Christophe's Struggles

January 13 – Santiago – San Juan

The conventions that govern movies in the western world are so entrenched in our consciousness that we can almost sense when a crux event is about to take place.
Not so real life.
The day began early. Guido, the Argentine photographer now joining us in the Fiat awoke me at 2.30 am. We were in the car, winding our way up through the Andes by 3.00am. by 5.00, we had stopped and I was hiking up an empty trail to get a dawn view of Mount Aconcuagua – the highest mountain in the world outside of the Himalayas. The air was freezing, as one would expect at an altitude of 3000m. Despite two fleeces and a jacket I was shivering, and, as I tried to shoot images of the majestic peak, I genuinely worried about frostbite to my fingers. But what a sight – over 6900m of pure beauty in the perfect dawn light. To complete the dawn tableau, I watched a mule train weave its way up towards base camp, carrying supplies for the climbers no doubt preparing for an attempt on the summit.

I had few thoughts of the race as we started off once more, heading down through the mountains, enjoying the views, contemplating climbing or hiking trips in the area with my wife and daughters.
I look back now, barely 10 hours or so later and realise I had started to see us making it to Buenos Aires as a given. Since the dramas of 3 or 4 days ago, everything had gone smoothly, stage after stage taking us closer to a happy ending. Yes we were tired, dirty, hot, ready to go home, but we’d be heading home victorious. Now we are tired beyond anything I’ve ever known, dirty, hot and ready to go home, but an agonising question mark hangs over whether Christophe can finish this merciless race. The Dakar has pulled yet another card from the banker’s deck – remains to be seen whether we can trump it.
We stopped at a point not far from Checkpoint 1 to shoot some images of the special. It was spectacular stuff, in a spectacular setting. The cars, bikes and trucks drawing long plumes of dust through the scrubland as they raced up a valley that creates an impression on the spectator of a natural fish – eye (or have I been spending too much time staring through a camera lens?). I fired off a minute or so of footage of Christophe as he passed – comfortable, in control, every kilometre taking him closer to Buenos Aires.

It can’t have been very long after this that it happened.
The bike fought out of Christophe’s control. He hung on with such fierce desire, reasserting his command with such an adamant refusal to give in to the bike’s dark intent that he tore the triceps of his left arm.
It was about 5.30 pm as we pulled into the bivouac – about 15 hours since we set out. We headed straight for Christophe’s camp. “Just three to go”, I said, slapping him on the back. In my mind I was contemplating a potential white water rafting trip tomorrow after shooting the start of the special. That was before I saw the bandage, heard the story of 150 agonising kilometres over harsh rocky ground and felt the lash of a new twist in the tale.
I filmed Christophe over dinner; unable to keep the lens off the mask of grim determination that has overtaken him. He couldn’t get much down, despite having been extremely hungry. I couldn’t pull the lens away. We sat opposite each other, silent, knowing what we have shared, are sharing, what we have set out to do. The camera somehow the bond that joins us in this insane adventure. Scenes like these can’t be scripted; they have to be lived.

On the falsely cheerful walk over to dinner, Christophe told me the story of a one armed guy on the Ivory Coast who used to compete in motocross. “If he can do, so can I” is what he said. Perhaps he can. But what had appeared to me as three formalities are now three long, painful stages – tomorrow over rocks, the next day over sand dunes and if, against what any sane human being would rate at the very least as long odds, he gets through those – a final leg into Buenos Aires.
I believe. We believe. We didn’t come this far to go out before the end. The Dream is still alive

 

Jan 7 - Antofagasta - Iquique - the day the dream almost died

I awoke late. About 7.00am. As I sat and stared at my bivouac breakfast, styrofoam coffee in hand, I was thinking about the film. One of the difficulties of making a documentary like this is that you really don’t know what will happen. I am very much aware of the elements required to build a compelling story, but this story is very much in the hands of the gods. So my concern this morning was around whether there is currently enough drama in the movie so far. Is there enough going on to keep an audience engaged?
I needn’t have worried. After a 370km drive to Iquique, we parked at the base of a mountain of sand 1000m high. Crowds of people were assembled at the bottom, staring up, as spectators at a ski race would do, gazing at the distant shimmering sandy summit.

