Convoy! CAR's seminal drive story appeared in our February 1977 issue. We drove a trio of Lamborghinis – the Countach, Silhouette and Urraco – from Sant'Agata to London
CAR's great drives: Convoy! Part 2
By
Mel Nichols
28 August 2008 17:00
Convoy! Continued... Click here to read Convoy! Part 1. It's CAR's seminal drive story from 1977, as Mel Nichols pilots a convoy of three Lamborghinis from Modena across the Alps and back to London
We swapped again, in the bright sunshine of the afternoon now, and Roger removed the Silhouette’s roof. I switched to the Urraco with Steve at the wheel to try to take pictures. We were surging up the Aosta valley now, heading for the Mont Blanc tunnel and the air was clean and fresh and the sight of those two cars behind us, as I hung out the Urraco’s window with my camera, was magnificent.
A wide, straight road, mountains topped with snow rearing up on either side and the soft light of the dropping sun. I stayed out there until the cold wind of 90mph made it impossible to hang on longer: I asked Steve why he’d gone so fast. ‘Sorry, cock,’ he said in his best Cockney, ‘didn’t realise.’ I knew what he meant. We sped up to a more natural 120mph.
Not far from Aosta, we stopped for enough fuel to take us into France. I changed back to the Silhouette and buttoned up my coat. The lack of buffeting with the roof off was incredible. We were soon running at 140mph on the almost deserted autostrada, and even at that speed there was little by way of noise or wind intrusion. Amazing.
Mont Blanc loomed ahead; the sun was low and dropping fast, and the air was getting cold. The heater, full-on, warmed my legs and chest while my face froze. But what an evening – flowing so quickly and effortlessly up that mountain and finding that the Silhouette and its Pirellis had more grip that I might have imagined. Alone again in a real sports car; a sports car, what’s more, with the power to eat those bends and catapult past the trucks. For I know not how long I endured perfect pleasure.
I didn’t realise how cold I was until we stopped at the customs control at the entrance to the Mont Blanc tunnel; like a fool I volunteered to be a passenger again for the descent, although I suspect I gained just as much reward from watching the Countach and Silhouette darting through the endless downhill bends ahead of Steve and me as I might have from driving myself. There was barely a car on the long, quick autoroute up to the Swiss border and we covered it at a steady 140mph cruise, the cars hardly seeming to work.
Night was coming quickly and we wanted to be within reasonable striking distance of the Dijon-Paris autoroute before stopping. After we’d halted for coffee at a bar whose owner claimed that his front door was in France and his back door was in Switzerland, the Silhouette was mine again: Roger took a break while we covered the bumpy backroads taking us across the Rhone and on towards Nantua with the sort of ease that can be had only in a true grand touring car; it’s at times like these, with a few hundred miles under your belt, and the going is growing more difficult and tiring that you appreciate them most.
They are so very much in control, so much within themselves. Their reserves are your reserves: we came over a crest and there, on the wrong side of the road with no hope of making it, was a rolling, juddering, wound-up 2CV trying to overtake a truck. There was a small pull-off area; the Silhouette darted into it as the Deux Cheveaux sailed past. David and Steve saw the dust and followed suit. The rock wall lining the road resumed again, and no doubt, so did the 2CV driver.
We stopped at the first likely hotel, and that’s how we discovered France’s answer to Fawlty Towers; a tarted-up place called the Chateau du Pradon terrorised by two mad cats called Antoinette and Voltaire, with its wallpaper tacked on with sticky tape and decidedly curious plumbing but comfortable beds, humorous staff and an impeccable restaurant.
Click 'Next' to continue reading CAR's original Convoy! story from 1977
