Paul Michael, managing director of Quartz Publishing & Exhibitions Ltd (publisher of C&M and organiser of The Cleaning Show) continues the account of his epic journey, undertaken to raise money for the Atkinson Morley Neurology wing of St George’s Hospital in Tooting.

How often have you experienced total solitude or the feeling that you are the only living thing in the world? Well in the Gobi Desert Glen and I did experience just that; we were standing high up on an outcrop looking across the desert - it didn’t matter in which direction we looked as there was nothing; no people, cars, wildlife or anything. “Are you sure we are going the right way?” said Glen, obviously concerned but trying not to show it. “We haven’t seen anyone since we left Ulaan Bataar some eight hours ago”. “Don’t worry, I know where we are - everyone else is lost,” I joked.

Two days prior we had arrived in Ulaan Bataar, the capital of Mongolia, a modern city full of traffic and people in a hurry. It was our first real introduction to the Mongolian people and their culture. The Mongols have, over the centuries, had a very colourful and hard life and it is only relatively recently that some of them have tasted what the west has to offer; a proud, independent people who appear to be happy with their lot or at least accept it and make the best of it. Outside the city their environment is harsh and unforgiving, although life in the city is not easy either.


When over 100 vintage cars arrive in any city it does cause people to look and comment, but in Ulaan Bataar it caused mayhem. People just came from everywhere to the hotel to see these impressive pieces of machinery that were now covered in dust and did not look as pristine as they had when they left Beijing. The Mongols were into everything, leave the door of the car open and they would be sitting in the seats as soon as you got out. If you were under the car there would be two or three under it with you. Open your boot and they would be carrying your stuff for you. Would we have anything left? Would they steal us blind? These were the thoughts going through our minds.

When an old man, obviously down on his luck, picked up some money that had been dropped by a driver and handed it back to him, when the bell boy wouldn’t take a tip for helping carry our bags, we realised we were not under threat. We found out later that the Mongols do not have an ownership culture; by that I mean that life is so harsh that they have learnt to take what they need and to give away to others what they might need. So when they got into our cars it was curiosity only, when they got underneath it was genuinely a desire to help. Competitors were going to be very grateful for this trait in the days to come when the desert did its worst. The morning we left Ulaan Bataar we were told to be in the main square at 06.15 to help us avoid the horrendous traffic jams that started about 07.00.

It was also to ensure that we were all in place by the time the Mayor arrived to welcome us to Mongolia and to wish us luck on the next stage of our journey through his country. So yes I did have a good idea where we were and I was not concerned that we had not seen anyone since we left the capital. Glen was only partly convinced but was not in a position to argue, by his own admission he couldn’t navigate for toffee. We made the overnight campsite without any problems and had improved on our position overall. The next few days in Mongolia were to be the same although the nights were getting colder and culminated in the last night before we crossed into Siberia with a temperature well below freezing.

Our tents and sleeping bags were little protection against these cold conditions and by 05.00 most people were up, dressed and trying to get a hot drink. That day we crossed into Siberia, Russia and it was to be a dramatic contrast to the conditions and scenery that we had become used to in the Gobi Desert. Leaving Mongolia was easy in terms of paperwork etc - we left the border guards and headed up a very steep hill for about 3 kilometres through no man’s land to the Russian check point. Suddenly the car coughed and stalled. Glen tried to restart it but couldn’t; check the plugs, points and the fuel filter. Although the latter appeared to be clean, the dirty plugs tended to suggest dirty or contaminated petrol, not unusual in this part of the world. Clean the plugs, try again, no joy; a tow was out of the question as the Rolls weighed nearly 3 tons - no one could afford to risk their clutch in towing us up such a steep gradient. There was no choice, it was a push start and for Glen to keep the accelerator pedal flat to the floor.

Guess who gets to push? I managed to do it, but it nearly killed me! Did I mention that we were already several thousand feet up in the mountains, hence less oxygen than normal? Off went the Rolls. I started to walk and realised that Glen would get to the border a long time before me - it was a long way and I didn’t see myself doing it very quickly. Thumb a lift, I hear you say, not so easy - most of the competitors were filled to the gunnels with equipment and those that weren’t had the problem of power to weight ratio. Then along came my saviour - PUF 3, a beautiful RR Phantom Doctor’s Coupe owned and driven by Mark de Ferranti; he slowed to walking pace. “Jump on the running board, but be careful how you hang on,” he called.

The Phantom has a 7 litre engine and the hill presented no problem to it at all, even with the additional load of yours truly. We caught Glen up just as he arrived at the border gates. “Thanks Mark that’s one I owe,” I said as I jumped from his running board to the one of our Rolls. The border guards, armed with Kalashnikovs, looked at me very strangely and demanded to see my papers. One minute I had visions of spending my life trapped in no man’s land between Mongolia and Siberia, the next minute it could be a Siberian gaol. What was I worried about, my paperwork was in order. The guard smiled, gestured down the hill and said something in Russian which I took to mean that it could have been a long arduous walk. He handed back my papers and waved us through. Entry into Russia took only a few minutes – amazing, in two weeks time getting out would another story.

The road from the border post and into the country was fantastic; the mountains between Siberia and Mongolia appear to keep the desert from Siberia’s door. For the next few hours it was like driving through the Tyrol of Austria - it was so nice that Glen and I stopped by a river, made coffee and sat just soaking up the atmosphere and the scenery. That was soon to change; slowly the scenery became flat with Silver Birch tree forest, mile after mile; the road surface started to deteriorate with pot holes large enough to hide a Stalin Tank. As we neared Bijsk, we started to encounter the pollution, something we had not seen since leaving China.

Bijsk is a big industrial city pumping out clouds of not very nice stuff. We arrived at the secure car park; the armed guards all looked like they were in the Spetnaz. The people were everywhere; the ‘Spetnaz’ didn’t care. Here it was different - the people were not like the Mongols! Driving in Russia is very tedious and hard work although the roads tend to be straight mile after mile. They are strewn with pot holes and abandoned road works, some of which are very difficult to see until you are very close to them. Lorries are not restricted to 56 mph as they are in the rest of Europe, so swerving high speed lorries pose another major hazard. Hence by the time we reached Bijsk we were exhausted and looking forward to a good meal, hot shower and bed. Keep looking! Our hotel was an immigrant workers hostel; no bar, no restaurant, shower didn’t work, toilet stunk and bed looked like somebody had slept in it for a week - welcome to Russia.

Paul Michael is the managing director of Quartz Publishing, Glen Grindrod is the car’s owner, which was sponsored by Kärcher UK Ltd. Paul concludes his travelogue in the December issue.