URAL in the Rally ORPI Morocco 2005
On the first day, we start with good spirits on the
first connection stage, and we are glad that the road
corresponds with the Roadbook. Obviously we don’t
know how to read a Roadbook but we did have a good teacher
the evening before, Carlo de Gavardo, the 450-er Cross
Country Rally World Champion on a KTM. Carlos, a star
in his home country, Chile, is the most sympathetic
and sociable type out of the entire field of the drivers.
Every evening he gave us valuable tips on how to survive
the next day’s stage.
  
After the first connection stage, under the jubilation
of the journalists and officials, and in photo-op position,
we start with full throttle in the real event, the first
special stage. We come back to our senses at once and
drive at walking speed, still in sight of the onlookers'.
The condition of the road is insane and not drivable,
with rough horrible stones, a trek that mocks any description
of a road. Unfortunately, it doesn't get better the
entire day. The official bulletin states that the first
special stage is the shortest one with 62 km (39 miles)
and an ideal warm up with slightly sandy passages along
the Atlantic Coast to the South. Light sandy passages
are a real pleasure after the steady gravel stretch.
Finally, the never ending shaking, pushing, and tearing
on the handle bar stops for a while, but as soon as
the sand gets a little bit deeper, it's the end of the
fun. The sand slows the sidecar rig right away forcing
me to shift down into first gear. With high rpm's the
rear wheel digs into the sand. Claus and I have to jump
down, and we push and push and push. Luckily, the sand
stages are short, and we get between them on solid ground
where the tires find some grip.
It takes us one hour for the first 20 km (12 miles)
of the first special stage. I try to calculate in my
head how long it will take for today's destination.
Another 42 km (26 miles) special stage, then 68 km (42
miles) connection stage on asphalt, then again 180 km
(112 miles) special stage and on the end, a 56 km (35
miles) connection stage, in total today 409 km (256
miles). With the laughable average speed we are doing,
we would have to hurry up to arrive at today's destination
before the next day's start time.
We arrive in the first township and the Roadbook warned,
"Don't speed, limit 50 km/h (31 m/h)", there are secret
radar speed controls, the GPS records our speed, there
are very high fines if we exceed the speed limit, and
possibly disqualification from the rally. Laughable,
if ever we would be able to reach a speed of 50 km/h
today.
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The Roadbook shows a dangerous situation: End of a township
(and the speed limit) in capital letters it shows "SABLE
SAND." The evening before, Claus marked it with a red
shiny marker so we wouldn't miss this passage. A small
arrow left upwards means steep grade, and last, but
not least, a PH in a circle means photographers are
waiting for prey. We take a run at the mountain. The
Ural looses power and we are stuck in the sand. We both
push, and I give rpm's to the clutch, but it doesn't
reach the rear wheel. From all sides, boys from the
village come running with more than 30 hands in all.
We somehow bring the Gespann halfway up the mountain.
The clutch stinks and smokes so bad that I shut off
the engine to let it rest. It then comes to mind that
the rules do not allow us to get help from the native
people under any circumstances, as it could result in
disqualification. A hot flash runs down my back because
I also remember what Carlo de Gavardo said the evening
before, "You have to be extremely careful because after
one hour, the race cars will come from behind, and they
are very serious about the race. To them, you and your
Ural are big obstacles."
Here we are, more then an hour en route, hanging in
the sand in the middle of a steep hill, which also is
a bottleneck. We must move out of their way right away
and let all the rally cars pass without hindering them.
Far away, I already see dust out in the plain, followed
by a helicopter. These must be Schlesser, Peterhansl,
Kleinschmitt, Roma, and others, with their HP-Rally
monsters. In my mind, I already see the news on the
Eurosport-TV: After 20 km (12 miles), the race was interrupted
because of two delinquent Austrians with an Ural rig
who took place at the Morocco Rally against all reasons,
that they manoeuvred a Ural rig in a steep hill against
better knowledge and pitifully failed. Therefore, Schlesser,
Peterhansl, Kleinschmitt, Roma, and the others had their
race interrupted and the race had to restart. I look
in front of me and still see 150 meters (166 yards)
of the south hill we have to master. On the upper edge,
I can see the journalists from all over the world, laughing
down at us. It doesn't help. We have to get up there.
