Top Gear Middle Eastern Special ~upd~ -

The cars rebelled. Plastic trim melted. Glue seeped out of the windscreens. Hammond’s Golf began to smell like a burning toaster. The production crew, following in air-conditioned Land Cruisers, wore hazmat suits just to hand the boys water. The Rub' al Khali is a beautiful liar. It looks solid. It is not.

The Top Gear Middle Eastern Special is not a car review. It is a testament to the absurdity of friendship. You don't do this trip to prove a car is good. You do it to prove that, no matter how hot it gets, no matter how many times the BMW breaks down, there is nothing better than driving into the unknown with your two best idiots.

What could possibly go wrong? Everything. Gloriously, explosively wrong. top gear middle eastern special

In a moment of genuine pathos, the three men stood on the roof of Clarkson’s BMW, staring at the vast, empty horizon. There was no traffic. No sound. Just the wind and the ticking of hot metal.

Jeremy Clarkson, predictably, bought a BMW 325i Convertible. "It's a six-cylinder masterpiece of German efficiency," he boomed, as the electric roof failed within thirty seconds of leaving Dubai. The cars rebelled

Just don't forget the carpet.

This is the oral history of the most sweaty, sandy, and spiritually enlightening road trip in Top Gear history. The formula was classic Wilman. The budget: £3,500. The rule: It must be a convertible. The setting: The Empty Quarter (Rub' al Khali), a place so inhospitable that NASA uses it to test Mars rovers. Hammond’s Golf began to smell like a burning toaster

The defining moment of the special is, of course, the dune. Not a hill. A mountain of sand. Clarkson, in a fit of "power and arrogance," floored the BMW. He made it 200 meters. Then the sand swallowed the Bavarian beast whole.