March 04th, 2004 Shots and Shopping

Today I got 2 more shots, Hepatitis A and B. This is in addition to the Typhoid, Tetanus and Polio shots I got 2 days ago. Needless to say my arms look like pin cushions and between this and my new found weight lifting regiment, I am lucky I was able to ease on my Anna Sui corduroy blazer over my aching arms. I am preparing for my first trip to Morocco next week for a weekend training session. Sure, Morocco for the weekend—why not! This weekend will probably be spent Sahara shopping. Dior in the dunes? Manolos in Marrakech? Stella in the Sand? As far as I'm concerned camel is definitely the new black!

March 05th, 2004 French Lessons

I’ve been receiving emails from Jerome, the gentleman who is going to give me my first lesson in racing through and navigating in the desert. He is fluent in broken English though most of his emails thus far have been in French. Luckily, Shirley, one of the star researchers here at Glamour has been kind enough to serve as my translator. However, I’m concerned that I won’t have a satellite phone in the Sahara in case I need consultation. Perhaps before I go Shirley can help me out with the French translation for: poisonous snakes, Algerian kidnappers and sample sale. In preparation for my first trip to Morocco (and keeping with the French theme) I made my first purchase —a black Tomas Maier (he’s French) bikini. Ok, so maybe it’s not the most obvious choice for racing gear… but hello can you say, oasis.

March 08th, 2004 Complex Guilt

Sahara shopping this weekend was a rather unique experience. It felt peculiar to step foot in stores I’ve never shopped at before. At first I felt a little guilty, I’ve had serious long-term relationship with a select few designers who know precisely my needs and wants and in return I’ve been a very loyal companion. I’m not prone to straying, but I had to see what else was out there. When I slipped on the khaki cargos at American Eagle I knew I was in trouble. They were made of the thinnest, softest material and we just fit together perfectly—I bought 3 pairs. At Old Navy I was awe struck by the colors, from peach to periwinkle, a rainbow of tank tops set out in front of me to choose from. Finally came American Apparel, again all cotton t-shirts and a company policy not to use sweatshop labor—talk about guilt free shopping.I was concerned what my lover Tom Ford might think about my strange Sahara shopping spree but this was superseded by what my mother might think about my competing in the race. It was time I break the news to mom. Initially, I thought she would be upset, but then after she’d had time to think about it, she’d realize it was an amazing adventure. This was not how it went. She was oddly calm when I first told her. Sure she commented that she had two bizarre children, but she also said she fully supported us. After about a half hour of eerie calm it all came crashing down. First was a call from my uncle frantic about legal issues and liability. Then followed a call from my sister telling me that my father didn’t take the news very well. Then another call from my mother with the hearty dose of jewish guilt I’d expected from the beginning. It’s completely understandable considering her idea of adventure is circumnavigating St. Barths in a jeep. I cheated on my lover and disappointed my mom in the same day and the worst part is the guilt was giving way to the most dreadful feeling—doubt.

March 09th, 2004 To Do: Pack Compass and Charmin

It was her first question that made me realize that we were back on track: “ So, what will you be wearing,” my mom queried. Regardless of the situation, it’s usually her first question so I knew when I heard it that everything would be ok. She tends to even remember ages and events by what I wore, “4 years old—matching mother/daughter bell bottoms with matching Minnetonka moccasins, 7 years old—Cacharel shirt and Petit Bateau sundress, high school graduation—Laura Ashley dress, first real job interview—white Henri Bendel suit, date last week—Prada pants and sweater.” While most people are telling me to beware of snakes and crashing the car into a camel her biggest concern is where we’ll go to the bathroom. There’s no advice like a mother’s advice, potentially the best piece of advice I’ve received yet, “pack Charmin.” Last night after the trauma of cutting off all my nails (Yes, down to the edge! My nails haven’t been this short since well, birth.) I stayed up until 1 am reading Compass & Map Navigator: the complete guide to staying found. Suddenly it hit me, my hands look stumpy and I have no idea what I’m doing. Why the hell did I decide to enter into this? I’m counting on Jerome to help orient me to the fine art of desert driving though I just found out the navigation expert doesn’t speak any English. My sister is now heading to Canada to train in navigation while I concentrate on driving, but do we really have enough time to learn everything? In an odd chain of events, my friend’s cousin introduced us to his friend Andrew Comrie-Picard, a rally driver who lives in the west village. When I asked him about the Team O’Neil school (a rally racing school in New Hampshire) he said he has guest tought there. He warned me it is a different kind of racing than what I will be doing, “At O’Neil they can teach you how to drive 130 mph through the woods.” My heart was racing, I lost the ability to speak, my eyes began to dilate. “So since that’s not what you’re doing in the desert I don’t know if you would want to do that.” I think I blacked out for a brief moment, but when I came to I basically pleaded like a desperate child, “Please take me driving at 130 mph!” I guess sometimes all it takes is a child’s excitement and a mother’s advice to put you back on the right path again.

