Since you're in beach buggies,
you will now drive to the beach
at the northernmost point
of Namibia, where it meets Angola.
It's 1,000 miles away.
We have got to find this road.
This is not gonna be too clever in the dark.
Listen. I shall find the Southern Cross.
Oh, this is a bad idea!
We are now trusting our lives
to an orangutang who thinks he's Patrick Moore.
24 hours of cold, misery,
to achieve exactly nothing.
I mean, it is exactly nothing.
Oh, it's coming in!
This is the best desert I've ever been to.
Holy shit!
Oh!
What it actually is is a big, orange killing engine.
Jesus!
Oh, my God!
Please make it! Please!
Just need to find a road now. This is not funny any more.
I don't want another night in the desert.
Oh, my God.
I could go east, I could go west.
Whichever way you go, it goes somewhere.
Yes! It is the road to freedom.
What the hell was that?
What I'm driving here, or attempting to drive, is Apollo 13.
It was morning by the time I nursed my wounded car into Windhoek,
and my well-rested colleagues were full of admiration
for how I'd pulled off such a feat.
- Is that the first thing you thought of? - What?
Tear a hole in it. What's that gonna do?
I needed to get to the bleed valve on the radiator, which is there.
- Is it? - And, to make life doubly difficult...
...I trod on my spectacles.
That is tragic, trying to fix it with one lens.
I was trying to fix it. And the only eye I can close is this eye.
- You can't close your left eye? - I can't close my left eye.
Why didn't you put them on upside down? You'd have the lens over the other eye.
That is logic there.
Oh, yeah.
- Come on, let's go. We've got a lot to do. No!
The one thing we have established now is that,
with the exception of Windhoek,
which is the capital, Namibia is a tough and arduous place.
- Yeah. - Have you bought maps?
- No. - Have you got tenting equipment of any sort?
Have you got somewhere to sleep other than the desert floor? No.
So why don't we, today, get prepared
for the next leg of the - big leg of the journey?
- That is a good idea. We'll do that. - That's not a bad idea.
We'll grant ourselves a day of... shopping. Mm.
First of all, would you permit me to chisel some of the cheddar
that has grown in my underpants away?
Well, not here.
Having de-cheesed my body parts,
we headed out to get the necessary supplies.
The thing is, if we go mesh,
it'll keep the sun off but it won't keep the light out.
That will wake us up early. That's 1.5 kilograms. But...
Hammond, the first thing you need to know before we start shopping in here
is James and I are in charge.
- Well... - Sorry, he's right.
No, you're not. You don't know anything about camping.
- JAMES, JEREMY: Exactly. - How does that make you in charge?
Because we know it's all terrible.
If we leave it to you, we'll all end up sleeping in small green triangles.
The camping you know about is in the Lake District,
where you deliberately make yourself miserable.
I'm sorry, he's right.
It is possible, I think,
with a bit of ingenuity and money,
to make tenting bearable.
Richard Baden-Hammond disagreed,
so we went our separate ways.
Correct, incorrect.
- Exactly. - Do you agree?
- But I'd go even more correct. - Oh, yes!
Perfect. Roll it out on the desert floor...
...you're home.
Oh, James! Le Creuset!
See, Hammond would hate this, because this weighs more than a tent.
- Which it does, actually. - A lot more.
- And it weighs more because it is a quality item. - Exactly.
Pocket trowel.
Pocket soap.
Here we go.
- Pasta spoon. - Yeah, good idea.
I find that bottle opener a bit... lightweight.
Yeah, more expensive is what we're looking for.
You see, look at this, James.
This is the sort of thing Hammond would think is a chair.
Ooh! That's all you need. That's your whole... stove.
That's it.
- Is it gas? It is, isn't it? - I presume so.
For two, you could get a small chicken in there, or... a pheasant.
We're getting there now.
So that folds down to that.
Yeah.
The next morning, we headed out once more,
with the camping gear James and I had bought
bringing up the rear.
And besides stocking up with essentials,
Hammond and I had used our day off in Windhoek to modify our cars.
To solve my overheating problems, I've fitted a ram-air scoop,
which shovels refreshing, cooling air into the radiator as I go along.
And, as you may have noticed, I've fitted a spoiler.
My only complaint, really, about my beach buggy
was its lack of performance in third and fourth gears.
Couldn't up power from the engine and I don't want to stress it,
so I could lighten it.
I've stripped away the superstructure here and the passenger seat,
anything spare.
That means this car is 30-40 kilos lighter than it was before.
Jeremy, why has your car sprouted a green moustache?
Well, it's a spoiler for added downforce at the front end,
which you need in a rear-engine vehicle.
