Like the splitting of the Red Sea...

...The Brothers Wrongolia have parted ways. Some might say this warrants the end of something great. But like the Holy Roman Empire, it's just the beginning of something new.

So we left Ulaan Bataar armed with a relaxed grin and a brand new Chinese visa. However, the Mongolians at the border were keen to know why we now had no car and why we had no paperwork explaining what had happened to it. They refused to let us out, sent us to the local army base, told us to get paperwork and then kicked us out onto the dusty street. After great pains we did manage to get our paperwork but in the meantime they'd promoted the duty-free girl to passport control. And so when we tryed to get out again, they checked nothing, we made a run for the Chinese side and were eating fried noodles and Sezchuan chicken by sun-set.

Anyhow, I have just been at the Beijing Central train station, seeing Ian off on his way to some Taoist mountain in the Shandong province. He's got a little trip planned before heading back to Blighty when the money runs out. All fifty-eight quid of it.

And as for me, well I've been offered a job here in Beijing. So this might mean a short foray into Chinese living. Spent today looking at a bulletin board wondering who was trying to sell washing machines and who was advertising appartements. There's really not that much to differentiate when your Mandarin is halting at best.

So fear not.

The Waggon still rolls.

The End Of The Road

And so to the final rally tales from Team Wrongolia.

With the petrol tank as our new cabin mate, and salvation in the form of Team Doug and Geoff's 4WD Suzuki, we rode on into the Mongol plains. The exhaust constantly dropping off, tyre blow-outs two to a penny and the chasis twisted beyond recognition, opening up gorges in the car's body and striking a jaunty new Fiesta pose.

The Suzuki pulled us out of many a stream and ditch, and helped negotiate the most sublime river crossing in the history of three inch ground clearances.

But all good things must come to an end, and so we found ourselves at the back of Doug and Geoff's tow rope for a bouncy 200 mile stint across the Gobi. The drive shaft welded back together, it took a leisurely 200 metre jaunt to snap it once again and spray ball bearings all across the charred earth.

And so with 1000km to go, we ditched the car and jumped onto our Halfords bikes.

Freezing Gobi nights and concerns over our fertillity raging, we were blessed with a truck full of root vegetables and livestock headed for Ulaan Bataar. We jumped aboard for two days and nights huddled under a giant tarp to protect from the dessert storms.

120km to go and we got back on the bikes and cycled to celebrity and glory in this city of Mongol greatness. Enter vodka, hip-hop and high-jinx that is Saturday night in Ulaan Bataar.

We're now weighing up our options on how to get home. Stranded in Eastern Asia.

And so they may cry, "What went Wrongolia?"

Well, absolutely everything, but by the same token nothing at all.

Huge love to one and all.

Wrongolia on the Mongol Rally and out.

Done and Dusted

That's right, the Wrongolia Waggon has finally rolled into Ulaan Bataar in a blaze of glory.

More to come once the haze from our victory night has cleared.

Los Hombres Wrongolia.
Well and truely in Mongolia.