HOW FAR IN A TVR _ COMPETITION
Discussion
...//P//
mine is a bit boring, just a 4,000 mile jaunt accross Europe, down to StTropez, the over to Monaco for the GP, where we did two laps immediately after friday qualifying with the grandstands still packed, F40 in Front and F50 behind. Will paste photo to illustrate. Then off to Italy, where we diced with a 550 Maranello on the road north from Genoa, had such much fun I missed the services ony to have the car hiccuping in the long uphill tunnels with fuel starvation (not fun). We turned off, coasted down the long windy hill in to Stresa and ran out of fuel in front of a hotel, which to our absolute relief had a fuel pump!!!
We then cameback over the mountain passes to Zermatt and on to Calais in less then 9 hours. Was funny using a tank of fuel every 2 hours!!
Total reliability even in the June heat. Good memories.
Bennno
los angeles said:
your destination, how exciting, how adventurous, how many breakdowns, car and driver, or not, as the case may be.
9 years ago I was seconded to Munich, as some of you may know it is not also home to beer (garten oder keller) but also is home to the bicycle, so how to get my bike to Munich. Eventually decided that the bike on a boot rack on the back of my then only car, the S1. Trip down and back not so good, as I had to have roof up and was nervous about the bike. However that meant I had the S in Munich for a few months.
In Bavaria they have many Saint's days and bridge days which basically mean 4 day weekends. So trips to Austria, either down to Garmish P. and round to Neuschwannstein or to Salzburg or Vienna or to Prague, or just up the Autobahn to Deggendorf. The trip through the Chech Rep. from Prague to Linz in Austria was fun, all the Skodas (estelle) moving aside to allow me to over take - as if I needed the help. The next day I wandered along the Danube towards Passau (in Germany). The border guard was bored. So he wanted to talk, the next car pulled up so he let me on my way.
Breakdowns - only one issue - car boiled in a traffic jam in the village I was staying in, the wire to the fans had worn through - a bit of insulating tape and it's been fine since. I also needed new rear tyres in Munich, normal wear, but it did mean I need to learn a new vocab - how do you say 22lb-psi in metric/german?
A few years later I did some of the Loire Valley Chateau in the S - a fun week of motoring and food and wine.
Is your Griff the Nightfire red one that Henleys had?
I'll get Lisa to post the details but I attempted to get to the top of Norway in three days, didn't quite get there even with 10hr driving but got to the end of the railway a few hundred miles north of the Artic circle. Was in a tuscan and there was a full article in sprint.
I'll see if we can post it up, also done the alps and northern Italy in Chimaera and T350 and Venice.
I'll see if we can post it up, also done the alps and northern Italy in Chimaera and T350 and Venice.
June 1st – June 6th 2002
Driving Holiday to Norway & Sweden
After our driving holiday in 2001 which encompassed Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria and Switzerland, we had the urge to do another one, but somewhere a bit different to the usual European haunts. Hence James’ bright idea to go to Norway and Sweden and to try and get to Hammerfest, the most northern town in the world.
Well, that was the idea anyway…
Our car we were to do the trip in, a standard Y reg Tuscan was due for its 6000 mile service prior to our trip. The plan being we would collect it direct from the dealer (Hexham Horseless Carriages) in Newcastle and then go straight to the ferry. However during the service, it was found that the car had a dodgy finger follower which meant it needed an engine rebuild, just over a week before our trip. Hexham were fantastic, the engine was taken out, sent to Blackpool, back again and fitted back in the car in under 8 days. Unfortunately it was deemed too risky to take it all that way, as a 1000 mile service at the Polar Circle was obviously not practical. Just as we thought we would have to cancel the trip, (going in any other car was defeating the object) Hexham again came to our rescue and loaned us another Tuscan.
So we packed the Tuscan to its limit. We had decided to try and save some money by camping a couple of nights. So in went normal clothes for the week and extra warm clothes as it was supposedly quite cold in June, especially if camping. We also had a tent, sleeping bags, roll mats, camping equipment i.e food, stove, pots and pans, two fold out camping chairs and last but not least two jerry cans full of 40 litres of fuel, (just in case).
Who said TVR’s aren’t practical! Try getting that lot into the boot of a Fiesta.
Day 2 Bergen to Otta approx 400 miles
We took a ferry from Newcastle on a Friday afternoon to Bergen, which was an overnight crossing, getting into Bergen at 4.00pm on Saturday. We then undertook seven hours straight driving until we reached OTTA at 11.00pm where we managed to find a campsite for the night. As the sun doesn’t totally set during the summer, it meant we could pitch the tent and cook dinner without any extra light. I found it very weird experiencing this phenomenon for the first time,
especially when you are trying to get to sleep in a tent.
As we were trying to get as far North as soon as possible, it meant we didn’t get chance to fully appreciate the scenery and the Fjords, but we were planning on doing this on the way back instead. What we did see through the car window though was truly spectacular.
Sunday 2nd Otta to Fauske (approx 380 miles)
After another long days drive, we reached the Polar Circle at 6.30 in the evening. There is a visitor centre here which is located where the arctic circle crosses Highway E6 at a latitude of 660 33' North, it has a cafe and a souvenir shop, but we didn’t go in. It was actually a bit of an anti climax, sitting in the car park with nothing to see for miles around but a bleak landscape of snow and rock but quite funny to see the gawping faces of a bunch of travelling circus, lorry drivers. We did not stay long apart from taking a few pictures, but pushed on, managing to reach Fauske late that evening. James wanted to get to Hammerfest by the following night but we were still about 560 miles away. But just getting back to Fauske for a moment, we managed to find a room in one of the two hotels available (both owned by the same person and the other being closed). Fauske apparently is mostly known for marble quarrying, it is also known as the speedtrap capitol of Norway. Within a radius of 100 km (especially south of Rognan) the region derives a healthy income from creative radar traps. Even 5 km over the posted limit is deadly. On the spot you'll pay a fine of 1000 kroner or more. We found it a really dire place, imagine if you will an eastern european ghost town, not somewhere I would recommend going to, unless you really wanted to get to Hammerfest. The Tuscan as you would imagine made quite an impact. We could see it from the hotel room and we were more than slightly concerned when a large group of local lads turned up to have a good old gawp. Must have been the highlight of their night as after a few phone calls even more turned up. Luckily no harm came its way.
After discussing our options we decided that although we could manage the 560 miles if we really towed it, broke all speed limits and drove for 10 or so hours, if we missed the last ferry then we would be stuffed. So after all that driving the next morning we turned round and went all the way back to the Polar circle. James was quite disappointed, but it wasn’t till the next evening that I found out why.
