In search of Petrolhead Nirvana

Today marks the start of the 2010 Petrolhead Nirvana tour season and it’s kicking off in grand style with a luxury road trip to the South of France and back over 6 glorious days, via some of the very best roads France has to offer, including the legendary dawn climb to the summit of Mont Ventoux and the drive across (and under) the Millau Bridge amongst many hundreds of miles of challenging but ultimately rewarding strips of tarmac.

The immense feeling of pride I have today, knowing that Petrolhead Nirvana continues to go from strength to strength while maintaining the core ethos that I imbued into it of  ‘It’s the Driver, not the car that counts’ is palpable. This feeling of pride is, I’m suprised to find, marginally tempered by the fact that this is the very first tour that I’m not out on the road with. I know that Pete will be an excellent tour manager, I know that the tour will be impeccably run, I know that the people on tour will have a fantastic time, I know that the hotels, food and roads are second to none.

It’s just that… well… I love driving. I love sharing my knowledge and passion when on tour, from the driver’s briefing first thing in the morning, to the various stops along the way, assisting the drivers, calling ahead to hotels to check parking, organising lunch stops etc etc, basically I love Petrolhead Nirvana. The feeling is ‘probably’ akin to a father sending his child off to the first day of school.. I say ‘probably’ as my child is currently making progress through France en-route to a great hotel within a former Abbey on the banks of the river Loire for an evening of fine dining and drivers storytelling and won’t be back for nearly a week!

Although I’m sorely missing the buzz of this trip already, I can console myself with the fact that I’m taking my wife on the exact same road trip, mile for mile, at the end of next week in the TVR for her 40th birthday. It’ll be a brilliant trip I know, but somehow not seeing a gaggle of machinery weaving it’s way through France in my rear view mirror will be a bit odd to begin with…. but I’m sure that’ll soon wear off.

The Massif Bridge to Ventoux Tour – Take Two  |  Day Three

There’s nothing like this. Waking to the sound of the jade-green River Tarn rolling by, and the sweet scent of fresh bread and strong coffee. This place is fast becoming our second home – who could ask for more?

Today, we’ll be heading for Mont Ventoux in a very round-a-bout sort of way, via the famous Millau Viaduct. We’ll be taking the group through the twisty valleys before lunch at our friendly restaurant in Le Vigan (for something other than pizza).

A little late I know – apologies for not posting up about our trip to the legendary Le Mans earlier, if not from the front line as promised. I was planning on writing from my iPhone while we were out there, except none of the foreign networks provided 3G. Still, here I am, back with all limbs on, and a spare minute or two before I have to get back to doing some real work!

Day One: Thursday

Having been before, the best decision we made this year was to leave early on Thursday, so that we could set up camp and relax before the usual shenanigans start. For those who aren’t in the know, Mad Friday, as the name suggests, is a tradition at Le Mans. Being the day before race day, you’ll be silly to stay at the campsite and miss out. With most of the camping grounds in and around the 14 km circuit, everyone gets into the spirit of the event by wandering across various official and unofficial activities. Depending on where you’ve set up base, you can walk to see the spectacle that is the Mulsanne Straight – a part of the circuit which is actually a public road outside the complex. Here, you don’t have to be drunk to see a boat or even an old Leyland ambulance with cross-dressed nurses sail by. Some of the lengths that people go through to come to Le Mans in style is truly astounding.

Lucky for us we booked our pitches with Team Langoustine, who have a great space on the inside of Tetre Rouge. Andy, Pete and guys have a really good setup, and I’d wholeheartedly recommend staying with them if you’re thinking of going. Believe me, the sight of hot showers was huge relief – I’ve done the muddy walk across a sea of tents in previous years. Quality facilities like these make a huge difference to the entire trip.

Day Two: Mad Friday

If you dare, you can take your own car out down the Mulsanne towards the village, taking in the race drivers’ view of the road as the crowds gather to cheer you by (with water guns). Go in the morning – the Mulsanne (or anywhere else that they gather for that matter) gets quite drunk towards the afternoon and you’ll find that they won’t let you move on without a burnout. It can be quite a harrowing experience for those who haven’t been before – but if you please the crowd, you’ll only drive away with smiles.

Nancy was in the Atom ahead of us – needless to say the mob got quite excited when they saw her coming…

For those looking for a more civilised affair, don’t miss The Great British Welcome in Mulsanne village, where you can park your car in the town square if you have a British number plate. We had a veritably french lunch here, only to traipse around the corner for a few tinnies at an Aussie bar.

