RUST magazine: RUST #45

ally
vocalists. I’ve worked in some of the
world’s biggest social and ethical
hotspots. I work in oil and gas in my day
job, and have gone to work more than
once with armed guards, guys with
pixelated faces and total lunatics, in
places you’re probably best not to admit
ever having been, so I’m not naive here,
BUT I took a view of looking to the
future, and not getting bogged down
in past or more recent histories. There
is no one that can really throw stones,
or at least our great granddads certainly
can’t.
We were welcomed to Saudi. Strangers
we met in the street said hello and
welcome. That doesn’t happen in
London. Our taxi ran out of fuel on the
way to the airport for the home run,
and within the time taken for the (non-
Saudi) driver to begin arguing this partservice
was somehow worthwhile of
payment in full a driver had pulled over
to give us a lift. He went on to go out of
his way to drop us off and despite very
little English totally refused any form
of payment over a shake of a hand and
friendly smile. (The taxi driver didn’t
get paid btw – Lincolnshire lads are
generally tighter than Yorkshire lads,
we’ve just more decorum about it, so
you’d maybe not know.)
The landscape was nothing short of
fabulous. There was much speculation
prior to our arrival about the amount
of sand, some gesticulating about
closed doors and tough days and
some general unease among the
participants about the unknown. Well
it was incredible. It was different in
many respects to the Saharan sands
we’ve seen in other rallies, and there
was much surprise about the amount
of rocks and technical going. There
were without a doubt riders, sand
experts if you will, who had ideas of
dominance that were left wanting in
week one, which saw a lot of loose and
harsh trails winding through valleys
and over relentless boulder fields. Rally
bikes are generally set up to go quick in
loose sand, so weren’t naturally at home
here. I thought the variation in riding
was fabulous. There were guys ending
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