Monday 3rd (approx 280 miles) Fauske (Norway) to Ostersund (Sweden)
Set off early from Fauske, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary there, so after a hearty breakfast off we went, never to return. To get on the road we needed for Sweden meant we had to retrace our steps back to the Polar Circle, where we arrived at just after 8.30am. We decided that we really ought to take a look round the visitor center and gift shop after driving all that way, which didn’t take long at all. We were there far too early for a cuppa, so our visit was brief to say the least. It was good to say we had been to the Polar Circle, but I’m not sure we would have bothered if we knew beforehand what it was like. Norway is a beautiful country down in the south but anywhere North of the Polar Circle is very barren, no trees and snow and rock for miles, but I suppose that is beautiful in its own way.
Once we crossed the border into Sweden, we made much better time, as the speed limit is 30km faster. It just does not seem right having those endless long empty roads in Norway and the speed limit only being 50 miles an hour tops. The majority of the driving through Sweden on this day was quite repetitive, long, long roads with mile upon mile of nothing but trees on either side, and hardly another sole in sight. We finally reached the town of Ostersund which overlooks lake Storsjön, Swedens fifth largest. It even has its own Great Lake Monster which the locals call Storsjöodjuret and is at least 400 years old. It was this night that I found out why James was so disappointed at not getting to Hammerfest. He had been planning to propose there and had organised the whole trip around it. Since he had worked himself up to asking on the Monday night, he proposed whilst in Sweden instead. We had a fantastic night in the Radisson hotel in Ostersund, the staff were extremely friendly and treated us like royalty. The food in the restaurant was one of the best meals I have had to date and the free alcohol that came our way was greatly appreciated, although we did end up getting very drunk.
Tuesday 4th (270 miles) Ostersund to Eidsvag
Today we woke up as bright and breezy as we could manage, to face a day that was unseasonably hot. We had no need for all the warm clothes we had packed, expecting 5-10ºC we were instead faced with 27ºC, no air con in the Tuscan, and no room in the boot for the roof. After a very long, hot drive and a short ferry ride from Kvanne to Sunndalsøra, we arrived back in Norway by 4.30 that afternoon. It was about 20 minutes after crossing the Norwegian border that we had the
honour of meeting the border control and an accompanying officer of the Norwegian police force. We had been driving along quite happily, albeit still on Swedish speed limits, through a lovely valley with nice twisty roads, when we turned the corner to be confronted with said police officer, standing in the middle of the road with his hand in the air, waving us to a stop. We were then motioned to pull over into the layby, needless to say we were quite worried. After being questioned for about half an hour, our passports taken and the numbers checked we were given a stern warning to watch our speed and luckily sent on our way with a wave and without a fine.
Sticking to the speed limit for the next hour or so, we reached our next nights accommodation at 6.15pm. This was at another campsite overlooking a fjord at Eidsvag.
Wednesday 5th Eidsvag back to Bergen (approx 420 miles)
Making our way back to Bergen, for the ferry the following day, we took a bit longer through the fjords to get a better look. The scenery is truly stunning, Geirangerfjord being one of the best we had seen on our route. We finally got back to Bergen around 7.30pm. By this time we were so tired we just wanted to get a room and collapse, but it wasn’t to be that easy. We hadn’t booked a room in advance, as we didn’t think for a moment we would have to. Do you think we could find a room? we finally resorted to Tourist Info to see if they could find us one, but even they struggled. By 9.30 we had a stroke of luck, they had found us not only a room, but a suite, extortionate price, but it was all they could find us and we were desperate, I didn’t fancy spending the night in a Tuscan.
Thursday 6th Last day in Norway
Bergen which is widely known as the ‘Gateway to the Fjords’ is Norway’s second city and apparently its most attractive. We spent the final morning here having a leisurely look around, and my was it hot hot hot. Must have reached about 30ºC mind you I wasn’t complaining. Bergen is a really nice city and I would recommend a visit if anyone is passing. The Piece de resistance of this holiday was when turning up for the ferry, I handed over the tickets and the woman asked us why we were leaving two days early. James had only gone and booked a seven day pass, totally forgot and thought we only had five days. So after all the rushing around and long driving days, we could have made it to Hammerfest after all. Luckily we managed to get on the earlier ferry, but there was no spare cabin, or so they initially told us. After a serious sense of humour failure on my part, when faced with the possibility of a 24 hour crossing and no cabin, James managed to persuade them that there was indeed a spare cabin for us.
So to sum up, Norway and Sweden are indeed good places to go if you want to experience something a bit different. If being quite remote and alone floats your boat, then this is the place to go. The roads are very well maintained, even right up North, but the speed limits in Norway are quite heavily endorsed, if caught that is. The people are very friendly in Sweden and a little more restrained in Norway, but still friendly. The scenery is stunning so take plenty of camera film. Make sure you know how long you have booked the ferry for, and prebook any hotels in the bigger cities beforehand. Finally, it is expensive in Norway and Sweden so make sure you have plenty of cash.
Driving Holiday to Norway & Sweden
After our driving holiday in 2001 which encompassed Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria and Switzerland, we had the urge to do another one, but somewhere a bit different to the usual European haunts. Hence James’ bright idea to go to Norway and Sweden and to try and get to Hammerfest, the most northern town in the world.
Well, that was the idea anyway…
Our car we were to do the trip in, a standard Y reg Tuscan was due for its 6000 mile service prior to our trip. The plan being we would collect it direct from the dealer (Hexham Horseless Carriages) in Newcastle and then go straight to the ferry. However during the service, it was found that the car had a dodgy finger follower which meant it needed an engine rebuild, just over a week before our trip. Hexham were fantastic, the engine was taken out, sent to Blackpool, back again and fitted back in the car in under 8 days. Unfortunately it was deemed too risky to take it all that way, as a 1000 mile service at the Polar Circle was obviously not practical. Just as we thought we would have to cancel the trip, (going in any other car was defeating the object) Hexham again came to our rescue and loaned us another Tuscan.
So we packed the Tuscan to its limit. We had decided to try and save some money by camping a couple of nights. So in went normal clothes for the week and extra warm clothes as it was supposedly quite cold in June, especially if camping. We also had a tent, sleeping bags, roll mats, camping equipment i.e food, stove, pots and pans, two fold out camping chairs and last but not least two jerry cans full of 40 litres of fuel, (just in case).
Who said TVR’s aren’t practical! Try getting that lot into the boot of a Fiesta.
Day 2 Bergen to Otta approx 400 miles
We took a ferry from Newcastle on a Friday afternoon to Bergen, which was an overnight crossing, getting into Bergen at 4.00pm on Saturday. We then undertook seven hours straight driving until we reached OTTA at 11.00pm where we managed to find a campsite for the night. As the sun doesn’t totally set during the summer, it meant we could pitch the tent and cook dinner without any extra light. I found it very weird experiencing this phenomenon for the first time,
especially when you are trying to get to sleep in a tent.
