Dakar Rally With The Tudor Ranger: More Than A Race, More Than A Watch

Watches are irrational objects: they do so much more than their surface-level function of telling the time, yet they are also still just that: objects. Sure, watches offer value in their materials, construction, and even craftsmanship; but we all know that our watches can easily carry much more value than their material worth. When we put them on, they have an ability to take us somewhere else; not only as time machines in name and function, but in a more abstract way. Watches can transport us to a time before us, to somewhere we’ve never been, to someone no longer with us, or even to the person that we want to be.

Why is that?

Experience. We attach memories to our watches, and our watches to memories. People. Places. Things that happened for us, or to us. Accomplishments and major moments in our lives almost become a part of these objects.

In the grand scheme, these objects don’t really matter. What matters is what you do with them. Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear fame has a famous monologue about the Porsche 928. Not a particularly notable car, but still “smarter than your average bear” at the time. It’s worth a watch if you haven’t seen the bit, and I won’t spoil it; but the point remains that even though this was an unremarkable sports car, it became much more than that to Mr. Clarkson because of what it was able to do for him.

A certain type of watch doesn’t make you a certain type of person. But what you do with it in the real world, not the insular world of watch specs and instagram likes — that’s what makes something like a watch become something more.

Recently, Tudor invited me to experience the Dakar Rally, since the brand is now a premier sponsor of the event. As a fan of motorsports, I have been aware of the legend of the Dakar Rally; however, I was unaware of the depth of the legend and of the absolute visceral lunacy of the proposition.

For context, here’s a simple rundown: the Dakar is a stage rally across complete wilderness where competitors race day by day across a predetermined route through challenging terrain. The route instructions are divulged only minutes before starting a stage. Teams consist of a driver and co-driver in four-wheeled vehicle classes, while the completely deranged motorcycle riders must both fill the roles of both pilot and navigator.

The story goes that the rally is based on the experience of one man: Thierry Sabine. Back in the 1970s, Thierry was rescued from near-death after being lost for three days and nights in the Libyan desert during the running of the Abidjan-Nice rally. Fascinated with the landscape that nearly took his life, Thierry vied to share this fascination by creating a route from Paris to Dakar, Senegal. The route has changed over the years, with the current chapter of the rally’s history taking place on the Arabian Peninsula, having spent 30 years in Africa, 10 years in South America, and currently in Saudi Arabia.

To put the day-by-day into perspective: at the starting line, you are pointed towards desolation. Drivers do not know where they are headed, and for all intents and purposes the navigators don’t, either. The only known information is where the stage finish is located, hundreds of kilometers away. This goes on, day after day, for two weeks.

At the start of the stage, the road book loads for the first time in the navigator’s computer. This contains the step-by-step instructions to get to the finish line. This is crucial. Hazards are listed here, vital landmarks as well. This isn’t just a sight-seeing guide; missing checkpoints costs valuable time — and the governing body knows when you miss a checkpoint. Forgoing the route just to make way by smooth roads is inadvisable, and just not very sporting, to be honest. By all accounts: competitors prefer the rally to be as difficult as possible, and the organizers are happy to oblige. I spoke with a driver after the first leg of a two-day marathon stage, and he told me “Every year, I say this is [my] last year. But I keep coming back.” 

No matter how you slice it, though, it is daring. But, there were hardly any watches here (aside from the smattering of smartwatches from Garmin, etc. that were visible on some competitors). This is a hardcore event. I’ve been to other top-tier motorsport events around the world: the 24 Hours of Le Mans, The Rolex 24 at Daytona, Monaco. All of these are prestigious competitions in their own right, but all of them had a certain “polished” quality about them that literally took the edge off. Well-heeled fans in roped-off areas milled about, almost cosplaying as adventurers and sportsmen, donning their event-appropriate wrist-wear — all of them peacocking around to show their commitment to the sporting cause while also attempting to out-watch the next guy. All of the Richard Milles that I’ve ever seen in my life were in the paddock of Daytona International Speedway (including spotting the man whose name is on the dial, attending as both a sponsor and, presumably, a fan). 

But I’m not here to doubt anyone’s enthusiasm for sport, or for watches. I am only trying to say that there is an element of performance that’s hard to ignore at these highly commercialized sporting events. They are big moneymakers for a lot of people,  which is no secret, and that is truly necessary for events like these to exist. However, this necessity tends to erode away some of the edge of adventure that was originally sharpened in the early days of these sorts of competitions.

