Timeline: Saturday 28th July: This is the weekend I have been waiting for since I
first came to the village. The weekend, when the mayor closes the roads, lines
them with a harvest of hay bales and then the sight, sound and smell of dozens
of vintage racing machines take to the streets and also take over the minds and
imaginations of every boy (and a great many girls), young and old for a
glorious fun filled and action packed weekend of pure enjoyment.
This weekend was doubly
important for us, as our very first gîte clients were also arriving on the
opening evening of the GP and as you would expect, there was still much to do
in order to meet the challenge of everything being ready in time and then being
able to relax and enjoy the weekend. However, more of that soon, let’s
concentrate on the racing!
I thought this event might
be rather fun, possible pretty good and perhaps even a bit special, as not many
places still have the guts to close part
of their village to everyday traffic and hold competitive vintage motor racing.
I was determined to enjoy the event as if I’d just arrived for the first time
and stumbled upon it, knowing nothing about the GP Retro and therefore devoid
of preconceptions. I’d therefore resisted all temptation to research, a pretty
tall order for a confirmed motor race and old car nut like myself, but I
managed it and I felt good as Paul and I climbed into the TR3 and drove though
the village on Saturday afternoon and found our way to the circuit’s hairpin
bend, parked up and wandered into the campsite to look at some cars.
Not a second after walking
through the campsite gates, a tall Frenchman began waving at me and calling my
name. Interesting, who could this be and I began to smile as the window
delivery chief came over, face beaming and heartily shook my hand and I kissed
his wife, he then shook Paul’s hand, called him ‘papa’ and we all laughed even
louder. A good omen to the start of the weekend!
There were a few ‘show’ cars
scattered around the tents, mainly classic road cars plus a few vintage
tourers. The really cool stuff would be in the paddock and we would need to
come back to see those, as we had just ‘popped out’ for a short nose and the
bride would be waiting back at base. Fortunately there was to be night racing
starting at 22h00 and we returned to greet our guests and prepare for dinner.
Andy, Sue and sweet little
Hannah arrived bang on the dot of 19h00 as Andy predicted and had been
travelling all day since leaving home at 05h00. They really needed to sleep,
but we shared a little supper with them, managed to keep Hannah out of the pool
and then they actually walked up towards the mairie(town hall), which was the
head of operations for the whole enterprise of GP Retro. This is where I had my
first wake up call of how popular the event had become. Le Puy has a population
of just 1300, yet there were thousands of happy smiling faces lining the
circuit up to the mairie and the pre-war four wheel racers were out giving
their gorgeous cars some serious exercise. Darkness was with us and the
atmosphere was akin to the night racing at the 24 hours of Le Mans, which Paul and I know so well. While the mairie
gave most of its rooms over to race organisation and support, including a huge
temporary restaurant for the drivers and their teams, the extensive grounds
were also wholly given over to the event, with two bars, tourist office, race
merchandise and numerous hot food outlets. The star of the show was however the
paddock, which was a fully accessible car museum and service area and
everywhere was a hotbed of activity and would remain so throughout the next
day.
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| Bugatti resplendent in moon light! |
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| Leaving the paddock for the starting line |
There was a couple dozen
three wheelers from the 1920s and 30s in the main paved area, Morgans being
well represented, while even more motor bikes, some with sidecars were
scattered around the perimeter and access roads and then among the trees were
the wonderful great racers from the stables of Riley, MG, Bugatti, Bentley,
Amilcar, Aston Martin, Fiat and others.
Racing stopped at midnight,
the bars stayed open until 02h30 and the partying went on through the night,
although I was safely tucked up, tired, happy and with great anticipation for
the next day.
I did the boulangerie run
next morning (60 second walk) for fresh bread and croissants and there were
cars everywhere as people had started arriving early. I spotted a friend’s TR6
from Nice whom I told of the race meeting some months before. A great shame we
never met up, even though he parked almost outside our door and we even had a
bed ready for him for a day or two!