I start the engine. I leave Claus at the handle bar
and the throttle, and here he holds on better than by
pushing the rig. Besides, Claus is to blame for it if
we kill the clutch. I stand in line together with about
15 Moroccans behind the rig, and together we somehow
manage to get the rig over the edge.
Just in time. Covered in sweat, we are able to watch
the rally cars dance over this hill without any problem.
The stars are waving nonchalantly out of their windows
leaving us in a cloud of dust. In this moment, I realize
that we are totally out of place in this Moroccan Rally.
The racecars have a weight of 480 kg (1,056 pounds)
and 400 HP. Our Ural rig weighs, including driver and
co-driver, 480 kg and has 40 HP!
Nevertheless, to the Moroccans here in this village,
we are the stars. Curious and excited, they touch our
Ural and us. After the first 10 cars pass, we also keep
on going. Gratefully, we have gravel again. It is a
lot more comfortable constantly being hit by the handle
bar than pushing in the deep sand. Somehow, we manage
to finish the first special stage. The officials at
the finishing line of this stage laugh and slap us on
our shoulders. We pick up our first stamp in our timetable.
Of course, we are the last ones to reach this checkpoint.
After us, they take the point down. For the next 68
km (42 miles) of connection stage on asphalt, we exchange
tasks. Claus rests at the handle bar of the rig, and
I take my place in the sidecar. Claus thinks it's easy
to be on the handle bar in contrast to his job in the
sidecar. I think it's a joke just to sit in the sidecar
in contrast to the hard work at the handle bar. We don't
speak a lot during this connection stage. Again, with
enough time to think about why we are doing what we
are doing and that we don't have the answer. We can't
expect wisdom anyway.
We start the second special stage of 180 km (112 miles),
and before I even touch the handle bar, my wrists already
hurt. It's a killing stage, with 180 km of uninterrupted
pain. Of course, everything is possible to do with time.
We are in a race, and we can't just drive along the
way the Ural and we would like it. That means we have
to give up going easy, on people and machine, and accelerate
so the day ends. The technically difficult passage,
like crossing the Queds with the especially nice valley
drives, and subsequently hill drives, are good for us.
One can't drive fast with the best of intention. It
is more like feeling one's way. Water fords we take
with great respect, which means that Claus first wades
through the ford and finds out how deep they are. I
wait for his signal to go ahead, and then close my eyes
and go.
  
For hours, we slave away. I soon realize that the GPS
hangs almost down to the gas tank. The mounting of the
GPS is loose. An ultra light, extremely expensive part
from Touratech and already broken after 150 km (94 miles)
driving the rally. We fix the GPS to the handle bar
with plastic fast binders.
 After some time, a car appears in the rear mirror. We
are glad and stop, it's good to talk to someone in the
middle of the desert. It is a follow-up car of the rally,
the medical assistance car. It consistently stays 100
meters (110 yards) behind us for the next 100 km (62
miles) and gives us security.
Our Ural is running rich, and we use an enormous amount
of gas, so we have to fill up the tank. We have two
extra Jerry cans with us. My hands are so numb and weak
that I don't even have the strength to open the lid
of the tank. I have to ask Claus to do it. Two kilometers
(1.2 miles) after refueling, I feel something cold and
wet on my thighs. The gas tank cap is missing. We lost
the tank cap. Obviously, I am even too weak to close
the gas tank properly. It doesn't help that we have
to turn around and look for the cap. But our personal
escort, the medical assistance car, brings us the gas
cap. How great!
We arrive at end of the special stage. Here we should
get a stamp in our timetable. Nobody is here anymore,
as the checkpoint cleared long ago, the people gone
for dinner.
After the last connection stage, we arrive at the drivers'
camp. The cars prepared for the next day are everywhere.
The driver conference for the next day is over long
ago, and the Roadbook for the next day already handed
out. The results of the day posted on the board, but
they change with our arrival. We are, with 14 hours
driving time, the last ones, but we are on the board!
We survived a whole day in the race…in a World Competition
Cross Country Rally, and noted on the next day's starting
list. It is a good feeling, but everything hurts. The
whole body is hurting. Carlo de Gavardo advises me to
go to the medical tent. There you get massages for the
tired bones. I follow his advice after dinner, and Angelique
made it possible so I was able to walk again after half
an hour.
