'Twas a darkening evening as we loaded the Odeon Shag Sedan for the journey to Wheels Day on Good Friday. The Alice part of my family had gone to Whitby with a friend for the week. A very wise decision on her part for a nine year old - with Jenny, Char and Ryan added to Robert, tents, sleeping bags, blankets, tools, oil, water, air mattresses, coats, bags, cameras... room for just one more wafer thin girl, there was none!
A last minute decision, phone calls made, tank filled, and we set off sans tail-light into the darkness to stay at "Hotel Grantham" - good friend Adrian offered us shelter for the night, a good fifty miles into the journey. Accompanied by my old friend Mark, often a wise head on my foolhardy journeys of the past. In his 1930 Riley 2-port Model A engined Standard Nine Avon Bodied Special. Here to there, before you can say it...
Bulb fitted to the single rear lamp, no sign of a brakelight, we wove our way south through Norfolk, Suffolk and into Essex, along winding single carriage A roads. A1066, A143, A134, A131. Hills increasing as we leave the Flatlands. Confidence growing as the miles rolled past. This old lady hasn't turned a wheel for years, has never reached speeds limited by the 36 watt headlights before...
We decamp the kids, short banter, short sleep. Early 5.30 rise and repack the car. Twin Four Bangers in a back street in Halstead helping others join the morning they'd thought of sleeping through.
Heading south on the dual carriageways of Essex, and onto the A120, the old Sedan begins to falter. Years idle with an empty tank, this rude awakening has shifted brown silt and insect carcasses into the fuel line. It's happened before in the past few days, but a change of filter and blowing the line clear gets us sputtering and rolling along. Turn back or continue? We've come this far, so we press on for fuel near the M11. An hour to cover 20 miles. Not looking good, but I have a good feeling that keeping the tank full will help.
Planning to keep off the mind numbing motorways, Jenny hand picks a route on the fly from a tatty old road atlas, following the A120 west, south on the A10, and onto the A414. Skirting round the M25 Magic Roundabout. Stopping for fuel in Hemel Hempstead as the guage bobs down to the 1/2 - my limit for keeping the fuel flowing, and Mark's limit for the 60 mile range enforced by squeezing a powerful 3.3 litres into a car designed around an aneamic 1100cc. Us, kids, and cars, oiled and watered, we leave Hertfordshire, and travel through the southern extremities of Buckinghamshire, alternating between little villages and larger towns along the A416 and A355. Model A beating happily in the sluggish bank holiday traffic.
"How much longers?" change from "an hour or two", through "an hour or so" to "about an hour"; Jenny placating our sleepy sunrise travellers as we begin to cross the motorways converging on London. Across the M4 at Slough, we make our way through Eton and Windsor, In Windsor Great Park, I fail to see the green parrots nesting in the fallen trees. My feet are now more than happy dealing with the centre throttle and right hand brake pedal nestled amongst the luggage, but at well over a ton, with rod brakes and heavy, non-centering steering, I keep a sweaty focus on the road ahead.
A stop for fuel near the M3, a moment to stretch, adjust the points - our first real maintenance stop - swap to "nearly there" as we join the A325, down into Hampshire through Farnborough and into Aldershot. The sunny weather has brought loads along to play for the day - all this way and the last mile takes an hour.
My passengers set off walking to take in the sights of the other vehicles, and I pick them up at the entrance gates. We roll in, all smiles, as we receive a standing ovation from the rest of our Sidewinders. And park.
Spent the day, wandering around, catching up with winter lost friends, checking out some of the other 2000 or so cars before heading off to Namco for a late afternoon party. More banter. Creme Eggs, Flying Saucers and Coca Cola. A glass of red from Tony's bar.
From here, we join an evening convoy into Surrey to camp in a clearing in a friends' wood. Bonfire. Barbeque. I sink a beer, a wine, and a Malibu and midnight myself into a frozen bed, leaving Jenny to party herself into a well deserved stupor. Well done her - she's brought me to this point as well as this old Sedan.
Daybreak, drifting later, decamped and packed - and another convoy back toward Guilford for a late breakfast, hearty lunch and plan the journey home.
Fond farewells, hugs and kisses worthy of our long, long journey, we set off along the A25, through antique towns and hazy villages, Westcott, Dorking, Reigate, Godstone until eventually it comes time to join a motorway for the first time. Confidence in our chariot has been built. Picking up the M25 in Kent, near Sevenoaks, we head north and we're soon at the toll booths, through the Dartford Tunnel, and around to the A12. With all asleep bar the driver, I chose to roll along with the traffic - never too fast on the road through Essex. And apart from a single stop for fuel, and slowing to allow the oil breathing into the car to subside, we dual carriageway back to our familiar country lanes, through Suffolk, into Norfolk. Across the Waveney valley and home.
Colour me odd, but I snuck out in the night - just to give the Odeon Shag Sedan a little thankyou kiss.
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