As we were trying to get as far North as soon as possible, it meant we didn’t get chance to fully appreciate the scenery and the Fjords, but we were planning on doing this on the way back instead. What we did see through the car window though was truly spectacular.
Sunday 2nd Otta to Fauske (approx 380 miles)
After another long days drive, we reached the Polar Circle at 6.30 in the evening. There is a visitor centre here which is located where the arctic circle crosses Highway E6 at a latitude of 660 33' North, it has a cafe and a souvenir shop, but we didn’t go in. It was actually a bit of an anti climax, sitting in the car park with nothing to see for miles around but a bleak landscape of snow and rock but quite funny to see the gawping faces of a bunch of travelling circus, lorry drivers. We did not stay long apart from taking a few pictures, but pushed on, managing to reach Fauske late that evening. James wanted to get to Hammerfest by the following night but we were still about 560 miles away. But just getting back to Fauske for a moment, we managed to find a room in one of the two hotels available (both owned by the same person and the other being closed). Fauske apparently is mostly known for marble quarrying, it is also known as the speedtrap capitol of Norway. Within a radius of 100 km (especially south of Rognan) the region derives a healthy income from creative radar traps. Even 5 km over the posted limit is deadly. On the spot you'll pay a fine of 1000 kroner or more. We found it a really dire place, imagine if you will an eastern european ghost town, not somewhere I would recommend going to, unless you really wanted to get to Hammerfest. The Tuscan as you would imagine made quite an impact. We could see it from the hotel room and we were more than slightly concerned when a large group of local lads turned up to have a good old gawp. Must have been the highlight of their night as after a few phone calls even more turned up. Luckily no harm came its way.
After discussing our options we decided that although we could manage the 560 miles if we really towed it, broke all speed limits and drove for 10 or so hours, if we missed the last ferry then we would be stuffed. So after all that driving the next morning we turned round and went all the way back to the Polar circle. James was quite disappointed, but it wasn’t till the next evening that I found out why.
Monday 3rd (approx 280 miles) Fauske (Norway) to Ostersund (Sweden)
Set off early from Fauske, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary there, so after a hearty breakfast off we went, never to return. To get on the road we needed for Sweden meant we had to retrace our steps back to the Polar Circle, where we arrived at just after 8.30am. We decided that we really ought to take a look round the visitor center and gift shop after driving all that way, which didn’t take long at all. We were there far too early for a cuppa, so our visit was brief to say the least. It was good to say we had been to the Polar Circle, but I’m not sure we would have bothered if we knew beforehand what it was like. Norway is a beautiful country down in the south but anywhere North of the Polar Circle is very barren, no trees and snow and rock for miles, but I suppose that is beautiful in its own way.
Once we crossed the border into Sweden, we made much better time, as the speed limit is 30km faster. It just does not seem right having those endless long empty roads in Norway and the speed limit only being 50 miles an hour tops. The majority of the driving through Sweden on this day was quite repetitive, long, long roads with mile upon mile of nothing but trees on either side, and hardly another sole in sight. We finally reached the town of Ostersund which overlooks lake Storsjön, Swedens fifth largest. It even has its own Great Lake Monster which the locals call Storsjöodjuret and is at least 400 years old. It was this night that I found out why James was so disappointed at not getting to Hammerfest. He had been planning to propose there and had organised the whole trip around it. Since he had worked himself up to asking on the Monday night, he proposed whilst in Sweden instead. We had a fantastic night in the Radisson hotel in Ostersund, the staff were extremely friendly and treated us like royalty. The food in the restaurant was one of the best meals I have had to date and the free alcohol that came our way was greatly appreciated, although we did end up getting very drunk.
Tuesday 4th (270 miles) Ostersund to Eidsvag
Today we woke up as bright and breezy as we could manage, to face a day that was unseasonably hot. We had no need for all the warm clothes we had packed, expecting 5-10ºC we were instead faced with 27ºC, no air con in the Tuscan, and no room in the boot for the roof. After a very long, hot drive and a short ferry ride from Kvanne to Sunndalsøra, we arrived back in Norway by 4.30 that afternoon. It was about 20 minutes after crossing the Norwegian border that we had the
honour of meeting the border control and an accompanying officer of the Norwegian police force. We had been driving along quite happily, albeit still on Swedish speed limits, through a lovely valley with nice twisty roads, when we turned the corner to be confronted with said police officer, standing in the middle of the road with his hand in the air, waving us to a stop. We were then motioned to pull over into the layby, needless to say we were quite worried. After being questioned for about half an hour, our passports taken and the numbers checked we were given a stern warning to watch our speed and luckily sent on our way with a wave and without a fine.
Sticking to the speed limit for the next hour or so, we reached our next nights accommodation at 6.15pm. This was at another campsite overlooking a fjord at Eidsvag.
Wednesday 5th Eidsvag back to Bergen (approx 420 miles)
Making our way back to Bergen, for the ferry the following day, we took a bit longer through the fjords to get a better look. The scenery is truly stunning, Geirangerfjord being one of the best we had seen on our route. We finally got back to Bergen around 7.30pm. By this time we were so tired we just wanted to get a room and collapse, but it wasn’t to be that easy. We hadn’t booked a room in advance, as we didn’t think for a moment we would have to. Do you think we could find a room? we finally resorted to Tourist Info to see if they could find us one, but even they struggled. By 9.30 we had a stroke of luck, they had found us not only a room, but a suite, extortionate price, but it was all they could find us and we were desperate, I didn’t fancy spending the night in a Tuscan.
Thursday 6th Last day in Norway
Bergen which is widely known as the ‘Gateway to the Fjords’ is Norway’s second city and apparently its most attractive. We spent the final morning here having a leisurely look around, and my was it hot hot hot. Must have reached about 30ºC mind you I wasn’t complaining. Bergen is a really nice city and I would recommend a visit if anyone is passing. The Piece de resistance of this holiday was when turning up for the ferry, I handed over the tickets and the woman asked us why we were leaving two days early. James had only gone and booked a seven day pass, totally forgot and thought we only had five days. So after all the rushing around and long driving days, we could have made it to Hammerfest after all. Luckily we managed to get on the earlier ferry, but there was no spare cabin, or so they initially told us. After a serious sense of humour failure on my part, when faced with the possibility of a 24 hour crossing and no cabin, James managed to persuade them that there was indeed a spare cabin for us.
So to sum up, Norway and Sweden are indeed good places to go if you want to experience something a bit different. If being quite remote and alone floats your boat, then this is the place to go. The roads are very well maintained, even right up North, but the speed limits in Norway are quite heavily endorsed, if caught that is. The people are very friendly in Sweden and a little more restrained in Norway, but still friendly. The scenery is stunning so take plenty of camera film. Make sure you know how long you have booked the ferry for, and prebook any hotels in the bigger cities beforehand. Finally, it is expensive in Norway and Sweden so make sure you have plenty of cash.
los angeles said:
Nick P: Darn, you had me fooled, half-expecting a pic of you and your Chimaera on the far side of the moon.
