Google told us it was 1015km, was going to take 11 hours from Calais and we were booked on the 10am ferry from Dover. So when Torbs called me at 11pm the night before to ask what he needed to pack I should have been concerned. Not as concerned as Torbs though, as I was ordering main course in a restaurant in Covent Garden with my folks.
Not the ideal start, but we made the ferry, had offensively large fried breakfasts headed into France. Two words which are not in Torbs’s vocabulary are “mechanical sympathy” (he managed to drown his last car), and within minutes of him taking over the driving duty, we had a red warning light on the dash saying “Check Engine”. I consulted the handbook, and it recommended “immediately visiting dealer”. Not an option, so we drove on. I took over and the “muppet driver warning light” went out, confirming that the car feared Torbie’s “binary” driving style.
The drive was long, dull and tiring. The last hour or so was spent fighting our way up the mountain in a blizzard at 10 mph. we eventually arrived at 11pm, and crashed out, very aware we were just 36 hours from the Cresta Run.
Not the ideal start, but we made the ferry, had offensively large fried breakfasts headed into France. Two words which are not in Torbs’s vocabulary are “mechanical sympathy” (he managed to drown his last car), and within minutes of him taking over the driving duty, we had a red warning light on the dash saying “Check Engine”. I consulted the handbook, and it recommended “immediately visiting dealer”. Not an option, so we drove on. I took over and the “muppet driver warning light” went out, confirming that the car feared Torbie’s “binary” driving style.
The drive was long, dull and tiring. The last hour or so was spent fighting our way up the mountain in a blizzard at 10 mph. we eventually arrived at 11pm, and crashed out, very aware we were just 36 hours from the Cresta Run.
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