Dirt. It’s everywhere.
Gumming up the keys of my laptop computer, clogging the zoom lens of my camera. It’s in all of my clothing. There’s even dirt in my dreams. And then in the memories of unzipping the tent every morning to see another perfect, yet absolutely different-from-last-night, landscape. Dirt in my nightmares, too. Of the ground rushing up to meet us as our Porsche Cayenne tumbled end over end. There was dirt all over the inside of the vehicle and dirt mixed with blood. My blood.
Until then, all was going quite well. Ex-Porsche factory race driver Kees Nierop and I were running in the top 10 of the Rallye Transsyberia and were skimming across a grassy plain, the satellite navigation system telling us the next stop was straight ahead about three miles.