Boys' Big Drive

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LDN

8,905 posts

202 months

Monday 8th October 2012
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Great write up!

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Tuesday 1st January 2013
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Part 5 - Leaving Europe

Sorry it's a bit delayed but magazine work has been pressing...there is more proper motor racing stuff on its way from the trip too.

With the Grand Prix over and just a single evening left in Italy it seemed appropriate to finally see a little of Milano. With the old man fancying a quiet evening I joined a couple of the guys from our tour for a nice meal somewhere central. I’d love to recommend it but the sheer quantity of vino rosso we consumed means I haven’t a clue where we dined. I remember I had beef wellington though and it was excellent. What I also know is that I awoke Monday morning feeling especially sprightly; because I was still fairly well hammered from the night before. So dad assumed the driver’s seat once again, but only after I’d consumed my own bodyweight in pastries and espresso.

As we turned out of the car park and into Monday morning Milanese traffic, I was especially grateful for my lingering inebriation as motorists and pedestrians conveyed themselves with typically Italian nonchalance. As if by some miracle we appeared out of the north end of Milan and headed towards the Swiss border. Being the kind of chap whose general knowledge consists entirely of facts pertaining to the areas immediately surrounding race circuits, it had escaped my attention that Switzerland is actually outside the EU. And so we braced ourselves to depart Europe. Braced ourselves in the wallet actually as one must display a valid motorway pass in the windscreen, as with Austria, and they are sold as you go through customs; at no little expense.




And so with our little collection of Continental motorway passes growing we nosed onwards towards higher ground. Switzerland became a revelation. The air is pure, the roads are clear, the ground is clean. It is utopia in many respects. Not that you’d know it based on the humourless lady we encountered in a motorway service area. She should try a few weeks in urban West Yorkshire to appreciate what she has in rural Switzerland.




This was to be our best day for pure driving indulgence. We had a couple of hundred miles to cover, but a whole day in which to do it so we had decided to go hunting some Alpine passes. We started at the St Gotthard. Today the pass is, er, bypassed by a monumental tunnel some 15 miles long but the old pass is formidable. While tunnel running can be great fun, some 20 minutes of obeying the speed limit didn’t appeal so we turned off at that stage and headed for the pass.

And how worthwhile it was. The St Gotthard is huge. Quite unlike the Stelvio we crossed in Italy, the St Gotthard is well paved, wide and fairly fast. It is also virtually devoid of traffic so you can travel at your own pace, and because it’s wide and well-sighted you can actually overtake when necessary. And the cyclists…there were none. Bliss!

We stopped a couple of times to admire the view but otherwise made brisk but restrained progress. Lowering the windows through the galleria tunnels gave us chance to sample that wonderful V8 thunder. It was while we gazed across endless vast vistas of snow-capped mountains that I had to pinch myself. Here I was crossing the Alps with my dad and doing it in this magnificent car. Truly, this was a memory to carry to the grave.






Soon enough, though, the St Gotthard was at an end. Some brief correspondence with a friend had suggested, though, that it would be worth pursuing the Furka pass which follows straight on. As we’d travelled all that way it seemed rude not to give it a shot. It was a bit galling to find ourselves slowly tailing a large coach for the opening couple of miles. As frustrating as the glacial progress was, at least oncoming motorists were well out of the way avoiding the coach before we arrived.

The Furka started with tortuous switchback hairpins, climbing fast and lined only with widely spaced concrete bollards. The drops were very visible and very long. Rounding hairpins gave the odd sharp intake of breath, but more through amazement at the view than fear. Dad remarked as we climbed “this is big country”, and it certainly is. The surrounding mountains seem to have a scale which dwarfs even the other passes we crossed.



Before too long the coach had pulled out of the way and we were able to increase our progress. The road is fairly vast with some lovely sweeping corners, as well as the obligatory hairpins. It wends its way slowly down into the bowels of a great valley and we paused for breath and to admire the view. A narrow-gauge railway passed along the valley floor and motorcyclists passed frequently by. With the sun shining and amazing views in every direction we could’ve stayed all day. But we weren’t going to reach France stood still and mercifully for all, a V8 Vantage won’t drive itself.