This thing will be unbelievable through the corners now,
it really will.
Like a 911.
And I tell you what,
even with your new lightweight buggy,
you're no match for what I've got here this morning.
Yeah, I'm sorry, mate. This is quicker.
- It is not. - It is.
Right, Richard Hammond, I challenge you to a race.
OK, you're on. Idiot.
We shall find a race track and we shall do racing.
Well, you carry on. I'm not doing any racing.
That's utterly pointless.
On the outskirts of the city,
we found a rather excellent circuit
where we could do timed laps,
and James could try out his new vacuum cleaner.
Oh, yes.
- Are you ready? - No.
- Why not? - Temperatures and pressures.
This is a racing machine. Look at it.
It's a plastic beach buggy parked near a V8.
- With aero. - Really?
In...
...three, two, one, go!
Yeah, I'm gonna do it in gear.
- Give it a shot. - I'm gonna try that.
- In... - No! Throttle's jammed.
Yes.
- Jammed. - In...
No! You can keep saying "in"
till the cows come home. The throttle...
Three, two, one, begin!
Why... Why have you stopped?
Ah. Well, erm...
The throttle may have gone a bit open.
Yeah.
My throttle is totally broken.
- Anyway, Hammond... - Yeah?
Any car which can wheelie off the line...
is going to be able to beat yours, and would have done.
So... Sorry.
You're saying because your car started,
well, 50 yards away over there,
wheelied, was uncontrollable, slammed back down
and broke itself, it's the best on the track?
Yes.
Well, much learned. Really useful. Glad we did it.
With Jeremy's endlessly troublesome car fixed again,
we scooped up James' Dyson and continued northwards
towards the finish line at the border with Angola.
The going was smooth and easy and eerily quiet,
which begged a question.
Now, apparently, Namibia is the most dangerous place in the world to drive.
There are more accidents per head then anywhere else,
and car accidents are the first
and most common cause of death in young adults.
How? How can that be so?
I mean... the place is empty.
In Britain, there are 250-260 people for every square kilometre.
Here... it's two.
Two!
This makes the Australian outback look like Monaco.
Monkey! Monkey!
Huge anus! Did you see that thing's anus?
I, however, was not thinking
about population statistics or monkeys' bottoms.
I was just happy to be on a smooth surface
in a car that wasn't filled with dust.
I shall relax...
...with the lovely view.
Sadly, though, a few miles later...
Ow! Ow! Oh, my nuts! Ow!
Stop it!
Ow! Ow! Agh!
James May?
Yes, I can hear you, but it's very uncomfortable
and my car has... has cut out.
Ow!
Mercifully for James,
we eventually arrived at a game reserve,
which we decided would be an ideal place
to set up camp for the night.
Right.
That's what we need.
As Hammond built his canvas hovel...
...James and I were looking forward to a more civilised evening
in the tents we'd bought,
and which had been erected
by the butler we'd also bought.
Thank you, Giovanni.
Tuck your shirt in, man! It's not a bloody caravan site.
Erm... I'm just thinking, dinner.
Mm. Do you mind if I get changed?
- No, exactly. I'm gonna have a shower. - Mm.
- Or I may have a bath, actually. - Why not?
Giovanni, could you run the baths?
Apparently, this place has got oysters.
- Really? Here? - Yeah. I know, it's extraordinary.
Who knew?
Are you coming for some dinner?
What do you mean, "Coming for dinner"? I'm cooking here.
There's a restaurant just down there.
- A restaurant? - Yeah, just down there.
I don't want to go.
I'm cooking this. I'm doing it properly, camping.
- Well, come and... - I'll join you after dinner.
Whatever.
He's such a peasant, isn't he?
It's just unbelievable.
That evening in the restaurant,
Hammond never did join us.
But James and I were not short of company.
Oh, look, there's rhinos! There's actual rhinos!
And they've been dehorned.
They've had to take its horn out
to stop poachers shooting it.
But you know what the poachers are doing?
They shoot the dehorned ones,
because if they track for a couple of days, a rhino,
and then it's got no horn, they shoot it,
and then they'll never track it again, so it saves time.
Do you know how much you get for a rhino horn now?
- On the... On the market? - Yeah, in Vietnam.
I'm guessing it's a lot.
$320,000.
- So that's more expensive than gold. - Good God.
Even the nub that's left that he's got is still worth,
I don't know, thousands of dollars.
I was gonna say, no matter how carefully you dehorn it,
there's still horn going down into its nose.
That's such a tragedy, that, you know. Yeah.
I want to do something about this while we're here.