March 10th, 2004 Landing On Solid Ground

I met Andrew, the rally driver, for coffee last night and as we talked I felt the most grounded I have since I started this whole project. For most people with normal hobbies like tennis or watercolor painting you have a plethora of other enthusiasts who you can discuss your hobby with. It was so nice to meet someone who’s first thought isn’t, “Shapiro, you’re crazy.” Granted he may come to this conclusion somewhere down the line, but at least it wasn’t his first thought. I didn’t sleep at all last night and the day has been a blur. I leave tonight at 10:00 pm and fly overnight to Paris. Shirley, (glamour researcher/French translator) arranged for her friend Clement to come meet me—bless him--and hopefully take me for some decent coffee and a croissant before I head to Orly Airport to meet up with Jerome. I really only have an email from Jerome telling me to meet him at the Air Maroc counter where he will be waiting with our tickets. I have faith Jerome will be there, if not Clement may get more than he bargined for. It still hasn’t hit me yet, but by this time tomorrow I’ll be landing in Morocco and viewing in person the backdrop for my dream. I have a 7 hour overnight flight to Paris. I get on the plane, take a Xanax, and sleep as best I can.

March 11th, 2004 Morocco Training

When I arrive in Paris Clement is there holding a sign that reads, Michele--Glamour. He takes me to the restaurant at George Pompadour which over looks the currently foggy city of Paris and we have a long lunch, exactly what I need. Then we drive to Orly airport hopefully to meet up with the group. Once at the Air Maroc ticket counter there’s no one there, and I fear for the worst. Two women arrive and I think they may be part of the group. They’re speaking in French and clement tries to listen in. Another duo arrives and the four of them make contact. More arrive and they are all kissing and smiling. I have no idea if they speak English so I hesitate to jump in. Clement asks me if I’m ok and I think, “Sure, I’m going to a foreign country alone to do something I have no idea how to do with a group of people who speak a different language.” Finally a man arrives who must be Jerome (our teacher and former Paris-Dakar driver). I introduce myself and he hands me my ticket. I tell clement he can leave and he pauses, “Do you want me to introduce you to someone.” I assure him that I’m fine, but he watches over me like a big brother. A woman approaches me and I tell her I don’t speak French, she puts her arm around me and says it’s not a problem. She is part of a mother and daughter team. I wonder how the daughter got her mother to do the race and it turns out the mother has done the race 5 times and she convinced her daughter to come along the last few years. They don’t speak English well, but they can see I feel out of place so they try their best to make me feel comfortable. Clement is satisfied I’m taken care of and tells me he’ll pick me up when I come back. I meet a team from Belgium who speak perfect English and I walk to the plane with them. Turns out they also don’t know how to drive or navigate and they haven’t secured their sponsors yet, I’m relieved. On the plane to Casablanca I sit next to, Lotfi Benali, a businessman from Morocco. He tells me he wants to open a bagel shop in Morocco and offers his help in setting up media during the race. I also meet Herve Berdah, another Paris-Dakar driver who is the photographer at our training session. He introduces me to Orianne who works at Nissan France and is also competing in the race. She is in charge of preparing our car which I had been worried about so I am so pleased to meet her. I thank Herve and he says, I am your St. Bernard, here to help when you need it. We arrive in Casablanca and I follow the group out into the parking lot where there is a fleet of SUV’s waiting for us. I am the fifth wheel following two teams. Four of us pile in the car, but there is no seat left, only one for the driver and I wonder where the last woman will sit. She comes around and jumps in the driver’s seat, of course, we drive ourselves. We drive to Ouarzazate and arrive at our hotel at about 1 am. All I want to do is sleep and I see everyone heading off in pairs of two. I remind Jerome I don’t have a teammate and he looks around, “Does anyone not have a roommate?” A woman raises her hand and Jerome tells me to room with Sonya. The room is sparse, the bed and the pillow are hard, and I’m starving, but right now I’m so exhausted I don’t care. Sonya starts to unpack, first she hands me peanuts then offers me her soap, shampoo, Q-Tips and various other products, she’s well equipped. She tells me she’s from Lebanon and shows me pictures of her boyfriend in NewJersey. By this time it’s 1:30 and we have to get up at about 6 am so I pass out immediately.