TVR Gaas: Nice one. That wire to the fan crops up a lot from what I've read in postings. Yes, Nightfire Red Griffith is mine - good sluething. It now has a tastefully retrimmed interior and aircon.
Benno: A hotel with a fuel pump! Whatever next? A garage with an overnight bed and a clean toilet?
Keep 'em coming, guys ... the drink's on me.
aha, I looked at that Griff and almost bought it baring the interior!! I fear it will be second to last registered as I have it on good authority that a certain dealer has a nice new one tucked up in storage.
dont you write for one of the car mags?
Bennno
los angeles said:
Nick P: Darn, you had me fooled, half-expecting a pic of you and your Chimaera on the far side of the moon.
TVR Gaas: Nice one. That wire to the fan crops up a lot from what I've read in postings. Yes, Nightfire Red Griffith is mine - good sluething. It now has a tastefully retrimmed interior and aircon.
Benno: A hotel with a fuel pump! Whatever next? A garage with an overnight bed and a clean toilet?
Keep 'em coming, guys ... the drink's on me.
aha, I looked at that Griff and almost bought it baring the interior!! I fear it will be second to last registered as I have it on good authority that a certain dealer has a nice new one tucked up in storage.
dont you write for one of the car mags?
Bennno
los angeles said:Wrong my friend
CCerbera: I know your pic is a fake coz the steering wheel is on the wrong side. And there's no Stars and Stripes on a flagpole.
1) Right hand drive is the ONLY way.
2) I took the Stars and Stripes down due to the vacant postion sign...
The next people to visit will see the TVR flag flying high.
Its odd, they had that car for a while and it seemed like a good buy being one of the very last. I am suprised it hung around, late griffs will be very collectable in the future. the early 4.3BV's are nice, but in truth few have PAS and this makes them difficult to drive and the 500 has more torque. the later cars are better finished to boot.
Bennno
Ok - seeing as Sprint, yet again, doesn't seem bothered about printing a piece I've written... it's over to you guys. Hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoyed driving it sunglasses on chaps and chapesses 
Costa Del Sol or bust!
This is a short diary of my road trip to Spain last August – probably, barring marriage and the birth of my daughter, the best experience of my life so far.
Friday 8th August 2003:
Everyone at home, work, on Pistonheads even, must have been thoroughly fed up with me banging on about my trip down to Nerja on the Costa Del Sol in my TVR Griffith 500 but, the day had finally come.
I was up at 4.30 on the Friday to see Vicki (wife), Gabby (18 week old daughter) and Vic’s mum off in a taxi from our home on the edge of the Yorkshire Pennines to Manchester airport. They would reach the villa about 11 o’clock that morning. All being well, I would reach it at about 8pm on the Sunday!
The boot of the Griff was loaded up with a couple of holdalls, camera bag, tool kits, bag of spares, spare wheel, roof panel, about 3 months supply of baby food (!), a fax machine for the villa (!!) and Gabby’s play gym (!!!) folded flat into it’s clear carry bag I hasten to add. I left work in Manchester about 3 o’clock in the afternoon for the anticipated 6 hour drive down to Folkestone, where I was booked in to the Travel Inn. Sent on my way by about 20 of the guys hanging out of the first floor windows waving white tissues and shouting Bon Voyage was just the start of a fantastic trip!
On the way to Folkestone I was surprised only to see three TVRs, two Chimearas on the M6/M1 and then a lovely V8 S on the Dartford bridge. He seemed a little perplexed at this nutter in a red Griff shouting something like “Hey, how’s it going”, with a stupid grin on his face.
After grabbing 4 hours sleep I was up at 02.30 ready to catch the 04.20 Eurostar train across to Calais. This was a new experience in itself and, I have to say, very quick and efficient. 40 minutes after setting off, you’re in France. I filled up with super unleaded at the Eurostar terminal and left Calais at 06.30 local time, on a very foggy morning… the top was still down mind you. Fog or no fog, I wasn’t driving all this way to put the roof on!
Within minutes on the auto-route I started to notice the looks. Cars would go by and faces would be pressed to the windows, then look at the nose of the car to see what it was. Not knowing just how strict the speed limit laws were, I just settled at a steady 80, content in the knowledge that if enough cars were overtaking me, I should be ok. And anyway, I just wanted the car to have a nice steady run, no traumas, no flogging it to death (yeah, like I could if I tried!).
I have to say, the roads are brilliant. Even with a reasonable amount of traffic, it all just flows along. I reached Paris in about 2 hours and managed, with only one missed slip road, to find my way round the ring road. Traffic was a bit slow out of the city, they really do need an M25 equivalent, and it was as we were all crawling along, that one guy leant out of his window and shouted, “what engeeen is it?” he seemed to be suitably impressed by 5 litres as he gave a surprised nod and a thumbs up.
It was now 9 o’clock in the morning, the fog had long since cleared and the temperature was rising fairly quickly. I had already decided that I wasn’t going to stop unless I had to. This meant every tank of petrol, or around 240 miles. At the first stop, just north of Orleans, I took about 30 minutes to have a bite to eat and a coffee, and popped the bonnet of the car just to let some of the excess heat clear. I did this as a matter of course every time I stopped and not once did the starter motor fail to catch.
Anyone going through France will find that some of the best fun to be had is at the Peages, the toll roads. There are about four or five stretches from Calais down to the Pyrenees, ranging from 25 miles, to 225 miles long. The total cost is around £35 one way north to south. However, imagine a three lane auto-route going into about fifteen lanes of toll booths, then back to three lanes a quarter of a mile further on. Now at best, only three or so cars are going to be leaving the toll booths at precisely the same time, so what would you do with all that open road in front of you, hmm? Put it another way… I think the standing 1/4 mile time listed in the handbook is pretty close… and the sound!
I had a front loader CD player and a carefully selected supply of 24 CDs with me, so I was having a ball. Top down, sun blazing down, steady 85/90, great roads, free flowing traffic, and music belting out with no-one to tell me to turn it down… this MUST be what TVRs were made for!
By the time the fuel needle was next pointing towards empty, the outside temperature was easily upwards of 100 degrees, combining with the heat from the engine to make the cockpit temperature somewhere about 120, but do you know what, I really didn’t care! The only temperature I was bothered about was that of the engine, and with the new Modwise 2-stage cooling kit fitted, that was sitting quite happily between 80 and 87.
Then my heart missed a beat. Just as I passed the 5km to go to the next service station the engine started faltering, just ever so slightly under load… uh oh, please car, be nice, just be a bit warm, or a bit low on fuel, just please don’t let me down, I’m having too much fun.
