navigation


   
hed 2


The Lord is Down, the Race is On
By Chris McKenna

BAOTOU, Inner Mongolia, Sept. 8, 1997 -- Seven miles into the 12,000-mile Race of the Century, the unthinkable happens. Lord Edward John Barrington Douglas-Scott Montagu's car -- the 1915 Prince Henry Vauxhall -- sputters to a stop before all the other drivers even cross the starting line.

Five minutes earlier, Montagu sat perched on his Vauxhall, framed by the jagged mountains and ramparts of the Great Wall. He proclaimed that after a half-dozen failed attempts over nine decades to stage a second Peking to Paris road rally, it was finally happening due to the tenacity of the current organizers (of which he is one).


Baron Willem Bentinck von Schoonheten drives <BR>his 
Railton Straight 8 through the starting gate.
Baron Willem Bentinck von Schoonheten drives
his Railton Straight 8 through the starting gate.

But moments after his triumphant start, Montagu -- the Lord of Beaulieu -- stands stranded on the side of the road while 91 cars pass by him. Sour-faced on a good day, Montagu looks grim, his small round eyes watery, his flushed face pinched as he glowers at his mechanic. With a crowd of dusty peasants watching, one picking food out of his teeth, Montagu mutters an explanation to the curious onlookers: A pin holding the fan blades in place came loose, the blades slipped forward and sliced the mesh covering on the radiator.

It's a potentially catastrophic development, particularly given the Lord of Beaulieu's status in the vintage car world. His motoring pedigree is impeccable. Montagu's father, Lord John Scott Montagu, launched Britain's first motoring magazine, Car Illustrated, with his secretary/lover Eleanor Thornton, whose figure inspired the "Spirit of Ecstasy," the winged figure that graces the hood of every Rolls Royce. The elder Montagu was the first Brit to drive on the continent, and his son Edward was the first to motor through the Chunnel.


Lord Edward Montagu of Beaulieu on his ill-fated car, 
moments before the race begins
Lord Edward Montagu of Beaulieu on his ill-fated car, moments before the race begins

Edward owns and directs one of the foremost vintage car museums in the world, Britain's National Motoring Museum, and he has driven in more than 300 international road rallies. Montagu's Prince Henry Vauxhall is not only the first-seeded car in the rally, but he's the upper-crustiest entrant in the race. His departure would not only be a humiliating personal defeat, but a distressing turn of events for the caste-conscious Brits.

The Lord is down, but the rally roars on, bound west for Zhang Jiakou, 90 miles away and then Baotou in Inner Mongolia. For the first two days, the police insist that the rally travel by a convoy led by Public Security forces. It's a tedious but necessary concession to Chinese suspicion and paranoia, says rally organizer Philip Young. "China is a police state," he announces. "They must control everything. They are watching you at every moment."

Sirens blazing, the Chinese police part a sea of blue trucks, tractors and motorized carts laden with sheep, coal, apples and yams. Traffic and work stop as the cars drive through a bleak industrial strip of factories, tire shops, greasy spoons and gas stations. As we pass, black-faced coal laborers lean on their shovels and gawk at the procession. Factory workers in roadside dumpling stands look up from their steaming bowls. Ditch diggers drop their picks. Even the bicycle hordes, normally oblivious to motorists, veer out of the way, cowered by the barking police.


Chinese police direct Peter and Susan Noble's 1955 
Bentley.
Chinese police direct Peter and
Susan Noble's 1955 Bentley.

Meanwhile, Casper Noz, a Dutch-born building contractor from California, never makes it to the Great Wall: The head gasket blows on his 1928 Ford Model A Roadster. Noz had thought that Henry Ford's "Everyman's" car was an ideal choice for the rally, because with only 600 parts, it would be easy to fix.

He was wrong. In fact, from the moment he left his home for the airport, it seemed Casper was jinxed. As his son wished him off, Casper slammed the car door on the youngster's finger. Then his car stalled on a bridge, his baggage was lost, and his father and co-driver, Francis, fell ill in Beijing. Then the Model A developed carburetor problems and stalled on the drive from the shipping docks to Beijing. While Casper remained in Beijing to look into repatriating his Ford, Francis Noz caught a ride to Zhang Jiakou with a support vehicle. He arrived breathless and feverish at the hotel, determined to find a ride to Paris. While the other drivers picked at the gristly meat and lumpy vegetables on their TV-dinner tins, Francis went from table to table like a mendicant.

If he finds an empty back seat, Noz will become the third hitchhiker of the group, joining Joao Netto and Jose Simoes of Portugal, whose 1932 Ford Model B Saloon suffered irreparable engine damage when the oil pump was disconnected. Competing in the rally had been Joao's dream since 1972, when he paid 100 British pounds for a spot in a Peking to Paris rally organized by a different man. That rally was postponed, however, because of the sticky political situation in the Soviet Union. The organizer eventually disappeared in Capri with Joao's money. "I was the joke of all of my friends for 10 years," he says.

Americans Mark Fortune and Bud Risser offered the Portuguese duo half of the back seat of their 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air. "It was a miracle," says Joao. As for their beloved Ford, says Jose: "I hope the Chinese burn it and throw it into the sea."


Chic and Arlene Kleptz are off and running in their 
1919 Marmon.
Chic and Arlene Kleptz are off and running
in their 1919 Marmon.

Previous dispatch  Next dispatch

Pictures (from top right): Brown Brothers | Popperfoto/Archive Photos | Auburn Museum/Archive Photos | Drew Fellman/Candide Media Works |
Copyright © 1997 Discovery Communications, Inc.