I'm sure we could come up with something.
I'm sure we could.
The next morning, I woke to find I'd been recruited
into the Clarkson and May Rhino Protection Squad.
They were even convinced that our beach buggies
would be ideal for tracking the poachers.
I can't deny, they do have a point about the whole rhino thing.
It is ridiculous.
Two rhinos killed every day in Africa by poachers,
and then sold to a market that believes it's a cure for cancer,
impotence, even hangovers.
But are we necessarily the right men
to tackle it head-on in the field?
Ow!
Wouldn't we be better just popping a £1 coin in a jar
and letting somebody who knows what they're doing solve it?
Well, I've got a tranquilizer gun
from the place where we were last night, but...
...I can't see anyone to shoot.
Figuring that the poachers probably didn't use the main road,
we went off to look in the bush.
What about over there?
No poachers.
Tyre marks.
It may be some poacher.
Oh, no, wait.
BF Goodriches. This is James May.
Just so you know, this is stupid.
What's stupid?
How would you recognise a poacher when you saw one?
- And when you find one, what are you gonna do? - Shoot him.
All we're doing on our journey
is driving three beach buggies to the Angolan border.
- Yeah. - Which doesn't further the cause of humanity.
Exactly. And this does, does it?
We've got a day, Hammond. Give us 24 hours.
24 hours. Then, I promise, we'll get back on the road.
Once our sceptical colleague had agreed,
I decided to change tack,
abandon the cars and search from the air,
using some beach-front parasailing equipment.
- Jeremy? - Yes?
If we don't make it, please know that I hate you.
There's not a breath of wind, so don't be stupid.
Oh, my parachute's been...
- Oh, hello! - Goodbye.
Shit!
That's not worked at all.
OK. Right, I'm not gonna do that.
Clearly, my solution was too dangerous for us,
so we sent Giovanni up instead.
Look, he's going over there. He's gonna crash and die.
- No, he's been blown a bit sideways but... - And downwards.
He didn't sign up for this, did he?
Giovanni failed to spot any poachers,
so we told him to stop messing about
and get back to camp to pour some drinks,
whilst we had a rethink.
Everything we've tried has gone wrong.
So let's accept it now and move on.
We can go.
No.
I think the poachers only go out at night.
Oh, for God's sake.
We'll let the sun set,
get some tactical kit.
- Rifles. - Come on, Hammond.
You gave us 24 hours before you took our guns and badges.
- He did. - OK.
I think a couple more beers, head out there.
I agree.
- Let it get dark. Be patient. Yes.
- Hunters are patient, aren't they? - Exactly.
Once darkness had fallen,
we got kitted out
with tranquilizer guns and tactical kit
and headed back into the bush
with a very unsure Richard in tow.
I mean, I'd like to stop poachers,
but out here at night, what is the poacher-to-lion ratio?
What am I more likely to find?
What you have to do is look for rhino tracks,
cos that's what the poachers will be following.
Literally the most manly thing I've ever done.
Grand Tour for men, splashing all over.
Ow!
- Bloody hell! - You stupid bastards!
Someone's shot me!
Hammond? Hammond?
Hammond?
Clarkson, you moron.
Hammond?
Right, well, I have to be honest,
yesterday was a total waste of time.
We achieved nothing.
All we did achieve was we seem to have wounded Mr Hammond,
who er... well, we couldn't wake him up this morning at all.
And because we needed to get going, we've a long way to go,
we've had to improvise.
Aaargh!
What the?
What the is this?
You bastards!
Back on the ground,
James and I had our own problems.
Oh, God!
Ow! Ow!
This is very good for the gravel rash
that I got... during my parachute accident yesterday.
Oh, that hurts.
What we could really do with is a rain shower
to dampen this dust down.
I think it's unlikely.
Yeah, there's no evidence that rain is on its way, I would say.
Soon, word came over the radio
that Hammond was on his way to rejoin us...
...and that he wasn't in the best of moods.
What was that?
What was that about?
- We didn't want to leave you behind. - You wouldn't wake up.
No, obviously, you didn't want to leave me behind,
so you did the logical thing,
which is suspend me from a helicopter whilst asleep.
- Yes. - Most people would arrive at the same conclusion.
No, you didn't! You were having a laugh!
Do you realise how rough the first road was
that you haven't had to drive on?
And you got a helicopter ride, which we haven't had.
You wouldn't be laughing and sniggering so much
if I'd fallen out of that thing, as I could have done.
Well, it wouldn't be funny.
No, it just wouldn't be interesting.
With the rhino fiasco behind us,
we got back to the job in hand...
