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Babe stands for Big Apple to Big Easy. It's a simple challenge - drive from New York to New Orleans in a car you've purchased for less than the humble sum of $250. Along the way, you will be asked to compete in numerous challenges and the most successful team will be the winner of the worthless prize. It is a challenge beautiful in its simplicity, but tricky in its logistics. The US is a huge place and Manhattan isn't brimming with $250 junkers.

The chances of us turning up in New York on the day of the rally and buying a car were just about nil. A cry for help was issued through the rally's online forum and another competitor, Tim Hansen, answered our call. Hansen is just 26 but has bought and sold more than 60 cheap cars. He suggested something Japanese but that wasn't in keeping with an American adventure. For us, there was only one choice: a giant lump of Detroit iron.

At 10:30pm one Friday night, I received an email from Hansen claiming that he'd found the perfect tool - a 1988 Lincoln Town Car, which was being offered on eBay. Half an hour later and after a frantic bidding war, we'd secured our place on the grid. A classic piece of Eighties Americana was ours for the paltry sum of $177.

JR Ewing would've been proud. Fast forward two months and you find us on Staten Island, New York, inspecting the competition. Twenty-five teams have gathered for the get-to-know-you dinner, and there's an eccentric array of metal. A tatty looking MG Midget sits apologetically beside a huge van of the type popularised by BA Baracus, and a Yugo Zastava, which has been smeared in creosote and fitted with twin, side-mounted exhausts.

We're beginning to think we might have underestimated this challenge. While all the teams have bought their cars cheaply, most have been several months in preparation. Even now, an army of tools is being employed as last minute checks are made.

This is a worry. Team Top Gear's mechanical knowledge amounts to a GCSE in Design Technology. Our 'back-up' consists of a roll of masking tape, a tyre pressure gauge and a can of engine oil, bought from the local Walmart.

At around 11pm, our Town Car rumbles into view. One of the other competitors, Louis Tennant, had kindly agreed to deliver it for us. "It's running fine," he says. "There's only half an exhaust but that just makes it sound like a Nascar." We hurriedly shut the door and kiss it goodnight. So far so good.

Our optimism is short-lived. On the short drive from the hotel to the start-line, an oil warning light flickers into life.