I t W as O nly, 24 H ours @ L e M ans

Friday

We had been discussing what to do as we had the whole day to cover about 110 miles. By mid/late afternoon we wanted to be just south of Le Mans to drive the Mulsanne Straight before the road was closed off for the race, but before that was some time to spare. I had downloaded some tourist info from the Net, including details of the Pegasus Bridge, the first part of France liberated on the morning of 6th June 1944 by the Paras. This was quite near to our route.

There is a new bridge now, a friend tells me that he sailed up the Caen canal a few years ago and saw the original WW2 bridge dumped in a field - I think it’s been broken up for scrap now. However the cafe, full of memorabilia is there and was open. We parked the cars - much admiring glances from Brits and French, and wandered about for a bit. Over 45 minutes were spent there including listening to an English ex-serviceman who had arrived at the Bridge early in the morning of the 6th June 44 in a glider - he landed safely, but many of his friends didn’t. After a few photos, we started off (in not quite the correct direction, but this way we got to see parts of France a little off the beaten track) and rounding Caen by the East, went South - Le Mans bound.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing (probably) and all was well. The driving on the "incorrect" side of the road was vastly improved, not by my practising it in England before we left (as my son had told friends), but by the addition of a near side mirror. This clamps into the slot in the windscreen side scansion. All very well apart for those of us who have the screen down and need to put it up to be able to open the bonnet. I had worked out an alternative way of fitting the mirror to the n/s without any drilling and was about to tell Eddie how clever I was when I noticed that he had had the same idea a few years ago and done it. Yes he had pre-copied MY idea. Anyway, if you are travelling over the water I can recommend a mirror on both sides, especially if there is a big trunk stopping rearward vision.

The big 19" wheels rotated slowly and we ate up the miles. I planned to stop for lunch where, the previous year we had coffied, and so drove into Argentan. It seemed a little different, until we arrived at the central square by the church, when it looked very different. This was because it was not the town I was looking for. We should have been in Sees. Anyway two cafes spread out over the pavements and the market was closing for the day. One cafe was full and overflowing, the other nearly empty. I remembered being told always to aim at the popular one if there is a choice, as the locals could just know something we didn’t.

After a quick wander about a table was free and we sat down and ordered some scoff & drinks. I had parked immediately in front of the cafe and on reversing away, a smartly dressed man who was having a coffee waved at us and pointed at the nice gleaming little pool of engine oil that had formed under the car. Giving him a Gaelic shrug and a smile we drove off. That bit of road won’t go rusty for a while.

By mid afternoon we were on the outskirts of Le Mans having stopped to buy provisions & booze at a supermarket, together with a sleeping bag for Mick who had discovered that he had packed one that had a broken zip. The replacement was very inexpensive, as were most of the purchases we made in France, we really are getting overcharged for about everything in the UK. Had we more space we would have had a spending frenzy, another good reason to travel in a T Type.

Mick was navigating and surprising me with his ability to cat nap. I’ve never been able to do this and always envied those who can. I can proudly say that for the first time in a number of years, we entered Le Mans on the road we wanted to use, travelled round the Periferique in the direction we wanted to and, having been stuck in traffic for quite a long time, left on the correct road. Quite an achievement.

The traffic jam was even fun. Apart from the TC getting a bit hot and bothered (it didn’t like French san plomb petrol I think) we drove for quite a distance next to two rather attractive young ladies in a small Peugeot. The driver was talking on a mobile phone and Mick was trying to find out from her friend what her number was - at least that's what I think he was doing! Much of the traffic jam consisted of Brit. cars. In fact had it not been for these, there probably wouldn't have been a traffic jam. By about 4:30 we were southbound and approaching the race track.

Soon the road was bounded by the Armco barriers and we were on the famous Mulsanne straight. We were doing about 50 mph when a Gendarme stood out in the road, holding something and waved the TC in onto the road side. Eddie followed as he didn’t know the way to the nearby campsite. I thought it was a small radar gun he had been holding and was therefore very relaxed. It wasn’t. It was an electronic breathalyser.

"Do you speak French" he asked, the car, its number and the Union Flag flying from the rad. cap possibly told him that we were English. I told him I did, but not a lot.

"OK" he said "then we can do this in English. Did you drink alcohol this lunch time?"

"No" I answered.

"Did you drink alcohol at breakfast time?" Now doesn’t this show what a reputation we Brits have, when abroad. And one, that by the end on the weekend I could see was well deserved.

No, I hadn’t been drinking, not for a long time, longer than he could imagine. So I had to do the long slow breath out until he told me to stop after about three minutes. He looked at the display, the corners of his mouth turned down and he showed me the reading whilst saying, disgustedly "Zero".

I smiled sweetly and saw him go around the back of the car, giving me the opportunity to display the hand signal used by Englishmen since the days of Agincourt.

As he had failed with me, and Eddie had conveniently stopped behind. Eddie also got breathalysed. Again ZERO! Ho Ho Ho. I bet he achieved his allotted total soon afterwards though.

Ecommy camp site was found, just where it had been last year. We quickly booked in and purchased shower tokens from the site manager, whose English seemed to have improved over the year. Up went the tents and out came the beer, cheese, pate, bread, tomatoes etc.. What else could be wanted? The camp site had some new tables and seats, so we acquired one and put it next to the tents.

A cheery "Hello" was heard and Bruce Morgan strolled over. The group from Bristol had visited the camping area they had hoped to stay at within the circuit and found it full and bumpy. Mainly full. After a very short time they unanimously decided to return to Ecommy, so we had friends on site.

Mid evening saw us back on the Mulsanne straight, but it was knee-deep in Gendarmes, so we went back south and still on what was soon going to be the race circuit, we went around to Indianapolis and Porsche corners, separated by some good long straights. Here it was a different story. No police, good road, lots of most interesting cars, mostly Brits and a chance of good fast bursts. We pulled off the road onto the grass at a corner and watched, drinking the atmosphere.

A newish Jaguar XKS pulled up at the corner, its driver beaming, "137 mph," he laughed and drove off again.

A Morgan V8 settled with us and the driver announced that he had waited for over four years for the car and that it was worth every second. He told us that he was 67 years old and every time he had a bad day at work, or he was "in the doghouse with his wife", he would simply take the Morgan out for a spin and all of his problems would seem to dissolve. I think WE all know what he means.

What can I say, lots and lots of cars, Caterhams, the odd Porsche, a French registered BMW M3 trying, surprisingly unsuccessfully to cut a dash. Lots of good humour, and at this time, no "silly" driving. We decided to go for a burst, so, with a clear road in front of us, and a warm engine, the XPAG was let rip.

Building the revs to over 5,500 before each gear-change, we were flying. In fourth gear the speed slowly built up. The old girl will get up to a respectable speed, but doesn’t want to be hurried. We sheltered behind the aeroscreens, hair blown back in the wind, what a glorious sensation of speed, on that stretch Mick told me we reached 75 mph and were still accelerating. The car felt that it was flying, the engine whistling in glee.

The atmosphere for our two brave racers at this point was rather deflated as we were overtaken by a Renault Clio, driven by a teenage French lass, who gave us a sweet smile as she effortlessly passed us! Hey-ho, bet she didn’t get the buzz we experienced.

Got back to the camp site at about 11:30, had a few beers and crashed out. However, I’m told that later that night things on our happy stretch of the road got a little out of hand, and resulted in a rather nasty accident.

and so on to RACE DAY....