I fall in to a deep sleep right away. Claus learns the
Roadbook for the next day by heart. Kurt tightens all
screws on the Ural, cleans the air filter, and adjusts
the valves. Other rally participants exchange whole
engines, axels, mount new wheels, and take the gearbox
apart in their carriage stronghold consisting out of
workshop trucks. Yes, they said the Ural would fall
apart in no time. Not so, as the motorcycle runs, and
we didn't have any damage. We are astounded about the
quality of our vehicle.
  
We are now in the second day of the Orpi Rally Morocco,
and to some, a miracle we are still here. Some had said
that we wouldn't even make the technical test with our
Ural Gespann. This day is a pleasant day compared to
the first day of the rally. Today it is a partially
good track, where one can speed up quite well on a gravel
course.
We are well prepared and in good spirits. The Gespann
makes noises. Today, Birgit, our team manager rubbed
and bandaged my hands and forearms with Franzbrandwein
(kind of rubbing alcohol). Our camel bags are full with
energy drinks. Red Bull does not sponsor Heineken or
us, so Birgit makes us a special drink out of black
tea, honey, salt pills, lemons, and brandy.
At the start, the officials nicely greet us, but ask
us to drive a little bit faster than yesterday. Today
there are no connection stages only one 409 km (256
miles) long special. The day will bring us deep into
the interior. There are really fast stages in this part.
The second day soon claims tribute. We soon pass a motorcyclist
who is working on his Enduro. The ignition failed. I
think about our own electronic ignition and am glad
that our only electronic thing on the bike works properly.
We pass another motorcycle that parks in the middle
of the desert. Under the small shade lays the driver.
He doesn't remember how he broke his shoulder, as he
fell and blacked out. The Rally is over for him. We
pass a Nissan who has overseen a hole in the course.
The front axle looks unnatural, and not usable, out
of the frame, impossible to repair. The race is over
for him.
What's the official description of today's stage? "To
begin this special stage, the competitors travel 60
km (38 miles) along the Qued Chebika on a highly enjoyable,
technical, but never damaging track, which demands a
great deal of navigation." This translates to a stony,
painful, terrible track…catastrophically (sorry about
the expression) B.S., just like the whole day yesterday.
Then, it becomes extremely fast, and for the first time
we can enjoy the rally. We arrive at a plain. The track
becomes wide and is relatively drivable. It is a good
gravel track, which allows high speed. As far as you
can see, there is nothing: no tree, no brush, no hill,
no deepening in the tract of land, only an infinite
plain. For me as an Austrian mountaineer, it is somewhat
unpleasant with nothing you to orient yourself. We ride
along and everything goes well. We look at each other,
grinning and satisfied.
After a short time, our trip master falls out. That's
a catastrophe and a small shock. The trip master is
important. It shows exactly how many meters we've driven.
We absolutely need the trip master for orientation in
the Roadbook. Without the trip master, we don't know
where we are. How can we survive the next 300 km (188
miles) in the desert without navigation? For the time
being, it is no problem. We are riding straight ahead
in the desert. The track shows no difference between
the track and the area beside the track, but it is marked
with little stone men, left and right in irregular distance.
They advised us the day before always to stay within
these stone men. Outside of these markers, there is
a danger to hit land mines. Last, but not least, we
are within a war zone. The conflict between Sahauris
and Moroccans about the sovereignty of the West Sahara
isn't settled yet.
Here, at full speed of almost 100 km/h (62 m/h), into
the stony desert in the South of Morocco, I miss a deep
depression, a rough hole, a crater. It comes totally
unexpected. The Roadbook warns about such dangers, but
I haven't used the Roadbook today for quite some time.
I can't use it because our trip master fell out and
without the trip master, you can't read the Roadbook.
And so this crater suddenly appears. First, one tries
to slow down…. that is the instinctive reaction…but
the wrong one. Claus, my co-driver, recognizes the mistake
and screams loud. I scream back even louder! Claus and
I stop breathing at the same time. Immediately before
the abyss, at full throttle, together we pull the Gespann
up in the front, I on the handlebar and Claus on the
sidecar handle. I stand firm in the foot pegs and put
my behind as far as possible to the rear. Claus stands
firm on the sidecar platform and hangs his butt out
as far as possible. Like question marks, we leave this
side of the edge of the crater and after a short flight,
land with the front wheel on the other side of the crater.