Down in the bottom of the valley and we took a right – the Grimsel pass this time. Time has dulled my memories slightly but as we traversed another remarkable road I swore this just might be the best of the lot. Remarkably, as we crossed a rare flat section we encountered a group of classic car owners in a petrol station forecourt. How often does one see multiple 300SL roadsters accompanying Astons, Corvettes and Austin-Healeys on a trip? Classics are there to be driven, after all.




The Grimsel is stunning and really sparsely populated with traffic. Halfway along its length is a bluey-green lake, partially dammed and sat incongruously among the light grey rocks. The shore of the lake hosts a particularly foreboding hotel – the Grimsel Hospiz. This area seemed bleak in the sunshine so one can only imagine the atmosphere during the depths of winter when the whole place is under snow. It’s certainly something to behold and it’s claimed to be the site of the first known hotel in Switzerland, way back in the 12th Century.




We emerged and headed off for France, past signs for the amusingly-titled wkdorf. Tonight we were resting in Mulhouse, in the Alsace and an area which has been variously a republic and briefly under both German and Swiss rule. However, its place in automotive enthusiasts’ hearts has been cemented by its hosting of one of the world’s great car collections: the legendary Schlumpf Collection.

Having driven for over eight hours and through three countries – out of Europe and back again – we felt justifiably confused by where we were and what language we were speaking. Still, we managed to order a beer and kick back to relax a little. It can be easy to forget during such a big trip that this is still a holiday and should be treated thus. As contrary an expression as it seemed given our day, it was nice to sit down.

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Monday 4th February 2013
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I realise I'm not updating this very quickly - and I doubt anybody is reading any longer - but if you're ultra bored, here are some words and pictures on the next leg of the trip.

Part 6 - Mulhouse

Mulhouse, from the little we saw of it, is an industrial town with its railway as the centre of activities. The place didn’t seem particularly note-worthy for the visitor, though some unseasonally precipitous weather may not have helped. It has, however, fallen into legend in automotive circles courtesy of the Schlumpf brothers; Hans and Fritz.

The story of their car collection is well-known but it’s worth a brief summation. The brothers were successful entrepreneurs in the textiles industry in Mulhouse. As their various business interests burgeoned, so too did their desire to procure automobiles. This hobby was predominantly the obsession of Fritz. He furtively built an enormous collection of important classic cars in a relatively short period through the 1960s, though he had bought his first Bugatti before World War Two.

Such was the scope of the collection; restoration of the contents necessitated the employment of a small team of mechanics, with all the cars stored in one of the brothers’ mill buildings. Fritz secretly planned to publicly exhibit his collection and set about converting one mill into a dramatic museum. All internal partitions were knocked down to create one vast room, illuminated by ornate Parisien-style street lamps and containing, quite literally, miles of tiled walk-ways. A dramatic entrance was added, lavish lavatories and a tribute to the brothers’ mother, Jeanne.

The collection achieved international notoriety prior to its public unveiling, however. As Fritz’s automobile purchasing intensified, so the textile business declined and industrial action increased, as relations with the brothers’ 2,000 workers deteriorated. In 1971, industrial action forced the brothers to flee Mulhouse for Switzerland – where they remained. For a remarkable five years, they continued to hold control of their company remotely, from abroad, before things reached a head in 1976.

The brothers’ mills were placed into receivership, which triggered a chain of events which became known as the ‘Schlumpf Affair’. Government subsidies dried up, arrest warrants were placed on the brothers’ heads and their assets seized. In early 1977, a small group of displaced workers found their way into the Heilmann, Koechlin, Kuneyl & Co. Mill which housed the automobile collection. They found upwards of 500 cars, either on display or resting in the workshops. Realising they had stumbled upon something rather special, the workers took occupancy and pronounced it ‘The Workers’ Museum’. Remarkably, the workers occupied the museum for two years and despite the sometimes rather volatile nature of disgruntled trade unions, they elected not to damage the precious exhibits.
In 1981, a partnership of seven organisations became the owners of the collection, operating on a not-for-profit basis. Finally, the museum opened to the public in July 1982, to public rapture. Today it is known as the Cite de l’Automobile – Collection Schlumpf.

