The last Safari for the first time

Imagine driving the same distance as Broken Hill to Broome on gnarly desert tracks but at freeway speeds – in less than seven days, and in a bog-standard production vehicle.

If that’s not challenge enough then try adding the fact you’ll be penalised (severely) for taking too long to get there or for exceeding your pre-directed speed limit — even by 1km/h.

Oh, and you’ll be competing against vehicles specially-built for the challenge, driven by experienced desert racers who’ve honed their skills over many years, often decades.

Did I mention you’ll also need to stop to open gates, cross dried-up creeks, wade rivers of sand, climb dunes studded with flammable spinifex, fix the car, swap flat tyres, and deal with the weather — and the relentless red dust.

All while maintaining your composure, strapped tight to a seat with no padding and no adjustment and while constantly under attack from the forces punishing the suspension working furiously beneath you...

Sound like fun?

Believe it or not, it is. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s one of the most enjoyable — and most challenging — forms of motorsport I’ve had the privilege of experiencing.

I’m talking about the Australasian Safari; an event which, in one form or another, has been running for the past 29 years, and can even trace its origins as far back as the Redex Trials of the 1950s.

The Last Safari
In its final year, the 2014 Australasian Safari played host to purpose-built four-wheeled vehicles, Dakar-ready motorcycles, side-by-side vehicles  — quad bikes and, for the first (and last) time, production vehicles; in our case a factory-issue Jeep Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon X.

Although well-equipped for weekend off-road adventures, an event like Safari is a daunting prospect for any standard production vehicle. The terrain, speed and sheer distance of the rally mean it's not to be taken lightly… far more specialised vehicles had attempted Safari before, and failed miserably.

To give you one small example of the epic failure awaiting Safari entrants, we were denied a start in the event’s opening-prologue stage due to a catastrophic fire in a competitor’s side-by-side vehicle. The driver and navigator suffered only superficial burns, but their racing buggy was razed to the ground. All this before the event had properly got underway.

So for us, motoring.com.au and Team Jeep Australia, the first leg — a full day’s racing — would truly be a baptism of fire, though hopefully not in the literal sense.

Leg One saw three stages tallying several hundred kilometres completed in around six hours. As was to be typical of the next seven days, the terrain comprised rough mill tracks, flowing sandy trails and some of the most challenging rocky creek crossings our Wrangler could ever expect to encounter — anywhere.

Having previously raced the quarter-mile and tarmac circuits an experience like Safari was a novel one. It felt a bit like driving around the farm as a kid, but at higher speeds, in a brand new car (seriously, there was 400km on the odometer when we set off), and with a limited range of body movement and lateral vision.

The Wrangler was fitted with racing seats and five-point harnesses for driver and navigator, while our helmets and HANS (Head and neck support) devices kept our focus squarely on the road ahead. It’s a set-up you find reassuring, almost comfortable in a circuit car, but here, on the rough and tumble of rugged bush tracks, the forced transfixion of the view ahead was disconcerting, distracting and at times disorientating.

Fortunately, relying solely on my view of the road ahead was supplemented, superbly in my case, by the experienced voice of my navigator, Julia Barkley. With 24 years’ experience on both sides of the car Julia’s concise instructions were a welcomed, no, vital component in our Safari experience. I quickly grew to trust her commands implicitly, and respond instantly.

Three days into the event our trusty Jeep developed an issue with part of its electronic driver-aid package, effectively limiting the Chrysler 3.6-litre ‘Pentastar’ V6 to 3500rpm — and permanently engaging the over-cautious road-biased stability control system.

In the loose sand and soft drifting dunes the Jeep’s electronics fought my right foot’s every input. The transmission, worked manually to extract what remained of our once gutsy petrol engine’s power, became hotter, exasperated at the endless commands from the shifter and constant change of speed.

The extreme fluctuations and now 40-degree-plus ambient temperatures compounded the vehicle’s existing issues, triggering the 'check engine' light in a final display of surrender, and causing the soles of my now tacky race boots to adhere to the floor pan — as if getting on and off the throttle wasn’t already hard enough in rough terrain!

Our pit crew, the hard-working lads from Les Walkden Rallying, already tired from an engine rebuild on the team’s primary car, spent the long, cold desert night working to fix the problem. But without the vital diagnostic tool required to analyse the fault their efforts were, quite literally, a stab in the dark.

Adding to their plight was our daily movement from bivouac to bivouac, following the Safari and its curious loops through former mining settlements, pastoral leases and breath-taking coastal tracks. And, the regular need for repair to two other vehicles.

In short, our Wrangler was forced to carry on in limp mode. Starved for revs, the Jeep struggled across terrain which was now more challenging than before. Perhaps it was the situation that fractured my viewpoint, but after puncturing two tyres in as many minutes, we felt spent. The final straw was when the air-conditioning surrendered to the heat of the midday sun…

By the time we reached camp, well into the night and well behind the last competitor, we were sure our goose was cooked. The night had already claimed one rider, air-lifted to hospital with a fractured neck and facial injuries, so our issues by comparison felt insignificant. But we were determined to finish and maintain the lead we’d cut out for ourselves, in part by virtue of our competitors’ own misfortunes.

What a difference a day makes
The Australasian Safari, like North America’s Baja or South America’s Dakar, is a race of endurance. You cannot simply go hell-for-leather and hope to win. You must be sympathetic to the car and your colleagues, and have an understanding of the country you seek to cross. Push any too hard and they will fail you, thus ruining any chance of victory.

For a team to finish you must have a good car, a good crew, a good navigator, a good driver and plenty of good luck — and probably in that order. In our case, a good crew and good luck were definitely the order of the final day.

With heavy rains once more turning the fine dust north of West Australia’s Kalbarri into slick red mud, the team’s apprentice saved the day. Finding a way to disconnect the Jeep’s electronic nannies meant we could finally utilise fully the revs our tormented engine could provide, though not without some apprehension.

However, sliding sideways without the lateral vision required to safely correct our path almost ended our race 70km from the start. After a narrow escape from roll-over, we went on to reach the finish line after completing all stages — one of only 40 participants to do so.

But the fact we crossed the line at all is testament to the worth of the Wrangler’s off-road ability. Excusing our electronic issue and four flat tyres, the standard Jeep made it to the end with no real dramas — and finished the last Safari in 13th place outright.

The fact we finished first in our class was partly luck and partly good management. As the team manager told me on day one, "to finish first, first you must finish, Grasshopper". And he was right.