March 12th, 2004 Morocco Training 2

Breakfast consists of fried dough drizzled with honey, fresh orange juice and café au lait. When I turn on the hot water it’s freezing cold, Sonya let’s me know that this is the third world and everything is backward, I turn the blue knob and out pours the hot water. Outside waits the Mitsubishi SUVs, and two Nissan vehicles for all the Nissan teams. I ride with Sonya, her navigator Francoise and her husband Christian (yet another Paris-Dakar driver). We drive 6 hours east to Erfoud. Oddly, I feel fine, well-rested and very excited to begin the training. In the car Sonya hands us candied apricots and once we’re done she passes out hand wipes to everyone. Then she notifies me that there are plenty of available men during that race and she would be happy to introduce them to me. She always has snacks, she makes me wash my hands and she’s trying to marry me off, I’m traveling with my mother. We meet up with everyone at our camp which is surrounded by enormous terracotta sand dunes jutting out of the flat ground into the bright blue sky. After lunch Sonya takes me to check out the tents where we will be staying. The burlap tents are made out of camel hair (which actually smells like camels) with cots inside. She decides to get a room at the hotel instead and invites me to come with her. I gladly accept and thank god I was paired with her. Today we are doing navigation training. I team up with Yuri from Japan who is also there alone and we drive with Sonya and Francoise. Before I have time to think that they are pampered lightweights, Sonya takes the wheel and drives like a pro. She has amazing control, hitting the roads hard without holding back at all. Francoise is a doctor and she informs us that in case they get bit by a scorpion she’d be bringing along adrenaline shots to administer herself. The reason for this—they don’t want to lose points by having to call for help. These women are hard core, they are the real thing. We are given maps and a route to navigate. First we hit some deep sand and get stuck, but we let some air out of the tires and we were on our way. Then we got lost and stop to ask some Bedouins directions: take a left at the camel and it’s the third dune on your right. Navigating was definitely very confusing. We meet up with the Nissan photographers and this was my first chance behind the wheel. I was nervous sitting in the backseat but once I took the wheel all apprehension disappeared. My heart was racing, not from nerves but from sheer exhilaration. I presume this is what it would feel like if you took a handful of speed. My instructions were to drive fast do a u-turn and drive back. I start in 2nd and gun it. The sand is deep and slippery, almost like driving in snow. The wheel moves on it’s own and it is quickly apparent that it is best to just let the wheel go on it’s own. It seems out of control at first but once I get the feel of it and relax it feels fantastic. The sun goes down and we head back to camp. I have sand everywhere and sadly we come back to a cold shower. Sonya pulls out some cheese and Lebanese flat bread and we have some horsdeauves and chat. she tells me some of her trade secrets of the race. However I promise not to tell, so this I’m going to have to keep to myself. We have dinner and then bedtime at 10:30, finally I’ll get a good nights sleep. Tomorrow we wake up at 6:30 am for our first day of driving training.

