Harsh
14-08-09, 15:07 PM
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
Day 2: Le Massif Central
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Day Three: Frogger! Frogger! Frogger!
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“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.
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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!
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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
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James stumbled upon the optimum Millau Bridge viewing position. It comes highly recommended.
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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.
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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.
Day Four: Again! Again! Again!
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.
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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).
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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.
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Day Five: Au Revoir Mes Amis
We woke to a stunning, yet sombre morning at Le Chateau de Pizay. It was as clear as the blue sky that everyone knew our trip was nearly over, and we'd be saying our goodbyes by the end of the day. A more comprehensive breakfast than usual served well as comfort, followed by a walk around the grounds before checkout.
Everyone wanted a postcard memento before we left, so one by one, they lined up their toys on the courtyard and snapped away. We got a few while they were at it:
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I took in the view one last time, and then it was time to go. Next stop: The Reims GP ruins.
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Carol maintaining a sunny disposition in the Tuscan with an ice cream.
Reims Ruins
You simply can't pass through northern France without paying homage to the Reims Gran Prix ruins. Class of April '09 made no exception, even though we were running a little behind schedule. Parked at the recently restored pit lane, we made passes through the old straight to soak up the sounds reverberating between the grandstand and the old tower. Always fun and a good place to finally accept that the tour was all but over.
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All that was left were the last few hours towards Calais before the Eurotunnel home.
When we were planning this trip, we knew that it had everything a Petrolhead would want to come away with. A few days around gorgeous gorges, good memories, and new friends for life.
No sooner than we expected, it's time to get organised for the next one in September. Ces't la vie mes amis - it's hard work having so much fun!
See you again soon? We think so!
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
Day 2: Le Massif Central
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Day Three: Frogger! Frogger! Frogger!
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“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.
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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!
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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
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James stumbled upon the optimum Millau Bridge viewing position. It comes highly recommended.
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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.
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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.
Day Four: Again! Again! Again!
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.
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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).
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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.
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Day Five: Au Revoir Mes Amis
We woke to a stunning, yet sombre morning at Le Chateau de Pizay. It was as clear as the blue sky that everyone knew our trip was nearly over, and we'd be saying our goodbyes by the end of the day. A more comprehensive breakfast than usual served well as comfort, followed by a walk around the grounds before checkout.
Everyone wanted a postcard memento before we left, so one by one, they lined up their toys on the courtyard and snapped away. We got a few while they were at it:
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I took in the view one last time, and then it was time to go. Next stop: The Reims GP ruins.
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Carol maintaining a sunny disposition in the Tuscan with an ice cream.
Reims Ruins
You simply can't pass through northern France without paying homage to the Reims Gran Prix ruins. Class of April '09 made no exception, even though we were running a little behind schedule. Parked at the recently restored pit lane, we made passes through the old straight to soak up the sounds reverberating between the grandstand and the old tower. Always fun and a good place to finally accept that the tour was all but over.
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All that was left were the last few hours towards Calais before the Eurotunnel home.
When we were planning this trip, we knew that it had everything a Petrolhead would want to come away with. A few days around gorgeous gorges, good memories, and new friends for life.
No sooner than we expected, it's time to get organised for the next one in September. Ces't la vie mes amis - it's hard work having so much fun!
See you again soon? We think so!