The Ford Fiesta World Tour 2010 is such a great idea, and it looks like the event is off to a great start. Jeremy Hart, a contributor at Wired.com, is touring the world with some friends and a pair of new Ford Fiestas. Wired posted the first part of the tour and you can read all of it right here:

Cheerleaders, fanfares, a scrum of paparazzi? Not exactly. The most pizazz on the pier at Santa Monica for the start of our global drive to Sydney, Australia was glamour model in a slinky dress.

But that’s how we wanted it. No, not the glamour model. The low key bit. Almost 60 days on the road, crossing the United States and Canada before skipping across the pond to Ireland and then driving across Europe, the Middle East, Asia and, finally, Australia is still an achievement, even in the 21st Century. Especially in the new Ford Fiesta, a car more suited to commuting in the city than circumnavigating the globe.

The drive, named, in rock star style, the Fiesta World Tour 2010, was my idea. I am lucky to have driven just about everywhere — Rolls Royces in the Atacama, Smart ForTwos in the Arctic and many cars in many, many countries in between. But I’ve never done a lap of the earth. The Fiesta is Ford’s first truly global car since the Model T, so in Uncle Henry I found someone willing to share my planetary perambulation.

The plan was to do the old favorite of London to New York, but the Fiesta is brand new to North America and Asia so Los Angeles became the starting line. L.A. to Sydney sounds more like a Qantas flight than a drive, but that’s what this 15,000 mile, 21 country extravaganza became.

In the hot seat are me and a few media mates like cameraman Hilaire Brosio and ace snapper (photographer in British) Anthony Cullen. We’re in a convoy of two Fiestas. One bright magenta metallic, the other blue flame metallic. Ford named ‘em, not me.

The drive started at the western end of Route 66, Santa Monica Pier. The first leg would take us to Vegas, but since I’m friends with Jay Leno we decided to swing by his garage. The closest thing he has to a Fiesta is a wild nitrous oxide-injected 300 horsepower Ford Festiva from 1989.

Now Jay is a homeboy. Driving to the state line is pretty well his limit, so I didn’t expect much enthusiasm from him. “Come by with your pictures when you get back, I might look at the first five,” he giggled. But he does like the Fiesta. “It is a great little car,” he said.

And so we sped northeast toward Vegas. Rick Seaman runs the The Motion Picture Driving Clinic at Willow Springs, where the next generation of stuntmen and women learn the art of “controlled crashing.” But anyone can sign up for a taste of stunt stardom, so we paid him a visit.

“Keeping the car fluid is the trick,” said former snowmobile racer and ballet dancer Olivia Summers, a veteran of 30 car commercials. With that, fellow stunt driver Harry Wowchuk swapped his Ford Mustang for a Fiesta and did a series of forward and reverse 180 degree spins called the “Rockford” after the 70’s TV series The Rockford Files.

“Modern cars handle almost too well for stunts but we got a few nice moves from the Fiesta,” he said. (Ed note: We’re currently testing a Fiesta sedan. We’ll have to try that…)

It was scorching in Death Valley. Although we wouldn’t dare touch the roof of the car, it turns out 124 degrees is not hot enough to fry an egg. I was disappointed.

With that we were in Vegas. Ah, Vegas. There’s no point making excuses for Sin City. It is what it is. Like everyone else in Vegas, I would either lose my shirt or gain a spouse. For the sake of the story, I opted for the latter.

“Drive up to the second window and the minister will marry you there,” said the kindly receptionist at Fast Lane drive-thru weddings. I half expected her to ask if we’d like fries with our vows. I pulled up a bit fast and the Fiesta’s tires chirped irrelevantly. It seemed somehow fitting.

At the window, Heidi, our minister, half leaned out of the drive-thru window and told us our road to happiness will be one of valleys and troughs. The driving analogies were a nice touch. Alas, because ours was a dummy wedding, she would not actually pronounce us husband and wife.

Down the Strip a ways at Viva Las Vegas Weddings they make you get out of your car, only to put you in a pink 1964 Cadillac with Elvis at the wheel to literally drive you up the aisle. With dry ice blowing and a mirrored disco ball spinning, the dearly beloved stand before Elvis as he intones, “By the power vested in me, The King, I pronounce you man and wife.” And with a thrust of his bejeweled belt buckle, he breaks into “Viva Las Vegas.”

And with that, we hit the road. After less than a day in Las Vegas, Arizona beckons.

The only place to access the Grand Canyon by road is Just off Route 66 at Peach Springs. It’s Hualapai Tribal Nation land. They have a lodge in town where you can get fried flatbread tacos that are to die for. It’s well worth the journey, one not a lot of people make.

“Not even many Americans know you can drive to the bottom of Grand Canyon,” Nancy Echeverria told us from the Hualapai Lodge. The Hualapai own one million square miles of the area, including part of the canyon. They’re the ones who opened Diamond Creek Road to drivers. They also run rafting and other tours. Alas, our little Ford wasn’t stout enough for the trip.

“The road is too rough at the moment for cars, so we will have to go in my Expedition,” said Ruby Steel, our guide.

The road descends 2,500 miles over the course of 20 miles. The lower we go, the the hotter it gets. Cacti border the dusty track and cliffs five times higher than the Empire State Building dwarf us. We’re tiny, almost insignificant, in this ageless and spectacular valley. This is the best way to see the Grand Canyon. No tourists, no RVs, no helicopters carrying sightseers overhead.

It’s just you and some of the most magnificent scenery in the world.