And as soon as she had passed this hard territory, Sheridan got the car hopelessly stuck in a sand dune. Its wheels spun lamely, a burning smell filled the air and a tyre burst. A jack, floorboards, petrol cans and collected scrub plants all failed to give traction.
Luckily, a caravan of camels passed nearby and the nomads came to Sheridan’s aid. It took 17 men about an hour to free the car.
As the temperature plummeted, another tyre gave up – and so did the jack. As the mechanic fretted in feeble moonlight, Sheridan mused: “The Sahara at night is so lonely, so still, so vast, so unfriendly; one feels that one has no right to be there.” Thankfully, he could fix the issues, and she just about got the car to crest the many dunes thereafter.
“I learnt a lot that night about sand: that you must not hesitate and must not be slow but look ahead and get into second in plenty of time and accelerate full.”
At Touggourt, Sheridan was introduced to a local kaid (‘commander’), who explained that his sports Peugeot had the benefits of an engine encased in a metal lid to keep out the sand and smaller wheels with ‘balloon tyres’ for better grip on it.
From here she proceeded the 60 miles to the kaid’s house at Hadjira and, following a night’s generous hospitality, another 120 miles to Ourgla.
“The track was so wide that it hardly mattered where one drove so long as one continued in the right direction. At one moment I took both my hands off the wheel, waved them wildly in the air, and accelerated as hard as I could. It was so childish, and such fun.”