With the first morning light we can see that our hotel is right in front of the beach. Not a great beach day though. The sky is the colour of lead, it’ s still raining and there is a gale force wind blowing from the Caspian. We are going to get very wet. I want my desert back!
We begin the day by fixing our windshield wiper and replacing the inner tube of our flat tire. We seem to have misplaced our spare tubes so we borrow one from the mechanics team Working under a canopy makes the job much easier. In less than half an hour we are done are off. We are on the motorway leading towards the mountains when suddenly the windshield wiper comes off and flies into the bushes on the side of the road. Great! We make a feeble attempt to find it but soon decide to soldier on. The rain has dropped to a light drizzle and the windshield can stay up.
Just before beginning our climb, we pass by some towns and villages where banners (in English) have been placed high up across the streets with slogans such as “move towards a world full of peace and tranquillity”, “Iran is the capital of all kindness”, “war mongers are not after peace” and the cherry on the cake: “Nuclear power for all, nuclear weapon for no one”. This is the only country which up to now has thrown political slogans in our route. Why am I not surprised?!
The road up the mountains facing the Caspian Sea is a continuous climb from about -20m (the Caspian is below sea level) to over 2,200m. The trouble with our Chevy is that whist it is capable of keeping an acceptable cruising speed on a level surface, it struggles as soon as there is the lightest incline. In addition it has only three gears. It doesn’t lack a fourth. In fact it lacks a third. This means that there is an excessive gap between second and top. While this is not a problem on flat ground, it’s a real struggle uphill. When we rev up in second gear and try third the engine just dies. So we are forced to stay in second at a maximum of 50Kph with the engine so noisy it feels like a piston might shoot out of the bonnet at any moment.
It starts raining again and as we climb to the top we end up in the clouds. Visibility is close to nil and it’s also very cold. None of the Iranian cars coming in the opposite direction have their lights on and we often see them at the last moment. As was the case last night we must focus on the only reference points we have, the middle and side white lines which are not always there. And there is always the odd cow or goat crossing the road at the wrong moment. Finally, as we finish climbing we are over the clouds and the scenery that opens in front of us is spectacular with fewer trees and some open fields where sheep and goats graze the lush grass. It’s no longer raining and the sun finally begins to shine through the clouds. In fact, as we begin our descent, the clouds quickly disappear, the fields become more arid and all of a sudden we are back in the desert. It’s also suddenly hotter and we have to quickly stop to strip out of our warmer clothes and waterproofs. An amazing contrast from only a few kilometres back and our morning wish come true.
The descent in The Valley is very steep and for a while it’s one hairpin after another. We shift down to second gear but we soon see that it’s not enough. We are pushing hard on the breaks and know they will not last long, certainly not all the way to the bottom. We stop, the only way to switch to first gear and continue at a crawl while the engine revs high and the gearbox whines loudly. We still need to use our breaks but are able not to overheat them. Half way down we come across a number of crews who have stopped their cars on the side of a broader hairpin. Their breaks have overheated and they are busy throwing water on them to cool them down. They were evidently going to fast or using a higher gear than we were.
As we continue our descent, Mattia hears a hissing sound behind his back. I turn around and listen too. It’s our spare tire, placed behind our back, which is deflating apparently from the valve. That means that we no longer have a ready spare tyre. We have one spare tube but that will take a while to put on if we have a flat. Let’s hope for the best.
A little later we run out of fuel short of the fuel station we had marked on the map. We evidently used more fuel than we had expected going up the steep mountain. No problem, as we have two full jerry-cans. A man selling tiny watermelons across the street comes over to see what we are doing and brings two of his watermelons. He refuses payment so we offer him in exchange a bagful of our pistachios. That works and we shake hands and exchange smiles, a sign of a mutual understanding and respect.
As we approach Tabriz on the motorway, our accelerator pedal once again sinks to the bottom and we are forced to turn off the engine and stop in a safe place on the roadside. This time it’s not the spring that’s come off. Instead it’s the whole mechanism that is attached on the carburettor. It’s clear that he vibrations sustained during this journey plus our keeping the pedal floored in an effort to get some action from the engine have caused it to snap. After fiddling with it for a few minutes, Mattia figures out that he can snap the mechanism back on the carburettor. We only have 30Km to the final time control so we hope it will hold until we can show it to the mechanics. As it’s late we rush back into the car and speed (week sort of) off levying behind on the rear of the car… our road book. On the back of it are two pages with two large signs one of which we must always display at the back of our car when we stop on the side of the road: OK (even if we have a mechanical problem) and SOS in case someone is injured. When we realise it’s too late and we cannot turn around to fetch it as we are on a four lane highway with guard rails in the middle. I was navigating so it’s my fault. Though we remember the name of the hotel where the final time control is located we no longer have directions to lead us to it. In a town of over 600,000 people it can be tricky. Even our sat-nav is only partially useful as it shows the way-point we have to reach but not the roads that can lead us there. We consider our options. The most straightforward one is to find a taxi at the beginning of the town and ask us to lead us there. As we approach it, however, we notice that, as in many large towns, there can be several ways into it. We could end up entering the wrong way or circling it endlessly. With limited time available it’s important we get it right the first time. Suddenly I see a sign “El Gulli” which I remember seeing in the road book. We decide to follow it irrespective of whether the road book might have said about it (like, for example, don’t follow signs for El Gulli). We are again in luck and, shortly after following that sign, we are guided by a traffic police patrol which points us to our hotel which we reach just minutes before our maximum time allowance. Once again, despite mechanical failure, we manage (just) to reach our final destination.
Need to do maintenance and get a new tube. I am in charge of the latter and while Mattia gets out his tools I start looking for inner tubes. Model As have the same tire size and the owner of one of them has just received some and can spare one. Soon after, one of the Iranian car club members offers to drive me to a tyre shop. They have all been willing to lend a hand and many crews owe them a lot; for example, the owner of the convertible VW got his entire engine replaced in just 24 hours when one of the key bearings failed. We get into his car and drive off. Suddenly I feel as if I am about to take off in a jet. I do not know what he has done to his ’70s vintage american car’s engine but it’s a rocket and he wants to make sure I notice. He drives like a maniac down a four lane road zigzagging between less powerful cars, making sure they notice his presence with either his headlights or his horn. Not sure if he drives like this every day or whether he has taken my tube change as ting an emergency. He tells me in very broken english that he is a veterinarian. That does not does not really explain his driving style. He adds, though, that he loves american cars, particularly muscle cars from the ’60s and ’70s. He also owns a Camaro and a Blazer, both with major engine and suspension mods. He tells me that though no new American cars have been imported since the revolution, getting parts is not affected by either import restrictions nor by the embargo. Anyway, after about 10 minutes of digging my nails into the door handle and the seat upholstery we reach our destination. He explains to the shop owner what I need and while he does that I get the impression that Farsi resembles Turkish. Not so. They ARE speaking Turkish! My “escort” explains to me that most people in Tabriz speak the Azerbaijan version of Turkish rather than Farsi. In ten minutes we are done and are again into rocket mode back to the hotel. In the meantime, Mattia has had the throttle mechanism welded back. He hopes it will hold but is not too confident.
Shortly after we are informed that the reception organised by the Iranian classic car association will be attended by a senior government authority figure, possibly the vice-president. Again we have political interference in an event that has nothing to do with politics. The government has been involved in the organisation of this event and wants to make sure its voice is heard. The reports I get from other crews who agreed to go are in line with my expectations and I am glad to have had plenty to do on our car as a polite excuse no to go.