March 13th, 2004 Morocco Training 3

I had a great sleep and I’m ready to drive. Before I even start a woman gets stuck sideways on a hill at a 45 degree angle, a good lesson. I explain Glamour language to Sonya and Francoise--dos and don’ts, and that’s a clear don’t. We’re lined up ready to take on the dune, some don’t make it up the hill and some tanker (pronounced tan-que in French which means you get stuck at the top with 2 wheels on each side of the dune. It’s very hard to get unstuck here). I figure that most were probably scared about what is on the other side because when you’re going up the hill you can’t see over the top. I wasn’t particularly scared about the other side, but more about not making it or tanker, so I start in 2nd, shift into 3rd and charge up the hill. I have plenty of power and I just wait for the rear wheels to clear the dune before I break. However I have too much power and fly over the dunes landing with a thump. I thought it was rather fun but it’s not very good for the car. Next Jerome gets in the car with me to show me how to do it properly. Basically he instructs me to go fast but not too fast, never to break, but to slow down. He yells the directions at me as I’m going over the dune and I am more frightened of him than I am of the dune. Finally I get it, each dune depending on the size and slope is different, but basically gas it up and if you have enough momentum let up at the crest and break after the rear has cleared. Coast down and then gas up again near the bottom. It was great to finally get it. Now I just have to perfect it.Next I try the Patrol, the car we’ll be driving and it’s enormous and intimidating. I get through the dunes just fine, it has amazing power. Of course I do the dunes with the parking break on and nearly break the car. Even with the parking break on, the car still attacked the dunes, amazing. You have to bank turns to get up speed for the next dune and with such little space I need to learn how to shift fast. My second time I think I have clearance to go over the dune and as I slow at the crest I see the top of another car and stop short of crashing right into them. I keep going back and forth from feeling totally invincible and feeling that I’ll never be able to do this. After some lunch we head back out deeper into the dunes. Francoise drives off course over a seemingly small dune that drops sharply on the other side. Yuri and I fly up (not wearing seat belts) and hit our heads hard on the roof. Another good lesson: Don’t go over a dune until you look at the other side. At dinner we celebrate Sonya’s birthday with sweets from Lebanon and live music from Moroccan drummers. To bed at 10:30.

March 14th, 2004 Morocco Training 4

Up at 6 am. Today is test day. We’re doing a mini rally with 3 checkpoints. We are given the route and have to map it out, then we’re off. I’m driving and Francoise keeps talking to me in French but by this time I get it, a gauche (left), a droite (right). It’s hard because I need to be focused about 10 feet in front of me--is there a dip, a rock, a drop off--and she is focused on the checkpoint, so we’re both looking in different places. She’s yelling a gauche and I’m trying to carefully navigate a droite around a huge boulder. Our calculations are just a bit off and we miss the checkpoint. But we get back on track quickly and finally locate it. We come across a car that attempted to drive down a steep edge and got stuck. We stop and all help them get out. It’s gazelles philosophy: Do help your fellow Gazelles. Then we carry on and find the next two checkpoints without getting lost. After lunch we drive 6 hours back to Ouarzazate. We get back, have a quick dinner and go to bed around 1:00 am. Oddly, the room that seemed so sparse at first now seems luxurious and I could spend hours beneath the hot water. I have orange desert sand caked in my hair and even after several washings it barely comes out. I pass out since we have to wake up at 4:30 to head to the airport. We have some time to kill in Casablanca so we all sit down for some coffee. I look around at all the different types of women from 20’s to 50’s, fashion execs and moms, every different body type. Then I look down and glimpse everyone’s hands, all of their nails are clipped short just like mine and I smile because it looks absolutely beautiful. When we get into Paris there is clement waiting for me. I introduce him to Sonya and she puts her arm around me and says if I needed anything I can call her. They call her sister the godmother of the race and I think Sonya is the godmother of me. Clement and I have lunch and then he takes me back to the airport. Once on the plane my heart races with adrenaline thinking of driving through the dunes, I feel like I’ve just met my soul mate. I am in love and sadly I’ve had to leave my love behind. I miss the dunes already and I can’t wait until I can return and be enveloped in the terracotta arms of my love again.

