Travel Tales

Beetle Drive

UK to Singapore

"Beetle Drive" the full story of this journey is available on Amazon Kindle or Paperback

Pedro, a 1969 VW Beetle, was happily enjoying his retirement in the Californian sunshine when his world was turned upside down. He was sold to Fiona, an English woman, and shipped across the Atlantic. His travels wouldn’t end here though; on arrival in the UK he received modifications and preparation for the longest journey of his life so far, over land to Singapore. Joining him on his travels were his English driver Fiona and American non-driver, Rica. Mechanical gremlins struck on day one; how on earth would they make it 22,000 miles across deserts, rivers, mudslides and mountains if they couldn’t even get out of the country without breaking down! Sometimes funny, sometimes scary; thought provoking and emotional but always entertaining. Fiona tells the tale of an incredible journey in a car that is fast becoming a legend

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Plymouth - Banjul Challenge

UK to Gambia

The Paris - Dakar Rally; the most dangerous race in the world. It costs £18,000 just to enter and with 48 deaths recorded and only a 40% success rate there's a good chance you won't make it. If you don't like the odds, don't have the cash but don't want to miss out, why not try the Plymouth - Banjul Challenge?

Watch full 1hr film on Amazon

Mongol Rally

UK to Mongolia

After the Plymouth - Banjul Challenge at the start of the year, and then the Mille Miglia in May, I really hadn't planned on a third rally in 2007! My friend Dave had entered the Mongol Rally and invited me along to the launch party at the Ace Café, 2 weeks before his departure. It was at the Ace café that I met Simon, he had entered the rally but with 2 weeks to go found himself with no co-driver. "You should come Fee!" Dave suggested. Simon looked at me pleadingly. He had already paid his entrance fee and bought a car but was finding the idea of driving 10,000 miles alone pretty daunting.

I had wanted to visit Mongolia since flying over the country on my way to Australia almost a decade before. Looking down from the planes windows all I could see was a vast wilderness, no cities at all, just green meadows, rocky mountains, snow capped peaks and golden desert.

I desperately wanted to go but apart from the expense involved there were the issues of getting time off work and obtaining the necessary visas. "I'm not promising anything" I told Simon "But, and it's a big but; IF I can get the time off work, borrow the money on my credit card and get the visas I need in time, then I'll come."

The Rally criteria stated that all cars must be under 1000cc, Simon had chosen a Suzuki SJ. With 4x4 capability the SJ seemed a good choice for the rough terrain ahead.

Everything fell into place; my managers agreed to let me have a month off work and I was able to borrow more money on my credit card. I also needed visas for Russia, Kazakhstan and Mongolia; with only two weeks to go I didn't have time to organise these myself and I couldn't have asked for more time off work when they were already being so understanding. I called the Travcour visa service who assured me if I could drop off my passport to their Battersea office that day and fill in the relevant forms then they could obtain all my visas, ready for me to collect before the deadline. It was cutting it fine but two weeks later when Simon picked me up in the SJ, I was ready to go with my passport all in order.

Simon had spent hours packing his belongings in the back of the convertible Suzuki SJ, everything had it's place, unfortunately he had forgotten that I would also have luggage. He pulled everything out of the car and began packing again. I tried to help but invariably didn't put things where he felt they should go and they were ejected again. His parents were following us to the start line and urged him to hurry or we would miss the other entrants setting off from Battersea Park. At least it was an area of London I knew well, having lived there for over 4 years when I first moved to the city at the age of 20. We made it to the start just as the other entrants were setting off but local knowledge meant we were clear of London and on the road to the Channel Tunnel terminal ahead of most of the other teams. We were cruising along on the motorway, heading for Ashford, when Simon declared there was something wrong with the car. It seemed fine to me but he was driving so I asked what the problem was. "It's making a noise." he declared.

We were back on the road but a long way behind the other teams. We found the right road out of Kiev, it was a nice, smooth, tarmacked motorway......for about 20 miles, then it degenerated into a rough, potholed country lane. Simon wanted to stop for the night, or go back to Kiev, as there were no hotels. "It's fine." I said, we were already a long way behind the others, "You sleep, I'll drive, I feel fine." In truth I was quite tired but kept myself awake by drinking coke and Berocca; if the sugar and vitamins weren't enough to keep me awake then a full bladder was! It was 5am when we crossed the border into Russia and caught up with 4 other teams we'd been travelling with before our breakdown. We spotted their cars in the car park of the first hotel we saw. Then saw that they were asleep in their cars; apparently the hotel was full! We grabbed a few hours sleep then, when the others woke, continued across Russia together.