Fast forward 30 years and we’re in. Despite a basic knowledge of the history of the museum and some of its contents I’d deliberately not read up too much in order to allow for some element of surprise. Well, I needn’t have worried – the main exhibition hall knocks the air out of your lungs. It is simply enormous, with row upon row of old cars neatly displayed on gravel beds. There really are hundreds of them. The repetition of design with those famous street lamps and the orderly, regular 6m wide walkways, flanked by mirrored walls is quite hypnotic. It is genuinely over-whelming.





I won’t linger too much on individual cars as there simply isn’t the time to do justice to everything, nor will my memory flatter me so. Suffice it to say, though, that Fritz had extravagant tastes; not for him modern phenomena such as ‘bargernomics’. The exhibits are mostly extremely high-end with the famous focus on Bugatti, though, Mercedes-Benz, Alfa-Romeo, Ferrari, Hispano-Suiza and Rolls Royce also feature strongly.





The main room focuses on road cars and features an extraordinary number of veteran bolides – by far the largest single collection in the world. In fact, as one explores the long boulevards of these very early cars, tracking their development, it seems hard to believe so many exist anywhere, let alone in a single room. The whole history of motoring is explored from its genesis through to the 1970s – where of course the Schlumpf brothers’ collecting came to an abrupt end.





In the wings of this vast main room are a number of smaller displays. The most exciting of these for me is La Course Automobile – a brightly illuminated avenue dedicated to the racing car in its various forms. There are, of course, a good number of Bugattis. In fact there are a bewildering number of Bugattis scattered throughout the museum. I profess no expertise on the marque so it becomes hard to ascertain the significance of exactly what one is looking at.





That visage of sky-blue is further supplemented by a good number of Gordinis as well. Fritz Schlumpf had varied tastes but there is a welcome partisan theme which runs throughout the collection. This is, after all, the French national motor museum and should, I feel, reflect that status.



Among the racing cars, which are, seemingly without exception, rare and important, the highlight is a trio of Mercedes-Benz. I do not know enough about Fritiz’s procurement methods to comment on how he came about this trio, but his techniques appeared to be robust, thorough, and with scant regard for cost. Fritz had somehow obtained a 300SLR from 1955 – apparently the only outside of works ownership. It shares a room with examples of both of the mightiest pre-war racers – the savage W125 and its successor, the W154. At one stage, Fritz owned two W154s; truly, the mind boggles...



The racing car avenue does feature some more modern machinery which has clearly been added since the nationalisation of the collection. Several modern sports prototypes rub shoulders with recent Formula One cars with a French connection. Again, it’s nice to see a little national pride reflected in the choice of exhibits.



The opposite end of the museum is in stark contrast to the brilliant white light of the racing car display. Here, the most opulent conveyances of all time are congregated, bathed in subdued blue light. The number of high-end pre-war cars in such a small space is staggering – including the obligatory Bugattis. Pride of place among the exhibits sits the pair of Type 46 Royales. With only six produced, this represents a third of the total production, though the museum also houses an evocation of a third – the famous Esders car created using many original parts.

The brothers owned perhaps the most famous Royale of all – Ettore’s own Coupe Napolean. This particular model features coachwork by Ettore’s then 20-year old son Jean. Somehow, seeing the Royales sitting nobly on plinths slightly higher than the other cars, it seems like they’re at home. At one stage, Fritz had made an open offer to the Bugatti-owning fraternity to purchase every single vehicle made available to him. It does feel very much as if this is a fitting, loving home for all the amazing machines from Molsheim.



I won’t dwell further on the collection. Until you stand, slack-jawed at its scale and depth of importance, it’s impossible to believe. However, it must stand as one of the – if not the – definitive car collections in Europe. Outstanding.

Mulhouse, however, also houses the French national railway museum which we felt duty-bound to visit while we were there. A pair of geeks must always remain true to themselves, after all. The two museums are a couple of miles apart so don’t be tempted to walk between them. The Cite du Train is well worth a couple of hours, though.



I cannot profess to any great knowledge on railway history but I’m a keen student of anything mechanical. Mercifully the old chap is a fountain of knowledge on the subject so I was able to learn much. Of course four months later I’ve forgotten most of it but I found everything utterly fascinating at the time. Given France’s rather larger footprint than the UK, as well as its borders to the rest of Continental Europe, it’s easy to see why the locomotive is so popular.