The other must-do thing is the pit walk in the afternoon, when the public are allowed to watch the crews work on the cars before their final shakedown. Then it’s back to basecamp for more beer ‘n’ barbecue action. And speaking of food, when you do arrive a day early, it’s a good idea to get yourself to the Carrefour hypermarket and pick up all your supplies in one sweep. We had 20 cases of France’s fines stubbies, and enough meat to feed us for four days. Fruit, veg and general variety is the key. Don’t think you can survive on bread and sausages alone, no matter how tempting the thought setting fire to everything might be.

The whole camping thing really sets off the festival feeling about the event. As I’ve already mentioned, location is everything. Beausejour may be a little far at the bottom end of the circuit and can take anything up to half and hour’s walk to the pit straight, where most of the great race viewing spots are. Personally, the spot just left of the Dunlop stand is one of the very best.

Day Three: Race Day & An Epic Night

Thanks to a great bunch of people on this trip, Race Day began as a bit of a blur. Nothing a strong cup of coffee or the stunning sunshine couldn’t fix, which was beating down on us by mid morning. There was of course a good bit of racing to watch too, with the Le Mans Legends session which takes place before the main event.

And then, the start of the race. Our grandstand tickets at Tribune 16 were ok, but in hindsight, would have been better if we weren’t half way up the stand. Still, it was worth it just to hear the sound of 50 angry race cars shoot through your spine from the track, with the squint-inducing effect of it reflecting off the roof back onto you just to make doubly sure you heard it.

I still can’t believe the quality of the atmosphere during the night. We found ourselves watching The Stranglers play Golden Brown, swaying shoulder-to-shoulder (or perhaps it was just the beer) with thousands of people while the race screamed by. That’s a moment I will treasure for a long time to come.

I woke that morning to the best possible alarm – the sound of 7 cars ticking over, gently warming for a dawn raid to the top of Mont Ventoux. Drew, Bachi, Clive, Sarah, James, John, Carol and Dan were already dressed and itching to go, to which I thought: ‘Yup… they have NO idea how much fun they’re about to have’.

Sure enough, an hour and a half later they came back grinning ear-to-ear with nothing on their minds but scoffing breakie and heading back for more. Robin and I were going to attempt a better fix of the Cerbera’s clutch, so we gave the day’s briefing and hung back to play mechanic for a few hours. Off they went, this time in a full flourish of 4, 6 and 8-pot Petrolheads. We couldn’t help but feel like a race team stuck at the pits as we went about stripping the master cylinder again.

Meanwhile, we were comforted by the knowledge that the rest were making their merry (and noisy) way up the mountain.

A couple of hours later, we got a call from Bachi…

“How you doing?”

“Still no joy. I trust you’re already hitting the next mountain range?”

“Nope – the descent was closed because of the weather…”

“…@#$%! Right, what we need to do is divert the route to…”

“…no, don’t worry – we’ve already taken a vote on what to do.”

“But you should be in the next range by now…”

“Nah – we’ve done the Ventoux hillclimb three times now, and we’re about to do it again! Yeeeee!”

It turns out that while we had been repairing the Cerb, the guys had decided to play on Mont Ventoux all day before heading straight for the final chateau. This video says it all (thanks Cactussed).

That just drove us to work faster in the hope that we too would be able to head up Ventoux. As the day wore on, we defied the odds and kept working, only to admit defeat at 4pm. Why 4? Because that was the threshold at which we could order parts from Colin Bowler at Racing Green UK in time to arrive in France the next day.

So, we called Bachi to tell him of our fate – destined to spend an extra night where we stood.

To our dismay, he brought the convoy to a stop at the next services, induced a game of musical cars to get hold of a four-seater, and doubled back to get us. A heroic effort just to stay true to our tour motto – ‘No man gets left behind’.

Some hours later, we arrived at the Chateaux De Pizay, dashed to our rooms and threw on our DJs.

Dashing across the grounds, we made our way to the PN dining room and spotted some people whispering from down the hall. As we suspected, the group were bracing for applause, drinks at the ready for us once again. Spirits were high, dinner was incredible, and the company was even better.

“Carol drives like a girl… Sabine Schmidt.” – TheStoat

Breakfast was filled with talk of the day before, but we knew that would soon change after a blast to Millau Bridge (and over, under and around it of course), towards the foothills of Mont Ventoux.