As I set up my camera, a plume of dust way way above me marked the speeding descent of a motorbike. Straight down - a ski racer line, tearing across the sand, tracking across the mountainside, then down into a dip before roaring into the view of the crowd, hammering past us towards the end of the stage, just a kilometer or so away.
Confident that I had found a great viewpoint from which to capture Christophe’s descent, I readied myself for a wait that I imagined would be 30 to 40 minutes. Bikes came and went. Cars began to make their sense defying way down the dune. Then trucks. Spectators started to pack up and leave and still Christophe had not arrived. I shuffled uncomfortably, needing to pee but not wanting to miss the glory shot. Two and a half hours at least had past. In my mind, dark scenarios began to play out. Could this be where the dream ends? Here at the bottom of this infernal mountain of sand? Surely nothing bad could happen on such a beautiful day? I’ve spent too much time in the mountains to know that bad things do happen on beautiful days and that the world, beautiful in her insouciance just carries on.
A Chilean stood beside me handed me a beer. Jacob asked me whether I’d head home if Christophe was out. A helicopter past overhead, and there, right up there, from over the ridge came a motorbike. The first motorbike we had seen for 20 minutes. I tracked it with the long lens, hoping, hoping, unable at this stage to make out a number or color that would identify it. My bladder throbbed, my brain played through hospital bedside scenarios and flight re-arrangements to get home to Mel and the girls. And then I knew. Out of the dip, into the shot I’d been setting up all afternoon, hunched over the handle bars, heading home, it was him. “Es mi amigo” I shouted to the beer donor. “It’s Christophe, he’s in, the dream is still alive!”
But the dream was so very nearly not still alive. With no more than a third of the special still to go, Christophe had hit a hole, a big hole and taken a serious fall. In his words: “I’m lucky to still be walking, even luckier that the bike is still ok”. I’ve watched footage of the fall on the POV footage and believe you me, it hurt.


Christophe lives to ride another day. He has some bruising and a stiff back, but at 5am or so tomorrow, he’ll head out for the longest special of the rally - over 600km over the same terrain that nearly had the better of him today. 28 Luca Manca from Italy will not be so lucky. After crashing his motorbike on the stage, he was airlifted directly to a hospital in Santiago where he underwent brain surgery. At the time of writing, he is fighting for his life.
After something like this happens, how can you, more aware than ever of the risks involved in this endeavour, just get up tomorrow and keep going? When I asked him, Christophe didn’t really reply - I guess his answer is simply that he can, and he will.

Simon

Stage 3- Cordoba-La Rioja

An update from Simon & Christophe in Cordoba via Team Rally Australia

Que puta calor! Left Cordoba at 11.00pm last night in an attempt to get to the end of today’s special. Got most of the way before tiredness stopped us. Pitched my tent in a dusty abandoned childrens playground and slept the sleep of the very fricken tired.
Our cunning plan paid off and we found our way down a long dusty track to the end of the special. I suspect you’re asking what the hell the special is. Basically every race day is made up of a liason on road and untimed and a special which is the full on off-road bit.
I fended off a French attempt to get me out of the area and got down to business. Christophe came in mid way through the field.

Dusty and tired but good. He took a tumble somewhere along the way and damaged a fork that he has since replaced. Had big trouble with the helmet cams today. I think it’s the insane heat that is messing with the lithium batteries. It’s ok, I’ll just send a production assistant to get some more. Oh! Forgot, I don’t have one.
Spectacular scenery as we drove across the plain towards the Andes. This is the stuff I live for. Looking forward to crossing into Chile in two days time. We’ll be crossing a mountain pass at over 4000m.

So so far all good. Christophe still in the race, getting good footage and boiling our arses off in Argentina.
Tomorrow, the mechanical freak show that is the Dakar moves to Fiambala. Hasta Pronto

La Carrera Reportage Begins

Andy weighs in upon arrival:

My name is Andrew Prill and together with my co driver Richard Clark I am about to compete in my tenth Carrera Panamericana.  

Originally run between 1950 and 1954 it was a round of the World Sportscar Championship in which most of the great drivers  like Fangio, Hill and Tarruffi raced. Abandoned after the 1954 race because it had become to dangerous it was restarted in 1988. The race is for historic cars similar to those which competed originally. Over the years they have become so developed that we are going faster than ever. Car in the big class will do just under 200mph and our car which is in the under 2 litre class will regularly hit 150 on the longer stages.
Following a similar route to  the original the race is a gruelling  7 day 3000KM dash from the South of Mexico to the US Border. To see the complete route visit www.carrerapanamericana.com.mx
We arrived in Huatulco on Sunday after a long flight from the UK and a 12 hour drive from Mexico City. Over the last three days we have collected the race car and completed all of the technical inspections. We have already checked out the first stages.  Tomorrow (Thursday) we have a pre-qualification stage to set the starting order for the start of the race on Friday. Now I am off to a drivers briefing so I will try to report again tomorrow.



Best,


Andy

Silk Road Rally- Christian Lavieille

A tough day at the races for one of our favorite Frenchmen. Christian Lavieille's transmission exploded on leg 5 of the Silk Road Rally in between Beyneau & Janaozen. Who said the Silk Road was a warm up for the Dakar? Let's hope Christian's current ride finishes strong although a podium isn't likely. At least his Nissan didn't suffer the same fate as this one.