The SJ had broken down a few times in Russia but the other teams we travelled with were very helpful and able to fix it at the roadside. After only two nights we arrived at the Kazakh border.

Meanwhile Maso and I were scouring the town to find accommodation. A big conference in the city meant every hotel was full. Asking locals, and following them through some very dodgy areas, led us to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs hostel! It was a shabby place, with some tasteful artwork on the walls, frequented mainly by military personnel but it was cheap and comfortable enough for one night. The rest of the group were certainly glad we'd found somewhere after what had turned into on of our tougher days.

In Russia the group split; Simon and Aaron didn't have time to take the long route across Western Mongolia. They and a team in a Bedford Rascal van took a more northerly route through Russia. Maso and I, in his Micra, and the rest of our little convoy chose the tougher option through the remote wilderness of Western Mongolia. To get there we first had to pass through the beautiful Altai Mountains with chocolate box views at every turn; I kept expecting Julie Andrews to run over a nearby hill!

The next obstacle thrown in our path was a deep river crossing. We had forded plenty of smaller rivers on our journey but this looked deeper. The lads in the Mini waded into the water to test the depth and confirmed our fears. This was the river which had defeated Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman on their 'Long Way Round' adventure, forcing them to ride south for 2 days to a shallower crossing point. It was looking as if we would have to do the same, until some Mongolian truck drivers arrived and offered to tow us through. With the cars not running there was no danger of sucking water into the air intakes. It seemed like the right decision as water rose up to the level of the Micra's windscreen, thankfully it was watertight and we reached the far side with dry feet. The only car that struggled to start after the drenching was the Mini but with three engineers on board it was soon dried out and on its way again.

We were back on the set of The Hobbit as we drove through the Shire, rolling grassy hills with round, white ger tents dotted haphazardly across the vista.

We enlisted the help of locals again when two of our four car convoy were struggling in soft sand. The two Micra's ploughed through with relative ease but the Polo lacked the required power and the Mini's low profile was causing them problems. We were learning that no matter how far from civilisation we think we are, if we stop for a few minutes a nomad on horseback will soon appear. This time it was a group of curious children, riding over to see us on their horses. They didn't speak English but instinctively knew what to do; using their horses they towed the two cars to firmer ground. I handed them Chuppa lollies; sweets which would have been a very rare treat for them in the wilderness, and they rode off with smiles on their faces. Minutes later they returned, chasing after us on their horses with a gift......a big bag full of the sour tasting hard cheese which seemed to be the staple diet in these parts. Maso was not impressed with this trade. We had been offered the foul tasting cheese at every ger we passed, which we politely ate so as not to cause offense, and now we had a big bag of the stuff!

Ulan Gom was the largest settlement we had come across since entering Mongolia; it had a bank and shops where we could replenish our supplies before our hosts showed us the right road out of town toward our final destination of Ulan Bataar.

Once out of town we were soon in the wilds again, though there had been some attempt to build roads which was still ongoing in places. During one diversion around a long stretch of road building it was our turn to come to the aid of others. A minibus full of Spanish tourists had fallen foul of a deep drainage ditch. We did our best to pull them out, putting stones under their wheels and strips of carpet behind the tyres to give better traction.

I listened but couldn't hear anything abnormal, it sounded exactly as it had since we set off. I asked if it felt any different to drive and Simon said that, no, it didn't. It transpired that Simon had never driven an older car before and had only recently passed his driving test; I probably should have asked these questions before agreeing to drive 10,000 miles with him in an unknown car. We took turns behind the wheel and the SJ was running great, that didn't stop Simon's paranoia at every little noise though. "I promise I'll tell you if I hear anything out of the ordinary." I assured him. That didn't happen until a few days later when we arrived in Kiev and Simon didn't need me to tell him something was wrong. Quite suddenly a loud grinding noise emanated from the engine compartment. Simon, an Oxford University engineering graduate, pulled over and open the bonnet. He couldn't see anything wrong but closed the bonnet declaring "Well that's the rally over for us then. I thought we would have got further than Ukraine." I was stunned; Claire and I had a lot of problems with our old Beetle on the way to Gambia but we had never given up.

