RALLYE DE PARIS – March 2003
This was Douglas’s and my first rally. Douglas,
needless to say, was very enthusiastic. However, the prospect of driving in an
open topped car all the way to Clermont Ferrand and back in early March didn’t
really appeal that much to me. What was worse was the prospect of missing the
last day’s hunting of the season on the beautiful Radnorshire hills. I cannot
say I was overjoyed at the prospect of this trip and when, in the early morning
drizzle, we slowly ground to a halt on the M20 on the way to the ferry, my
worst fears of travelling in unreliable old cars were confirmed.
However, it turned out that the 1954
Arnolt-Bristol’s carburettors had got too cold in the early morning air (that
made two of us) and had iced up. Once thawed we were on our way again to Dover,
but the short delay meant we arrived exactly 30 minutes before our ferry was
due to depart. To our astonishment, we were told boarding was closed and we
would be delayed 2 hours. This was serious: apart from the drizzle, the rest of
the English contingent were on the ferry. Ignoring the command to queue up in a
numbered lane to await the arrival of the next one, we drove the length of the
quay and identified the one we were supposed to be on, which was loading its
last juggernauts. Dodging the huge trucks that were not expecting so see a
classic sports car zipping between them as they trundled purposefully on board,
the ship’s crew took pity on our plight and let us on. Well, there was no
turning back now.
Trisha Pilkington's TOPS group at that stage
consisted of herself and Richard, Richard and Jenny Wills, Adrian and Joanna
Van de Kroft and ourselves Sophie and Douglas Blain. John and Donald Duncan,
Chris and Sandy Wilson and Robin Lodge and Katya were to join us in Paris.
By the time we got to France the weather
had improved and the sun came out as we drove into Paris, round the Arc de
Triomphe and on to the Eiffel Tower. All 197 other entrants for the rally were
lining up beside the Seine with the Tower’s colossal steel legs looming
overhead. Postwar cars of all types and periods right up to the present day
were taking part, mostly French but some from Germany, Switzerland, Holland and
Italy. Ours was the second oldest. The line-up beside the Seine seemed to be
popular amongst Parisians, who turned out in considerable numbers to watch.
Trisha and Richard had found us a
delightful restaurant for our first evening, tucked away in a small street not
far from the Eiffel Tower and owned by an eighty year old Frenchman who had
once co-driven with Stirling Moss. All around the walls were photos of motor
racing in the 50s and 60s. The chef-proprietor produced a superb dinner of
traditional, simple French dishes for our large party, by this time swelled to
a full complement of twenty TOPS members. Perhaps this rally wasn’t going to be
so bad after all.
The proceedings began early the next
morning, and just before we were due to start I was handed something called a
‘Tulip Book’ delineating the route. Douglas had not made it entirely clear that
I was supposed to be navigating, or indeed what this would involve. Never
having seen a Tulip map before this moment, and being completely unfamiliar
with its symbols, the prospect of our getting even out of Paris on the right
route looked bleak. By following a group of French Ferraris and Porsches that
clearly knew their way to the Lyon autoroute we escaped the urban jungle
safely, and whilst on the motorway I was able to work out roughly where we were
supposed to be going. Once off it, we found ourselves driving through
delightful French countryside with attractive villages and farms all the way to
our mid morning stop. Here refreshments were on offer in a village lay-by in
the form of local cheeses, hams and saucisse and, of course, wine. Thus
fortified for the next leg, we drove to Magny-Cours for lunch and for the first
timed laps, which were supposed to be of the Grand Prix circuit. In fact, the
F1 track was closed for urgent works required for the French GP, so we used a
shorter, narrower, hillier one which had evidentally been built for the local
race-driving school.
My first experience of being driven round
a circuit at racing speed was absolutely terrifying: open car, no seat belts,
and somehow I was supposed to be managing two stop watches to time our practice
laps, which meant no hands to hold on to anything else. Already, even to my
untutored eye, it was clear that many of those out on the circuit with us had
little experience of driving on a track. There seemed to be hazards everywhere.
