True Grit
Tackling the 2013 Peking to Paris Motor Challenge
Article: Dirk de Groen
Photography: Dirk de Groen, Irina Enders, and Gerard Brown
Dirk de Groen and wife Alexandra de Lespinasse at speed in their trusty Ponton on a time-trial in Mongolia.
Driving a 1958 Mercedes-Benz 219 Ponton, my wife Alexandra and I – along with 96 other vintage and classic cars – set off May 28 from the Great Wall in Beijing, China, on the Peking to Paris Motor Challenge 2013. This event is arguably the toughest vintage and classic-car endurance rally around: 33 days, eight countries, and almost 8,000 miles, lots of them on terrain where there are no roads.
Route map for the fifth Peking to Paris Motor Challenge, with 97 cars, eight countries, 33 days, 29 stages, and 12,247 kilometers to go.
Held only four times in the current era, the rally is inspired by the 1907 Peking to Paris race that began with a challenge from the Paris newspaper Le Matin to prove that “as long as a man has a car, he can go anywhere and do anything.” With five challenging teams, Prince Scipione Borghese of Italy and his mechanic Ettore Guizzardi won the original race in an Itala race car.
That first race had no rules, no maps, and no advance support crews other than those employed by the entrants themselves. This year, the British company, Endurance Rally Association, organized the event in cooperation with national car clubs along the route. Even with this advance planning and logistical support, the race is still the supreme challenge for automobiles and the men and women who drive them. Preparation for the 2013 rally and the modifications to our car, the 1958 Mercedes Benz 219, were the subject of an article in the May-June 2013 issue of The Star.
The Peking to Paris rally is a competitive event. Each car category (prewar vintage and postwar classic) was given a nominal time each day during which a driving stage had to be completed and there were several time controls that had to pass muster within specific timeframes. Teams that departed on time and continued driving – meaning no elaborate lunch breaks or stops for sightseeing and, most importantly, experienced no major mechanical issues en route – had no problem reaching the controls each day within the prescribed time limits.
Those that arrived late at the end of the day suffered severe penalties and risked losing gold-medal status. In order to maintain “gold,” teams also had to participate in all the time trials (up to five each day) – timed competitions against other cars in their class – that would determine the eventual best-in-class trophies and the overall “winner” of the rally.
The time trials were mostly on closed sections of country roads. In Mongolia, there was obviously no need to find country roads, as there are no roads to speak of anyway. These time trials were the longest and this is where the fields got separated. Drivers who had the strongest cars, drove the fastest and took the most risks without breaking down ended in the top rankings. Because of the number and the length of time trials in Mongolia, leaders were able to put themselves in such a comfortable position that it was impossible to challenge them. Once we left Mongolia, the only way to climb in the rankings was when leading teams suffered a mechanical failure, and many did; the long roads in Russia and the challenging hill climbs on mountain passes in the Alps ensured some failures.
The fifth Peking to Paris Motor Challenge route took us from China through the Gobi Desert into the rough terrain of Mongolia, the beautiful Altai Mountains in southern Siberia, then along the infamous Russian motorways to Ukraine, Slovakia, and into the Austrian and Swiss Alps before finally arriving at the finish line on Place Vendôme in Paris. For us, the rally really had three distinct phases: Mongolia, the former Soviet-controlled republics, and the Alps.
Mongolia was the most impressive phase; it was like being on another planet with wide-open space, nomadic tribes, herds of animals running free over the land, ever-changing scenery, the Gobi Desert – dust, dust and more dust – the steppes, rocky mountains, lakes, the dry heat during the day and freezing temperatures during the night, and the open and endless skies. Words are inadequate to describe the experience.
The first car is off at the official start of the rally from under the Peking-Paris arch at the Great Wall of China.
Crossing the border from China into Mongolia; our passport and papers were checked as many as six times at a single crossing.
The Endurance Rally Association provided impeccable organization: Alexandra and the other co-drivers received daily updates to the road book depending on road conditions.
On the lonely crest of Khukh Khutul Pass, Mongolia.
The only real landmarks in the Gobi Desert were the “ovoos,” Buddhist religious sites consisting of a mountain of rocks, empty liquor bottles and other offerings.
