claret

CLARET & CLASSICS 1993

10.00 p.m. on Monday the first of July saw us - my wife,
Napoleon (my Bentley Continental) and I - boarding a ferry at Portsmouth, bound for Le
Havre and all points south.

Our destination was Bordeaux, and the start of the tenth "Claret & Classics" rally. This is
an annual event, organised by a refugee from1960s Carnaby Street by the name of Roger
Deeley, an artist by profession, and a wine and old car enthusiast. It involves fifty cars,
ranging from (this year) 1924 to (every year) 1965, together with their owners / drivers /
passengers, meeting in Bordeaux on the first Saturday in July. From there, they progress,
via various chateaux, parties, picnics, receptions and a little bit of gentle (!) competition
(regularity, not racing) over the following week, up through the Bordeaux region, to
Cognac, and finally to Saumur.

Some people take the competitive element immensely seriously. There is no doubt that, if
you are a fan of that sort of thing, this rally can really test your mettle. If you are more
than a few seconds out, after maybe an hour's driving, someone will have beaten you.
Not only is the navigation very testing - there is no indication of the distance between
successive instructions, which can be anything from a few hundred yards to up to thirty
miles apart - but also a section ends without any prior indication or warning. One minute,
you are bowling along, enjoying sunshine and scenery, with hardly a care in the world.
The next, you round a corner to find someone standing in the middle of the road with a
stopwatch and clipboard.

We had been warned that, in Cognac, Deeley has the status of a rain god. Every year so
far, as soon as the rally had approached the city limits, the heavens had opened. Without
fail. Leaving Le Havre (after spending our wedding night in a truck-driver's cabin in the
bowels of the ship) in the early hours of a grey Friday morning and a light drizzle, we
appreciated the truth of this warning - and Cognac was still several hundred miles away!
By midday, however, the skies had cleared and we saw no more rain until after we had
returned safely to England. This was the year that Deeley broke his duck.

Friday night was spent in a delightful, if extraordinarily decorated, chateau owned by an
expatriate non-conformist near Chinon, with a handful of other competitors. We all had
to hide our cars in a barn, and generally pretend that we were not there, as the
establishment had been closed the previous week by order of the local Mayor (they are
all-powerful in France), who did not share our host's "liberal" views.

We arrived safely in Bordeaux the following afternoon for "scrutineering" - checking that
our cars had four wheels (no Reliant Robins!), and that we were not closet teetotallers.
En route, we had visited the superb museum at Le Mans, as well as driving the
approximately seven-eighths of the circuit which is comprised of public roads - have you
ever driven a Bentley at Le Mans?! Shades of Tim Birkin and Woolf Barnato.

The week which followed was a mixture of many wonderful things: of bonhomie,
cameraderie and glorious sunshine; of fine French food, fine French wine and fine French
hospitality; and of beautiful old cars, stunning chateaux, and traffic-free roads, winding
through delightful countryside.

We visited the Chateaux de Malle and Beycheville, and saw many of the great names of
Bordeaux, such as Margaux and Palmer. We were treated to fine Cognacs at Maison
Frapin, the largest single estate in Grande Champagne. There resides an 1896 Panhard et
Levassor, which has been in the family since new - 97 years ago, and still in full working
order! We all sat down to an al-fresco lunch with the Mayor of Cognac, during which we
arrested his Chief of Police - he went quietly, handcuffed to two "policemen" in borrowed
St. John's Ambulance uniforms and a Daimler Dart patrol car. We picnicked in the
grounds of Martell, by the river, on a glorious summer evening. We were regally
entertained by the Mayor and Corporation of La Rochelle in their 16th. century Hotel de
Ville. Later the same evening, we were confronted, on the quayside, by trestle tables
literally groaning under the weight of more oysters than either the Walrus, or the
Carpenter, could possibly have imagined in their wildest dreams. This was by courtesy of
local restaurateur and old car fan, "Andre", at whose excellent establishment a number of
us subsequently dined in great style .

The rally culminated on Friday evening, after a civic reception in Saumur (getting a bit
blase about civic receptions by now, we arrived very late!), in a prize-giving and dinner /
dance at the Maison du Bouvet-Ladubay. The latter took place in their caves - which
needed no translation, as they really were hewn out of the rock on which the place stands.
B-L make a variety of Champagne-style sparkling white wines, which are quite as good
as the real thing. Seven different vintages of this were served with each of a
corresponding number of courses - starting with more Foie Gras than I could possibly
manage at one sitting.

Much to our surprise, we collected prizes for being part of the winning team - having the
rally winner among us, successfully counterbalanced our miserable performance. We
were also given a jeroboam of Bouvet for Napoleon - judged the car he would most like
to own by our host that evening. We may give him a little help in the drinking of it!

Nursing far less of two hangovers than we deserved on Saturday morning, still in
brilliant sunshine, we headed back for Le Havre, and England. We had enjoyed one of
the most memorable and pleasurable motoring events of our lives. Napoleon performed
impeccably throughout the 1500 mile journey, averaging over 16 m.p.g., and consuming
only three pints of oil. He fully justified the sobriquet "Continental", proving to be a fine
long-distance tourer in the grand style. He was at his happiest cruising quietly down the
autoroute at 100 m.p.h. - a true Grande Routier.