We saw many hulking monsters describing the history of the locomotive and its sundry rolling stock. There was one obvious and wonderful highlight: the Bugatti railcar. This was Ettore’s vision of passenger rail transport – and it must have looked phenomenally bold in the early 1930s. The first railcars used remaining stocks of the Royale’s mighty 12L straight-8 engine. In the end 79 were built powered variously by two and four engines working together. These became the fastest trains in the world during the mid-1930s and one can only imagine how radical the sleek bodies and relative paucity of blood n thunder must’ve seemed back then when compared to the traditional steam train.



The driver piloted the little railcar from a raised observation dome in the centre of the vehicle. It looks slightly odd by modern standards but makes perfect sense as the railcars could be easily driven in either direction, the mechanicals were kept separate to the passengers and the occupants could fill the carriages right to the front and back. The diplomatic description in the museum pays only brief lip service to the fumes the drivers inhaled in the proximity of those enormous engines.



I cannot pretend to speak on the matter of French locomotives in any greater detail than that. Predominantly I was pleased to see my dad indulge in another of his great passions; I think he enjoyed the break from cars. Maybe in some vague respect I did too. I wouldn’t like to admit it publicly though.

So we returned to the sleeping Aston and started to plot our route north. We were both a little anxious to get going as one of our longest single journeys lay ahead and it was already late afternoon. We were spearing North West into France, away from the borders with Germany and Switzerland, bound for the champagne region – specifically the town of Reims. This has become a great mecca for racing enthusiasts and we were excited to make our own pilgrimage.

As this leg comprised mostly fairly boring dual carriageway motoring, I volunteered to do some driving to let the old chap have a rest. I don’t think I’d ever adjust to the novelty of sliding down into the depths of an Aston Martin and firing up that Brunellian V8. It’s a rarified world to step into for a week or two as an imposter.

I soon found myself regretting my altruistic gesture. The lower the sun set and the further north we travelled the worse the weather became. The rain was biblical and I came to learn a little of the French autoroute network which surprised me. Not assisted in our voyage by headlamps pointing in very much the wrong direction, we paid for the privilege of using the peage. Blessed with slightly more relaxed speed limits than we British motorists are accustomed to, these are relaxing places to cover distance during fine days.

To tackle this particular stretch in heavy rain at night is quite a different matter: the road surface doesn’t drain well; there are minimal cats’ eyes and no overhead street lamps. Struggling to pick out the standing water and with little clue which way the road ahead curved I arrived four hours later in Reims feeling elated simply to have delivered this special car and its weary occupants in one piece. It remains the single most stressful drive of my life. Still, even a relatively modest Mercure hotel in France does a decent supper and with ample red meat and a couple of lager inside us we were able to relax a little. It was important to enjoy the next day as it represented the final day of the trip in the Continent.

Dan67

69 posts

169 months

Monday 4th February 2013
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awesome read so far. Seems like its a bit of a bucket list thing by the sounds of it

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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The bucket is slightly emptier than it was before the trip! Problem is that you only end up finding more places to visit, more roads to drive and more races to watch...

Life Saab Itch

37,068 posts

187 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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I don't suppose you have any more pics of the GP Lotus' do you?

I think I spot an 18 and a 25. But the 25 could well be a 33. I could tell the difference if there was a photo of the cockpit in to the footwell...

Yours etc

A Lotus perv.

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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Types 18 and 33. I'll send you a couple of photos this evening, mate. Drop me an e-mail to remind me!

Fellow Lotus perv (and reluctant owner).

Life Saab Itch

37,068 posts

187 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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chevronb37 said:
Types 18 and 33. I'll send you a couple of photos this evening, mate. Drop me an e-mail to remind me!

Fellow Lotus perv (and reluctant owner).
Yup. The UJs on the driveshafts confused me. I thought the 33 had rubber doughnuts by then.

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
quotequote all
Life Saab Itch said:
chevronb37 said:
Types 18 and 33. I'll send you a couple of photos this evening, mate. Drop me an e-mail to remind me!