The Dakar Rally felt different from anything that I’ve experienced before. Just to be in the same region? Remarkably inaccessible. Now you want to find a place to catch some of the action? Literally, it’s a secret! (Though the start and finish lines are known.) As a fan, to be a part of the event takes extraordinary effort with, frankly, little return. Following the action takes near as much effort as completing the rally itself, with stages being set hundreds of kilometers apart. A single car passes every five minutes or so; as a spectator there is a lot of waiting perforated with small moments of violence. There are hours and hours of road-driving in between a start and finish, to say nothing of what the competitors are experiencing on their off-road routes. This is an event that is truly focused on the competitors and the difficulty of the competition above all else.

At the risk of hyperbole, there’s a purity in adventure. Yet, in spite of all of this challenge and inaccessibility, during my trip Tudor supplied me with a surprising piece: the Ranger, Ref. 79950. 

I’ll go so far as to say that this is not a watch review, per se — as if the preceding 1,000 words without mention of a single watch weren’t a clue. What I will tell you is that my opinion of the Ranger changed during my short time with it. The watch wore fine. The woven strap was comfortable, the case size great for legibility, and it inspired confidence for rough conditions, although I’d consider it a touch bulky for my taste. I really came to appreciate the stark dial and simple, nostalgic handset, with the seconds hand being my favorite. But, honestly, this was a watch I hadn’t really given any thought about until I was handed this loaner in the middle of the Saudi desert. And to be frank, I didn’t give it much thought while I was wearing it. I’ll qualify by adding that I think this is a good thing.

When it comes to objects like watches, I prefer that they perform their intended purpose well, but stay out of the way. I feel the same way about cameras. The moment, real life, is what’s important — not the object you have with you. The Tudor Ranger did just that: the time was easy enough to find when I needed it, and the watch stayed out of the way otherwise. To be clear, “staying out of the way” is not just a matter of tucking in a sleeve or being small and unnoticeable. There needs to be a certain confidence in that whatever activity I’m engaged in, the watch can handle it. This perceived invisibility is also a function of capability and performance, not just size.

Okay, I guess it’s kind of a watch review...

Still, all of this is not what changed my opinion on the Ranger. That Tudor would associate one of the most (if not the most) hardcore motorsport events on the planet with what some enthusiasts might consider a backmarker of its packed catalog was nothing short of a surprise to me. There’s a heavy mystique and spirit of adventure to be felt with the Dakar Rally: driving into the literal unknown, trusting yourself, your partner, and your equipment to get you to the end goal… somehow.  I expected to see one of the brand's racing chronographs as the watch of choice, or even a Black Bay (though that would have been an odd choice for the desert, surely), but I still didn’t even consider the Ranger.

I haven’t mentioned it yet, but my luggage was lost in transit at the beginning of this adventure, effectively limiting my personal world to my camera bag and the clothes on my back — taking an already extreme experience up an extra notch. I tell you this not because to elicit your sympathy, but to color in the full picture of my personal experience. The watch I was wearing became even more of a co-driver to tackle the desert with. And this is what watches mean to me. 

Our own experiences fill in the character of our watches. The wearer makes the watch, and not the other way around. A Rolex 16220 means nothing to me, except for the one that my mom bought my dad soon after they were married. My own first Rolex I bought myself was just a watch until I started to make my own story with it, traveling the world and making my own memories with it on my wrist: witnessing Ferrari’s historic win at Le Mans in 2023 from the pitbox, or watching my hometown Atlanta Braves win the World Series with my friends and family around the TV at home, or celebrating a new job with a nice dinner. I’ve been fortunate to continue to make memories and celebrate milestones with that watch on my wrist, and that watch has become as much a part of my life as I’m starting to imprint my life onto it.

The Dakar Rally surprised me. Going in, I had a basic understanding of the premise (and also a full suitcase), but not a full picture of the terrifying reality. Staring down open desert with a map you’ve never seen before is serious stuff. Like many other things, watches are about experience. You can see photos online and hear what others have to say, and this is all well and good; information absolutely helps inform our own experiences. But, I can’t tell you how many times my opinion of a watch changed — drastically — once I got it in hand and starting spending time with it.

Experience is the best co-pilot.