March 20th, 2004 Oh Canada

Going to Morocco for three days was easier than going to Canada for one. As I wait on line Saturday night at JFK I realize I’m becoming way too familiar with the ticket counter at American Airlines. The one woman whose sole job it is to notify the next person on line which ticket counter to go to, the au bon pan where I get a coffee and a croissant, and having to walk to an entirely different terminal to get on the plane. We board the plane and in front of me is a man in a faded orange robe and he is not wearing any shoes. It’s one of those small planes that you have to walk outside to get to and so I follow the robed barefooted man on to the plane. Once inside, as predicted, the man sits directly behind me. It’s immediately clear that the robed barefooted man has cleaned neither his robe nor his feet in many weeks. I ask the friendly Irish steward for some air freshener and he brings me back Calvin Klein Obsession. I spray liberally. It’s funny how scents can bring about certain memories and right now I’m reminded of my ex-boyfriend Michael from London, perhaps if had just emerged from a steam room. We land in Canada where there’s obviously snow on the ground and honestly I’m less worried about his hypothermia and more about my battered olfactory sense. I sleep in an airport hotel and in the morning I’m anxious to get out of there. I ask the receptionist about getting to the airport to meet up with my sister. The guy motions for me and he walks over to a regular 4-door sedan, apparently the guy at reception is taking me in his own car. He tells me that he is looking for a green card and inquires whether I’d be willing to help him. Then he asks if he could stop an do an errand first. I fear that it could involve a chapel and I direct him straight to the airport. I meet up with Louise and Robyn and we go back to Louise’s house. From 10 am to 10 pm (minus lunch and dinner) we study navigation in her basement. We learn about compasses and topographical maps and basically how not to get lost. I feel I have a good grasp on navigation, but I hope this is the case when I’m in the middle of the Sahara. It’s a long day and we have to get up at 5 am so we go back to the hotel and go to sleep. Thankfully my potential husband is not working in the morning. Once again I find myself at the American desk. In her most blaze tone, the agent lets us know, “You have a 6:30 flight and it’s 5:45, You’re not going to make your flight.” We run to passport control and tell the security guard we’re going to miss our flight, he looks at our tickets and shrugs, “Yup.”. We make our way through the crowd asking everyone if we can cut in line. Then, there’s customs. The bleach blonde security guard who looks like he should be the bass player in some bad surf-punk band, says in a tone not unlike Ms. American agent, “Oh yah, you’re definitely not going to make your flight.” Again we fight our way through the crowd and arrive at the last minute for our flight. We sit down and breath a sigh of relief as we pull back from the gate. But, the whisper of Canada calls us back again. The pilot gets on the loudspeaker, “Seems we have some mechanical differences.” (yes, differences, clearly a euphemism) And visions of Ms. American agent on vocals, passport control on drums and bleach blonde on bass all sing, “You’re not going to make your flight!” We file back off the plane and I jump in front of the ticket counter where I meet the Ms. American agent #2—backup vocals perhaps. She definitely seems to be backing up the general theme of the song as she searches her computer for a half hour and comes up with a 1:00 flight. A quick call on a cell phone identifies an Air Canada flight at 8:30 am. Backup sings, “But that’s in New Jersey.” I hate surf-punk but now it’s my turn for a dissonant tone, “It’s Newark, it’s the same thing, get me on the goddamn flight.” I sit back and relax in my cushioned Air Canada seat and I wonder if they fly to Morocco.