Tensions were rising in the car; at the last shop before the border I bought a crate of beer for everyone, as a thank you to them for being so patient and for fixing the SJ. I asked Simon if he could buy another 6 litres of water. When we camped in Kazakhstan that night I discovered he had bought no water. The roads were so bad that we had travelled only 20 miles in one day. It was hot and we had seen no towns, some of the others had already run out of water so I shared out the 2 litres we had left. I couldn't exactly leave them without but this started an argument with Simon. "I've had enough." I told Aaron. "Next town we come to I'm jumping on a train." Aaron offered to come with me; he was travelling with his best friend but couldn't drive himself and didn't think his team mate, Maso, would mind.

Maso had a better idea, Aaron and Simon were on a tighter schedule than us; if they travelled on together then we could team up and take the more interesting, scenic route across Western Mongolia.

We all laughed at the basic facilities when we arrived at the Mongolian border; a wooden hut with a hole in the floor, perched over an open pit! In days to come we could only dream of such luxury as we dug our own holes!

Our first night in Mongolia was everything I imagined it would be when flying overhead all those years before. We set up camp with nothing to be seen for miles around; which didn't stop curious local children appearing, followed by their parents who brought vodka! Having tried their Vodka, Maso thought it only polite to return the courtesy and introduce them to some Irish Whiskey. The language barrier was no obstacle where alcohol was concerned and we soon had a party on our hands.

As darkness fell we were treated to a sky even more mesmerising than the landscape around us. I never realised the effects of light pollution till that moment; the sky was so full of stars that there was barely any black between them.

It was a tranquil landscape which could easily lull you in to a false sense of security, even when traversing it in a car more suited to the weekly shopping trip. It's not somewhere you can relax for long though, Maso's Micra had proved the most reliable car in the group but there was nothing we could do about punctures and the sharp rocks pierced another of our tyres. Fortunately Maso had brought plenty of spares. Within a few minutes of stopping to change it, yep, a Mongolian cowboy came riding over. This no longer surprised us but we were shocked when he spoke fluent English and invited us over to his families ger! Dean and Dave accepted the invite while the rest of us fixed our cars or made lunch.

Puncture almost fixed I went in search of Dean and Dave. I approached the door of the ger I'd seen them go into and was immediately invited inside. Dean and Dave sat on wood framed sofas, surrounded by the cowboy and his family.

I had a plan; we stopped in a small village which had a petrol station. We all needed to refuel but were soon surrounded by friendly locals. Before they could offer us any hospitality I quickly produced our bag of cheese and offered it to them. They seemed confused at this role reversal but graciously shared the cheese around. It worked a treat, by being the first to offer cheese we were spared having to eat any more of it!

Given the propensity for cheese consumption we were overwhelmed when we met a family on the road who gave us biscuits and fresh apples! It was the first fruit we had seen in Mongolia. It's such high altitude that fruit and veg don't grow, nor do trees which made finding wood for a camp fire an impossibility. Nights in Mongolia were cold so we had to improvise to keep warm. We had been burning our rubbish and found if we used that as kindling we could burn the drier pats of yak dung. A little anti-bacterial hand gel with its high alcohol content helped to get the poo burning; I don't think I will ever get the smell out of my clothes though!

The rocky tracks were really taking their toll on the Micra's tyres; we had another puncture but were reluctant to change it for our last good spare before we reached better roads.

They tried to reverse out while we tried to drag them out with tow ropes but to no avail. Eventually we were able to flag down a large 4x4 to assist with the towing and they were free. The delay meant we were now tight on time for getting to Ulan Bataar but they did give us a nice bottle of vodka as a thank you for stopping to help.

We arrived in the Mongolian capital at 9pm; I had to be at the airport for my flight home for 7am. We headed straight to the bar which had become the unofficial headquarters of the Mongol Rally. Jack Osborne, son of Ozzy and Sharon Osborne, was there. He'd taken part in the Mongol Rally as part of a TV series he was making called Adrenaline Junkies.

There was obviously something very wrong with the car but we were close to the hotel where other rally entrants were staying. The car park of the hotel was full of rally cars, including two other Suzuki SJ's. The lads spotted that the noise was being caused by the fan rubbing against it's housing they couldn't see why that was happening but loosened the housing to reduce the noise. The next day as the other rally entrants departed we were stuck in Kiev looking for a garage. The hotel receptionist made some calls and gave me a map. We struggled to find the garage until I suggested we stop by a taxi rank and pay one of the drivers to lead us to the garage.

One of the engine mounts had worked loose, causing it to drop slightly, hence the fan rubbing. The garage jacked the engine up to it's usual height and reattached the mount with fresh bolts. They checked the other mounts too and only asked for 10 Euros for their trouble. Simon was so pleased that his rally wasn't over that he paid them double.

