As expected, Gruff came round first thing. I say first thing, I was still asleep in my duvet coccoon when he text me at half 8 wondering why I hadn't phoned him. The answer is I was knackered. The previous evening I had collected the Mother in Law as she was helping the wife out over the coming few days. The theory was simple and that Maxine would look after the baby in our spare room on Wednesday night so I could guarantee a decent nights sleep before the run. For those of you that know Max, then you'll know that at times she can be bloody good entertainment and we ended up chatting til gone 2 in the morning so the good nights sleep went out the window.
Anyway, Gruff came round at about 9am, and our theory was to leave the house at 10:30 to hit Clacketts Lane services for 12:00. All the checks were made; passports, driving licenses, insurance paperwork, details of charity giving etc... and we were ready. All that was left to do before we went was kiss the kids, cuddle the wife and say "ta-ra" to the mother in law. That done we hung about for another 15 minutes faffing about for Max to figure out her camera to take a couple of pics. Roof dropped, sunnies on and we're off.
Moving on an hour or so we hit the services that we had arranged to meet folk in. We turned up looking for an easy place to park so we would be noticable to other teams and tucked into a little corner of the car park. It's at this point that I thought we might have an issue with the exhaust. It sounded like an angry god beating a drum filled with nails whilst roaring like his gonads were on fire. Not good. However my worry was almost immediately turned to awe. I checked the rear view mirror to see Team bugsplat and instantly I twigged that it was Joe's exhaust making this insane experience. To say his exhaust is loud is like saying waking up to find the under 21's female gymnastic squad naked and begging for a piece of your lovin' is pleasant. It's not. Words cannot begin to describe the grin that makes (the exhaust note, not the gymnasts).
Shortly after Joe and Dave turned up in Bugsplat, they left as they needed to be in Brands to catch up with Ed and co before carnage was created. We waited patiently and a few other teams turned up and we had a pleasant chat with them before heading off.
Those of you that actually know me are aware how bad I am with remembering names, so I tend not to bother asking, but I'm pretty good with cars so apologies to the following guys, as I forgot you real names... (and forgot to take your photo's at the time of meeting you but these are taken later on during the rally). But in the services we had:
The 90's Jag boys (complete with ma-hoooooosive mobile phones) in their ridiculous fuel consuming wagon:
(Picture taken at camp a couple days later)
The BritSAABroad (see what they did with the team name... I like it, quite clever) in an old Saab with union flag painted full length - **I haven't actually managed to fnd a pic of this so if you have one, please feel free to forward it on and I'll paste it in another time**
Team Cav-o-flauge sponsored by dulux/crown and their local pub. They proudly pointed out that they had decorated the car when drunk but it looked quite good. Driver A (I really am bad with names) was wearing a military uniform and chuckled as he walked away from the entrance to the services having been saluted, and Driver B, was a fantastic guy that looks a bit like a B-Movie henchman dressed in a velour pimp suit:
(Picture taken outside the Verve Clique building in France a day later)
Whilst we were all having a chat and I was handing out the Voltz Energy Shots (plug made) we heard that noise that worries anyone gathered in a batch of silly cars hanging about... Full on police siren. Upon a quick glance it seemed that the origin of this noise wasn't from a police car, nor a subtle unmarked wagon, but from a bright orange M-Series beemer. One of ours is sporting front grill lights and siren. Oh this is shaping up to be interesting. They pulled in, gave the sirens a blat and pulled out again so heres a piccy of them when we finally caught up a day or so later...
Whilst in the services attention was brought to our mystery cabinet, so I explained the insides of it to the Jag / Saab boys and booted up a quick demonstration of the sound system. I completely forgot at that point that we had a family parked next to us and the poor grandma woke to "Son of a Preacher man" at full whack. Sorry Granny, but that confused and slightly scared look on your face was priceless.
Time is ticking on by this point so we agreed to disperse to Brands Hatch in an orderly manner. We swapped drivers so Gruff could have a go and he lost the Jag within 2 minutes (they lost us in fairness), but using his knowledge of everything truck drivery and his unique knowledge of Britains roads, he set the Sat Nav to Barcelona (honestly) and disappeared off the wrong exit of the M25. By the time we had turned round got back on to the M25, found the right exit and arrived at Brands, we were greeted by quite a few chuckles. Even the Cav boys who left 10 minutes after us were there wondering how we could be so late. I blamed Gruff and shouldered very little of the piss-taking.
Anyway, we made it to Brands Hatch (which a lot of teams failed to make) so we could be entered into the rally. Stage 1 complete.
Queing to be registered was simple enough, 2 lines, 5 cars from line A into the paddock, then 5 from Line B.
When we pulled up into line B, these were the guys next to us. It sort of set the tone for the weekend - Nuns drinking beer whilst driving a New York Taxi.
Once we were parked we had an interesting bunch of guys pull up behind us. Ever so slightly weird but dear God they were entertaining. The YMCA police car with working sirens lights and seemingly 1 CD single (guess???) playing over and over again. The guy in the leather chaps and stripey budgie smugglers took a liking to Gruff from the offset and everywhere we looked it seemed his holstered feathers friends beak was staring at us.
Once again, photo taken a day or so later.
Having been called through and registered our car, it was time to get the sticky numbers on the doors. Those of you that have been following this blog, and more noticably those that have seen the car in the flesh will note that each of the graphis on the car have been put on with a bit of love, care and time. Not a wrinkle on any of them and with the exception of 1 ropey bit of a triangle, I am proud. However, the time came for them to apply the door numbers and I swear it was the lovechild of Stevie Wonder and Harvey Price's less talented cousin that put the numbers on the side. Bubbled, wrinkled, wonky and looking bloody awful. But that said, I came to love the look. The numbers are still on the car and I'm proud of them now. (The car still gets some weird looks when I nip to ASDA).