...which was to reach the Angolan border,
and therefore prove that beach buggies
are brilliant go-anywhere machines
and not just frivolous toys.
Today, however, that theory would be seriously tested.
Oh, for God's sake!
Ow!
Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!
Ow! Christ on a bike!
I hate to admit this, but I'm jealous of Hammond.
I wish I'd fitted that suspension on my car.
How is this car gonna stand up to this punishment all day?
Well, since it had been designed by me
and made from 40-year-old components,
the answer was depressingly predictable.
The alternator, as you can see, has come off its hinge.
The bolt's supposed to go in there and it's just come off.
And the bolt, well, that's somewhere back there, 100 miles.
So, my alternator is now held on with a screwdriver
that I've hammered into place.
And we're running well.
Oh. I don't know what I'm gonna do about it,
but I don't have a fan belt on there.
I've got a problem.
Another five miles, another fan belt.
I'm gonna need a pair of tights.
And it wasn't just me.
I've been through all of that, all of that, the ignition cut-out switch.
I've got some weird gremlin.
This road is just shaking these cars to pieces.
Naturally, Jeremy decided that the only way
of keeping his car in one piece
was to drive very quickly.
My optimum speed is 2,800 rpm,
that being my only dial, really.
That way, I'm skipping over the top of the ridges.
Unfortunately, at this speed,
my V8 was emptying the petrol tank
every 31 miles.
And one of the items we'd forgotten to buy at the camping shop
was a funnel.
Right, wind's dropped. Here we go.
Drink!
This is completely safe.
Some of the petrol is... Oh, my giddy aunt!
The roads are getting worse.
Even though the going was appalling...
...the beach buggies, amazingly,
were, more or less, still in one piece.
However, as the relentless pounding wore on,
the same could not be said of James.
Agh!
Oh, my God!
Honestly, my bones are going to shatter.
I've had enough of this.
What I'm doing is I'm trying to soften up the front suspension,
and I'm gonna soften the tyres as well.
I've done quite a bit under here.
Now I'm going to let a bit of air out of the tyres.
This made a huge difference.
This is rubbish!
Stop!
But it didn't stop.
It went on...
...and on.
That day, I did 350 miles,
and every single one of them was filled with pain,
dust and misery.
And that's why, the following morning,
I came up with a radical plan.
Don't drive on the road, drive near it.
I did a bit alongside the road.
Admittedly only half a kilometre,
but it was bliss by comparison.
It was like driving on a freshly resurfaced Silverstone.
We don't have to stray miles from it.
I agree, that would be foolish, cos we could just end up as skeletons.
But, honestly, it's agony in mine.
I've got neck ache, headache. I hate it.
Right, I tell you what, Hammond. I tell you why I like his idea.
If it is smooth off-road, it's more comfortable for us.
If it's hopeless out there, we can blame him.
Fair enough.
With that settled, we left the road
and set out on Highway May.
I'll give James one thing, it is smoother than the road,
but I am doing 3 mph.
I mean, yeah, I like off-roading, I do,
but... this isn't exactly quicker, is it?
Sadly, a short while later,
we didn't even have smooth going for us.
Ow!
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Oh, spiffing.
James, I hope you're happy with this.
How bad must it have been for him if this is better?
Oh, God Al-bloody-mighty! What an idiot that man is!
Yeah, this is a lot less bumpy.
Oh, Christ!
Jesus!
Is this better? Really?
Stop moaning!
Hammond, my entire throttle assembly has disintegrated.
I can't see why. I'm sure this is all helping it.
Perfectly all right on the road.
Yeah, I don't know why more people
don't drive their cars on the road.
Stop blaming your failures on the scenery.
Every bone in his crotch...
that's what I'm gonna break.
Every single one of them.
And then, if it were at all possible,
May Tours got even worse.
Oh! Oh, God! The dust! Agh!
What is this Star Trek special effect we've arrived in?
Oh, my God!
I am swimming through dust. I'm actually swimming in it.
Oh, dear, oh, dear!
We had driven into something called fesh fesh,
a sand as fine as talcum powder.
Oh, shite!
And this had made Ali G even more cross.
I can't see a bloody thing now. I've got to...
I can't even find James May to kill him.
OK, the engine's boiling and I'm stuck.
All my electrics have gone haywire
My... It's still trying to turn the motor over. The battery's dead.
Are you stuck, James?
Er...
I think I'm stuck.
Well done, James.
Improved our lot no end.
So the situation is...
Hammond has broken his car, you're stuck,
and mine's overheated.
Are we going to say, James, that your idea was stupid?
It was stupid.
