Extreme Trifle Events – The Hall of Shame
It’s all here. Every Extreme Trifle adventure ever attempted, aborted, and (on a surprising number of occasions) completed with nothing more than a grazed knee and some deportation orders.
So, whether you are trying to look busy in the office or are waiting for your date to arrive, why not pass the time reliving a few of our disasters. It’ll make you feel good about yourself!
Wrong Way Round Iceland. Turns out Hell ain’t a bad place to be. It’s lukewarm rather than hot but it sure is hard to get to.
Wrong Way Round Sahara. In 55 degrees of heat without water, weird things start to happen. In summary, the Sahara is hot.
The Isle of Nan TT. The only motorsport event where a hazardous fluid leak comes from the rider not the machine.
Wrong Way Round Mongolia. Sandstorm, thunderstorm, shitstorm. Looks like those cracks are only going to get wider.
Monsoon Madness. What will try and kill you first. The road conditions? Drowning? Why did the elephant cross the road?
Wrong Way Round Himalaya. When riding a mountain track with a 4,000ft drop it’s not ideal to have a dizzy spell. Or a puncture.
Spongefinger. You can’t sugar-coat a bond villain. Or can you? This is Cold War served straight from the fridge.
The Wrong Way Round. Exactly like the famous “Long Way Round” only shorter. Like a lot shorter. With better acting.
Cheesy Rider. There’s never been a wilder bunch than the Hell’s Angel Delights. A tale of sex, drugs and cable ties.
Rickshaw Rampage. The original Indian sub-continent caper in motorised egg-shells. Keep going South until the land runs out.
Russian Rollette. A rally in a car that was designed to fall over. Whoever thought leaving off a wheel was a good idea…
Red Bull Flug Tag. Magnificent men and woman in less than magnificent un-flying machines. Run, leap, plummet.
Baltic Ice Rally. It’s a car rally in the Baltics. On ice. In distinctly non-rally spec cars. Like a hearse for instance.
Car Trek. To blindly go where many people have been before in cars less structurally sound than the stage set in Blake’s Seven
Red Bull Soap Box Race. Our entry was neither made of soap or boxes. At least the wheels went round.
The Plymouth – Dakar Rally. It left from Portsmouth and never went to Dakar. The original, grand daddy of banger rallies.
Ring Sting. The ring as in Nurburgring. The sting as in the sensation you get when petrol spills on your gentleman parts.
Pizzas to Palermo. A foolhardy attempt to teach the Italians about pizza and moped riding. We came back suitably chastised.