My hands try to correct the terrible blow to the handle
bar, but somehow the uncontrollable Gespann climbs into
the air again. Now the hit to the sidecar, yes - unpleasant,
but this time it hits mostly on Claus. Then the rear
wheel strikes out at the edge of the hole and catapults
the rear of the Gespann full force at my backside. Unfortunately,
my vertebra is an unsuitable shock absorber. Like a
miracle, I avoid going down headfirst. Slowly we get
some feeling back in our hands, and we can feel our
headache from our neck being jammed into our skull.
We've had this feeling once today but the second time
is even more intense. We land, a very harsh landing,
but we dare to breathe again. Thanks to Haslacher Hans,
we survive! Our "White Power" chassis guru equipped
the Rally Gespann with first class springs, costing
good money. High tech springs on a low tech Gespann.
In the future, we have to work with the daily trip counter
on the Ural. That didn't work well, we learned, when
we almost overturned twice because we didn't recognize
the holes in the track. One can't get accustomed to
the 100-meter (110 yards) wide freeway without two-way
traffic. Construction sides are not marked with colorful
traffic signals. It isn't very good for the Ural to
speed over this gravel after almost overturning. The
Gespann suddenly pulls to the left. I shout at Claus
that we probably don't have enough air in the front
tire. We stop. We check the tire, but nothing special
to see. We take the high tech air pump, from Kurt, our
mechanic, out anyway. We play quite a long time with
this thing until we realize that it is defective. We
have a broken air pump on-board. It doesn't matter though,
as there is enough air in the front tire. So, we keep
driving. Soon I start to realize that the handle bar
hangs to the left side. The Gespann pulls very hard
left. We stop again and look at the front wheel. Suddenly
I see the cause. The lower bolt on the earl's fork is
missing. The swing is holding on only by the shock absorber.
The left side of the fork is already 10 cm (4 inches)
away from the holder on the earl's fork. It doesn't
look good. I search in the spare nut and bolt box even
though I know I won't find a long 10 mm (3/8 inch) bolt.
That means we have to find a bolt somewhere on the Ural
that is not too important and that we don't necessarily
need. The closest we can find is the bolt from the center
stand axle. It has the same length, but unfortunately
has no thread, only a hole to put a cutter pin in. It
has to work, as we have no other choice. So, we bury
a nice green painted center stand with the springs in
the west Sahara Desert. With four hands and big effort,
we get this piece in position and are able to get it
through the holes on the fork, put a cutter pin in,
and use lots of duct tape. It works! The Ural runs straight
again. What a relief! I drive slower. Repeatedly, I
look at the bandaged fork, but the bolt holds.
We are out of gas again. We have to fill up the tank.
Only now, we realize that we lost one of our two jerry
cans. Panic arises because we are not sure if we will
make it to the next fuel stop with 10 liters (2.5 gallons).
We fill the tank with 10 liters of race gas, which we
got the evening before from the KTM team. Kurt, our
mechanic, told us the Ural probably won't appreciate
the 100-plus-octane race gas, and he was right. It stutters
and spits and the performance is bad…then…sometimes
it works well, and then sometimes the Ural doesn't like
this race gas at all.
Suddenly, we get to another checkpoint in the middle
of the desert. We are relieved. We get our stamp for
the time card. We look for the checkpoint in our Roadbook
and put the daily counter to zero. By the checkpoint
lays a broken down French buggy. We ask the pilots for
a 10 mm screw and nut. Indeed, the co-pilot takes a
suitable screw, even with a self-locking nut, somewhere
out of the broken buggy and mounts it on our Ural. We
put the screw from the center stand in our spare box.
You never know, we may need one again. It's still 80
km (50 miles) to go to the next checkpoint and to the
next fuel stop. It should be okay. The 80 km are murderous.
It continues straight ahead and becomes unbearably hot.
Somehow a real hot wind blows. Sometimes the Ural has
less power, as it doesn't like this high-grade gas.
I become unable to concentrate and fall in a flow. Finally,
far away, we can see a rise on the horizon and some
outlines in the wasteland. Some single plants show up,
and the track becomes narrower and curvy. We get closer
to a town, which is also the second checkpoint.
