Channel 4 – Scrapheap Challenge 2004 – Challenges – Off Road Rescue

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The Puddings find a short-wheel-based donor vehicle

With no time to waste, the Bakwells get welding

The Pink Pudding, ready to rescue

Tension mounts as the boys wait to start the challenge

At the start line, ready to tackle the sticky salvage circuit

Steve decides to tackle the hill in reverse

Bakewell Puddings' diary

Arrival

After an easy drive 'darn sarf', we met up with the crew at the hotel, a beautiful and picturesque little hostel seductively furnished and handily only three feet from the A4! After eying up some odd-looking rigger types in the bar (soon to be introduced as our opponents, the Rough Riders), we were off to the heap to get fitted for wardrobe.

Naomi at RDF told us that we had drawn pink overalls. How glad we were when we discovered it was a subtle shade of salmon pink. How nice it would go with some fluorescent green antifreeze, we thought. Or Charlie's eyes.

The girls bought out my boiler suit which was beautifully emblazoned with the word Smell on the breast. I jumped in to discover the crotch was on the floor and there was enough room inside the belly area to fit Mrs Miggin's pie shop. Puzzled, the wardrobe girls sought out my measurements, kindly forwarded by Mr Marriott (Nick): 6ft 3in, 36in waist, 50in belly. Hmmmmn. On my email to Nick, I pre-empted his sarcasm as I knew he wouldn't believe my waist is 36in and put 50in belly as a joke. Dutifully, the overalls were made to suit! Cripes! After much whizzing of sewing machines and gnashing of teeth I had a tent to be proud of.

Back in the boozer, thoughts turned to the challenge. We were convinced it would be two-wheeled orientated. How wrong I was. Mr Marriott was convinced it was going to be a car crusher, his weird dreams coming to the fore. Note to diary: must get his head looked at. Charlie was just wondering where he could fit his next snooze in. Steve, our expert, was introduced. We tried the usual interrogations into what the challenge might be. We offered beer, sex and money to no avail. Even questions on Steve's occupation were skilfully averted. Over dinner, group conversation wafted over hovercrafts. God, my mind was wondering how we were going to make a hovercraft out of a bike! The producers gave us a quick brief as to what we were doing the following morning and we were tucked into our four-poster beds before midnight.

Build day

Six a-what-o-clock? Urgh. After the most fantastic breakfast from the catering bus, we were 'miked' up and ready for the off. The two-way radio we used to communicate to the build area from the heap pushed a huge lump into the belly of my overalls. Which was nice. Lined up in front of the cameras ready for the announcement, I could feel the nerves running down my leg. 'You're gonna build an off-road recovery vehicle'.

Whoa ... where did that come from ... brilliant. A bit of stuff for the cameras and then the bong and we were off, Charlie on the quad, me limping behind trying to avoid cross winds. We saw the dumper straight away, covered in mud and halfway up the heap. No battery, no ignition, no fuel tank. Charlie found a battery and we stuffed it on. I tried to short across the starter motor but only got a faint spark on the terminal. The battery was all right, the wiring looked fine but I couldn't get the flaming thing to turn over. After much sweat loss, Charlie pulled at the ignition loom and the beast turned over. Yes.

There was a loose connection in the feed to the starter. Once that was tightened and a fuel can hastily attached, the beast ran – albeit on one of two cylinders. An injector pipe was also missing, so diesel was spraying everywhere while Charlie thrashed it to pull it off the heap. With a little help from the hard-as-nails quad, we dragged her in to the build area.

The dumper was very small, with the seating position uncommonly in front of the rear-mounted engine. So I set to remove the seat and controls and reposition over the engine bay to give us enough room to put the car ramp on the front. This took hours of burning and cutting, being so careful not to cut through the hydraulic lines and engine parts. Steve was on winch-manufacture duty, which I have to say, he did with superb ingenuity. To this day that winch could pull a front tooth out of Janet Street-Porter's Face (sorry, Janet, but you will campaign against trail bikes on green lanes).

Creating a monster

With only three or four hours to go we still had no suitable flatbed. Charlie had found an old trailer body, complete with a hydraulic ram, but it was buried under a pile of steel bars. It was impossible to untangle, so Charlie dragged it off with the quad and utter willpower. The last couple of hours are a blur really. I welded full-time for what seemed like three days. Steve finished the superb winch. Mr Marriott had sorted the bike and Charlie had cut the flatbed to suit. It all tacked together beautifully. 'Teams, your time is up'. What a monster.

Knackered we downed tools and shook hands. I'm not sure what we were running on by the end. It's strange how something so silly can become the most important thing in the world and your body can summon up reserves of effort only seen when the remote is behind the sofa.

Back at the Wee Waif, the bar was closing. We triumphantly returned to a dry bar and a closed door. So we went round the corner and raided the 24-hour fuel station through the cash window.

Race day

Six-a-that-time again. Good grief. Onto the mini bus and down to a secret tank-training ground somewhere near Aldershot. It looks a bit like Iraq with a burger van. Which WAS nice.

Breakfast, as our nerves were now more solid, was a three-course affair. In the tinkering time, we nailed on the seats, knocked up some bits for the roll bar and primed the winch. Out came the tin of salmon-pink emulsion and the Pink Pudding was born.

We all had a job to do and knew what each other's responsibilities were. We put our helmets on, clean gloves and the ridiculous neck braces. Because the Rough Riders' tractor was steered by levers rather than by wheel, their expert had been deemed the only person safe enough to drive it. To make it fair, our expert had to drive the Pink Pudding too. In the harnessed seats, Steve found that he couldn't turn around so I steered backwards and he forwards. The throttle was also nearer my foot than Steve's, so we shared its use. I changed gear and Steve had the clutch. We were off.

Down the first hill and into the water towards the stricken car. Everyone out, Charlie attached the winch, Steve tipped the body, Mr Marriott fired up the bike engine and I guided the wire onto the snatch block to prevent scragging. Wow. The winch worked a treat. The bike was barely off tick over and the car was on the bed. The hydraulics struggled to lift the car, so Charlie opened the rear door to let out a few thousand litres of water and we manhandled the flatbed level. We were made to secure the car on the bed with ratchet straps for safety reasons. After a few choice words, hopefully bleeped in the recording, the car was secured and we jumped back in. In reverse, the rear of the Pudding was very light. Thank God we had that three-course breakfast. Steve steered us around the course with me screaming directions.

The final stretch

Because the car was in front of us, it was very difficult to see past. We got to the first climb and the Pudding couldn't pull it. We knew first gear had gone in the dumper so all we could do was spin around and hope reverse was low enough to take us up. It was. As we reversed up the last climb we could feel the rear wheels lifting off the floor. Into the drop zone I jumped out, fought with the straps and the winch hook and Steve tipped the Cavalier off. I had to jump back in the seat and belt up before we were allowed to cross the line and finish.

The feeling of elation was about as good as it gets. The Pudding had worked so well and we were just so pleased to have finished the task. We thought the Rough Riders would have done well to beat us but you never knew. 'And the winner is The Bakewell Puddings'. Champagne and handshakes all round. Catastrophe had befallen the other team. What a shame, because their beast was superb. The parts they'd made were as strong as you'd expect from off-shore engineers but unfortunately the boys were let down by a weak tractor. Sorry guys.

So into the next round. I can't wait.

Mark Elliott (Smell)