Fellow Lotus perv (and reluctant owner).
Yup. The UJs on the driveshafts confused me. I thought the 33 had rubber doughnuts by then.
I'll see whether I have any further information - I did take shots of a couple of the info. signs. I also bought a book about the exhibits but it's mostly generic information, rather than specific to individual chassis. That's particularly frustrating with things like the Mercs, which I don't like to know a little more history on.

Kneetrembler

2,069 posts

201 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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Interestingly in the Schlumpf Motor Museum that the Audi is not allowed to be washed or have anything done to it,it has to be preserved as it was delivered.

Was Jenson Buttons "Veyron" still in the Museum.
Apart from that what a fascinating car museum to visit, Bugatti heaven.

Spendid blog you have written keep it coming.

The Milfman

1,107 posts

188 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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An enjoyable read, very nicely written and some fantastic photos!

Thanks for sharing, bookmarked for the conclusion. thumbup

Porkie

2,378 posts

240 months

Tuesday 5th February 2013
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Awesome. Thanks for sharing! Really enjoyed that read. Been to few of the places.

Will definately go to that Museum with the Concorde and Concordski this year!

Can't believe you didnt do a lap of the Ring... hang your head in shame wink even my little sister had no fears when she followed me over for one trip. did 5 laps



Edited by Porkie on Tuesday 5th February 16:08

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Wednesday 6th February 2013
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Delighted you chaps have enjoyed the trip. I'll get the remainder up ASAP. The Sinsheim is a remarkable place. It is twinned with another museum locally as well which has a (genuine) space shuttle on display. I've no idea how they get hold of these things but delighted they do!

The Schlumpf is completely remarkable. As a rule I prefer seeing cars racing but love museums too. It'd be nice one day to do the great American museums one day but the Collier et al will have to wait for another day. I'm about to push the button on booking flights to Australia for the Bathurst 1000 / Philip Island MotoGP / Gold Coast 600 in October so I expect there will be more self-indulgent blogging of that trip soon!

Oh and sorry for not doing a lap of the Nurburgring. I'm fortunate to have a fairly useful track car tucked up at home so will no doubt end up out there for a couple of laps at some point. Unfortunately on that particular day there were no tourist laps until the evening and we had a big drive down to Sinsheim to complete. Even if we had braved the North Loop we would've been extremely late for supper! :-D

I'm planning on being alive for a few years yet so hopefully there's plenty more time to tick off some of the big life events.

ButtonIt

385 posts

177 months

Thursday 7th February 2013
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I've just spent an hour and half reading and looking at your pictures. I thank you, my boss doesn't biggrin

TimmyArt

1,425 posts

217 months

Thursday 7th February 2013
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Hi Andy, Just read this for the first time..Brilliant!
Looks like you both had a great time. Some great photos too. Makes me want to get in a nice car and drive there!
I hope your new pic is looking good, see you sometime this year no doubt!

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Friday 8th February 2013
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ButtonIt said:
I've just spent an hour and half reading and looking at your pictures. I thank you, my boss doesn't biggrin
Haha! Sorry about that...I've never been known to use one word when just 15 will do. Unfortunately the same applies to pictures as well. Pass on my apologies to your boss!

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Friday 8th February 2013
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TimmyArt said:
Hi Andy, Just read this for the first time..Brilliant!
Looks like you both had a great time. Some great photos too. Makes me want to get in a nice car and drive there!
I hope your new pic is looking good, see you sometime this year no doubt!
Hi Tim, good to hear from you, mate. It was a fantastic trip - proper wildest dream kind of stuff. Even managed two weeks with my dad without either of us going mad!

The print is hanging up in what was formerly my bedroom at my parents' house and looks great. Much more tasteful than the patchwork of 333SP and 312T-series cuttings which decorated the whole place while I was in residence there...! Hope to see you at one of the Goodwoods :-)

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Sunday 24th February 2013
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The final installment from me. And a mere five months after we arrived home.

With body and brain just about recovered from the previous day’s driving trauma, any lingering anxiety was soon brushed aside by a splendid French breakfast. Nobody does pastries quite so well as our Gallic cousins.