I am very exhausted. It is intolerably hot, 45 degrees
C (113 F) in the shade. I squeeze myself in the little
shade from the official's cars. The hot wind feels as
if you are in a sauna pouring water over the hot stones.
The officials are glad to see us because for them it
means they can leave this horrible hot place and can
go to the camp. I get a pastis (anis drink). I feel
the alcohol right away. The drink also influences my
decision to leave out the next checkpoint and to drive
together with the officials to the bivouac on a paved
road. So far, we never missed a checkpoint, so we can
allow ourselves to beat the time a little bit. Our justification
is the broken down trip master and for this last stage
it is very important to be able to navigate. And so
it happened today, for once we are not the last one
to arrive at the camp.
The stars also use some tactics. Cyrill Despres, the
star of the KTM motorcyclists, comes in first on the
second day of the race. One hundred meters (110 yards)
before the finishing line, he goes down off his bike
and waits for the second drive, Marc Comar, to come
in. Why does he do that?
The winner of the second day starts first on the third
day of the race and on this day, it goes in to the sand
dunes where you need very good navigation skills. It
is easer to start second because you can follow the
tracks of the bike in front of you. Marc Coma sees Cyrill
Despres waiting in front of the finishing line and gets
down as well. Both are waiting for the third to arrive.
He laughs and crosses the finishing line first. The
jury doesn't laugh, and both, Despres and Coma, get
a 15-minute time penalty for non-sportsmanlike behaviour.
Coma accepts the penalty, but Despres, the star, doesn't
and decides to end the rally. The number one is eliminated.
But, the number 35 isn't and appears proudly at the
start on the third day. The number 35 is the Ural Gespann
with Hari at the handle bar and Claus in the sidecar.
We fix the trip master so it at least shows digital
zeros. However, if we drive 80 km/h (50 mph) or 20 km/h
(12 mph), or even if we drive in reverse, it makes the
trip master wonderfully useless. Today is the day of
the dunes. In the middle of the dunes is a checkpoint.
Carlo de Gavardo advises us not even to try to reach
this checkpoint because it's unreachable for the Ural.
He said we should try to get around the dunes and start
with the second checkpoint. We decide to look at it
first, so we ride to the dunes. On the way there, we
cross a very large dry salt lake. Wonderful, very smooth
ground. We leave our marks in the salt lake. We are
able to ride as fast the Ural goes. It's real fun, but
it doesn't last long because at the end of the salt
lake the sand dunes tower upward. The first rise we
are able to master with the built-up speed from the
salt lake, but in the deep sand of the middle of the
plateau, it ends. We are stuck. We manage to get the
Ural by the journalists' cars on the side of the track
and park it there. The photographers are waiting at
the abyss of the first dune and gesture towards us that
we should go down the dune. No, no, not us. First, we
want to see what's awaiting us over there. We walk over
to the first dune and there, down in the gully lays
a buggy on his roof, overturned. What a photo opportunity
for the waiting photographers. They really tried to
lure us into this sand hole! Maybe even at full speed
over the edge so we could land on top of the buggy!
It would make for another great picture.
I take off my helmet, sit with the photographers, and
end the race. I understand, here and now, that the race
is over for us. One of the officials is running to the
top of the first dune and waves wildly with his hands
to warn the oncoming cars of the obstacle down in the
gully. The crew of the overturned buggy tries with help
of a 4x4, to get the car on its wheels again. In the
meantime, some of the following cars jump left and right
of the accident into their own ruin, as many are stuck
in the deep sand. Soon, trucks with towing ropes and
shovels appear. It is all very entertaining. After the
last vehicle of the big truck class masters the dune
and disappears behind the next dune, it is time for
us to go home. We try to get around the dunes and follow
for 10 km (6 miles), but we are not able to find a suitable
spot to cross the dunes. It seems there is no end to
this dune zone, so we give up for good.
While the others slave through the sand, we drive to
the next starting point of the next special stage. There
the officials convinced us to give up. There would be
lots of sand in the next stage and for our Ural Gespann
impossible to overcome. Since we also lost our trip
master, we decide to give up. For the last days of the
rally, we travel with the assistance cars but still
get enough time to do some off road riding, without
any pressure. Now, Birgit rides the Gespann most of
the time. She probably would have been a better rider
anyway."
Hari Schwaighofer, Ural Motorcycles GmbH
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