Our guests had recovered
sufficiently to take in the spectacle and if Saturday night had been busy, the
Sunday saw thousands more in the village. The sun was out and a fantastic party
atmosphere was in the air. We stopped by one of the bars for a refreshment and
were served by a village roofer we knew and soon I recognised many other locals
and I think most of the population had been mobilised for this weekend.
The paddock was even more
impressive in daylight and an ultra rare Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic coupe road
car was parked in a prominent corner. There was even more activity than the
previous night, as more serious racing started and the motos went out. Riders
were all attired in period gear and a particularly interesting enthusiastic
competitor on a Norton, was sporting magnificently long moustaches which flowed
behind him as he raced to victory.
Next up were the 3-wheelers
and I took up position on the outside of the hairpin bend, the most dangerous
place possible for spectators to be and utterly outlawed for spectators in
every motor sport venue I’ve been to throughout Europe over the last 20 years,
but we were okay, as we had a hay bale to stand behind. The course car, an old
Land Rover led the cars around for a flying start and as it peeled off into the
paddock, the race began and the cars continued to amble around and I started to
laugh, but downgraded my mirth to a smile, as it seemed disrespectful. Perhaps
it was the fact that any 3-wheeled is inherently unstable (Reliant Robins roll
over easy peasy at 25mph), or that your average pre-war Morgan is worth shed
loads of folding money, but all of a sudden, one chap swung his rear end out at
the hairpin and put his foot down and two or three others decided to have a go
and we had a race. This was more like it and precious the cars may have been,
but it was fantastic seeing them being driven with such a sense of excitement
and competitiveness. One of the cars dropped a chain on the racing line and the
marshals took forever to move it off the track, but eventually did so and the
race was over too soon and the survivors enjoyed a well deserved victory lap in
front of an appreciative cheering crowd. I chatted to an English woman
spectator who had taken the broken chain from the marshals, told me it wasn’t
‘one of ours’ and went in search of its owner, oblivious of her filthy oily
hands to reunite them with their drive chain. It was pleasing to see such
enthusiasm and willingness to help others.
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| Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic coupe |
Meanwhile back near the
paddock, our guests and my wife were chatting to a couple from Hampshire, her
dad and their 9 year old daughter and discovering mutual NHS acquaintances and
before I knew it, they had been invited to a bbq at chez nous in a couple of
days time. Apparently, they holiday in nearby gites most years and their
daughter and that of our client’s had hit it off well.
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| Well, the rose was only €1 a glass! |
The big boys were soon
firing up their cars for the 4-wheelers and I spotted a likely pair of blue
machines gathering attention in the form of a Bugatti and a 1951 Le Mans
competing Fiat 1500, both being driven by young ladies and as it turned out,
driven very well. Paul complemented the Bugatti driver after learning she spoke
English and thanked her for brightening his day by being a beautiful woman in a
beautiful car and then asked her to make the day perfect by marrying him. Her
answer was apparently lost in the roar of her exhaust! Anyway, his potential betrothed
and her Fiat friend romped home at the front of the pack and overtook a few
tail-enders on the way to the chequered flag. Apparently one of the girls was
said to be a member of the Italian aristocracy, so well chosen Paul.
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| 1.5 litre Fiat . . . |
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| . . . with history! |
After all the classes had
raced, they all went out again and we ended the day in a packed local
restaurant before returning again tired and very happy to Le Clos de la Rose.
Considering the closed
street circuit is just a kilometre and a half in a tiny little village deep
amongst the vineyards, one might wonder why and how it can draw such an array
of magnificent and rare machinery and drivers, together with a crowd of 10 000,
but it is just because the village has the willingness to support something so
fabulous and joyous that it has become such a popular, if not universally well
known event (thank goodness). It manages to retain the enthusiastic charm of a
1950s British race meeting and the atmosphere will be familiar to anyone who
has attended the Goodwood Revival race meetings and I am determined to be one
of those locals next year, helping to keep this event so special.
A bientôt,
LC
http://youtu.be/CvGUbfTtRsM Night racing, 3-wheelers
http://youtu.be/erGVb_IQ9LQ Whole event
recap
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| Well, we all have to eat |
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