Numbered up, signed in, declarations signed for filming rights, next of kin forms filled and waivers saying I won't sue if I end up in a twisted heap of metal all sorted, we had a look round whilst we waited for the highlight - laps of Brands.
Quite a few cars had an insane amount of effort put in:
A BMW in camoflauge netting with moving turret and (worryingly) working gun.
Some had less obvious:
The mondingo, and behind them another Saab absolutely covered in "Page 3" models.
We awaited patiently for instructions and then we were told to follow onto the track. Although it was a few laps, we were told only one driver allowed so with a quick glance at Gruff and a flash of my beigey - whites, it was agreed that I was driving. By agreed, I mean I was in th drivers seat engine running by the time Gruff knew what was going on.
Onto the Track we went in an orderly manner following the safety car. Well, sort of. The first dip after corner 1 we followed then a few like minded children stopped whilst the safety car carried on leading a few. With the pack a fair way in front, it was time to be childish. Throttles open, Exhausts crying for a gear change and we're off. Up into the first bend round that tight one, drop to an easy left, over the "S" leading to the final corner and as we get to the straight, it's time to slow down again as we've caught the safety car. Checking the mirrors, I can see that the MK4 Escort XR3i Cabbie is behind us, with a Porsche 944 behind them. Tidy.
Once again, we've let the safety car trundle on for a sensible distance and I've kept my eye on our older rival in the mirror. He's still there and I've clocked in 85 before the final turn in. Quck glance in the passenger mirror and yes, we've left him a bit. Unfortunately I hadn't glanced in the drivers mirror and as I pulled in for the line, I saw a white wing mirror. Unmistakeably not ours, but that of a Germa design. The Porsche has had a spurt and we were astonishingly close to making contact. I like to think that my natural driving ability and talent averted that crash, but more likely luck and panic stopped us from stacking on the track.
A more sedate 3rd lap was had and we followed the pack off the track at that point into the meeting point whilst other cars had a play and then for a group photo.
After which it was onto the bar for a couple of hours watching private track practice and meeting our co-drivers. One group of guys featured quite heavily in that they were dressed as women. Obviously cross dressing is an obvious outfit choice, but these Moulin Rouge guys look like rugby players. Bloody massive but a really amusing set of people.
A little bit later we were ushered to the front of the room where the anticipated blah blah, good thing we are doing blah blah, over £65,000 raised speeches took place. After the grown ups had said their bit, a young lad, maybe 12 or 13, made a speech. He suffers from a disease with over 200 active symptoms. Over 90 affect his day to day life and Dreams come True had helped him meet his hero Lewis Hamilton. His gratitude and heart felt thanks reduced the crowd of well over 100 blokes to silence. The heckling stopped as he rasped his words and every one there had a moment. I am sure a few man drops fell from eyeballs. The kid made a perfect speech and brought home that this is about them. Not us having a jolly, not banging down the Autobahn, but about helping those a lot less fortunate than us. Since returning home from this trip I have discovered that this charity may become a lot more relevant to my extended family and I hope that some of you continue to contribute via our just giving page.
After the speeches Gruff made his way back to the car for a nap. Whilst the rest of the group continued to party. Some got a little bit more lashed than others and the dance routine from one of Team Add Energy was a thing of beauty... I did video him "busting his moves" but unfortunately I can't find it. I know his team mates filmed it as well, so if you have a copy, please let me have it and I'll patch it into here :D
We left at about 10:30 - 11:00 and made our way to Dover. It became apparant over the CB's that P&O weren't overly impressed with the idea of letting us in early so we pulled over a couple of miles out and laid low for a bit. We met up with Team Big Ballers who had the AA out several times already and they were broken men. Their car had died. No fix available. For them, the trip was over before the Ferry. This was really upsetting for the guys as they had been looking forward for nearly a year to this run. We met up with Joe & Dave (Bugsplat) and the Tank BMW and waited for a better time to approach and board.
How subtle and out of place do we look?
We made our way to the ferry and got booked in about 1am. This gave us 2 hours before boarding so a few of the sensible ones (me) got a bit of shut eye whilst a few guys milled about. Joe discovered that the only way you can sleep in an MX5 is by getting out and curling up into a ball on the boot, and Jon and Kelly (Volvo T5) discovered that although they could hear on their CB, they couldn't speak. This led to large amount of unanswered abuse via the CB when Jon or Kelly were leading the way in a couple of updates.
At approximately 3am we boarded the Ferry with a large amount of revving, horn blowing, siren screaming and shouting.
Once on board the ferry we congregated to a bar and were given a swift pep talk and our route destination for once we hit Calais. My original thought had been turn up in Calais, take a few hours sleep and then the fun would begin, but no. we hit France and bang the nuts out of it from the off. So there goes the sleep option. We were given route cards with clues but the final destination would be Strassbourg. We needed to go via both the Verve Clique HQ and also the Moet et Chandon HQ in the Champagne region.
Once we had the details we discovered with great amusement that BugSplats GPS wouldn't find anything in Europe unless you knew where the closest InterFlora was. How we chuckled.
We grabbed a couple of hundred fags from the duty free to keep us going, waited until we hit Calais, then entered the cars, waiting for the doors to be opened and the full wrath of 100 or so cars was unleashed upon the continent.
The journey was about to begin.......
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