I pulled into the station and popped the bonnet, not really thinking anything too drastic was wrong, and spotted the problem in about 10 seconds – the tiny vaccuum pipe had come loose. Now I’ve been here before many years ago with an old Renault 5, and believe me, such a simple thing can absolutely ruin the car’s running. I popped the pipe back on, taped it for good measure and that was that, the only maintenance apart from oil and fuel needed in 4000 miles.
Every time I stopped, people were interested in the car. I mean, you don’t just ‘hardly’ see them in France and Spain, I think you would be lucky if you ‘ever’ saw a TVR (Le Mans week excepted). The French and Spanish would look in genuine friendly interest, and the English with a nod of acknowledgement. As if they were happy to see a British sports car being driven so far from home. Whatever they thought, it made for a fantastic feeling of well being and pride, a feeling that I just don’t think I would have got from any other car.
It was about 6 o’clock when I had my first sight of the Pyrenees (I even texted Gemini to tell him
), and what an incredible sight. And then it rained. In fact, the heavens opened. They only opened for about 5 minutes, but boy did they open. I spent an optimistic few seconds wondering whether I would stay dry if I went fast enough, but with the cars in front creating wakes, that wasn’t going to be an option. Hurriedly pulling up under a far too narrow bridge, out of the boot came the couple of holdalls, camera bag, tool kits, bag of spares, 3 months supply of baby food, fax machine, Gabby’s play gym, then finally the roof panel! By the time I got back in the car with the roof on, it had stopped raining and I was like a bedraggled dog. But I was laughing!
I spent the night in Lourdes, which is a beautiful little town with plenty of restaurants and street bars. I don’t think I can ever remember a shower or a cold beer feeling quite so good. Looking out from my balcony at the Pyrenees towering away into the distance, I knew that the highlight of the journey was just about to start.
I left Lourdes at 8 o’clock with the sun up but not too hot yet. The roads leading to the first climb of the Col du Som are just beautiful, winding their way through green pastures, then suddenly turning a bend and rearing up into a 1 in 4. I can’t believe the amount of cyclists that were out at that time in the morning, all there to climb the famous Col du Aubisque, the riders’ names from so many Tours still painted on the road.
Looking down into the valleys as I climbed higher and higher, I came to opinion that this was possibly the most beautiful place I had ever been. Added to this, the glorious burble echoing behind me, the ease with which the car took the twists and climbs, the whole atmosphere… and I was as close to motoring heaven as I think I’ll ever get.
I reached the summit of the Col du Aubisque and pulled into a big open area, where a mixture of about twenty vehicles were parked , either motorhomes or camping. They were pretty intrigued to see what it was that they’d heard rumbling up the mountain and a few people came over for a closer look, one happily taking a picture for me to mark the occasion. The views really are stunning and the air so clear and pure it literally makes you feel like laughing out loud. If you get the chance, it is a must do drive.
I dropped down through the little villages of Laruns and les Eaux-Chandes and then up the other side on the final climb of the Col du Pourtalet. At one point I came up behind five cars and sat happily behind them for a minute or so as we climbed the edge of the mountain, then in the distance saw a long enough stretch of road with a perfect clear view. As we came round a right hander, I stuck the nose out to double check, dropped into second, and squeezed the throttle. It just flew… and the sound was incredible, five and a half thousand V8 revs echoing off the mountainside.
Five minutes later I was on the top of the Col du Pourtalet and through the border into Spain for the long drop down to Huesca and Zaragoza. It was very strange seeing the old border post completely empty, no passports, no customs, just a coffee and souvenir shop.
The main autovias in Spain are not quite as good as France, but still pretty good, and pretty empty, and pretty free! There is not one toll between the Pyrenees and Nerja, which I was quite surprised at as I travelled solely on the main autovias.
By this time it was late morning and the sun was scorching once again. As I left Zaragoza heading towards Madrid I picked up a silver Spanish VX220 and between us we had a fine old time, tearing across the plains and over mountain ranges, all on superb wide open roads. Probably the two fastest cars on the road between Zaragoza and Madrid, and both British!
I stopped for lunch about 2 o’clock and, when I filled up with petrol, was accosted by four Spanish lads in their early twenties. With a combination of my pigeon Espanol and their pigeon Ingles, they managed to determine the big three… How old? How much? How fast? And, even though they finished filling up before me, they refused to budge until I started it up. This was accompanied by a big cheer. I guess a 5 litre V8 sounds the same in any language.
I reached Granada at about 6 o’clock, after some spectacular roads through the mountain range just to the north. It must be the one of the most scenic stretches of motorway in Europe. At times, I couldn’t see the opposite carriageway as it was on the other side of a chasm and about 150 feet below me.
This time I saw the rain coming and on the Granada ring road I stopped to put the roof up. I had not been going for more than a couple of minutes when my wheels suddenly disappeared from under me or, put another way, they sure weren’t going the way I was pointing them. My first thought was that a front tyre had blown, throwing the whole car’s balance and steering out. As my second thought…”Christ, this is going to spin about three times, bounce off the central wall and really spoil the holiday” flashed in and out of my head in less than a split second, I instinctively let off the gas and, as the car was still pointing roughly forwards, let my hands go light on the wheel. I have no idea whether I did the right thing or not, but I know it certainly wasn’t totally wrong, as the car straightened itself out and carried on benignly as before. Not so me! I pulled over, heart still going ten to the dozen, and checked all the tyres and all the wheels. Everything was fine. I can only assume that I hit a patch of diesel, or a slippery stretch of road from the earlier rain shower.
I headed south from Granada down to the coast at Salobrena. I would have liked to have found the back road down to Otivar and Almunecar, but missed the turning, so followed the main road. Half an hour later I was down onto the coast road and driving towards Nerja, on roads that I have driven so many times before and so many times thought about driving them in a car like this. It felt so good and I popped the roof off for the last half hour run in.
I reached the villa at 7.30pm, twelve and a half hours after leaving Lourdes, having stopped for three breaks of 15, 30 and 15 minutes. I was hot, sweaty, dusty, a little bit weary… but as Vicki came to the gate to greet me with little Gabby, boy did it feel good to have finally made it.
After a couple of days in Nerja I took the car down to see Alejandro at Autos Nerja, the guy that usually looks after us with hire cars. Alejandro is a real car enthusiast and straight away asked if I could take him for a ride. Twenty seconds later, with the office door locked, he jumped in and we were off. We went up towards Maro about 5 km out of Nerja so that we could come back round the autovia and through a few tunnels. Understanding perfectly the TVR logic of letting any traffic get well ahead, then dropping into third and flooring it, he had never heard a sound like it and, judging by the grin on his face, was enjoying every minute.