Maso was driving a Nissan Micra sponsored by Feckin Irish Whiskey, hence the team name Feckin Irish Rovers. The car was only slightly modified with a roof rack, made out of 4 shopping trolleys, and a snorkel to the air filter, made out of a drain pipe.
The roads had potholes so big that the Mini in our group could fit in some of them! Often the surface was so bad that we used dirt tracks instead of the main carriageway; sometimes the dirt tracks were the main carriageway. When we did find a tarmac section of road it had melted in the heat so our feet stuck to the surface. Truck tyres constantly driving over the sticky surface caused big ridges to form in the tar which became solid again when the temperature dropped. The ridges scraped the bottom of the car and the potholes jarred. We camped in fields alongside the road as we steered the group towards Russia.

The roads were smoother in Russia but the journey didn't get any easy. Heavy rain caused flash flooding in the city of Omsk; then Kate and Varnish got into an accident. No one was badly hurt and the damage to their polo was repairable. The police were called but the bus driver was happy to accept a cash payment as compensation.

The next day we met our first Bactrian camels. In Africa I had seen plenty of single humped Dromedaries but it was the first time I had met any of their twin humped Asian cousins. They were bigger and their coats shaggier than their African counterparts, to protect against the harsh cold of a Mongolian winter; we were discovering summer temperatures weren't too warm either as we shivered in our tents at night!

From the rocky mountains of Mordor the landscape opened up into endless scrubland and sandy plains. The dirt track that passed for a road soon disappeared and we found ourselves following telegraph poles as the most reliable form of navigating from town to town.

The Camomile grass released an intoxicating odour as we drove across the meadows but was soon covered by ice from a freak hailstorm. It was two steps forward and one step back as we struggled half way up the white slopes before sliding back to the bottom in our under-powered cars. Maso and I made it to the crest first and finally, the last of our group, the little Mini joined us too.

"Please, have a seat.' the cowboy motioned to a space on the bench beside an elderly lady. He handed me a bowl of cloudy liquid, fermented mares milk he said. I took a sip but the old lady indicated that I should drink it down in one go. The cowboy nodded, that was indeed what she meant. I shrugged my shoulders and downed what felt like at least 80% proof alcohol as it burned the back of my throat! I was handed a second bowl, this one was homemade vodka; again the old lady mimed that I should drink it in in one go. It had a delicate flowery taste and went down much easier than the mares milk. The entire family roared with laughter and the old lady applauded me! The cowboy grinned "We believe if someone can drink like that then they are a strong man." He nodded at Dean and Dave "They didn't do it." Maso would have to drive for the rest of the day though; my head was spinning!

We couldn't explain this to the cheery pair of Mongol bikers who rode by. They pulled puncture repair kits and tyre irons from their boots and insisted on fixing our puncture. Then they stood up cigarette packets to teach us to shoot with their rifles. They didn't speak English but, when we showed them on the map that we were heading for Ulan Gom, they got us to follow them into town and to their home. It was a small walled compound containing one brick building, a ger and an outhouse. Ordinarily I would greet a tin shack with wooden planks over a cess pit with trepidation but these were the first facilities we'd found since the border that we didn't have to dig ourselves!

Our new friends invited us into the ger for dinner; there was no way we could refuse after hearing the goat slaughtered in our honour, it would have caused huge offense. After dinner Maso popped to the shop across the road and bought ice creams for the whole family. It was a locally made ice cream which tasted very salty. Most of them were later spotted discarded in the cess pit or under cars; it seemed the locals didn't like them either!

He'd come the 'easy' route, rather than across Western Mongolia as we had, but had broken down on the final leg of the journey. He'd left the car at the roadside and travelled the last 50 miles or so in his camera support vehicle. A few hours later some other teams had come across his car, got it started and delivered it to him in Ulan Bataar........this little detail was missing when the documentary was aired and Jack was seen to arrive at the finish victorious!
When the bar closed the party continued in the hotel suite of another team we'd met; they were pleased to have beaten young Mr Osborne to the best suite in the best hotel in town and happy to put up those of us who had been unable to find rooms or who, like me had early morning flights to catch.

