The frost-covered windscreen couldn’t wipe the smile off my face at 4am that Saturday morning. I was heading to France for three days, for a track day at the Le Mans Bugatti circuit. Tuthills had changed the oil in the Carrera 3.0, and having the car on the lift had given Big Dave and I an opportunity to check on Orange’s underside. All looked good, though the front wheel bearings and one bottom balljoint needed a squeeze. With those jobs done, a fire extinguisher fitted to the roll cage, and spare bulbs and emergency triangle packed, we were ready for the off.
I hit the M40 at 5am, destination Channel Tunnel. Two hours later, I stopped in Maidstone to brim the tank. The C3s fuel tank has been enlarged, so despite the fuel gauge reading half full, the car still took £70’s worth without a hiccup. Oh, that my debit card could have felt so at ease. The few remaining miles to Folkestone were soon despatched, where I hooked up with regular travelling companion Chris Harrison and his dad, Mick. We grabbed a coffee and headed off to board our train.
I usually spend the crossing chatting to the folks behind us, and this trip was no exception. Bryan was a furrier who should have been retired, but kept his hand in to get out of the house. He and his wife Yvonne shared some superb stories about the Lamborghinis they used to own back in the day, we threw in a few tales of our own, and the carriage resounded to the sound of our laughter.
Half an hour later, we waved goodbye and joined the southbound A16. The sun was out and life was good. Murphy’s law was upheld via heat soak locking out my starter motor and, twice along the way, the C3 needed a push start after a brief stop. This only seemed to affect the car in immediate switch-offs following fast motorway runs however, so all was not lost.
With the weather superb and traffic non-existent, we abandoned the autoroute at Rouen, taking the trusty N138 instead. Look at this two-lane blacktop on a map and marvel at its straightness, then whizz down it with a mate in a pair of Porsches and remind yourself just how much you love driving. Chris’s stripped-out silver 3.2 coupe and my citrus Carrera were in their element, and that drive alone was worth leaving home for. Soon we were at the circuit, meeting up with impact-bumper buddies who had ferried into France, including a pair of good friends in his-and-hers 911s, who had recently announced their engagement.
We were here following an invitation from French club CAVS, the Club des Anciennes Voitures de Sport, which my friend Franck Marie and his wonderful parents Patrick and Martine are very involved with. Alongside Franck’s amazing Arrow Blue 911SC, the family also own a 2.7 Carrera and a 914/6. For this event, Patrick had brought his latest plaything, a Renault Clio V6 prototype. Having unloaded the Clio, listened to the wickedly legal new exhaust and signed in for the following day, Franck managed to get our group on to the legendary Le Mans start/finish straight for an impromptu photo shoot. This was officially a fantastic weekend.
I have to admit that the 24 Heures has never quite done it for me. I fully accept that it’s dripping in drama and inspires passion in millions of motor sport fans, and I wouldn’t dream of missing Classic Le Mans, but the best thing about Le Mans for me has always been that it’s in France, which is probably my favourite place on Earth. Then I drove the track.
Video does not communicate the thrillingly technical nature of the Bugatti circuit, and how the demands made of car and driver evolve over the course of a lap. Heavenly elevation changes in the first half are replaced by challenging off-camber corners as the second half unfolds. This is a track that rewards precision, shrugging off ham-fisted attempts to muscle one’s way around.
Sunday had got out of bed on the damp side, and the first session on track was properly slippy. But as more cars circulated, the sun came out, a dry line appeared and our second session was incredible, as my Michelin Pilot Sport Cup tyres clung to the Tarmac like chewing gum. The unfit forty year-old in me welcomed the lunchtime break!
Track day lunch in England equates to overpriced sausage and chips – if you’re lucky. Here, participants, marshals and organisers alike decamped to an eaterie alongside the Mulsanne Straight, for three highly sociable courses plus coffee. As we ate, freezing rain cascaded from the cumulo-nimbus, which encouraged me to sit out the third session. I watched a few of my compatriots spinning happily in the slippery conditions and I didn’t miss being out there. The track stayed damp for our fourth and final session, so I dropped my tyre pressures and had a ball for half an hour, eventually coming in when my fuel light refused to go out.
Ten minutes after the last cars left the track, the heavens opened on a grand scale. We had been lucky with the weather, and the hotel bar beckoned us to plan our next trip. The Marie family joined us for an au revoir beer before heading back to base, where we thanked them for letting us come along and being part of what was a great day.
Next morning, sunny skies abounded and the Le Mans museum awaited our arrival. We drove the public sections of track before heading to the hypermarket, the chaps stocking up on Rilettes while I filled the Orange’s fuel tank. After a goodbye baguette, the ferry boys were on their way. Chris and I kicked off the homeward leg on the back roads, eventually electing to slip into something slightly more comfortable: the péage. We had done our best driving over the two days before, and there was always next time.
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Wow, nice car John. What finish is that on the Fuchs, anodized or painted?
Maybe you should swap your Carrera with one of Leanard's, so he finally drives one with the correct national colour.