You can imagine his reaction when I pulled over and said to him, “Here you go, your turn!” Being a passenger in my own car while it was being driven pretty hard and fast by a good driver was nearly as much fun as driving the thing! We came down the old coast road, feeling the back end shifting ever so slightly a couple of times, but once again, seeing the sheer enjoyment on Alejandro’s face, well, it went some way to making up for the incident with one of his cars and a canoe a couple of months earlier!
We next saw Alejandro a few nights later in a restaurant and, when he came over to say “Hi” to Vicki, he beamed as he explained to her that it had been, “a very emotionally experience” for him.
A few days later I got up early and left the house about 8am for a one and a half hour drive up into the mountains. Well, that was how it started, but with one missed side road, and climbing higher into the mountains, it seemed a shame to turn back, and I knew I’d end up on the main Malaga – Granada road eventually. The good news was that I managed to find the back road that drops from Granada, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, down to the coast at Almuneca, via Otiva. I had been told that this was a spectacular road and it lived up to all expectations. The road dropped and twisted down through the heart of the mountains, the exhaust note crackling and popping like a WWII Spitfire. As you pass through the tiny villages it’s as if all the occupants rise from their slumber to see what this rumbling, spitting monster is that has shattered the tranquillity. Yet again though, all the looks are of wonder and amusement, no animosity anywhere. Four hours later I got back to the villa. Unsurprisingly, Vicki did not believe for one moment that I had only intended to be 90 minutes!
During the remainder of the holiday we took a couple of trips along the coast to our favourite beach, on which Vicki commented after 15 minutes in the car, “how the hell did you stand this heat for 13 hours?!” In some respects it was a shame that it was so blisteringly hot, as we didn’t use the car as much as we would if it had been a little cooler.
Most evenings we would return from town about 1am, leave Gabby at the villa with Vic’s mum and dad, then drive down the hill for a couple of coffees and Amarettos at one of the beach front bars. Once again, the car caused a fair amount of interest from the locals as well as the English visitors. Lets face it, you don’t expect to come across a TVR at 2am in the morning parked outside a bar on Nerja’s Burriana Beach!
After ten days in Nerja I set off back at 6.30am on the Thursday, aiming for the 10pm Friday night Chunnel crossing. I hadn’t really been looking forward to the return trip, mainly because I knew how long it was going to be and, well, it’s just never the same going home is it?
I went a slightly different route back, heading North from Madrid to cross the border via San Sebastian and Biarritz instead of going over the Pyrenees. This was a really quick run with some lovely small mountain ranges north of Madrid and once again, good, fast, empty autovias. So good are the roads that it would be easy, only in theory you understand, to hit speeds in the region of 150 mph, however, one might risk losing their baseball cap if they tried it!
After over an hour getting across the border on the coast road, take my advice and take the motorway, I reached Biarritz about 4.30 and started looking for a hotel. It was a nightmare, so busy, nowhere to stop or park, and none of the hotels had car parks in front of them. Eventually I gave up and headed a few miles further north to a little place called Bayonne. This is a lovely little town with lots of bars and restaurants along the side of the canal and I can highly recommend it for a stop over.
Leaving Bayonne I felt a tinge of sadness, as I always do, about leaving Spain behind. This was soon replaced with the general feeling of elation that driving that beautiful noisy red car on the open road always gives me. The sun was out, but not too hot, the car was burbling along like a dream and after what seemed no time at all I was approaching Calais.
I pulled up at the check-in window at 5.30pm, just in time to catch the 5.55 Chunnel, four hours earlier than expected.
I pulled into the Eurostar carriage and, by habit, popped the bonnet a few inches. Five minutes later the steward came along with a very worried face, spotted the car and looked a little more relieved as she asked me to close the bonnet. Apparently the heat from the engine had set off the train’s heat detectors!
Reaching England at 17.30 UK time I was too late to cancel my Travel Inn booking, or I would have quite happily carried on and driven up to Yorkshire. As it was, I went down and sat by the harbour at Folkestone, fending off seagulls with my fish and chips wrapping and, as I gazed at the White Cliffs of Dover for the first time, reflected on all the fantastic sights and experiences of the amazing road trip I had just completed.
I then looked across at the Griff, sat there patiently waiting for me to turn the key once again, and realised that, for all the pre-trip doubts and reliability worries, this car had looked after me impeccably over two weeks and 4,000 miles.
TVRs… you just gotta love ‘em.
Leaving Lourdes at the foot of the Pyrenees
On top of the Pyrenees
Guess this'll be Spain then
The back road down from Granada
>> Edited by burriana500 on Monday 19th April 18:55
sunglasses on chaps and chapesses Costa Del Sol or bust!
This is a short diary of my road trip to Spain last August – probably, barring marriage and the birth of my daughter, the best experience of my life so far.
Friday 8th August 2003:
Everyone at home, work, on Pistonheads even, must have been thoroughly fed up with me banging on about my trip down to Nerja on the Costa Del Sol in my TVR Griffith 500 but, the day had finally come.
I was up at 4.30 on the Friday to see Vicki (wife), Gabby (18 week old daughter) and Vic’s mum off in a taxi from our home on the edge of the Yorkshire Pennines to Manchester airport. They would reach the villa about 11 o’clock that morning. All being well, I would reach it at about 8pm on the Sunday!
The boot of the Griff was loaded up with a couple of holdalls, camera bag, tool kits, bag of spares, spare wheel, roof panel, about 3 months supply of baby food (!), a fax machine for the villa (!!) and Gabby’s play gym (!!!) folded flat into it’s clear carry bag I hasten to add. I left work in Manchester about 3 o’clock in the afternoon for the anticipated 6 hour drive down to Folkestone, where I was booked in to the Travel Inn. Sent on my way by about 20 of the guys hanging out of the first floor windows waving white tissues and shouting Bon Voyage was just the start of a fantastic trip!
On the way to Folkestone I was surprised only to see three TVRs, two Chimearas on the M6/M1 and then a lovely V8 S on the Dartford bridge. He seemed a little perplexed at this nutter in a red Griff shouting something like “Hey, how’s it going”, with a stupid grin on his face.
After grabbing 4 hours sleep I was up at 02.30 ready to catch the 04.20 Eurostar train across to Calais. This was a new experience in itself and, I have to say, very quick and efficient. 40 minutes after setting off, you’re in France. I filled up with super unleaded at the Eurostar terminal and left Calais at 06.30 local time, on a very foggy morning… the top was still down mind you. Fog or no fog, I wasn’t driving all this way to put the roof on!
Within minutes on the auto-route I started to notice the looks. Cars would go by and faces would be pressed to the windows, then look at the nose of the car to see what it was. Not knowing just how strict the speed limit laws were, I just settled at a steady 80, content in the knowledge that if enough cars were overtaking me, I should be ok. And anyway, I just wanted the car to have a nice steady run, no traumas, no flogging it to death (yeah, like I could if I tried!).
