Sarah, matron of the Dixie Chickens, has many opinions about my team. In particular, about my teammates. She is of he opinion that Shane and Roberta are either imaginary or dead. This opinion likely comes from her never meeting the whole team. Whenever I saw Sarah, at any of the Europe parties, it was after Shane's bedtime. That is, after nine in the pm.

Sarah's other opinion is that we are doing the rally wrong, since the Marabby is normally peaceful and conflict free. The first four weeks of the rally were uneventful and calm. We gently trundled along, white doves cooed in the air, God was in his heaven, and all was right in the world.

The Dixie Chickens will be delighted to hear that a schism divides the Gobis. Two schisms, in fact. Like the Great Schism, these divides come from strongly held and opposing viewpoints.

Schism One

The first insurmountable split regards children. Shane and Roberta seem of the mind that the Aral Sea village children are devil spawn. Creatures that live in this post-apocalyptic Western Kazakhi dustbull full of Mad Max style compounds. The only law here comes from the Thunder Dome. The children, in this view, are like army ants. Any foreign vehicle that drives into town can be stripped to its chassis within the amount of time it takes for a camel to cross the road.

I am of a decidedly more optimistic mind. (Shane would say 'misguided' or perhaps 'overzealous' optimism. Roberta calls it 'obstinate' and 'relentless'.) From where I sit, the Aral children were angels of the highest order, living out on the edge of the prairie.

Their spirited enthusiasm came, not from an evil zombie nature, but from the unfettered delight that only children possess. They mimicked our actions, helping take photos, move sand tracks, and push cars out from being stuck.

Seem from a whole, the entire convoy appeared to be engulfed in a meelee. However, we were really just overwhelmed by the milk of human kindness, pouring in from a dozen child-sized vessels. I recall similar situations occurring during my stints as counselor at Pine Island Camp.

Few things are more delightful than being surrounded by crowds of excited children, say I. Stuff it, retort my teammates. Thus, the first divide.

Schism Two

The second issue splitting popular opinion in twain involves convoys.

There is a fine point to be made here. It should be abundantly clear that we, all of the Gobis, are delighted by the rally teams and individuals we meet along the road.

Mongol Ralliers, as a rule are many things. Mad and eccentric are two common qualities. Great wearers of linen and tweed jackets are another. Among all qualities, teamwork, amiability, and a sense of good humour prevail.

Few people are friendlier and kinder than the lads we've had the privelage to convoy with over the last few weeks.

In particular, I'm delighted to have been able to get to know the Cads and Bounders while riding on their roof during our bumpy retreat from the Aral Sea. Ash, Kevin, and George (and their adopted llama, Steve) are without a doubt four of the coolest cats you could meet. From the Thunder Yaks, it was cool to have scored Raj when we played convoy roulette. The conversation was stellar, and he is truly a gentleman and a scholar. Plus, it's always fun to meet someone who studied philosophy of science. There are too few of us, I think. (No there's not, says Shane.)

Similarly, our five-team camp was my favorite niights of the rally so far. Kevin showed us some tricks to nighttime photography (he shot some time lapse that will be aired soon on the BBC), we had good beer, a photo slideshow projected onto a massive tent, and someone had brought a guitar. All the elements of an awesome camp were there.

But I'm off on a tangent. The key point is that we all enjoy the bonds of rallyhood.

The schism comes when we consider the entire micro society of a convoy taken as a whole.

At one point during our drive across Kaz, Roberta noticed a car pulled off to the side, with a young boy peeing on the road. "Sweet Jesus, it's a good thing we aren't doing this rally with a boy. You would never get across Kazakhstan," was her assessment of the situation. Little did she realize that frequent stops were part of convoy life, perhaps as many as driving with a passenger who's bladder is the size of a dried pea.

On the convoy, stops take many different forms. We may halt to change a flat tire, take a few photos, check out a dead eagle, or just to change who gets to sit in the roof-mounted race seat strapped to the top of the Cads and Bounder's car. (Although, as Ash and I proved, changing who sits on the roof and who sits in the car can be changed while driving at speed down a bumpy dirt road. However, if my mother is reading this, I performed no such stunt and would never consider riding on the roof of a moving car.)

These stops, mixed with late starts and after-dark camps quickly wore down the goodwill of two thirds of the Gobis. Shane began viewing the convoy society with a sense of dread. The ADHD nature of our convoy worried him, as did the Twilight Zone style dilation of time that slowed our pace as we navigated a path across Kazakhstan that only a drunken bumbleebee would admire.

In short, like America's founding fathers, Shane and Roberta felt hampered by convoy life and called for a revolution.

Like with the children, I took a different view.

The decentralized leadership reminded me of great political movements, like Occupy Wall Street. We were free to live according to our own rules and timetables as we traversed the steppe.

The convoy also meant a pooling of resources. On our first day with the Cads, they found they had inadvertently ran over their camp stove, splitting off the burner. This meant that we were able to cook on the Whisperlite (thanks, greatoutdoors.com!) while the Cads provided ample amounts of chorizo.

I say pooling of resources. However, it is more like borrowing resources from the Thunder Yaks. Their Renault minivan was stuffed to the gills, like a stall in Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. They had a spice rack that would be the envy of any Italian chef. A refrigerator, sand ramps, guitar and amp, and even a wireless hotspot could all be found in their well-equiped van that bent space and time like a Tardis.

They also had a new CD to borrow. After a month of listening to Gunther and minimal techno on repeat, anything comes as a sip of water to a man lost in the desert. Yesterday, Shane bought a collection of trashy Russian EDM. We listened to the CD four and a half times through before finally pausing it.

The third reason, beyond libertarian governance and shared supplies, that I love the convoy lifestyle is fraternity.

An immediate bond of brotherhood forms within the convoy. A true sense of having each others backs and doing anything to push the entire convoy towards Ulaanbaatar and the finish line of the Mongol Rally. I remain impressed and in awe that the Cads and Yaks picked up the Llamas after their terrible crash. With a little luck and a lot of effort, the Llamas will complete the event. In fact, my favorite aspect of the rally so far is the teamwork that drives all teams together across Asia, with getting to central Mongolia being the shared goal.

So I had a heavy heart as we pulled a U turn to look for a late night hotel. Unfortunately, my cell cut out on the convoy as I was relaying our plans, and we didn't have the ability to meet for a handshake and hug as we parted ways. Hopefully we will see the lads in Ulaanbaatar.