The London-Sydney Marathon likes to take the back roads, the little known mountain passes, anything but the main road. It's a real test of cars - and of relationships - over 30 days and 9,500 miles. Nick Brittan describes it
In 1968 the London-Sydney Marathon was a huge adventure. A total of 96 cars crewed by some of the world's top professional drivers raced through countries that, for most, had only been names in school atlases.
At the time going into countries such as Bulgaria and Afghanistan was the equivalent of a trip to the moon.
The race was a pitched battle between Ford, Hillman, British Leyland, Citroën, Mercedes, Vauxhall and Volvo - and victory went to the quietly spoken Scot, Andrew Cowan in a Hillman Hunter.
Today the London-Sydney is still one of the great motoring adventures. These days the competitors come with complete rally cars, either pre-1977 Classics or modern showroom cars under 2-litres (no turbos or four-wheel-drives allowed) complete with helmets and overalls.
For those who wish to travel more sedately, there's a gentler "regularity" contest for modern recreational four-wheel-drives. The accent here is on achieving set average speeds over sections rather than outright speed.
The route from London to Sydney works its way by means of little-used byways and back roads, Alpine passes and remote mountain villages in Europe, tea plantations 7,000 feet above sea level in southern India and, finally, days in the remote Australian Outback where the number of passing cars in a day can be counted on the fingers of a clenched fist.
In Greece, beds were in posh 5-star hotels overlooking the Mediterranean. In Australia it was tents, the nearest hotel often being 600 miles away.
"Best night of the event was around the camp fire in the Outback," said Theo du Toit, an architect from Cape Town.
The London-Sydney is hard on cars - and relationships. Toss a Ford Capri into a ditch in India and it comes out looking like a crumpled cigarette packet, as New Zealander Nelson Marshal discovered. "More enthusiasm than adhesion," he observed wryly.
A British father-and-son team, first timers, thought it would be a great dad-lad bonding exercise. They soon discovered that they didn't enjoy sharing a room. Then they found they didn't really enjoy sharing a car either. So halfway through they pointed themselves to the nearest port and headed home.
A pair of Dutchmen flipped their immaculate classic Escort into an Olympic-style gymnastic triple somersault. It was a sad wreck.
However, fellow competitors and mechanics set upon it and overnight had it square enough to run again - and finish. This was a car without a piece of glass in any window and wheels pointing in four different directions.
The London-Sydney brings out ingenuity: the twisted chassis of a Suzuki was straightened by lashing it to a skip and jerking it straight with a bulldozer.
"Good as new," said Freddie Preston as he drove it to the finish line in Sydney. This was his third trip to the finish line - he had taken part in the original event in 1968 and two others.
For the competitors, the hazards were ditches, hedges, wild kangaroos, camels and lots more. The organisers, meanwhile, faced white-collar hazards.
There were the administrative hiccups, of course, and India represented the biggest challenge.
For example, one day after I watched eight officials spend four hours driving 71 cars from the holds of two massive Antonov cargo planes at Cochin near India's southern tip, I was presented with a bill for $22,800 - for "cargo handling" - by a little man who didn't look as if he was capable of unloading his legs from his trousers. The airport manager confirmed that if it wasn't paid we wouldn't be allowed to take the cars out of India. It had to be paid.
Then there was the cyclist who ran into one of our cars on a bicycle that was generously valued at €10. He appeared with a policeman in tow demanding compensation of £500 for his damaged bike and his headache. The officer followed a similar line as the airport manager: the car couldn't leave India unless the compensation was paid.
Australia was not to be outdone. Its customs authorities impounded 20 cars for 24 hours to inspect them for dust and dead insects. This put the event a day behind schedule.
The sight of inspectors checking screen washer fluid to make sure it wasn't contaminated and tweezering dead insects from the radiators humoured the delayed competitors.
Then it was out into the arid, lonely, hot Outback. At William Creek, the sign proclaimed "Population 18" under which some wag had scrawled "- but Elsie's pregnant".
Mechanical blips, monsoons, dust storms, icy cold Outback nights, two punctures at the same time . . . it's all part of what makes a 30-day 9,500 mile journey across three continents an adventure.
Is marathon rallying bad for the health? Not really. The most serious accident in the 30 days was one broken finger. What's more dangerous is that it's addictive.
Five of this year's competitors had been on the original 1968 event 36 years ago. "It's the camaraderie," said Englishman David Harrison after his third "adventure of a lifetime . . . knowing that everyone works together to make sure everyone finishes and 30 days of living on adrenaline . . . it makes it just like a drug habit."
The London-Sydney Marathon is run by Trans World Events, whose next adventure rally is in February 2006 - three weeks in South America through Argentina, Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador often at 15,000 feet.
www.twerally.com