With even Sergeant Stubborn admitting defeat,
it was time to throw in the towel.
So we got ourselves sorted out, got a wash in the river
and headed back to the road.
There you go. Freshly ironed linen shirt
with epaulettes that matches my beach buggy.
Ironed by Giovanni.
Despite everything,
our beach buggies had covered 750 miles
of our 1,000-mile journey,
and we were now well into the tribal regions
of northern Namibia...
...which is picture-book Africa.
Well, this is all a bit too beautiful for words along here.
Look at this.
Tribal Namibia, I like it.
Where we are now, it's genuinely...
Well, what would you say, "unspoiled"? Yeah.
People do live the lives
they've led here for thousands of years.
Oh, no!
Oh, no! I'm dying!
Annoyingly, the James May excursion
had caused more damage than I'd realised.
Oh, now this is stuck on.
Oh, bugger.
Then, instead of the breakdown-recovery service,
some topless ladies arrived...
Hello.
...which made knowing where to look a bit difficult.
Oh!
Erm... Concentrate on the job, Richard.
This is unusual.
I mean, normally the AA would have done.
Thank you!
Very good.
Oh, there's more.
I, too, was nursing wounds as a result of May Tours.
I do seem to have lost...
...one of my cylinders somehow.
I'm driving a V7.
Basically, this is now Spitty Spitty Bang Bang.
So, at the lunch stop, Richard and I decided
to get our revenge on Mr May.
Clarkson!
What?
You've put... Where's...
That is disturbing.
What's annoying is, what have you done
with my original vintage VW gear knob?
Ah, well, no, good news on that.
Giovanni has posted your original gear lever
back to your address in London.
- Has he? - Special delivery.
What is the matter with you? That's really offensive.
Well, I think that's a bit sexist.
No, it's not. Why would I want to drive with a rubber penis?
I don't know. I think you're weird.
With our break over, we got back on the road.
For our American viewers, James May is driving a dick-shift.
And it wasn't just James's knob
that was keeping us amused.
There was something else we'd learned over lunch
that was even funnier.
James May's fuel tank has a hole in it, or it's split.
He's driving a bomb.
It's a tense moment, this.
It's like the end of a football match when it's 1-1.
You're driving along, you know he's gonna blow up,
you just don't know when.
It's not gonna read well in the papers.
"James May died in an exploding beach buggy, holding a rubber penis."
Oh, shut up!
Jeez!
Oh! In the face!
Once James's fuel tank had run low enough,
we pulled over in a small village
so he could make some repairs.
Well, the wind's blowing that way, so the fireball will go up there.
It'll be sudden, won't it, when he goes?
Yeah. It's "woompf."
"Woompf," then a bit of quiet,
and then... as all bits come down.
Yes.
Here's the split in the tank.
- Apply this. - Oh, hello!
You know we've been saying how bad the roads are, Hammond?
Yes.
They're bad enough to kill an un-killable car.
That's kind of a terrifying sight, isn't it?
I know. I've never seen that before in my life.
A dead Toyota pickup truck.
With James's tank bodged,
we knuckled down to getting some miles under our belt.
And for the rest of the day,
the only person with petrol issues was me.
Right. Refuelled, so I'm good now for 31 miles.
By the end of the day, we'd made good progress.
And when we stopped to make camp...
Where the bloody hell's Giovanni?
...we were less than 100 miles from the finish line.
So, after supper, we decided to have a conversation -
well, argument -
about who'd built the best beach buggy.
The point is, yours isn't a beach buggy.
- My car? - Yeah.
Apart from having a beach buggy's body
and the beating, pulsating heart of a beach buggy,
namely a Beetle engine.
I look at yours and go,
"That doesn't even look like a beach buggy."
It does and it is! It's a beach buggy.
Enhanced, but in the spirit of beach buggying.
- It isn't. - Jeremy, yours is... a freak.
Had it existed 100 years ago, it would have been exhibited.
People would come from miles and children would peak at it through curtains.
"Oh, look at the monster!"
The point is, I have always loved
the spirit of the beach buggy.
I love the era that created it and all of that.
But the one thing that's made me not like it
is the engine reminds me of Hitler.
I have removed all of that Hitler DNA from mine,
fitted a bloody great V8.
It's gone too far.
- It's Frankenstein's buggy. - I can settle this.
- Yours isn't a proper beach buggy. - It isn't.
- But it's more of a beach buggy than yours. - Oh, rubbish!
Because the true spirit of the beach buggy
is the Beetle floorpan and engine, which his has.
Yours doesn't have the engine.
Mine actually has everything.
Mine is the proper beach buggy.
