Day 16: Usharal Camp site to Almaty

It did get cold at night and it didn’t help that my inflatable mattress kept on slowly deflating. Imagine waking up in the middle of the freezing night to blow air inside it… twice! Anyway, up at 6am and off at 7:25 to another 600Km of straight road to Almaty. We are really hoping not to have to face another day of mechanical failures. An yet…barely an hour after leaving camp the accelerator pedal suddenly fails to return to its normal position and we have to switch the engine off to avoid going off the only curve we had encountered in the morning. We stop on the side of the road and put out the OK sign to signal we do not need help and get to work on discovering what happened. Nigel Gambier and Hugo Upton in their blue Lagonda stop anyway to find out whether we need any help but we tell them we are fine and let them get on.

After a brief analysis of the situation, it is clear that the spring, which forces the accelerator pedal back, has snapped. The fact is we can’t find where it is. In the interest of time, therefore, we decide to fix it by attaching a bungee strap to the back of the accelerator pedal and hooking it to a small hole in the pan attached to the chassis at the front. We test it a few times and refine the set up with a few plastic straps and… it works. We have lost about 40 minutes but it’s not the end of the day. We are determined to make it on time with no penalties. The road is straight and… boring barely livened up by the innumerable Kazakhs who say hello and take pictures and movies of us as they (very slowly) overtake us. There are fortunately no other disasters and we make all passage controls well within our maximum allowed times.

We stop in a village to buy some apples and pears from a local vendor on the side of the road. It’s a pity we are always in a rush, as we would like to have more contact with the locals

While cars in Russia were mostly local junk heaps (both old and new – the Lada still being produced), those in Kazakhstan are mostly German and Japanese of one or two generations ago. We have a feeling that a lot of used cars that are traded in to European dealers (plus a few stolen ones perhaps) get shipped over here. Many still proudly show off the D sticker at the back as a sign of quality of the country of origin of the car irrespective of whether it was produced there or not. Someone who stopped next to us while we were refuelling from one of our jerry cans, even made a point of the fact that he had purchased his Toyota in Germany. Very odd. There are also quite a few Russian Dniepr motorcycles almost all with sidecars, copies of 1940’s boxer engine BMWs. We wonder how they manage with -20°C in the winter.

We drive in a large circle around a military base town on a road with carefully manicured round-topped trees and bushes. Very strange. Many of the soldiers on leave stop to have their pictures taken on our car while we refuel at a petrol station. We are used to this by now but continue to play along. As soon as they find out we are from Italy they all cheer and start shouting Adriano Celentano, Toto Cutugno, pizza, Palermo, Inter, Totti and whatever else comes to their mind about Italy.

We have our first flat tire. Well almost. We noticed the rear right one was losing air, probably because we had bent the rim in one of the potholes. Mattia says it’s all his fault for not increasing the tire pressure but that’s been his obsession for a long time. So, to avoid having to take out our own jack we stopped at a roadside tire repair shop. We got the owner to use his Jack and replaced the wheel with our spare one. It only took 10 minutes and he wanted no money for the help but we told him he had to accept something at least for coffee so he finally accepted.

After more flat and very straight roads road we drive by a large lake created by a dam. Immediately later we spot some newly established casinos some only partly built. We are not sure of whether this means it’s a growing or declining industry.

As we approach Almaty (city of apples in Kazakh) we begin to spot posters sporting pictures of the long ruling leader of Kazakhstan Nazarbayev. We can’t make anything out of what they say but based on past experience of similar rulers it must be a long list of his achievements.

It’s Saturday and traffic in this growing city of 3 million is not as bad as it could be on a normal day but it’s quite polluted nevertheless. We follow directions to our hotel and spot other participants on the way (sadly Austrians Hans Geist and Herbert Pinzolits’ 1940 Pontiac on a truck because a broken clutch). They are often hesitant versus the local traffic “etiquette” and this is the kind of situation where having learned to drive in Rome helps negotiate getting in and out of lanes at the appropriate moments.

We finally reach the Intercontinental Hotel, in the centre of town next to the Mayor’s office building. It’s a welcome change from the nights spent in freezing tents or in -2 star hotels without hot water. We are craving a shower but our first priority is to line up some mechanics for the tomorrow to do some maintenance and welding on our car. We need to get our windshield back up, fix the spotlight bracket and repair the front left mudguard that is beginning to break again. Plus all the usual stuff, check the brakes, grease everything, change all oils etc.

You realise how wonderful a shower is when you have not had one for longer than usual (we shall omit to describe the specific length of time). Suffice to say that we need to spend at least 20 minutes each and use all the soap and shampoo that is provided to remove the dust, grease and grime that has attached to our bodies (and we still leave some grey marks on the towels). Given the extortionate hotel laundry prices I make an attempt at washing one of my formerly white shirts but despite my valiant effort I fail to get it beyond light grey (Mattia is still laughing…). So hotel laundry it will be.

Dinner is a mediocre international cuisine affair. I was hoping for something local but I guess we shall have to find that ourselves somewhere else. The company of fellow drivers Kurt Engelhorn (Bentley 4.5 litre) and Simon Hope (Bentley Speed Six) and a couple of bottles of Bourgogne more than make up for it. Time to ring my friend Mariyam for advice on local establishments.