Norway Supercar Rally

Returning from a big rally is always a bit of an anti-climax and after three and a half months on the road from the UK to Singapore life at home was feeling dull. I longed to be on the road again but knew I wouldn't be able to afford another trip for a long time, then the phone rang. It was my friend Bachi, he wanted a video making for his driving tour company, in Norway. It was a supercar tour so Pedro wouldn't be able to keep up but he needed some tlc anyway. Ten cars would be taking part in the Viking Tour, 5 Ferrari's, a Porsche, a Lotus Elise, a VW Golf R32, a Ford Focus RS and a BMW E46 M3. Bachi would be driving his red Ferrari 360 Spyder and I would share the BMW with Petrolhead Nirvana tour manager Pete. There were no direct ferries to Norway so from Harwich we took an overnight crossing to Ejsberg, Denmark. A couple of hours of driving and we were on another boat, this time a small car ferry, which took us to Kristiansand in Norway. It was a rough crossing which sent us reeling around the cabin like drunks!

From our hotel in Kristiansand we drove north, through tunnels and alongside lakes as blue as the sky. The previous days stormy sea crossing had cleared the air and left behind a perfect summers day, perfect for the winding mountain roads! I'd swapped into Bachi's Ferrari for the day but he was having trouble with his gear changes. The car had a new clutch before the tour and he was struggling to change gear. At lunch he and aussie ex-pat Mick topped up the clutch fluid and made sure there was no air in the system but the problems persisted. Bachi had to double de-clutch every time he wanted to change gear or risk crunching the box. Pete led the group and we dropped to the back, trying to change gear as little as possible.

After lunch progress was slowed slightly by sheep blocking the road. We parked and waited while they were herded past before winding our way over the mountain tops and down to the first of many small fjord ferries. Despite his failing clutch Bachi still couldn't resist the urge to drop a gear and make some noise in the many mountain tunnels

Day 4 and we abandoned Bachi, not because of his poorly clutch but because there wasn't room for him on the little fjord ferry we boarded! Fortunately for him the ferries ran every 30 minutes and we found lunch and a little shop to explore while we waited for him. Fortunately for me I had swapped cars again so was not left behind. I was travelling instead with Amit in his Ferrari 348 while his dad swapped into the M3 with Pete. Tax on supercars is prohibitive in Norway so we were surprised to pass a locally registered Lamborghini on our way to the Laerdal tunnel. At 24.5kms Laerdal is the world's longest road tunnel. Eerily lit caverns are carved out along the length of the tunnel to provide drivers with a rest stop.

Our hotel was close to the entrance of the tunnel and far enough north to experience the midnight sun. The next morning instead of going through the tunnel we drove over the top. First stop was a look out hundreds of feet above our hotel with the best view from possibly any loo in the world. The campervans we got stuck beside only diminished our enjoyment of the road slightly as we amused ourselves with Monty Python quotes and songs over the walkie talkies. After another game of musical cars I spent day 5 in the Lotus with Matt. It wasn't as fast as the other cars in the fleet in a straight line but on the twisty mountain roads we held our own.

A lunchtime stop for reindeer burgers at The Christmas Shop resulted in some interesting additions to some of the cars and bets on who would be the first to have a toy moose bouncing off their windscreen! A length of road works didn't delay us for long and we were rewarded on the other side by one of the most beautiful roads yet, alongside a frozen lake. We stopped for photos and built little stone towers as seemed to be the tradition in the area. The roads just kept getting better and better and if the view from the roads weren't enough to take the breath away then the boat trip that wrapped up the day certainly was. The ship took us along the gerainger fjord, between sheer rock walls with waterfalls tumbling down to join us.

The next day I was back in the M3 with Pete for more fjords and then the amazing Atlantic coast road. Twisting bridges defied physics to link rocky outcrops of coastline together. It was the only overcast day we experienced but the day was about to get brighter as an ambulance yellow Mercedes SLS passed us in the opposite direction. They must have been as surprised as us to see other supercars on the road as we pulled into a car park and they swung in to join us. The SLS was fairly new to the market and we had never seen one in this colour. We sensed there was something different about this car, it was quiet, too quiet! The Mercedes support vehicle and camera crew should have been a clue to. It was a prototype electric SLS; they'd brought it to the Atlantic road as they thought it would be good spot for a secret photo shoot, they hadn't counted on us!

Heading south again in Amit's 328 we'd saved the best for last. We arrived at the Trollstigen early to beat the tourist crowds and have what is reputed to be one of the best driving roads in the world to ourselves for a while. Once we'd driven up and down a few times and enjoyed the views from the lookout points it was approaching lunchtime and tourist coaches were starting to appear. Next stop Dramen for the spiralen tunnel, spiralling up six floors through volcanic rock. Then on to the party boat from Oslo to Copenhagen. This was larger than any of the fjord ferries, more like a cruise ship, with night clubs and bars on every floor. Next morning we disembarked, once again in Denmark.