At a campsite in Mongolia, Alexandra in line for the buffet-style dinner, freshly prepared each night by the Mongolian support staff.
The dust in the desert was almost unbearable, but Alexandra coped by simply mimicking the Bedouin.
Checking the route book when confronted with a view such as this through the front windshield, we often found our guide simply stated “CBT”(Choose Best Track). Our rally equipment in the desert consisted of a maritime GPS pre-programmed with the track to follow, the rally computer and a Yellowbrick satellite tracker so that anyone in the world could follow us on our website.
Then there were the roads – or absence thereof – when our route consisted of tracks in the dirt created by previous drivers. The road book often instructed “CBT,” which means Choose Best Track. But how could we tell if we were on the best track? We could only confirm our choice when we were finished with the segment – that is, if we didn’t break down. The whole day long, we would see competitors on the side of the road with some mechanical failure or another, mending their cars or waiting for the sweep mechanics to help them out of their misery.
In contrast, Russia was rather boring with the exception of the first day driving in Siberia through the Altai region, which resembled the Alps but without the development. Many of the time trials were canceled in this country due to road conditions. The days turned into simple “commuter days” on dreadful Russian motorways – eight to 10 hours daily, stopping every few hours just to fuel up and take a short break.
Then there was the tragic traffic accident. On a transit section, a local Russian driver apparently fell asleep, veered across the road and hit one of our cars head-on, killing the co-driver. It didn’t help our feelings of sadness and sympathy for the team members and their families to know that the accident could just as easily have happened in a rental car while on a casual vacation. It was a long two weeks.
On a contrasting note, the most heartwarming part of the event was definitely the enthusiasm displayed by the locals in Russia, the Ukraine and Slovakia. As we drove through the small villages during the day, people would stand on the side of the road to wave, applaud and cheer as we passed. At the hotels, hundreds of people would be waiting for us, asking for autographs and wanting to take pictures of friends and relatives posing in front or even inside the cars. Local classic-car clubs came out, displaying their “wheels.” There were huge welcoming receptions and people would hang around until late in the evenings. It was a fantastic experience to feel so welcome in another country.
Once we crossed the Slovakia-Austria border and entered the Alps, the rally became serious again. Many time trails, most of them hill climbs, of course, punctuated our days. These were so much fun, but tough on the cars. Where in Mongolia the cars’ suspensions were seriously put to the test, here the challenges tested the engine and the brakes.
There were many breakdowns among the competitors. All day long one would encounter cars stranded on the side of the road with all sorts of issues: Broken suspension parts, broken axles, clogged fuel lines, and over-heated engines were typical issues. Most of the time, the drivers and navigators (on several teams, the navigator was a trained mechanic) – with the assistance of the 10 sweep mechanics from the organizer staff – could patch up the cars and get them to the campsite or hotel for further nighttime repair, with or without the help of local mechanics who would always be present at the hotel parking lots. Every night these lots would be transformed into giant open-air workshops.
In comparison, Alexandra and I were fortunate in that the additional pre-race strengthening and bracing performed on our car paid off. Nevertheless, we still busted three rear shocks on the car – driving the last several days in Mongolia with no rear shocks at all – and saving our last set of replacement shocks for the tarmac competition sections we knew were to come.
Getting to Paris on our own power and in good health was our only goal for the rally. We are proud to say we accomplished this. We never set out to chase a medal or to take undue risk. Having said that, once the rally was underway and no breakdowns were occurring, the competitive urge did rear its head
This team of red support vehicles in Mongolia made sure we had food and beer at each campsite – too bad they didn’t carry ice.
Time trials in the Mongolian mountains challenged the cars’ suspensions.
Team members waiting their turn at the start of a time trial.
Cars that broke down and couldn’t be fixed on the road were hauled to campsites for repair; for some, it meant the end of the rally.
Alexandra stayed in touch with our girls via satellite phone.
Evening stops were needed as much for repairs as for rest; luckily our problems were limited to broken shock absorbers.
Night refueling: support crew at each night’s campsite in the remote areas of Mongolia ensured our gas supply
Mercedes-Benz sent a film crew out to Mongolia to shoot a video of Team 69 on the rally (see “For more about our adventure”).
