Now here's a bug-out vehicle I could enjoy - across Antarctica to the South Pole in 40 hours!
From the Times, London (
http://driving.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,22750-1783741,00.html):
September 18, 2005
The monster in the deep freeze
A British team aims to reach the South Pole in record time using a gigantic truck. Jasper Gerard of The Sunday Times hitches a ride on a test run
The truck in trials in Iceland. The team hopes to reach the South Pole in 40 hours.
Forget Chelsea tractors, think combine harvesters. Built for passengers the size of Giant Haystacks on steroids, this six-wheel-drive 7.3 litre beast can pump out more power than Sizewell B. It is rumoured to reach 70mph if driven in anger.
But then this vehicle needs a bit of poke: for while most rugged off-roaders are rarely required to negotiate terrain more testing than traffic calming humps in Surbiton, this little baby is heading to Antarctica.
A six-strong British team aims to beat the 24-day record to be the fastest to reach the South Pole. It might seem a pretty pointless expedition, just bringing the ice caps some extra global warming and a foretaste of SUV traffic horror.
But who cares, it could be a lot of fun. If Captain Oates had this one-off hot rod on stilts waiting outside he might have been gone a very long time. In fact he and Scott of the Antarctic could have done Torvill and Dean impressions with handbrake turns on the ice.
To see what they missed, we took the £140,000 Ice Challenger for a blast round an army testing track in Surrey. The truck might be based, loosely, on a Ford Econoline, but the bark below is fiercer than Gordon Ramsay’s. All it needs is a few built-in machineguns and flames leaping out of the back and it would make a mighty cool conveyance for a rapper; against this a Hummer would look decidedly boy-bandish. “We couldn’t resist playing 50 Cent loud with the windows down when we collected it,” says Jason De Carteret, the expedition leader.
Having been subjected to a 2,000-hour modification programme in Iceland, it can power up ramps scarcely flatter than a brick wall and over assault courses with the nonchalant ease of a Michael Vaughan cover drive. “We got plenty of abuse coming down from Glasgow,” smiles De Carteret. “Range Rovers don’t even come up to the windows. Imagine turning up in this on the school run.” Hell, you could house a whole classroom in it.
As well as the team’s wheels, the truck will be its home for most of the 750-mile trip. The six friends will take turns to drive and only pitch their tent when exhaustion and cramp take hold. Their aim is to complete the journey in 40 hours this December, beating a record set in 1992 by Shinji Kazama, a mad-sounding Japanese man who went by motorbike trailed by a snowmobile. Sir Edmund Hillary took 82 days in 1958, but he had to make do with tractors, poor dear.
These guys prefer more kit, namely a turbocharged V8 diesel engine under the bonnet, 20 gears and 44in tyres. With solar panels on the roof, luggage, 1,100lb of spares — and fuel — the 21ft Ice Challenger will weigh more than 5 tons. The team will need every morsel of motorised muscle: Antarctica is unlikely to challenge Antibes as a summer hotspot, with temperatures routinely nudging -28C — they can dip to -90C — and breezes reaching 185 miles an hour. Touching the outside of the bus in such cold could leave hands welded to the metal.
Snow is likely to be knee deep so to aid progress tyres will be decompressed, but even so the team anticipates being able to travel only about half a mile an hour in places. Still, at least in Antarctica with nothing but a few dozy penguins as obstacles (unless you count the odd hill and hidden crevasse) there shouldn’t be too many traffic holdups even on makeshift roads.
“They don’t drive on the left or right, it is just straight down the middle,” says De Carteret, who runs an exploration business having already broken his share of pointless records, such as becoming “the first Briton to complete the world’s most northern dog-sled race, 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle”. He also skied to the South Pole last year.
“Shackleton,” chips in Andrew Moon, another of the team, “is his middle name.”
All of which begs one question: why? “Everything is so close and easy now,” says De Carteret. “There are so few wildernesses left. I suppose it is a desire to return to the pioneering age.” Indeed, with his lectures at the Royal Geographical Society and his quietly purposeful manner there is something eminently Victorian about this gent setting off in search of adventure. Even the flight over from Chile in a Russian transporter sounds high risk enough.
Once the team has landed on a blue ice runway it will have no backup, except satellite phones. “There are planes in the region but we would need to build a landing strip,” says De Carteret.
The biggest challenge, he says, will be extracting water from the ice. On skiing expeditions to the North and South Poles he says he has found this can take hours each day.
As well as being “too much like hard work”, skiing lacks the sheer thrill of all that power. As we set off down a long steep bank it feels much like being atop Blackpool’s giant rollercoaster, the Big One. As it roars down to the bottom, the photographer scarpers sharply.
Yet with De Carteret driving you feel eerily safe, even when he flies through puddles so deep all vision is lost in a wall of water. It may smack of rich boys with too much time on their hands, but Moon, a lawyer, insists the team members are “all gainfully employed”.
But, I ask between bumps, isn’t it a bit off, taking this messy polluter to burp out the black stuff over virgin snow? De Carteret points to Moon’s Aston Martin: “Its fuel consumption is probably not much worse than that, about 15 miles to the gallon.” As well as 580 litres in the tanks they will carry about 600 litres in drums inside the vehicle: this is certainly no Smart car.
Having burnt round a track and powered through a forest, we get lost — amid the grassy glades of Surrey. Oh well, better luck in the white infinity of Antarctica.
As I wave them off, Moon shouts: “We’ll send you a postcard.” And you sort of understand why they do it: it beats a shopping trip to Sainsbury’s in Surbiton.