March 24th, 2004 Limiting Lovers

As evidenced by my doing the rally, I’m not really a fan of limitations. I went shopping with my mom last Saturday, before I left for Canada, to try to find something to wear to the party tomorrow. And I did find something, the perfect something, by my perfect lover, T.F. who understands me perfectly. It is a taupe, viscose, sleeveless tank with a scarf that sweeps delicately around the neck. It is the perfect match with my Seven Jeans and my pale lavender, suede Balenciaga heels. Mom swoons and the salespeople nearly applaud. After all my man is a genius. As I take off the shirt I feel something irritating me on the back of my neck--it’s the price tag. My elation fades as I see it. It’s never easy to choose between two lovers. But in life there are limitations and I am at a crossroads. I sit in the dressing room and stroke the soft material. I think about the three compasses, two binoculars, one pair of walkie talkies, and maybe even a Terratrip that I could buy instead of buying this shirt. I’m just not ready to let go. But I have to choose between two lovers, so with deep sadness I hand over Taupe. I walk away quickly and don’t look back. It takes me a few days before I can even step foot in Saks but today I finally got the courage to go back. I find a lovely mauve Jill Stuart camisole that’s basically only two compasses, a good compromise. I think for so long I’ve been pushing myself and not allowing myself to except any limitations but sometimes you have choices and restrictions and it’s healthy to compromise. Just like balancing your vehicle speeding up a dune, sometimes you need to balance your life and your loves.

March 30th, 2004 A Real New England Weekend (Complete with Mud, Fleece, And James Taylor)

We had our bon voyage party on Thursday and it was fantastic! It was really nice to be able to celebrate with all of our family, friends and co-workers. We’ve now raised $2300 for Seeds of Peace and that feels very good. On Friday we left for New Hampshire where we had our training session at Team O’Neil. We drive up with Andrew who we now refer to as Coach. On the way up he teaches us how to check the tire pressure and the oil. We arrive at 2:30 am and get up at 8 am, good training for the real thing. Tim O’Neil the owner and 5 time US and North American rally champion is kind enough to teach us himself—only the best. He takes us to the classroom where he outlines for us the basics of racing rally cars. We sit with Andrew, his co-driver (aka navigator) Mark and his daughter Ariel. What we are doing is little different then what they do and we all end up teaching each other. Robyn shows them our maps and she and Mark discuss the finer points of navigation and I talk with Tim about what I learned in Morocco (always hit a dune straight on, start in second-get the rpms up -slow at the top-break once over the crest-gas back up at the bottom, don’t get stuck at the top) and he teaches me about how to handle a car when it’s out of control. We walk downstairs into the garage and Tim and Andrew teach us how to troubleshoot the inner workings of the car. I was mesmerized by it all. Though I’m not such a mechanical person (ok, so I used to go to the full service gas station in Wayland), I’ve always been fascinating by how things work. Especially with this project I’ve wanted to learn anything and everything that is associated with rally racing. Finally we get to put this all to use. I head out with Tim in a rally car. We’re in a stopped position when he tells me that he also trains security officials how to drive, then he guns the gas and we fly forward at what seems like 100 mph. It had rained the night before and the field was filled with mud. We slide sideways wildly yet Tim has complete control. It’s extraordinary to feel so out of control and yet secure at the same time, which is exactly what I’m feeling about doing the race. Then he hands over the wheel. First I race around the field and then we head out on to the dirt roads. I can barely reach the pedals and to push down the breaks I have to thrust my foot forward as hard as I can. We upgrade to an a Ford Escape and just spin around in the mud. Both the car and us are covered in mud, a hard day’s work at the office.Perhaps it’s a Manhattan thing but for so long I was always focused on what wasn’t happening in my life, where I needed to go, what I needed to get, when was I going to finally feel satisfied. This weekend it felt so comfortable, even calming to be back in New England, racing around in the mud in my boots (not to mention wearing fleece, I can’t remember the last time I donned fleece) and listening to James Taylor. Throw in a golden retriever and a roaring fireplace and it’d be something straight out of LL Bean. Being in New England makes me realize how far I’ve come and how much I’ve learned and how many amazing people I’ve learned from. I’m overwhelmed and even mystified by the number of people who want to help us and without asking a thing in return. I promise not to launch into a “it takes a village” speech but honestly we really couldn’t have gotten where we are without the help of a few very special angels. They have taken this journey with us, and for their own reasons, because they’re curious about the race, because they love all things rally, because they believe in us.

