Everything again was now urgent. It would take me the same journey time as it took Walter and Fritz to get to where they were. At best I wouldn’t be with them until about 2.00pm and that's only if I left right now. I was told by the receptionist that local cabs cannot travel outside the city limits and I'd have to hire a private car. I asked them to arrange one as quickly as possible and explained how urgently it was needed. Half an hour later one of the reception staff returned in a car. He introduced me to its driver and asked him if he knew the place I had to get to. The driver said he did and asked if we would be back tonight. I said I couldn’t promise that because I had no idea how long it would take to make the repairs. The three of us stood there haggling over stupid things until it we got to the real crux of the matter - money. I said I'd pay any reasonable price and wouldn't see him out of pocket. We agreed on one hundred dollars for the day and extra if we had to stay overnight.
 
At last, we were on the road and it was now noon. The usual traffic jams held us up and the drive was a long one. We travelled down a river valley that dropped approximately two and a half thousand feet into really hot and humid conditions. I had heard that part of the drive would pass through a section of dense jungle where there had been reports of attacks by bandits. I just hoped Walter wasn’t broken down anywhere near there. Once we got out of the city and into the country I had a whole new outlook on Nepal. It really is a wonderful place with tall, steep hills covered with trees, waterfalls, rapids and stunning views. 

We drove at an alarming pace dodging trucks as we wound down the twisting mountain roads. Trucks were climbing up the hills carrying all sorts of supplies from India. This was the only road in from India and most of Nepal’s imports are by road. You can imagine the variety of goods on board all those trucks. Every truck was exactly the same, they were all old TATAs made in India. Most of them were barely able to make it up the hills and there were many that hadn’t. As we swung round one sharp bend we came across a truck was spewing out clouds of jet-black smoke. It was slowly climbing the hill in first gear. When we came alongside there was a loud explosion followed by a clang on the side of our car. At first, I thought we were being attacked by bandits. When I glanced back I noticed a large pool of oil under the now stationary truck. I could see the rear axle was typically well overloaded, basically the differential had exploded under the stress of climbing the slope.

We passed several small settlements where the country people lived. There is a distinct difference between country people and city people. When country people move into cities, they and their habits don’t mix. But there is something both groups do have in common, neither have any toilets. It isn't so bad in the country because not so may people live there. Unlike the cities which are so densely populated. I'll leave the ensuing problems to your imagination. All I can say is the smell of Kathmandu was unmistakable, you simply couldn't get away from it.

The settlements are usually located around a source of work. On a certain river we followed, the work was mainly gravel extraction. Here there was no heavy equipment gouging out great lumps, it was being done by manpower. The monsoon season was over and the water level was low. There were hundreds of men, women and children all shovelling gravel. The gravel had been naturally graded by the different speeds of the river as it meandered down the valley. On a sharp turn of the river, there were large boulders, polished smooth and round. These were being carried by men who placed them in a barrow. The same men charged at a ramp fitted to the rear of a truck. The rocks were piled as high as the sides of the truck would allow.

The next turn of the river was wide and slow and here people were digging out finer stones and small pebbles. This went on until the locals were digging up fine white sand. The best bends are crowded with workers, the other not-so-good areas are where the stones are of differing sizes. At home, we would use a stone crushing machine. Here people sit on the side of the road with hammers smashing stones to their required size. The people make neat piles of perfectly sized stones ready for collection by a passing truck. Their shelter from the sun was a branch cut from a tree and stuck in the ground alongside their pile of stones.

I found Walter and Fritz at the address they's given, the car was parked outside a roadside restaurant. The restaurent was a tin shed selling fried goat and coke. The usual crowd had gathered but this time it was more intense. The children seemed to be amazed rather than interested.

Walter had made several attempts to locate the electrical fault and had changed the voltage regulator, ignition coil and carried out various other tests. Now I’m not a very good auto electrician but given time and the right test equipment I can sort out most problems. I have to admit, this one had me beat. No matter what I tried it continued to overcharge. Thanks to the comprehensive spare parts we had, I was able to swap components and check wiring but I couldn’t solve the problem. In the end, I suggested to Walter that Fritz they should disconnect the voltage regulator by reaching under the dash and re-connect it every couple of  hours for about ten minutes. If they needed to use lights, or the electric fan, they would have to re-connect more frequently. They would be able to travel for days like that and get to Delhi where there was bound to be an auto electrician. This they agreed to and after a short road test to check they could make the plan work, we again said our goodbyes.