I have to say, the roads are brilliant. Even with a reasonable amount of traffic, it all just flows along. I reached Paris in about 2 hours and managed, with only one missed slip road, to find my way round the ring road. Traffic was a bit slow out of the city, they really do need an M25 equivalent, and it was as we were all crawling along, that one guy leant out of his window and shouted, “what engeeen is it?” he seemed to be suitably impressed by 5 litres as he gave a surprised nod and a thumbs up.
It was now 9 o’clock in the morning, the fog had long since cleared and the temperature was rising fairly quickly. I had already decided that I wasn’t going to stop unless I had to. This meant every tank of petrol, or around 240 miles. At the first stop, just north of Orleans, I took about 30 minutes to have a bite to eat and a coffee, and popped the bonnet of the car just to let some of the excess heat clear. I did this as a matter of course every time I stopped and not once did the starter motor fail to catch.
Anyone going through France will find that some of the best fun to be had is at the Peages, the toll roads. There are about four or five stretches from Calais down to the Pyrenees, ranging from 25 miles, to 225 miles long. The total cost is around £35 one way north to south. However, imagine a three lane auto-route going into about fifteen lanes of toll booths, then back to three lanes a quarter of a mile further on. Now at best, only three or so cars are going to be leaving the toll booths at precisely the same time, so what would you do with all that open road in front of you, hmm? Put it another way… I think the standing 1/4 mile time listed in the handbook is pretty close… and the sound!
I had a front loader CD player and a carefully selected supply of 24 CDs with me, so I was having a ball. Top down, sun blazing down, steady 85/90, great roads, free flowing traffic, and music belting out with no-one to tell me to turn it down… this MUST be what TVRs were made for!
By the time the fuel needle was next pointing towards empty, the outside temperature was easily upwards of 100 degrees, combining with the heat from the engine to make the cockpit temperature somewhere about 120, but do you know what, I really didn’t care! The only temperature I was bothered about was that of the engine, and with the new Modwise 2-stage cooling kit fitted, that was sitting quite happily between 80 and 87.
Then my heart missed a beat. Just as I passed the 5km to go to the next service station the engine started faltering, just ever so slightly under load… uh oh, please car, be nice, just be a bit warm, or a bit low on fuel, just please don’t let me down, I’m having too much fun.
I pulled into the station and popped the bonnet, not really thinking anything too drastic was wrong, and spotted the problem in about 10 seconds – the tiny vaccuum pipe had come loose. Now I’ve been here before many years ago with an old Renault 5, and believe me, such a simple thing can absolutely ruin the car’s running. I popped the pipe back on, taped it for good measure and that was that, the only maintenance apart from oil and fuel needed in 4000 miles.
Every time I stopped, people were interested in the car. I mean, you don’t just ‘hardly’ see them in France and Spain, I think you would be lucky if you ‘ever’ saw a TVR (Le Mans week excepted). The French and Spanish would look in genuine friendly interest, and the English with a nod of acknowledgement. As if they were happy to see a British sports car being driven so far from home. Whatever they thought, it made for a fantastic feeling of well being and pride, a feeling that I just don’t think I would have got from any other car.
It was about 6 o’clock when I had my first sight of the Pyrenees (I even texted Gemini to tell him
), and what an incredible sight. And then it rained. In fact, the heavens opened. They only opened for about 5 minutes, but boy did they open. I spent an optimistic few seconds wondering whether I would stay dry if I went fast enough, but with the cars in front creating wakes, that wasn’t going to be an option. Hurriedly pulling up under a far too narrow bridge, out of the boot came the couple of holdalls, camera bag, tool kits, bag of spares, 3 months supply of baby food, fax machine, Gabby’s play gym, then finally the roof panel! By the time I got back in the car with the roof on, it had stopped raining and I was like a bedraggled dog. But I was laughing! I spent the night in Lourdes, which is a beautiful little town with plenty of restaurants and street bars. I don’t think I can ever remember a shower or a cold beer feeling quite so good. Looking out from my balcony at the Pyrenees towering away into the distance, I knew that the highlight of the journey was just about to start.
I left Lourdes at 8 o’clock with the sun up but not too hot yet. The roads leading to the first climb of the Col du Som are just beautiful, winding their way through green pastures, then suddenly turning a bend and rearing up into a 1 in 4. I can’t believe the amount of cyclists that were out at that time in the morning, all there to climb the famous Col du Aubisque, the riders’ names from so many Tours still painted on the road.
Looking down into the valleys as I climbed higher and higher, I came to opinion that this was possibly the most beautiful place I had ever been. Added to this, the glorious burble echoing behind me, the ease with which the car took the twists and climbs, the whole atmosphere… and I was as close to motoring heaven as I think I’ll ever get.
I reached the summit of the Col du Aubisque and pulled into a big open area, where a mixture of about twenty vehicles were parked , either motorhomes or camping. They were pretty intrigued to see what it was that they’d heard rumbling up the mountain and a few people came over for a closer look, one happily taking a picture for me to mark the occasion. The views really are stunning and the air so clear and pure it literally makes you feel like laughing out loud. If you get the chance, it is a must do drive.
I dropped down through the little villages of Laruns and les Eaux-Chandes and then up the other side on the final climb of the Col du Pourtalet. At one point I came up behind five cars and sat happily behind them for a minute or so as we climbed the edge of the mountain, then in the distance saw a long enough stretch of road with a perfect clear view. As we came round a right hander, I stuck the nose out to double check, dropped into second, and squeezed the throttle. It just flew… and the sound was incredible, five and a half thousand V8 revs echoing off the mountainside.
Five minutes later I was on the top of the Col du Pourtalet and through the border into Spain for the long drop down to Huesca and Zaragoza. It was very strange seeing the old border post completely empty, no passports, no customs, just a coffee and souvenir shop.
The main autovias in Spain are not quite as good as France, but still pretty good, and pretty empty, and pretty free! There is not one toll between the Pyrenees and Nerja, which I was quite surprised at as I travelled solely on the main autovias.
By this time it was late morning and the sun was scorching once again. As I left Zaragoza heading towards Madrid I picked up a silver Spanish VX220 and between us we had a fine old time, tearing across the plains and over mountain ranges, all on superb wide open roads. Probably the two fastest cars on the road between Zaragoza and Madrid, and both British!
I stopped for lunch about 2 o’clock and, when I filled up with petrol, was accosted by four Spanish lads in their early twenties. With a combination of my pigeon Espanol and their pigeon Ingles, they managed to determine the big three… How old? How much? How fast? And, even though they finished filling up before me, they refused to budge until I started it up. This was accompanied by a big cheer. I guess a 5 litre V8 sounds the same in any language.