This was our last day on the Continent and a fairly relaxed schedule was planned, so we could afford to take our time over breakfast. We resisted the temptation to stock up on the local champagne – the excuse being the boot was already full. The truth was actually that I only tend to enjoy champagne when it comes to me gratis. And judging by the hotel’s prices, their bottles were very definitely not gratis. You can take the man out of Yorkshire, etc.

I think by this stage, after two full weeks on the road, we were actually quite grateful for a slow start to the day. We packed up the car and set the sat nav for the village of Gueux. First there was the small matter of fuel to attend to. Having never owned a gas guzzler on this scale before, the Vantage’s thirst for super unleaded was faintly shocking. The tank is enormous but even a gentle cruise causes the needle to drop alarmingly rapidly. On the autobahns it was drinking with the kind of vigour which would’ve made Oliver Reid blush.

After a tiresome journey the previous day we had decided just to get to our destination safely and worry about fuel in the morning. Well, worry we did. Every petrol station we tapped into the sat nav seemed to be disused. Ambling around the French countryside performing periodic u-turns was only serving to further empty the tank. Nervous looks were exchanged, vague panic set in, tempers frayed. Of course, eventually we located a petrol station, brimmed the tank with 99RON and proceeded without issue, but it was a tense moment and a pertinent reminder always to keep the tank well topped-up when you’re far from home.

The town of Reims, it would seem, is famous for three things: champagne; a beautiful cathedral; and a now-defunct motor racing circuit. As described, my appetite for champagne diminishes significantly when faced with the bill and my interest in ecclesiastical architecture is limited at the best of times, so we did the dutiful thing and headed out of Reims and towards the village of Gueux to find the legendary circuit.

Le Circuit de Reims-Gueux is one of a handful to have held the French Grand Prix during the race’s 100-plus year history. It also commands a proud heritage of sports car, motorcycle and even club-level racing. The layout itself follows the Continental tradition of conveying the brave pilots from one village to the next at break-neck speed. From that perspective it is very much like one can still see today au Mans and Spa Francorchamps. However, while those two wonderful old circuits continue to build their legacies through ongoing adaptation and racing, racing at Reims petered out in 1972.

The track – it seems colloquially to be known simply as ‘Reims’ – actually links the villages of Thillois and Gueux, sitting a few miles due east from Reims itself. The layout has been through three variations, with the final one the lengthiest, and the fastest. Historically, it was one of the absolute fastest circuits on the calendar with long flat-out straights punctuated by a couple of slow corners.

Today, it exists as something of an anomaly in the sport’s history. One short section of track no longer exists, but otherwise the public roads still stride their way through the countryside in a fashion which Fangio would still recognise. Equally, many of the buildings and structures clustered around the start line still exist – in varying states of dilapidation. It is these remaining monuments, and the unique atmosphere they bestow, which draws racing fans back to this special spot, in an otherwise anonymous corner of France.

Having only a few days earlier rued the slow ruin of Monza’s mighty banking; it was hard not to feel that slight tug on the heart strings at Reims. The mighty tribune is officially a no-go zone, but dad and I felt compelled to explore – and there was no sign of anybody around to object. This great concrete structure is mostly intact, but showing signs of the same fate which is slowly eroding the Monza banking. With insufficient concrete cover over the steel reinforcement, that steel is being exposed to the elements where it is rusting and blowing the surround concrete. The damage isn’t terminal but, if the tribunes are to remain standing deep into the 21st century then some remedial work will be necessary.

The good news is that help is at hand. Quite by chance, as we prepared to leave, we chanced upon a gentleman with paint brush in hand, working away at one of the old pit blocks. Gérard Cuif talked us through the struggles facing the circuit and the hard work invested by Les Amis de Circuit, a group founded to protect the facilities. I subsequently interviewed Gérard for an article here: http://www.motorcardiaries.co.uk/2012/le-circuit-d...

It was encouraging to learn that there is a body devoted to maintaining the various buildings on the site, but also sad that it is necessary for private individuals to stand alone as this voice, without wider representation from architectural, sporting, or local government bodies. It will be interesting to see what the coming years hold for this remarkable site.