Children along the road would collect postcards and keepsakes that competitors brought along to give out as souvenirs.
Team 69 joins other participants at a desolate passage control station in Mongolia.
At speed across the plains in the Steppes of Russia
Based on our results and experience, what would we do differently if we were to compete in this event again and wanted to better our competitive results? We would definitely reinforce the suspension even more than the strengthening already carried out. Even though nothing else broke apart aside from the shocks and a spring, I was always worried that something would fail; that concern slowed me down – a lot. Our car was “bone-stock” while many others had special off-road suspension parts. Those were the cars that we literally saw flying through Mongolia without breaking down and easily gaining 30 or more minutes each day.
I would have liked to have 20 to 30 additional horsepower. This would have helped a lot on the many hill climbs in the Alps. I’m not sure how one might go about this with the original engine, but compression could be increased a bit, and dual carburetors and custom exhaust headers might be fitted. Front disk brakes, a brake booster, and double-circuit brake system would make descents faster and safer. I would also pack lighter, take fewer spares, pack only one spare wheel, and haul fewer tools.
Along the route, we were lodged in the best available hotels. In Western Europe, this means five-star hotels; in Russia, it means characterless Soviet-era concrete abodes; and in Mongolia, it means bring your own tent and sleeping bag.
Camping out was a real experience. The Mongolian campsite operators, “Nomad Tours,” provided common facilities (dining tent, showers, toilets) and fed us excellent meals in the middle of nowhere. But sleeping in our tent was not easy. During the night, people would be repairing cars and we could hear hammers banging metal, generators running, and trucks arriving hauling cars that got stranded during the day. And every night brought strong winds that made us wonder whether the tent was going to be lifted into the air. Fortunately, it didn’t. Also, temperatures at night dropped significantly – once we got in the Mongolian mountains, nighttime temperatures were below freezing. We were not quite equipped for that, but we survived. It’s a good thing the rally started out in China and we traveled westward; we could tell ourselves each day that things could only get better, which was a comforting thought, though not entirely accurate.
Out of 97 teams that entered the rally, only 28 managed to complete all stages and all of the competitive time trials within regulations to earn the gold medal. We were one of them and ended 16th in our category (classic, postwar) and 7th in our class (over 2-liter engine size). We thought those results weren’t too bad for first-timers on a rally like this – in an overweight, underpowered car with its original drum brakes. We attributed the results to careful planning, thorough car preparation, consistent driving and flawless navigation.
We weren’t the only Mercedes-Benz in the rally. Nine Mercedes-Benzes started in Beijing and eight of them managed to finish. In their 1970 280SE coupe fitted with a 5-liter V-8 engine, Mick de Haas and Anthony Verloop from the Netherlands were the only other Mercedes-Benz team to achieve gold. Silver medals were earned by the 1963 300SEs of Hermann Frye-Hammelman of Germany with Jovan Markovic of Switzerland and Markus Kirchgeorg of Switzerland with Roman Kainz of Germany; Mike Velasco with Derek Sloan from Great Britain in their 1971 280S; and Roland Singer with Christoph Ley of Austria in their 1959 220S. Keith and Norah Ashworth from Great Britain in their 1968 230 and Phillippe Clamens with Jose Lourseau from France in their 1972 450SLC earned bronze medals.
We take a quick break to pose at the oldest Europe-Asia border crossing.
Where there is a racetrack, there are grid girls, and the Belgorod circuit, where we drove a time trial, is no exception.
The reception in Ukraine was amazing as we are welcomed on the Freedom Square in Kharkiv by thousands of spectators and some lovely ladies in traditional costume.
Mike Velasco in his 280S passing us while we photograph Forchtenstein Castle in Austria.
Overtaking a Chevy Fangio Coupe on a fantastic mountain climb under drizzling rain and fog on a closed road outside the town of Grˆbming, Austria, home of the Ennstall Classic Rally.
The Swiss Automobile Club kept the pressure on during the final days of the rally by selecting challenging mountain roads for our time trials. Here club members wave us off as we head over the border into France.
Finally crossing the finish line on Place VendÙme in Paris; what a relief!
At the awards dinner in Paris, Dirk and Alexandra with daughters Samantha and Sophia.