Even if the river was cold last night, it was nothing compared to the freezing temperature we woke up in. Pingu would have checked into a hotel rather than stay in our freezing tents. Last night we hadn't realised that we had chosen to camp in the last place to get sunlight in the morning. When I woke up out of my cryogenic sleep I found Chris curled up in the car, he had started making breakfast but had given up once he got cold. Eventually the sunlight defrosted us enough to let us repack the car and get on the road. We drove until the petrol guzzling 4x4 could drive no further, luckily they chose a scenic straight road to refuel. Chris was having his morning nap at this point so I left the engine running and told Adam to drive him away, unfortunately Chris woke up the moment he shut the door. Stopping on a scenic road could only have ever lead to one thing, a jumping photo of everyone off their cars. Stopping on a straight road could only have ever lead to one thing, me holding onto the Mongoliers roof box as they drove away. We didn't get to any huge speeds but that didn't stop me sliding slowly and dramatically down the bonnet. After arsing around for half an hour we resisted the urge for a drag race, that could wait until the Mongolian desert, and headed to the border. By the next town the 4x4 already needed to get its next benzin fix, we pulled over and went to the shop next door. Matt also decided it would be a good idea to do his weekly shop while we all waited patiently outside. Unfortunately our patience ran thin so we left without him, well we drove around the back of the shop to hide. We waited for a long time but there was no Matt to be seen anywhere in vicinity of the shop's front door, unless he snuck off without us which would be odd considering we had the cars. There's only so long you can sit behind a shop in a small village before it becomes weird. Eventually we sent in an undercover agent to scope out the shop and found it empty, there was a shop full of consumable items  but there was not a single non-Russian in there. We found him a mile down the road standing in a hotel doorway stealing WiFi, and we all notified him that we had arrived with excessive honking before heading to the border.

 

The Russian/Mongolian border was the last border crossing for the other teams, luckily the Russians and Mongolians didn't disappoint. We arrived at the closed gate and the officer told us we needed "3" and gestured us down the street with the hint it was a green building. The road was lined with green buildings as we walked back looking for anything that might be three and green. Whatever we needed wasn't in the green army building or the building with "3" on the door, the people inside made sure we knew that as we were ejected. A man beckoned us over to a green shed to do some customs paperwork with the drivers, before stamping a peice for us to keep as a souvenir. The original man at the gate stole our stamped souvenirs and let us into the crossing. We were directed into a large building, inside we found a sketchy man waiting in an area before a metal detector. He looked a reliable dodgy guy so we waited in the area with him until he was was led away by another officer. The others arrived from outside and joined us in the small room, that's when we noticed the scales. We took it in turn to weigh ourselves and compare how much we had lost, or gained in facial hair weight. The officer walked past in the hallway and gave us a weird look but didn't say anything about the tourists weighing themselves on security equipment. I'm not sure if he was released or had escaped, but sketchy-man arrived to tell us to go to around the corner. He had gotten us this far so we obliged and found passport control, who had our passports stamped in seconds. Back outside the guards were gearing up to search the cars, they even had their sniffer dogs at the ready. I opened up the car hoping that the smell from the field of marijuana in Kazakhstan had washed off. The dogs explored the car and found nothing, the smell had either gone or the dogs had been bluffing their qualifications. After the dogs we were sent into no-mans land, which rumour had it was 90km long. The first half of which was definitely still Russia, the perfect tarmac gave it away, that and the gate with a Russian gaurd standing at it.

 

We arrived at the Mongolian border to find it was shut for lunch. Clearly lunch was a Mongolian custom so we set up our noodle kitchen. In between mouthfuls there was a some football kicking going on until Wanger got to eager and kicked it over a fence into Mongolia, probably just an excuse to get in first. A woman climbed through the gate and told us to follow her into a shed, she then charged us a few dollars for disinfection. I'm not too sure why I don't think she was a legitimate official, it might have been because she wasn't wearing a uniform or because she offered to change money, or because she never actually disinfected the cars. Either way our now "disinfected" cars were let into the border area, and we were ushered into the customs office. A health declaration was required for the driver but not the passengers, or for the driver and the passengers - it depended who you talked to. The woman at the passport control desk was adamant everyone has to fill one out, while the woman at the health desk only wanted the drivers. The passengers were stuck in an infinite loop of obeying two opposing instructions. To save Chris the hassle I didn't bother telling them about him, besides he is probably still all clear after the thorough medical examination at the Tajikistan border. The temporary importation at vehicle customs was always going to take a while so the passengers were released to wait in another room, and collect their traditional Mongolian welcome cavity search. On the board next to customs there was a poster showing a large apple on top of an outline of Mongolia with the 1286 written below. I assumed the poster was talking about the strict regulations the Mongolian government impose on the number of apples in Mongolia at any time. Luckily the peice of paper put up next to the poster read 1281, so I wasn't too worried about the four and a half apples I had hidden around the car. After awhile a printed list of all Mongol Rally cars was handed over for us to cross ourselves off, I flicked through the complete list and noticed we are the only team driving a Peugeot 107. Adam got a text from Miles saying they had arrived in Mongolia earlier in the morning and were in a random family's Ger. I joked that they had only been in the country and had already fallen for the apparently common con where tourists were led back to a Ger, welcomed inside then charged a huge cost for the privilege - but they're not that stupid are they? Finally the paperwork was complete for our car's freedom, all we had to do was swap over our paperwork with each other - something we noticed at the gate to exit into Mongolia. 

 

The welcoming first road from the border was disappointingly good, it was freshly laid smooth tarmac. Where were the interweaving gravel tracks through the desert?  We were driving next to the Mongoliers having a pleasant chat about meeting the others further up the road, when we were interrupted by a voice on the radio saying we looked like we were lining up for a drag race. That was it, the gauntlet had been laid down, the glove had been slapped across both our faces by the Australians, so we lined up against the Mongoliers in their 1.4L Terrios. The count down started while I revved and prepared myself for glory, when the time came I popped the clutch and sped off the line. The huge Terrios engine was no match for our car's mighty 996cc engine and spoiler. I left them in my dust over the first few hundred metres, we hadn't discussed a finish line so I began to slow down as we approached a corner. That is the point when the Mongoliers slowly passed us. I maintain I won and Rob, who was driving for the Mongoliers, maintains he won. Upon reviewing the footage from inside their car its clear who won, mainly because they stopped recording while I was in front - a clear indication their passengers thought the race was over too. There was no rematch as we made our way to town.

 

Before we reached town we hit a heard of cows, well we didn't hit them but they were standing in the middle of the road. We were sat watching them when a Mongolian man came running through the heard clearing a path for us. As the cows cleared a lion was revealed on the other side. The lion waved at us and we waived back, we then followed him and his new Mongolian friend back to a Ger - which was a long way from the main road, a good hint of impending conning. When we finally reached the man's Ger we said our "howdy-dos" to the Lion boys and the Motoring Morons - a team of two 19 year-olds, Will and Arthur, in a silver Micra. We were all welcomed into the family Ger and were fed sour cheese, bread and vodka. After the vodka stores of the three cars were emptied, the man offered to take us to the local shop to buy more - the rest of the evening suddenly turned into a blurry mess.