Al Fajr, for the second sandpit and then no man's land

It had been a short night. We hadn't arrived at camp until after nightfall – the focus was on resting the camels, getting out of our riding clothes, tending to any injuries, and getting some sleep. No sooner had my head touched the bag I was using as a pillow than the alarm went off – pitch black, 6:00 a.m.

Then began the usual two-hour routine to prepare myself and my camel for the day. For whatever reason, Shagra, the enormous male camel, was in a very bad mood that morning. As I threaded the straps under his colossal, but still seated, body, he tried to bite a piece out of my back.

At 8:00 a.m., we led the camels out of camp. Henry stopped us to take some photos—blue skies, sunshine, and hills in the background. Afterward, we mounted and rode toward the main road, which we had to cross before continuing northeast, parallel to it, toward Al Fajr—a small oasis with a well, about which Lawrence had written in Seven Pillars . When he arrived there with his 45 Arabian horses and about 120 camels, they stayed for several days to rest themselves and the animals—a luxury we were not afforded.

The Special Forces Rangers from the King Salman Royal Nature Reserve were waiting for us at the road. They stopped the traffic so we could cross safely. Then we followed a track alongside the road, where we were able to cover good distance at a steady trot.

James then confessed that he'd forgotten to pee. He blamed it on Henry's photo session before we left. He insisted his bladder was about to burst from all the jumping. So we stopped briefly so everyone could relieve themselves. Then we continued on our way – trucks and cars honking loudly as they drove past.

The terrain changed radically again. No more rugged rocks like the day before, but soft sand beneath the camels' hooves. As we approached Fajr, scattered bushes and grass appeared to our left. We left the road and followed a dry, shallow riverbed that perhaps carried a little water every few years.

Shagra trotted on undeterred, lowering his head and grazing as he went. At first, this surprised me, and the reins gave me rope burns on my fingers. Now I could almost sense when he was heading for a clump of grass, so I loosened my grip so he could graze as he passed – without losing speed.

Around midday we saw buildings and trees – it had to be Fajr. The Defenders had driven ahead, and Rebecca, Henry, Rory, and Ged had positioned their vehicles so that a sunshade could be stretched between them – desperately needed in temperatures exceeding 30 degrees Celsius.

Fajr was tiny. There was a mosque, a shop, and a petrol station along the road. We stopped about a kilometer away, near a fenced goat farm. I didn't tie Shagra up—he was allowed to roam freely, tethered to him with a sorban. This way, they couldn't stray far but could enjoy the greenery of the pretty little oasis. Seeing the contented camels, I could easily imagine what it must have been like when Lawrence passed through here in 1917. They were still many weeks from Aqaba—we only had 17 days. But they surely knew that the water and food here would carry them all the way to Meegowa—no wonder they stayed longer.

Our schedule wasn't very generous. We'd only covered about half of our planned route for the day – over 25 kilometers still lay ahead. After some fruit, yogurt, and coffee, we continued on. The desert sand darkened, becoming almost red, and increasingly, black, volcanic rock formations appeared.

A film crew from the nature reserve was flying a drone – until it crashed. We rode on. In the distance, we could sometimes see the trucks on the road, or the wind carried their sounds for miles. In the afternoon, the wind picked up and the temperatures dropped, but the camels held on. Craig's "Begbie," a beast of a camel but tough as nails, took the lead – whereupon the others increased their pace.

We were in unfamiliar territory. We had planned to camp at a spot that looked good on Google Maps. I had asked Simon to find a place that was sheltered from the wind and prying eyes. The message came back: there was a spot, but it was a few kilometers further than planned – which is always a real pain at the end of the day… quite literally.

Rory came towards us with his flashing light – but we hadn't reached the camp yet. We still had a few kilometers to go. But when we arrived, we found a rock formation with a narrow entrance – sheltered from the wind and hidden. Perfect.

The only downside: the latrine. The Bedouins climbed onto the rocks and cheerfully shouted "Mr. Howard!" at the exact moment I was relieving myself. I won't write what I shouted back, but it involved two words that included sex and travel…

The next morning was bitterly cold. At our altitude—we were now higher than the highest mountain in Great Britain—the wind whipped across the Nefud Plain. A blanket of fog blocked out the sun. Henry wanted to take photos of our Constantin Weisz watches—replicas of the 1915 Aviator Chronometer that Lawrence had been wearing. His original was an Omega, but they refused. So the small German manufacturer Constantin Weisz made a few. When I contacted the owner, Dirk Motz, he initially thought it was a joke. But when he realized the seriousness of the request, he made a small batch for us riders—we wore them the entire journey. Today—thanks to the Trek— Constantin Weisz Trek watches are worn by kings, princes, princesses, lords, billionaires, and of course…the Trek team.

Setting off was the first time I'd ever pulled my head-over-the-face coat up. The air was so cold it stung my lungs. We left our desert coats at home – sweating in that cold would have led to hypothermia. And somehow we all wanted to look the same – partly aesthetics, partly old military habit.

The terrain changed again. We came to green sandy areas, which should actually be pleasant for the camels – if it weren't for the countless "baby heads" (round stones) that made trotting impossible.

I tried to read the ground – almost impossible. Where possible, we trotted; otherwise, we walked. Henry and Rebecca went ahead, but were far away – true camel terrain.

Then, as if by a blessing, we came to white sandy areas – dried-up lakebeds. There we could pick up speed. But the terrain in between was tough. James was having particular trouble with his saddle . We were approaching the road, which wasn't ideal, but the only way through the rocky highlands followed it. So we stopped there for lunch.

Unfortunately, the cooking team had a surprise in store. It involved going over a hill and down a slope – James's backside was completely sore afterwards. A spontaneous photo of Tommo and me applying Vaseline (to ourselves, mind you!) says it all about that day.

It was the last hot lunch of the entire trip. Afterwards, we came across a quarry that wasn't marked on any map. Getting through was impossible – we had to go back to the road, which cost us time. But once we were running parallel to the road, we could trot again.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity among the rangers. A convoy of five or six vehicles passed us, turned around, and stopped. Black SUVs and limousines with royal license plates – two princesses waved and took photos from the window. The rangers stayed behind with them.

The road veered away from our route. We turned off onto a kind of Mongolian plain – smooth, hard, slightly green – but apparently poisonous, because the camels wouldn't touch the stuff.

Then – dots on the horizon. Camp! I set the pace; we practically galloped into it. It was still light – time to organize our gear and take a quick shower with a spray bottle. That night, the sky treated us to the most beautiful starry display.

It had been a good day.

Image credit: SFCBF.org