The stop watches, which had worked perfectly well while standing still before
we set off, did not seem to operate whilst we whizzed round corners or overtook
in improbable places. Furthermore, I soon realised that with crash hats on
there was no way Douglas could hear what I said anyway. He seemed determined to
drive flat out on the basis that the faster he went the more likely our times
were to be consistent.
Getting out, shaking, I had only one
circuit time which I felt might be reasonably accurate. Lunch seemed a very
good idea at that moment. The prospect of going through the whole business
again afterwards didn’t appeal much, but I had already decided to dispense with
the stop watches and to use both hands to hold on with. Circuit times would
have to be left to fate.
The afternoon session complete – not
entirely without mishap, as we lost an irreplaceable hub cap hitting a cone on
a tight corner with some loon who hadn’t seen us driving across our bows and
had to wait till the end of the session to go and look for it (it had spun
about 80 yards from the corner!) – we drove on to Vichy, where we found all the
other cars picturesquely parked under the trees in the town square. Dinner for
everyone involved in the Rally was provided in the Beaux Arts city hall, which
commanded the end of the square. Towards the end of dinner the Bulletin
Infos Rallye de Paris no. 1 was handed round, including the results.
Amazingly we were leading our class! Even more amazing to me was that the one
circuit of the practice that I had succeeded in timing did seem to correlate
with our electronically verified lap times.
After breakfast the next day, we had a
good run to Clermont Ferrand and to the circuit at Charade, which is carved out
of the hills in a dramatic way. Word was that England was to have a few days of
appallingly wet and windy weather. We, by contrast, were basking in superb
sunshine. Everyone agreed that this circuit was more interesting than the
restricted substitute one at Magny-Cours and we all had a good blast around it.
Terror was never far away, however, so far as I was concerned, particularly
when two cars crashed just in front of us, showering bits all over the track in
their wake.
Lunch was held in the Casino in a once
elegant but now rather down-at-heel suburb of Clermont Ferrand. The prizegiving
took place at the end of lunch, and to our complete amazement our beginner’s
luck had held: first in class, just ahead of the Stamper/Murray ex-works
Triumph TR3.
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The rally over, Trisha’s careful planning
came to the fore. In the company of the Pilkingtons (Aceca Bristol), the Lodges
(Ferrari 250 GT SWB – yum!) the Willses (BMW 507 V8), the Wilsons (Lancia
Stratos), Geoff Stamper and Brian Murray (Triumph TR3) and the Van de Krofts
(Ford Mustang) we drove up to the top of the Puy de Dôme, the largest and most
impressive of the volcanic cones that characterise this area, in convoy,
afterwards walking around the top. The Romans had constructed a substantial
temple on the summit which must have dominated the view for miles around. From
there to our hotel and dinner – mountains of a local dish fit to feed an army.
Next morning the cars were covered in ice
after a hard frost, but the sun was still shining and soon we were off on a
delightful route aiming North again, following a picturesque valley past a
magnificent medieval hill top castle to the Roman Bridge at Menat. We all drove
our cars over this remarkable survival before moving on to a most delicious
lunch at Effiat. Sadly, the impressive Chateau (built by Marshal d'Effiat) with
its important gardens (designed by André Mollet) was closed (Monday) so it was
on to the next destination at Vézelay.
Vézelay is a medieval hilltop town of
great antiquity and beauty. On the route South to the great pilgrim centre at
Compostella in Spain, the ancient Romanesque cathedral is huge for the size of
the town. Walking up through the town gate to it in the early evening light was
a highlight of our tour. The west front was glorious in the evening sun and the
interior – famous for its remarkable carved capitals and unusual architectural
integrity, dating as it does almost entirely from the 12th C – glowed with warm
natural light. Being early in the year, there was virtually nobody about and we
had this remarkable place to ourselves.
The last night of Trisha’s tour took us
to a lovely hotel situated in an attractive valley not far from Vézelay, a
converted mill. Dinner in a local hostellerie was excellent. We all went our
separate ways the next morning having had a most memorable and enjoyable time,
brilliantly organised and, despite my earlier misgivings, great fun.
S.B.