I reached Granada at about 6 o’clock, after some spectacular roads through the mountain range just to the north. It must be the one of the most scenic stretches of motorway in Europe. At times, I couldn’t see the opposite carriageway as it was on the other side of a chasm and about 150 feet below me.
This time I saw the rain coming and on the Granada ring road I stopped to put the roof up. I had not been going for more than a couple of minutes when my wheels suddenly disappeared from under me or, put another way, they sure weren’t going the way I was pointing them. My first thought was that a front tyre had blown, throwing the whole car’s balance and steering out. As my second thought…”Christ, this is going to spin about three times, bounce off the central wall and really spoil the holiday” flashed in and out of my head in less than a split second, I instinctively let off the gas and, as the car was still pointing roughly forwards, let my hands go light on the wheel. I have no idea whether I did the right thing or not, but I know it certainly wasn’t totally wrong, as the car straightened itself out and carried on benignly as before. Not so me! I pulled over, heart still going ten to the dozen, and checked all the tyres and all the wheels. Everything was fine. I can only assume that I hit a patch of diesel, or a slippery stretch of road from the earlier rain shower.
I headed south from Granada down to the coast at Salobrena. I would have liked to have found the back road down to Otivar and Almunecar, but missed the turning, so followed the main road. Half an hour later I was down onto the coast road and driving towards Nerja, on roads that I have driven so many times before and so many times thought about driving them in a car like this. It felt so good and I popped the roof off for the last half hour run in.
I reached the villa at 7.30pm, twelve and a half hours after leaving Lourdes, having stopped for three breaks of 15, 30 and 15 minutes. I was hot, sweaty, dusty, a little bit weary… but as Vicki came to the gate to greet me with little Gabby, boy did it feel good to have finally made it.
After a couple of days in Nerja I took the car down to see Alejandro at Autos Nerja, the guy that usually looks after us with hire cars. Alejandro is a real car enthusiast and straight away asked if I could take him for a ride. Twenty seconds later, with the office door locked, he jumped in and we were off. We went up towards Maro about 5 km out of Nerja so that we could come back round the autovia and through a few tunnels. Understanding perfectly the TVR logic of letting any traffic get well ahead, then dropping into third and flooring it, he had never heard a sound like it and, judging by the grin on his face, was enjoying every minute.
You can imagine his reaction when I pulled over and said to him, “Here you go, your turn!” Being a passenger in my own car while it was being driven pretty hard and fast by a good driver was nearly as much fun as driving the thing! We came down the old coast road, feeling the back end shifting ever so slightly a couple of times, but once again, seeing the sheer enjoyment on Alejandro’s face, well, it went some way to making up for the incident with one of his cars and a canoe a couple of months earlier!
We next saw Alejandro a few nights later in a restaurant and, when he came over to say “Hi” to Vicki, he beamed as he explained to her that it had been, “a very emotionally experience” for him.
A few days later I got up early and left the house about 8am for a one and a half hour drive up into the mountains. Well, that was how it started, but with one missed side road, and climbing higher into the mountains, it seemed a shame to turn back, and I knew I’d end up on the main Malaga – Granada road eventually. The good news was that I managed to find the back road that drops from Granada, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, down to the coast at Almuneca, via Otiva. I had been told that this was a spectacular road and it lived up to all expectations. The road dropped and twisted down through the heart of the mountains, the exhaust note crackling and popping like a WWII Spitfire. As you pass through the tiny villages it’s as if all the occupants rise from their slumber to see what this rumbling, spitting monster is that has shattered the tranquillity. Yet again though, all the looks are of wonder and amusement, no animosity anywhere. Four hours later I got back to the villa. Unsurprisingly, Vicki did not believe for one moment that I had only intended to be 90 minutes!
During the remainder of the holiday we took a couple of trips along the coast to our favourite beach, on which Vicki commented after 15 minutes in the car, “how the hell did you stand this heat for 13 hours?!” In some respects it was a shame that it was so blisteringly hot, as we didn’t use the car as much as we would if it had been a little cooler.
Most evenings we would return from town about 1am, leave Gabby at the villa with Vic’s mum and dad, then drive down the hill for a couple of coffees and Amarettos at one of the beach front bars. Once again, the car caused a fair amount of interest from the locals as well as the English visitors. Lets face it, you don’t expect to come across a TVR at 2am in the morning parked outside a bar on Nerja’s Burriana Beach!
After ten days in Nerja I set off back at 6.30am on the Thursday, aiming for the 10pm Friday night Chunnel crossing. I hadn’t really been looking forward to the return trip, mainly because I knew how long it was going to be and, well, it’s just never the same going home is it?
I went a slightly different route back, heading North from Madrid to cross the border via San Sebastian and Biarritz instead of going over the Pyrenees. This was a really quick run with some lovely small mountain ranges north of Madrid and once again, good, fast, empty autovias. So good are the roads that it would be easy, only in theory you understand, to hit speeds in the region of 150 mph, however, one might risk losing their baseball cap if they tried it!
After over an hour getting across the border on the coast road, take my advice and take the motorway, I reached Biarritz about 4.30 and started looking for a hotel. It was a nightmare, so busy, nowhere to stop or park, and none of the hotels had car parks in front of them. Eventually I gave up and headed a few miles further north to a little place called Bayonne. This is a lovely little town with lots of bars and restaurants along the side of the canal and I can highly recommend it for a stop over.
Leaving Bayonne I felt a tinge of sadness, as I always do, about leaving Spain behind. This was soon replaced with the general feeling of elation that driving that beautiful noisy red car on the open road always gives me. The sun was out, but not too hot, the car was burbling along like a dream and after what seemed no time at all I was approaching Calais.
I pulled up at the check-in window at 5.30pm, just in time to catch the 5.55 Chunnel, four hours earlier than expected.
I pulled into the Eurostar carriage and, by habit, popped the bonnet a few inches. Five minutes later the steward came along with a very worried face, spotted the car and looked a little more relieved as she asked me to close the bonnet. Apparently the heat from the engine had set off the train’s heat detectors!
Reaching England at 17.30 UK time I was too late to cancel my Travel Inn booking, or I would have quite happily carried on and driven up to Yorkshire. As it was, I went down and sat by the harbour at Folkestone, fending off seagulls with my fish and chips wrapping and, as I gazed at the White Cliffs of Dover for the first time, reflected on all the fantastic sights and experiences of the amazing road trip I had just completed.
I then looked across at the Griff, sat there patiently waiting for me to turn the key once again, and realised that, for all the pre-trip doubts and reliability worries, this car had looked after me impeccably over two weeks and 4,000 miles.
TVRs… you just gotta love ‘em.
Leaving Lourdes at the foot of the Pyrenees
On top of the Pyrenees
Guess this'll be Spain then
The back road down from Granada
>> Edited by burriana500 on Monday 19th April 18:55
I could feel the heat while I was reading that!
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