Day three’s most memorable bit of silliness came early, just before the really big bridge. In an attempt to regroup at the parking area just after the tolls, everyone had the same thought as we watched our cars negotiate a river of locals exiting the booths: that old 8-bit game Frogger. A term which we happily used as radio code to signal for a stop after péages for the rest of the trip.

Everyone knew the bridge from the pre-tour pictures, but nothing quite prepared them for the sheer scale of it in the flesh. For many who saw a certain trio of BBC presenters drive across it in the last series, it was as though they were living a dream. Like hungry diners savouring a meal, radio silence fell as we crossed.

Dropping down into the valley, we headed for the viewpoint under it where we stopped for an impressive view of the bridge now towering hundreds of feet over us.

Here, we met another local petrolhead, who happened to be enjoying a drive too – in an old Citroen AMI 8. Here’s the message we found on our return to HQ. What a chap!

Hello, I am the driver of the CITROEN met to Millau during your passage under the viaduct. Thank you for your kindness. I put on-line images: http://lerally.free.fr/ami8viaphoto.htm If you have the other images which you authorize me to publish: dnouyrigat@yahoo.fr Still kind regards Dominique Nouyrigat

James stumbled upon the optimum Millau Bridge viewing position. It comes highly recommended.

Petrolhead Nirvana: Class of April 2009

With Mont Ventoux firmly in our sights and the Millau Bridge relegated to our mirrors, we headed eastward to take in a different kind of driving challenge. As the road we plotted involved negotiating small villages and sometimes unmarked roads, some of the group got lost. But even though we were stretched over a few miles, each splinter group looked after each other and communicated with us whenever they could. It always warms me to witness the camaraderie develop between drivers, which to me makes these trips worthwhile for everyone.

This single-lane stretch of road cuts through the valley is lots of fun and certainly not for the faint-hearted – so we took point once again. With 6 cars leading the charge, we picked up a few comforting but broken words on the radio confirming that the rest were on track.

A spot of lunch and a mountain pass later, our clutch pedal had no return pressure at all and forced us to pull in. Kindly, our group stayed by our side till we made a decision about what to do. With storm clouds threatening in the distance, they pushed on for the next hotel, confident that we could limp the Cerb at our own pace. We started bleeding the clutch to check for air, and the next group of happy drivers arrived. Again, they were sent on their merry way so that they would not miss dinner for our sake.

We had a plan: rev-matching and clutchless changes for the next 120km. Sadly, we were soon foiled just a few hundred metres down the hill, where traffic had built up and we could not risk disengaging 1st. In we came into a housing area to keep the car from stalling, going round and round till we thought it was clear to get back on the main road. Nope, back in we came at least thrice, eventually giving in and coughing to a stop. Moments later, Stephen & Karen pulled in to say hello, as they had seen a silver Cerbera from afar, curiously going in and out of a housing estate several times.

Because the fluid had some rubber debris that suggested a fault with the oil seal, we knew that it was probably a fault with the clutch master cylinder. So after S&K left, we put on a brave face and started to strip the clutch assembly in the parking lot. What we found was a bit of a shock; the clutch return spring had sheared in three places. As we foraged around the back streets in search for a solution, it came to us that the strongest thing we had to hand was… speaker wire. Employing jungle survival skills to create copper twine, the storm rolled in and sped our resolve to get things back together. With everything back in and wincing in suspense, we fired it up, and got it in gear. Looks of relief quickly turned to delirious giggles, and we set off for Saint Didier.

Meanwhile, the group had settled down to dinner at the foot of Mont Ventoux, ready to applaud our arrival. That we got, beer hands held forth and soaked to the bone.

We woke on Day 2 to the sound of excitement – the breakfast room already buzzing with Petrolheads gearing up for the next part of the road trip: to the volcanic region in the Auvergne Valley and the top of Puy De Dome. We had just a few more motorway miles to get through, with the promise of untold amounts of fun in the afternoon en route to the Gorge du Tarn.

Unfortunately for one of the group, we had our first breakdown here. Ollie’s Chimera had decided not to work, due to the enormous telecoms mast atop the Puy De Dome. In true spirit everyone was trying to help fix the problem. International recovery was called out, and we were told they’d be there within an hour or two (despite telling them he was on top of a volcano). On we went without them, assured that they were in good hands.

While the rest of us headed for Clermont Ferrand and beyond, I got a call from to say that all was well except they had lost a nut from the battery clamp. While that was nothing to laugh about at the time, we have Bachi and Ollie to thank for the stitches we were in that night. French, a la Bachi and Ollie with the recovery man:

Pointing at a 14mm nut they had tried to improvise from the wiper assembly:

“Ici… erm, une quatorze mille noisette.”