We spent the day exploring Copenhagen and dining out at the exclusive St Gertrude's Cloister. The evening at the exclusive restaurant began with a lesson on how to open a bottle of champagne with a sabre sword. The champagne was then used to wash down the oyster starters. Mike and Barbara had a treat in store for me, the keys to their Ferrari 575 for the final days drive across Denmark to Ejsberg. Barbara swapped into the VW Golf. "Don't you mind?" I asked. "It's just a car," she shrugged. "I prefer our Range Rover, you can fit lots of plants in the boot." Just a car maybe but it was a LOT of fun to drive!

The Viking Tour

Mille Miglia

Classic Italian Road Race

The Mille Miglia endurance race took place on the roads around Italy 24 times between 1927 and 1957. In 1977 the Mille Miglia was re-launched as a regularity race for classic and vintage cars. Only cars produced in 1957 or earlier are eligible to take part. What's more they must also be of a type that attended, or were registered for, the original race. All such cars are well out of my price range but, determined not to let a little think like that stop me, Heather and I hired a Fiat Panda and took part in the tradition of 'chasing the race'.

The route varies slightly from year to year but, in the tradition of the original race, begins and ends in Brescia with a mid way stop in Rome.

Heather and I followed the race south, through San Marino, past Perugia and Terni. From Terni we deviated slightly from the route, as the competitors drove into Roman traffic for their night stop we cut across country to a beautiful hotel on the shores of Lake Bracciano. Being north of Rome this put us ahead of the action for the next days racing.

We were joined in the hotel restaurant by a group of Italians also 'chasing the race'. Their choice of cars for the drive were slightly more upmarket than our Panda; an Austin Healey 3000 and a Jaguar D type re-creation! Our diminutive Fiat looked a little out of place in their company but united by a love of historic motorsport and Italian culture we formed a little convoy as we wound our way north into the Tuscan hills.

The smallest, slowest cars are released first from the Viale Venezia in Brescia with the fast, big engine cars leaving last. The theory was that this would minimise the length of time marshalls had to be on duty. It also makes a great spectacle for anyone who shows up to watch, like us.
We picked up the action close to Heather's home town of Rovigo. Red arrow sign posts marked the course for race participants and fans alike. Wherever the action went, we followed in our little Panda. Spectators lined the streets in towns, villages and even out in the country as the cavalcade rolled on.

Mille Miglia translates to English as '1000 miles', the approximate distance of the race.

The renaissance town of Pienza provided the ideal viewing point to watch the race participants. Normally pedestrianised zones are opened up to allow the cars to drive through high archways in the city walls, along cobbled streets and past ancient buildings. Crowds of spectators had turned out in the small town but parking was still easier and great views of the action easier to find than in the large cities.

In the old days it was a non-stop race, taking 20 hours or more to complete. The record was set by a Brit, Sir Stirling Moss, at 10h 7' 48". He set the record in 1955 alongside his navigator, motoring journalist Denis Jenkinson. The pair ran six reconnaissance laps prior to the race, making course notes on a scroll of paper which Jenks read back during the race. That and their coded series of hand signals gave them the edge they needed over the competition, despite many of the other competitors having the advantage of local knowledge. It was one of only a few occasions when the race has been won by a non-Italian team.
The race was banned after two fatal crashes in 1957; between 1927 and 1957 the race took the lives of 56 people. The re-creation is run as a three day endurance event, rather than an all out race, and at much safer speeds.

The vast city of Sienna proved too much of a challenge and we lost our new friends in their classic cars. The city centre was closed to all but official race traffic; we found ourselves diverted out to the ring road and pushed further north toward are final destination, Brescia. We'd booked Bed and Breakfast accommodation in Brescia and pushed on ahead of the racers. We found parking, checked in, had dinner and were at the finish line in plenty of time to welcome the race leaders. Once parked, or cars abandoned at the roadside in some cases, rally entrants headed straight into the nearest bars. The street party continued into the early hours of the morning with each new car cheered down the road and it's drivers greeted with a drink, or four!

Spyker Factory Tour

We only had a weekend to drive to Holland and back. Pedro the Beetle wasn't quick enough to get there and back in a weekend and the clutch was slipping on my Sebring. Bachi wasn't able to make the tour but was happy to lend me his BMW for the weekend. We arrived at the Channel Tunnel terminal just behind a convoy of supercars and were waved through into the same train carriage as them. The lowered, convertible beemer fitted right in and we were invited to join the Lamborghini, Ginetta and co on a run to Monaco. They were an interesting bunch of musicians, actors and entrepreneurs who certainly made the journey pass quicker but they would be away 10 days, we only had a weekend and an appointment with my dream car in Zeewolde.