And remarkable it is. As well as those looming tribunes, the old pit block is almost entirely intact, complete with timing tower. These have been renovated and re-painted, looking very much as they would have done in period. Beside them sits the old rotating timing board. A huge steel structure on a turn-table base, this is once again ready to carry the great names of the past: Moss; Fangio; Hawthorn; et al.

Awaiting similar renovation are the media building and the block employed by drivers for rest during the gruelling 12 hour sports car slogs. These are both in a fairly poor state, but not beyond sympathetic restoration, something which Gérard promises is next on the list.

Of course this leads onto the debate over what is appropriate renovation under these circumstances. How much of the original buildings should be maintained? Should they once more serve a useful purpose or simply stand as monuments? Instead should they be allowed to crumble as nature intends? So many rhetorical questions.

Personally, while the fading grandeur look is terrifically fetching and atmospheric, as a rare monument to a by-gone era of our sport, I can’t help feeling the buildings should be protected. I came away feeling a structural survey should be undertaken in the first instance, and sympathetic work to safeguard the fundamental future of the buildings is essential. Beyond that, redecoration is tinsel. The freshly painted areas of the pits look wonderful. You can imagine teams of mechanics sloshing fuel into Lancia-Ferrari D50 ‘Hammerheads’; glamorous wives sat on the pit wall, keeping better lap charts than any team manager; drivers reclining on the grass behind the pits between stints at the wheel, wiping the grime from their faces.

It is equally fascinating to see those areas of the site where the weather and time have ravaged the old concrete and nature has been allowed an influence. There is something earthy and elemental about that which carries an atmosphere of the times just as powerfully as the brightly-painted pits. They can fade, but they cannot be allowed to fall down.

After a couple of hours exploring the site and many minutes spent pondering our heroes who pounded the track in days gone by, we decided to have a lap ourselves. The layout you now traverse is an early iteration, but allows the driver to follow the same path and contours as the racers in the last century. It’s an extremely fast lap, much of it would’ve been on the rev limiter in top, I suspect. It’s hard not to recall that famous battle between Fangio and Hawthorn for supremacy in the 1953 Grand Prix; imaging the two men side-by-side as they thunder through the final tour. In spite of the slightly anodyne nature of today’s dual carriageway, there remains a little magic in the air.

We don’t lap quickly, but enjoy the flow of the track and allow it to conjure those mental images of the greats at work. There is something very special about hammering down the old start-finish straight, tribunes on the left and pits on the right. In my experience, there is nothing else quite like it left for the public to enjoy on Continental Europe.

We stopped in the village of Gueux where we chanced upon a friendly restaurant, the Bistro du Circuit, and one evidently very proud of its local history. The walls are generously adorned with photographs of the track throughout its lifetime. Of particular fascination was one of the awesome Mercedes W154s which bludgeoned the track in 1938. Oh, to have stood out in that quiet corner of the French countryside and savoured the savagery of its sonic delivery peeling across the fields…

With food eaten and enjoyed, it was time to nose north towards our submarinal locomotive. We had just a couple of hundred kilometres of autoroute left to Calais and then it was back to Blighty, and the real world once more: Except, we could stretch out this little automotive fantasy another few days. Three days at the Goodwood Revival beckoned and a last chance to soak up the all-consuming automotive indulgence and nostalgia before everything was committed only to memory.

We arrived safely back in Sussex late on Wednesday evening, almost exactly 14 days after we first converged. It had been a remarkable couple of weeks, and certainly a trip I imagined could only ever remain a dream. The car was amazing and we both thoroughly enjoyed driving and passengering in it. It never missed a beat and the universal appreciation from the kind inhabitants of Continental Europe was genuinely uplifting. It was an honour.

If you’re reading this and tempted by a trip of your own, then book it: Sell your dog; pimp out your wife; turn your horse into a lasagne; whatever it takes. Of course the problem is that you can’t help planning the next one. With that in mind, Mrs Motorcardiaries and I have just booked flights to Australia for October. We’re off to Bathurst to see how the Aussies go about their racing. While we’re out there we may find time for some MotoGP action at Philip Island and a drive of the Great Ocean Road. Then there’s that trip we quite fancy to Austin for the 2014 Grand Prix – surely we’ll find some NASCAR to watch too. And so it goes on…