Then, pointing at the missing nut:

“Yes… et ici, j’ai voudrais une treize mille noisette.”

Having established that the two Englishmen required thirteen thousand hazelnuts to revive the TVR, he kindly loaded the car onto his truck and proceeded down the mountain to a workshop, where he provided just one replacement écrou hexagonaux.

I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise for the missing photos here. I was often (and quite necessarily at times) strapped down by a four-point harness in the Cerbera, so here is a section of the road, courtesy of Leguape @ Flickr.

Some way along towards our next destination lies a gem of a road which we like to leave as a surprise to those who haven’t been before. We string together some farm roads (the kind that makes people think – ‘That’s it, we’re lost’), and voila, you find yourself in front of a castle ruin overlooking the valley.

A short break later, we made for the roads leading to the Viaduc de Garabit. These are some of the most challenging and exciting stretches of tarmac in the Massif Central. Taking point and calling out for dangers ahead and trying not to giggle whenever our radio chatter took the tone of Nicky Grist.

As James so aptly put while our cars ticked away the heat, “That, was more like a track day at the ‘ring… without the spotting lap”.

Reeling from the last stage and ready for the next, we said our goodbyes to the view and pushed on toward the Gorge Du Tarn, where one of our favourite hotels in France nestled at the bottom of the valley (and cold beers await).

So, the end of Day two came to us as a relief – just to see everyone happy, all accounted for (there were some REALLY big cliffs), petro-carbon needs satisfied with grins all round.

Our hotel at the Gorge Du Tarn has never surprised us, in the best possible way of course. For the past few years, we wake to a view of the river, lapping at the feet of wandering fishermen and the smell of coffee. This time though, we had the company of Club911 who shared the same petrolheaded preserve, and were only more than happy to chat cars and about the roadtrip ahead. A great bunch of people, hello to you all if you happen to read this.

Well, a month has gone by since we got back from the South of France and we’re still reeling from the experience. It’s as fresh in our minds as the day we tore ourselves away from French tarmac and boarded our chunnel home. Memories like these deserve a write-up, so here’s ours to share with you. I can only hope that it does justice to the people who joined us as well as inspire those who didn’t get the chance.

As one French gentleman said to Robin and I, a journey without misadventure is no story at all. This one is no exception – the breakdowns, the hire car, the storm that was so severe it had to be named, and more. If it weren’t for the great company, we would not have come away sporting such smiles. Big hugs (in no particular order of course) go to Ste(ph)en & Karen, Ste(v)en and Karen, Amit & Shankar, James & Sarah, Clive & Eilis, Ollie & Bev, Drew, John, Alex, Peter, Carol, Dan and Ian for their unfaltering camaraderie.

We’re already looking forward to the next one in September. To quote the crowd, “Again! Again! Again!”

Day One: L’Adventure Commence

We were all raring to go, but as it happened, some more than most. On arrival, Robin and I discovered that one of the group had already crossed the channel an hour before time. “Great…”, Dan said over the phone, “…I’ve made the first (insert obscene word here)-up of the tour”. In actual fact, the excitement was so much that he to overshot our first continental rendezvous point by 10 kilometers. A sterling effort we thought, for which we duly awarded him “Keenest Petrolhead” over dinner that night.

Meanwhile, the first thing we had to do was get to the fun part of France. That in itself was a good laugh, despite the inescapable motorway sections. This meant we had a rolling photo opportunity while we made the schlep towards our first stop in the medieval town of Beaugency.

A small off-piste venture into the country roads of Normandy offered a brief respite from the autoroutes, which served well as a taste of what fun was to come over the next few days.

As the day drew to a close, we led the way to one of our favourite haunts in France – the unassuming and highly underrated Grand Hotel L’Abbaye. Granted, there were a few tired faces having covered just over 380 miles since we left the train – but those quickly turned to smiles with some well-deserved beers.

The L’Abbaye is rather special – which as the name suggests is attached to an historic abbey that glows with olde charm and candlelit stairs, situated next to an 11th Century bridge of great significance in the 100-year war.

The meal was great too, just a short minute’s walk around the corner to a family-run restaurant complete with its own curly-tashed chef. The food left little to be desired and we all returned to the hotel terrace for a nightcap overlooking the river Loire. At this point, we were at the doorstep of everything we had come for in France. Walkie-talkies on charge, the morning’s briefing at the ready and off to bed we went.