Andreas car took pride of place parked in front of Spyker HQ the next day. Hans Van Rennes VP of Spyker cars showed us around the facility personally. First a film about the companies roots in aviation and shots of the early 20's cars then it was time for something special. As well as cars in production for customers, the head quarters also housed all of Spykers research and development models. The 'Peking - Paris' was an SUV with style; it was like a Spyker sports car on steroids. Rather than the bland design of most SUV's it shared the styling of it's supercar stable mates; propeller blade wheels, exposed gear linkage, turned aluminium dash etc. Then there were the Le Mans race cars; even more secrecy surrounded these stripped out track cars.

The man behind the Spyker Owners Club, and organiser of the event, also named Hans, had arranged dinner for us all that evening. People had come from far and wide, including many visitors from America. It was a great evening with delicious food and fascinating company but the next day we would have to drive back to England.

The ships and barges were well out of our price range but a girl can dream. After mooching around the harbour and a brief lunch stop it was time for some motorway miles back to London and work

It was a long time since Claire and I drove an orange Beetle through the Sahara Desert so when another road trip presented itself she was quick to call shotgun. I had been invited for an exclusive tour of the Spyker supercar factory in the Netherlands. I love the unique look and attention to detail of Spykers and can relate to their company motto; for the tenacious no road is impassable.

The E46 M3 made short work of the autobahns on the route through Europe, roof down all the way of course. The only problem came at our first fuel stop when I had to call Bachi and ask how to open the petrol cap!

We arrived at our hotel for the evening to be greeted by the deep throaty rumble of one of the cars we had come to see. Andreas had driven his Spyker C8 Spyder there from Germany. "This is the highest mileage Spyker in the world" he happily declared. Unsurprisingly he had also been invited to visit Spyker HQ the next day. Over dinner he told us how he lived in Germany and worked in Switzerland but also had a home in Surrey. Add to that road trips around Europe and Scandinavia and the fact that most such cars tend to be garage queens taken out on occasional summer days and I'm pretty sure no other Spykers were near his mileage. What's more Andreas refused to buy the optional soft top for the car, saying it spoiled the lines (it does), so it was roofless all the way, whatever the weather!

Hans had saved the best for last with the Aileron; this was Spykers new baby, not yet available to customers. The silver Aileron Spyder was gorgeous; unfortunately because of the secretive, development status of the cars, no photos were allowed inside. Hans relented and took one photo of me with 'my' car. It was completely out of focus......don't give up the day job Hans ;-)
All was not lost, as we chatted with the other visitors and admired their cars outside, the buildings shutters rolled up. It was Hans in a bright orange Aileron. He was off to Monaco for the Grand Prix and hoping to cause a stir by taking the first Aileron to roll out of the factory!

I'd driven all around Holland some years before when I was shopping for a boat which I then sailed back to England but Claire had never been before. It would take us just over 5 hours to drive back to London which meant we had time to fit in a picturesque lunch stop. One of my favourite places in the Netherlands is the historic port of Enkhuizen. It wasn't far off our route and I thought Claire, being a fellow boater, would enjoy seeing the tall ships and ancient sailing barges. I also loved the approach road, built up on a dyke across the Ijsselmeer, Hollands inland sea, and lined by wind turbines. According to the satnav Bachi's BMW was amphibious.

Iceland Road Trip

I had hoped for another big rally in 2013 but a freak head injury on a theme park roller coaster had delayed my travel plans. I had a severe case of itchy feet, or wheels as it were, and I was determined to be out of the country for my birthday. Most normal people would have chosen a warm destination but I've never been one for following the crowd. Fortunately when I announced my plan, to drive on frozen Icelandic roads in February, enough of my friends were crazy enough to join me to make it a party. 8 of us flew from Heathrow to Reykjavik where we collected our four hire cars. Jane and Spike, and Drystan and Peter went for a mid range Kia Sportage. Don and Caroline went for the best the hire car company had, a Nissan Patrol. Beth and I, being on a tighter budget, chose a Nissan Micra; I'd had a soft sport for Micras ever since my drive to Mongolia, they're tougher than they look!