- I'm sorry about this, James, but... - You're not.
...your car was created
by the swinging '60s and endorsed by Steve McQueen,
one of the coolest people who ever lived,
and yet, somehow, you have managed
to make your beach buggy boring.
- Rubbish - It is a bit.
- It is boring. - It's a boring firework display.
- It is. - It's boring in that it works.
- No, James. - It doesn't work!
The only thing that has gone wrong
is a small leak in the petrol tank.
Everything else about it has constantly worked.
Do you know, every time I've overtaken you,
I've looked and thought, "That's dismal."
It isn't. It has an elegance and a purity.
And when you say, "You've never come past me,"
I come past you every 30 miles because you've run out of fuel.
It wheelies, the throttle sticks, the alternator falls off, bolts fall out of it.
- It... The alternator... - You've had to fit a wing on it, which ruins the looks.
It's not in the spirit of the beach buggy,
but of a man desperately trying to justify a terrible idea.
- It was a brilliant idea! - It doesn't work!
I'm fairly conscious right now
your car is drinking the fuel out of mine
like a sort of plastic vampire.
Look, mine has been thirsty.
- Thirsty? - Yes.
We continued arguing
until Giovanni reminded us it was time to go to bed.
But I didn't go to bed,
because I had business to attend to.
Right, Jeremy Clarkson thinks he's being flamboyant,
and he doesn't realise that my knowledge of aerodynamics
will trump his ability to fit rubber penises to people's cars.
Shit!
Hammond! Fire!
Help!
Hammond! Help!
The next morning, as we resumed our journey,
I was feeling rather philosophical.
I once saw an old lady fall over
and drop her shopping bag on the opposite side of the road,
and her shopping fell out.
And amongst it was an Easter egg,
which I assume she bought for a grandchild or something,
and it rolled into the road and got run over by a car.
It was the most tragic thing I've ever seen...
until I saw the front of my car this morning.
And it wasn't just the front of his own car he'd ruined.
I wouldn't mind, but the rattling from James's workmanship is appalling.
Despite everything, though, we were now almost there.
Today, we would reach the beach that marked the finish
of what had been a spectacular journey
through a spectacular country.
Oh!
That deserves a stabbing.
Oh, my God!
Oh!
Oh, my...
Giovanni, could you run the baths?
Aargh!
Help!
It really is an amazing part of the world, this.
But everything that makes it amazing is harsh
and unforgiving and difficult.
Oh, stop!
No one's ever said this before, but Namibia...
...is a beautiful bastard of a country.
And yet,
as we counted down the last few miles of our journey,
our home-made beach buggies were still running.
They were battered and bruised, but they'd proved our point to Mr Wilman.
They'd made it.
And they had done something else as well -
they'd got under our skin.
We liked them even more at the end
than we had done at the start.
I think everybody in the world should drive a beach buggy,
because you're exposed to so much.
Not just the elements,
but the opinions of other people.
I mean, when you're in a normal car,
you shake your fist and make gestures,
and shout and yell,
because you feel cocooned and safe
and immune from everybody.
But in a beach buggy, everyone's just there.
It's brilliant!
It's such a friendly way of moving about.
And with that, we settled down
for what we hoped would be a smooth cruise to the beach.
But it wasn't.
Ow! Ow!
Oh, God! Ow!
This is outrageous!
Holy shit!
Oh, no! It's gone!
And now my aerodynamics are badly affected as well.
Oh, my word!
Jeremy is hoping to get to the finish line
in the sort of pile of scrap you hate your neighbours
for keeping at the bottom of their garden.
Oh, God!
Oh, no! There's petrol!
Oh! Hammond, don't go near his car!
There's petrol all over the front of his car.
- Is there? - Yeah.
Ooh!
What if it caught fire, James?
With just 30 miles to go,
the mighty seven-cylinder V8 really started to play up.
Oh, no!
And then it started to go dark,
which presented us with the biggest problem of the lot.
That's just terrible.
Oh, God!
Well, that's marvellous.
That one is dazzling me
and that one is showing me where to go.
This is far from ideal.
Before pitch darkness fell,
we pulled over to do some emergency repairs.
I'm gonna put some...
tape of a certain well-known brand on the problem.
Finger tight will do.
These repairs were extremely successful.
Oh, it's swung into my face!
No, I can't see a thing. Agh! That's worse!
Oh, God. Now they've turned.
Oh, no! My car's gone cross-eyed again!
There's a man coming the other way.
What's he gonna think of us?
I don't know.
I can't see a bloody thing.
Thank you. Oh, that's good!
It's shaken the headlight back round again!
