Just for the record, and in case this goes terribly wrong,
I said I didn't like Mexican food and what I meant was,
I don't like refried beans and cheese.
That's all. It's all Hammond's fault.
Oh, funny, funny, also funny. Thank you.
Yeah, right, we live in a cartoon, really.
That's not right.
The problem is that Richard Hammond may be stupid
and a rampant racist, but he is quite practical.
He'll probably have that car put back together again in about five minutes.
It would take me a year.
Ah! It's an HT lead off.
One... two.
Right. I will kill them.
I'm going to kill them. If the Mexicans don't, I shall.
As Hammond began his hate-fuelled charge,
Jeremy and I were bogged down in downtown Palm Springs.
So, we've got a retirement community. The rozzers up ahead,
There's nothing I can do. Forty miles an hour.
I lost, I don't know, ten minutes. Maybe more.
But Jeremy's got to stop for fuel.
He'll never get that done in under five, ten minutes.
I have to hope James gets lost or dawdles.
What's really unfair about this race is that
I wasn't particularly rude about Mexicans.
I just made a small joke about the Mexican ambassador in London.
And I've been to see him, I've apologised, drunk quite a lot of his tequila,
and all is well.
But the Mexicans don't know that.
Once clear of Palm Springs, we faced a choice.
Take the road to the east of the Salton Sea, which was longer,
but should be quiet, or go on the freeway and pray it wasn't too busy.
I went for the freeway.
Take me to victory, Aston Martin.
Whilst, stupidly, Jeremy went for the longer route.
One hundred and six miles to the border and my range is...
a hundred and four.
So, now I've got a choice.
Do I drive slowly and increase the range? Or drive fast and fill up?
That one.
I'm having him.
Jeremy can't be going this fast on that mountain road, surely.
Sorry, James, it wasn't a mountain road, which meant that once more,
thanks to editing trickery, I could get up to 55 miles an hour.
I'm in an American road movie now!
Feeling pleased with my choice of route, I called Mr Angry.
-Hammond! -You utter, utter bastard. Where are you?
I'm on the east side, on the most amazing road I've ever found.
Oh, God.
Have you seen James?
No, I'm on the other road. I went the other side of the water.
So, he should be ahead of me if he's gone this way, or...
James is on your side of the lake.
So, he must be on this road, then.
Right, I'm going to reel him in.
In fact, at this point, we all had the hammer down.
Sit rep...
Fifty-one miles to go.
About 30 miles of range.
Come on, Aston.
And where the hell is Hammond? Is he catching me?
Right, 60 miles... and no sign of James.
I'm just praying to see a little speck of blue up ahead.
I'm going to be in front of Jeremy.
There's no way he can do it. He's got to stop for fuel.
I don't know what that is, but that's all it's having.
To find out what damage the fuel stop had done, I called May.
-Clarkson. -May, where are you?
I have got to the bottom of the lake and I'm just coming into the small town...
Oh, no, I think you're ahead of me. Has Hammond caught you up?
Hammond is behind me, but only by a few miles.
That means he's probably ahead of me.
But the race wasn't done yet.
Because at the bottom of the lake, there were three routes to the finish line
in the border town of Calexico
and none of us had any idea which would be the fastest.
Jeremy will go on the 111. He has to, because he's come from that side.
He will get to that one first. I get to the 86 first, but is it quicker?
I just don't know. Oh, God.
What would Hammond do?
Right, this road now takes me straight through Calexico to the border.
I think this is the quickest.
I think James has gone a different route. This is where I'm going to take him.
Please, God, don't let me be last.
A big drive-through dentist there. Hopefully Hammond will stop at that.
Four miles, come on, come on, come on, come on.
Coming into town now.
Yeah, this all looks decidedly Mexican now.
which is to say brilliant, very nice.
Oh, God.
Traffic lights.
Oh, God, and the rozzers are behind me.
Fifth Street, yes. Does it go to Mexico?
Where's the border? Where is the border crossing?
Can't get lost right now. Mess it all up at the end.
Border, border, border.
You beauty!
May or Hammond, which one is going to be eaten?
The answer came seconds later.
I don't care if you won.
-Is it just you here? -Yep.
Oh, God, no. No.
Buenos días!
-Is that Mexico there? -That's the border there.
-But look, it's very simple. -Goodbye.
-Bye, thank you so much. -You're in the United States of America,
land of the free. There's a big fence.
The other side of it, everybody hates you.
-Bye! -Bye.
It's a bit like sending Paddington Bear into a mincing machine.
There is an element of... He looks quite tragic.
With that, back to the studio.