Our first stop was Geysir, famous for its.......Geysers! Steam rose from the ground and pools of water boiled. A walkway guided us on a safe route around the park where clouds of water regularly erupted skyward. The largest of the geysers let of steam every 5 minutes, providing plenty of photo opportunities, whereas others were less frequent and some remained simmering pots. A gift shop and café opposite sold traditional Icelandic jumpers and other goods at traditional Icelandic prices! (Iceland is known for it's high prices as most goods must be imported.)

Don was in a state of shock when I parked the Micra, next to his Nissan Patrol, at the top of the mountain. "I can't believe you got that thing up here!" he gaped. Much of my success was down to the winter tyres fitted by the hire car company and I knew from Mongolia how capable Micra's can be but to Don I just grinned and said "It's not what you drive, it's how you drive it!"
It was bitterly cold and a light snow fell which, although very pretty, stung our faces when the sleds started moving. The dogs didn't even notice the weather!

The next day we started back toward Reykjavik but by a circular route so we could stop by a few more places of interest. First a caldera, a lake formed when the chamber of a volcano collapses, leaving behind a crater. Shades of rust and green streaked the steep banks down to the lake which was completely frozen over; gas bubbles moved just below the surface making eerie patterns.

Just up the road from Geysir we pulled in to another car park; for the viewpoint of Iceland's most famous waterfall, Selfoss. We should have parked closer as the cars coped a lot better on the ice rink of a car park than we did! We skated and slid the few hundred yards to the viewing area. Fortunately there was a fence to stop us sliding right over the edge!

If we thought the car park at Selfoss was bad we were in for a shock. Our big hope on booking a trip to Iceland had been to see the northern lights but, since they can't be guaranteed, we'd set up another little birthday treat.

Greenland huskies are well equipped for conditions far more extreme than anything Iceland could throw at them. They loved running around and playing with the latest set of visitors, having their ears and tummies rubbed and posing for photos. What goes up, must come down but the Micra didn't fail me and we made it back to the main road. Then we turned off the main road again as we'd selected a suitably remote hotel for the night in hope of seeing the northern lights. Apparently we would have had a lovely light show if the clouds would have cleared for just a few minutes but it wasn't to be.

Iceland is full of geological wonders; it's one of few places on earth where the movement of the earths tectonic plates can actually be seen! A bridge marks the spot and has to be lengthened periodically as the plates move further apart. Of course you can't see it with the naked eye but annual measurements show the movement and if you stand in the middle you can put one foot in Europe and the other in the American continent. The black volcanic sand is pretty cool too.

I'd always wanted to try my hand at dog-sledding but the thing with dog sleds is they need snow, and lots of it! As the road climbed higher the snow at the roadside grew deeper and patches of ice on the road turned into sheets of ice with occasional patches of road peeking through. Should we lose control we might get a soft landing in a snow bank but more likely we would hit a rock or plunge into one of the steaming, yellowed sulphur pools we passed. The others in their 4x4's were worried about me following behind in the Micra but the little Nissan felt perfectly safe on the slick surface. I assured them if we did start to lose traction then I'd stop and Beth and I would continue to the sledding centre with them, collecting the Micra on the way back down.

We were a little disappointed but had known from the start that we couldn't be certain of seeing them. The dog-sledding had been such a highlight of the weekend that it didn't seem to matter and it was my birthday so the celebrations took over. After dinner and wine in the restaurant the party moved to mine and Beth's room. Alcohol, like most things, is expensive in Iceland; the wine at dinner was £36 for a brand that retails at £8 in the UK. We came prepared, Beth and I had picked up a bottle of pink vodka in duty free and Don had brought a flask of sloe gin from the UK. He and Caroline grow the sloes themselves and bottle it on their farm. A late night was in store!

Our last stop before heading back into Reykjavik was the fabulous Blue Lagoon. This area of geothermal springs has been turned into a health spa; the perfect hangover cure! The cloudy sulphurous waters are naturally heated, although the springs themselves have barriers around them to prevent visitors swimming too close and cooking themselves! We spent the afternoon floating around (the water is too buoyant to swim far), plastering ourselves with the mineral rich mud and enjoying the odd cool drink from the poolside bar.
Our hotel for the night had whale on the menu; after our initial horror we established that it was not an endangered species and in fact needed to be culled as it was decimating fish populations. The texture was a lot like tuna and it was served in a peppery sauce; very nice but I couldn't eat a whole one! We'd seen a lot over one short weekend but Iceland has a lot more to offer, I would love to go back for an extended tour, maybe with Pedro for some off roading!