Yeah! No, it's back again. Oh, just for a moment.
Then the rough road brought some new headlight problems.
Oh, nothing! Oh, no! Nothing! Nothing!
I've got... I've now got nothing at all.
OK, Hammond and May, can you just let me know
what your lighting situation is now?
As long as I hold the flash lever back, I have light.
If I hold the lever, I get one light and one flashing light, yes.
But I have to take my hand off to change gear.
And then Hammond's car suddenly turned into
the lighting rig at a Pink Floyd gig.
Why does it keep changing? What...
And it's all got...
It's only three kilometres to go now. Three.
Ahh!
Oh, hell!
Gone. Coming back.
Although we couldn't see,
we knew we must be close to the beach.
It's not... you know, a seaside beach.
It must be on a river or a lake, or something.
This is uphill. I'm sure that's wrong.
That's a big drop there.
I don't want to go off there.
I'm not sure this is sensible.
Nowhere in any guide I've ever read does it say,
"Explore new territory in a beach buggy
with your lights all broken."
Unable to find anything even remotely resembling a beach,
we pulled over.
We cannot carry on just plunging around in the darkness,
hoping to find the beach.
And, anyway, what is that noise?
I would say that... is a waterfall.
Is it something you want to come across in the dark?
Because the other thing I'd say about that sound -
it might be my imagination, but that sounds as though it's coming from below,
like we're above it.
We have climbed up that track.
And a waterfall is a drop, by definition.
If we're... I don't want to... in the dark.
Abandon. I'm not doing it.
We'll do it tomorrow. Sun.
Let's look at the stars and have one more night in Namibia.
We'll find it tomorrow and it'll be fantastically glorious.
Tomorrow on the beach.
Giovanni!
The next morning, daylight brought answers to our questions.
So it wasn't a waterfall.
No, it was many waterfalls.
Hundreds of waterfalls.
And they were just part of what we all agreed
was the most beautiful view we'd ever seen.
But... many waterfalls.
No beach that I can see.
Does that count as a beach?
That is a beach.
I'd call that a beach.
- The beach. - That's got to be it. There's no others.
Gentlemen, our quest is at an end.
Let us ride...
in splendour... to...
- I'm not finishing that very well. What is it? - It's very moving.
I'm trying to think of something evocative and Victorian and brilliant.
"Let's go over there and finish our journey"?
No, that's Brummie rubbish!
- It is! - It's the fact.
Unable to find the right words to mark the moment...
...we set off anyway.
Yeah, this is it.
We are half a kilometre from our objective.
Oh.
Oh, no. Path ends. Path ends.
Erm...
Oh, my God!
Well, if this won't get over there,
there's no way will theirs.
We split up to look for a path through the rocks...
Oh, no!
...but it was hopeless.
Forget it.
Hammond, forget it.
We aren't going down this hill.
The problem is, even if we could get over this stuff, which we can't...
No, we can't.
...have you seen what's between us and the beach?
Look at it. There's no way you could drive over that or anywhere near.
- Look, you can't even go inland. - No, we can't go there.
And you can't go around that mountain
and come at it from the back, cos they're cliffs.
Wait a minute.
What?
I've had...
...a great idea.
- Oh, no. - No.
So we can't drive over here.
But we have to get us and our cars to that beach over there.
If there were to be some kind of...
A mounting point on that cliff, maybe, and then...
Do what?
No. Mounting point down there.
Over that distance? That's a huge distance.
- It's about half a kilometre. - No!
But can you imagine the forces on it?
- The things at the end are gonna have to be... - Huge.
- Massive. - Jeremy, we don't all live in a cartoon.
We will die! Dead!
Given that there were no alternatives,
we had to go with the ape's plan,
which was to turn our beach buggies into cable cars.
- That's over two metres. - Yeah, that's good enough.
So we headed to a nearby abandoned mine...
...to scavenge materials.
Is that bit any good?
- How much more of that cable have we got? - Four drums.
- Are you proposing that that becomes a winding drum? - Yeah.
It's very important...
we get as much weight as possible into Hammond's car...
for erm... well, for your amusement.
Right, toolbox.
- How much do you want? - 30 metres.
James, have you got that hoop welded in yet?
No, that's my next job.
Several days later,
and with absolutely no help whatsoever
from any Namibian mining engineers...
...the world's first beach buggy cable car was ready, and...
Shit! Stop, everybody!
The goats are eating the tree that we've anchored it to.
Shoo, goats! Shoo!
They were eating the tree.
Anyway, as I was saying,
it stretched for more than a third of a mile.
And since the drop to the crocodile-infested river
was several hundred feet,
we decided James should go first.