April 06th, 2004 Blood Shed

Last week I had to find out my blood type, I’m B positive. It’s rather eerie having to find out my blood type which I need to include on a form in case I happen to lose enough blood to need a transfusion. It makes one think. I’ve done trips before that one might consider dangerous (the border of Ecuador and Columbia, back roads of Guatemala, Los Angeles) but I’ve never thought as much about my own death as I have recently. I began by promoting my death as a teaser for media outlets. Sure there’s this really cool race, but there’s danger too, I could die or even be kidnapped. They loved it. Then there are my parents (who are not computer savvy and won’t be reading this, at least not before the race) and the sponsors. No, there’s absolutely no danger, just lots of beautiful rugs and really good mint tea. And if something does happen I promise not to die anywhere near a product. The reality lies somewhere in the middle. I did however, give a friend a list of contacts that included: a friend who used to work at the white house, an old boyfriend who used to work at the UN and contacts at the US embassy in Morocco and the state department. The list keeper runs his own entertainment company and I picked him because he’s unshakable. He emails me back, “I’m freaked out.” It is a strange and unstable time in the US and certainly in the rest of the world. My sister and I are so proud of being the first Americans to do this race but now being a first and being American is making us nervous. I guess when you are the first one to do anything there’s a risk, inherently there’s an unknown. I have felt so honored to be part of Seeds of Peace, to play a small but an active role in trying to achieve peace in the world. I would never equate what I’m doing with what the Seeds kids are doing but I think it’s important when anyone sets out to succeed at something that has never been done before. These kids are so brave trying to accomplish something that previous generations have not been able to do. To hear them speak about how Seeds has changed their life, Israelis meeting Palestinians, Pakistanis meeting Indians, they are our best hope to stop the killing and begin on the road to peace. There is an irony when my mother tells me she doesn’t want me to go to Morocco and is worried about Algeria. I think a lot about the Seeds kids lately. I now know my blood type, I hope they’ll never have to find out theirs.

April 12th, 2004 Eleven and a Quarter

After two years of planning I’m finally two days away from departure. It feels very strange. Things really seemed to come together even if some of them were at the last minute. It’s past the eleventh hour, we’re now on to eleven and a quarter. I still don’t have hotels booked in Paris yet. We leave Wednesday night and fly to Paris where we arrive Thursday morning. My trustworthy French friend Clement is picking us up and bringing us to our car which is waiting for us just outside of Paris. We then need to find an auto store to pick up some items which we can’t bring on the plane: oil, coolant, windshield wiper fluid, etc. We will spend the night in Versailles because it’s close to where we leave from and though driving in the Sahara doesn’t frighten me I really don’t want to drive in Paris. On Friday we will meet up with some of the Nissan teams and drive 500 miles down to Sete in the south of France. In Sete we board a ferry, travel overnight and wake up the next day in Tangiers. From Tangiers we drive 10 hours southeast to Erfoud which is on the edge of the Sahara. All this of course is before the race even begins. On the 22nd we start the race which lasts 8 days until the 29th. After the race we drive 300 miles to a five star hotel in Marrakech where we will finally rejoice at having our first real shower in over a week. Then it’s back to Paris and finally New York. We’re almost at the stroke of midnight and it still all seems so far away.

April 16th, 2004 The Night Before

Its the night before the race and its already been an adventure: we arrived in paris and we had a 10 hour drive down to Sete: We followed the Nissan teams: Once in Sete we had a few problems; we forgot a can for water which was a necessary requirement; we didnt know how to put on our stickers, and we forgot an important compass: We managed to survive: All the cars paraded thru town and bystanders lined the streets to wish us bon voyage: Then We had the ferry for 36 hours and arrived in Tangiers: Then another 10 hour drive to Erfoud where we write now: Tomorrow we start the race and im both very excited and very nervous.