I felt dissatisfied though because I hadn’t cured the fault and they'd waited all day for me. I'd spent quite some time with them and sent them on their way with instructions to disconnect a couple of wires every now and then. It wasn’t satisfactory but I couldn't do any more. I'd checked everything I could think of and this was the best I could come up with. I had a suspicion the fault was in the dynamo itself but we didn’t have a spare so I couldn’t swap it, I could only inspect it.

I boarded my taxi for the return journey and started a conversation with my driver. That three-hour journey with him was where I got most of my facts and details from. He spoke good English and was willing to chat with me all afternoon. We got back to the hotel just before dark and I paid him exactly what we agreed. I was very tired. If he’d demanded more money from me, I'm sure I would have given it to him.
 
Apart from one brief walk around the hotel grounds, I stayed in my room to rest and drink bottled water. I still wasn’t able to eat. I continued to run the electrical fault through my mind, trying to think of a solution that I could fax to Walter so he could make repairs. 

The day came to go home and I still had no idea what the fault was. It was time to leave. My flight was early and I had to be at the airport at 6.00am to make an 8.00am flight. My early cab ride through the streets of Kathmandu was the same as usual, dirty, crowded and smelly. I will never forget that smell.

I arrived at the airport to be met by two very young boys. I decided if they could be up at dawn to earn a living carrying bags, they deserved my custom. It took the two of them to struggle with my one bag. To make my life easier at the other end, I had put everything into one bag. However, I still had the differential case and the halfshaft to bring home, so it was very heavy.

I was one of the first to arrive at the departure desk. Nobody was in attendance and I couldn’t see any officials anywhere. By 7.30am the desk opened and the personnel began to inspect our tickets. An attendant asked to see my departure tax receipt. I had no idea what he was talking about but he soon told me what to do. I had to leave the queue and start another one at a different desk he'd pointed to. I pointed out there was nobody at the desk but he assured me there soon would be.

Off I went and before long I had a long queue of people behind me. Most of the people were moaning about the Nepalese and their total lack of organisation. I was used to it by now after spending most of my week getting nowhere fast. I had already given in to the way these people work. The exit tax official appeared at 7.30am and asked me for twenty thousand rupees, this equated to about twenty pounds sterling. I told him I had just given the last of my rupees to the two young baggage porters. I offered to pay him in dollars and he made a quick calculation. I paid him what he asked and he gave me a small receipt which I stuffed into my wallet.

I eventually joined the departure queue which by now was miles long. I got to the front of the queue and showed my exit tax receipt. This time all was well and I passed through to have my bag scanned. A thought suddenly occurred to me, the halfshaft will look very peculiar when it passes through the x-ray machine. I remembered what my colleague had said back at work about me carrying parts for a super gun. On the first pass, the attendant called the bag back and I really thought that was it. I was sure I was going to be arrested. After three x-ray runs and at least four people inspecting it they let it through. I was never asked what it was and nobody wanted to look inside the bag.

After a short wait in the departure lounge, I boarded the plane. As I waited for take-off, I checked the contents of my pockets and found the exit tax receipt. Its value was only 750 rupees, I’d been had again. The flight home was a re-run of the flight out, except this time I was on the right side of the plane to see the Himalayas. It was a brilliant sunny morning and the mountains were gleaming with their white peaks bursting through the billowing clouds. I saw the unmistakable peak of Everest which for me was the icing on the cake after such a memorable adventure. The flight home was long and tiring. I staggered into arrivals at Gatwick and was absolutely delighted to see Pat there to greet me.
 
A few weeks later I received news from Walter and Fritz. The little Bugatti T40 survived the rally and was the oldest car to finish. For that alone it was awarded a special prize. The electrical fault was caused by the exhaust heat shield touching the main feed cable to the starter motor. It wasn’t enough to create a total short but it was sufficient to drain the system which caused the generator to continuously charge. The car that won the rally was a 1942 Willis Jeep, driven by Phil Surtees and co-driver John Bayliss. Very well done to them.