- We had a vote. - Did you?
We did, and we were unanimous you were going first.
Right, so it's become a democracy all of a sudden?
- Yes, it has. - Yeah.
And anyway, your car's the lightest,
now you've burned half of it away.
I'm climbing in. Jesus!
With the state-of-the-art generators fired up...
...James fortified himself for the journey...
Is he drinking?
...and then simply drove off the launch pad.
Oh, my God! Whoa!
Oh, shit! It's really high!
It's really high! I'm turning the engine off.
- We had to test it. - Well, exactly.
- He had to go first. - Don't look at us and think we're bad.
Because that was scientifically vigorous.
It's a cable car. It's a cable car.
I've been on lots of cable cars. They're safe.
God. Look, he's... This is where it's high. That's horrible.
No! It's going really high! I don't like...
I hate you!
- OK. - He doesn't like us.
Despite my terror, the cable buggy kept on chugging through
what's technically Angolan airspace towards the beach.
God, I'm nearly there!
Neutral. Handbrake off.
He's gonna do it. He's gonna do it.
I'm at the end!
- He's down. - That's a landing.
Yes!
- Do you know what, though? - What?
- I'm doing maths here. - Mm?
One of us is gonna be killed doing this, obviously, yes?
- I'd say so, yeah. - So when we were all here, 33% chance.
Now I'm doing it with a 50% chance.
- Now you're doing it? - I'm going next.
- I can go next. - You can't go next.
Why can't I go next?
Whilst James toasted his success with some more drink...
...I won the argument and prepared for launch.
Why is my car at this angle?
Well, maybe because there's a massive V8 hanging out the back of it.
Right! Right, right, right!
I'll... here we go.
My rectum has just opened like a set of Theatre curtains.
And for good reason, because my beach buggy
weighed 200 kilograms more than James's charred wreck.
Ooh! Ooh! He brushed the grass!
I'm terrified, I'll be honest,
but, for the first time since I set off,
I'm comfortable in my beach buggy.
Approaching the beach. Approaching the end of the journey.
Here I come.
And... touchdown!
Yes!
Bad news, Hammond. I've made it.
Oh, great.
- Sir? - Oh, I say, James!
Actually, I was lucky there was some left,
because James had had a bit of a thirst on whilst he'd been alone.
Hello, guys down there.
It's Richard at the top.
Right, I'm gonna do this now, so goodbye.
Oh! I don't like that feeling!
Here he comes, ladies and gentlemen, Richard Hammond.
No!
I could take solace from the fact that this system
has already run twice with their cars and not failed - it's been tested.
Or I could take a more realistic view,
which is that those two fat oafs have already weakened it.
Plus he had all that scrap metal in the back,
which is why all eyes were on him.
Well, when I say "all"...
Look at the colours in those rocks over there.
It's... It's fantastic.
Just to the left of where Hammond is.
Why's my car sitting so low? It is heavy.
It is... Why's it lower?
- The colouring is fabulous, isn't it? - Yeah, they are.
Despite all my fears, the cables were holding
and drawing me ever closer to my colleagues.
This is it. I can see the beach.
I'm so nearly there. We are gonna do it!
Come on, Hammond. Come on.
I'm gonna do it.
Come on, Hammond. Come on.
Oh.
Erm...
Why have I stopped?
- Hammond! - Come on!
- I've stopped! - Hammond!
It's just stopped!
What can I do? It's just stopped!
There's, like, 200 metres to go!
I don't have anything to do with it! It's not up to me!
Is there nothing you can do?
Sadly, James was too drunk to think,
and I'm mechanically inept.
Plus, whatever had gone wrong had gone wrong at the top,
and we were at the bottom.
Move! Move! Move!
There's literally nothing we can do.
We've assessed everything
and you're in a hopeless position.
We could have another beer.
We've gonna have to conclude, I'm afraid,
that Mr Wilman was right that the beach buggy is no good.
And on that terrible disappointment, it's time to end.
Thank you so much for watching. Good night.
♫ You've got your head on backwards, baby ♫
♫ You don't know where you're at ♫
♫ You've got your head on backwards, baby ♫
♫ Watch out or you'll fall flat ♫
♫ Instead of saying hi to the people that you meet ♫
♫ You ought to say goodbye as you're walking down the street ♫
♫ You've got your head on backwards, baby ♫
♫ And you're gonna hit the ground ♫
♫ Yeah ♫
♫ Well, when you finally fall down, baby ♫
♫ I don't wanna be around ♫
♫ No ♫
.srt Extracted, Resynced by Dan4Jem, AD.MMXVI.XII