Takes one to know one

  

Mudflaps

Upon crossing the border from Argentina into Bolivia, the lay out of the streets changed, the type of shops changed, the music in them changed and the style of cars changed. 

Cars? A funny thing to notice? Not when you see the following item a 100 yards past the border.

 

Takes one to know one

There is only one type of motorsport that utilizes such a flap: Rallying. They are essentially big and ugly but I hadn't seen a set of flaps like this since entering Latin America, so I knew this owner had to be a fan. A connoisseur of such flaps as a youngster I fondly remember the set of big white Sparco numbers on my beloved Nova SR.

Note to self at the time: seek out local rally. Another 50 yards up the road and I saw a guy in a Sparco and OMP logo encrusted rally car jacket. The type the drivers and fanatical fans wear in the service areas. I asked him for info but he was so pissed drunk that I didn't understand a word he said.

I must admit that the resolve to source out the possibility of an event faded slightly amongst all the other distractions that constituted my exploration of southern Bolivia. About two weeks later I decided enough was enough and I had to dig deeper if I was going to find an event. After a protracted search effort I hit the jackpot; the 37^th national championship was the following week. Although 10 hours back to the south and 100% in the middle of nowhere.

10 hours of travel yes but throw in some protests and the 6^th of October being not only our chosen date of travel but the founding date and annual holiday of the bus company running the service for the second part of the journey. Two days later, we arrived in Culpina - phew.

The right honorable gent, Blane Thomas Watson and I had arrived in the middle of nowhere and it was quite clear from the start that we would be the only two Gringos in town for the event. All eyes on my Spanish. The opening ceremony passed in a crowd filled plaza with hilariously uncoordinated sporadic fireworks to accompany speeches from those at the head of the Bolivian rally car fraternity.

On the morning of the first day we realised that for Bolivians rallying is just an opportunity to get drunk. So we joined in (when in Rome). After a few warm up beers with some locals in the street, one of which turned out to be the 'mayor', we jumped in the back of a pick-up and were drunk driven up to the track.

Old boy RHS - Wankered

The event in contrast was really well organised and in just the most spectacular of settings. Like heroine to a junkie the sound, smell and sensations of that first car satisfied every inch of my craving.

I haven't felt that good since.....

It was a real crazy day as we sculled local mixtures with rally teams and locals alike. And as I was the only Spanish speaking Gringo at the rally the local radio focused in on me for a live interview. Hilarious for the fact that I was rubbered.

The notoriety as the only Gringos kind of spread and we were invited to the Saturday night meal (all free) where Blane and I ate about 3 pig roasts each, drank an uncountable quantity of red wine, were introduced to the president of the Bolivian Motor Racing Association and I jibbered on all night about Colin McRae and Mk2 Ford Escorts.

All on the sight of a mudflap.