Of the six days in the road-book, Saturday is the one we’ve thought about least. No Stelvio. No Furka. Nothing above five hundred metres. After the drama of the pre-event and a week of mountain passes, we hadn’t even dared to start thinking about what we would do if we made it this far. Our mistrust in TS2 seems ridiculous now. We know little Darling will take us anywhere we want to go. A run from Épinal to the Netherlands presents no strain at all.
Complacency is not a good mindset with a classic car. We remind ourselves this is not some simple clean up after the party. This is the final leg. This is where the goal gets met. The tenth country bagged.
We check the fluids, trying to remember a time we couldn’t instinctively pop the bonnet, remove the cap from the master cylinder, rock her gently to allow the reflection to tell the levels. She’ll want 500ml of water in the rad. If she’s kept at the mid-point on the dipstick, she won’t drink any oil at all. More than that, and she’ll spit it out. We’ve become a portable rig supplying Classic 20W/50 to other entrants. I bought five litres for the trip. We’ve used two glugs, and donated just over half the can to various TR6s in need.
We sit and prepare the route ahead. Without mountains, the dominant force shaping the roads is going to be water. Everything today seems to be a river. And so, out of Epinal with the sun on our backs. Evie at the wheel, speedo disconnected, cold in the shade of the trees, but oh so nice in the sun. We measure speed by the familiar engine note and varying amounts of buffetting. Wind direction throws us off by a couple of kph, but all is good. We cross the Moselle just after nine, the Meurthe at half past.
By ten we are seeing signs to Verdun. It may be our mood, but so much of what we know by name seems to come to us through battles and tragedies. Inches measured off by the hundreds of lives lost. Commander Philippe Pétain rallied his troops behind the famous words, “Ils ne passeront pas” and yet, pass we do.
The Dutch are definitely up to something, though. We are passed by at least 10 Dakar styled Volvos with Netherlands plates. Spare tyres on the roof. Ladders on the back. We chase them to a fuel station, as they seem the type to know where the ‘98 is. You can see a couple sneaking into the photo above. Whilst filling up, the tuneful horns of more ring out in greeting at TS2’s smiling face.
We trade back and forth with the Moselle. Rising yesterday in the Vosges, we’ve followed it ever since, and dined on its banks in Epinal. Now we follow it north into Lorraine, and off into the Rhine.
We are in our rhythm and TS2 is in fine form. Any creeping thoughts about binding brakes is kept at bay by lazy downshifts into roundabouts. If she rolls, they’re not rubbing. The handbrake is going increasingly long, but perhaps she just wants to be closer to us.
Quick maths with the digital speedo says we clear 92,000 on the clock before reaching Luxembourg.
We stop for food at Parc Hosingen, and check the route ahead. It’s a tricky day, comprising equal parts “just get it done” and “don’t let it stop”. Our minds naturally turn to what comes next, yet we find we can’t quite imagine life off the road. I recognise the quandary from my endurance cycling days. As you get further into an event, you become increasingly invested in finishing it. At the same time, you become more institutionalised by the experience, and increasingly apprehensive about it ending. You’re desperate to reach the finish, but the nearer you get, the more reluctant you are to bring things to a close. Coffees may solve it.
Focus. Get on. Finish it. There’s a quick border scrabble from Luxembourg, to Belgium (Jalhay), Germany (Aachen) before we reach the Netherlands (Kerkrade). We’ll try to drop a pin on the tracker every time we cross a border, but they’ll be coming thick and fast.
The borders ahead are typically permeable. Generally you’re looking for a flag, a signpost, or a bridge. When we swing left at traffic lights past yet another Lidl, we circle a roundabout and head up Herzogenrath’s Neustraße. The middle of this road is the border. Kerbs of different nationalities face each other and the opposing traffic is already on Kerkrade’s Nieuwstraat. It’s tantalisingly close, but first exit at the next four roundabouts denies us a chance to leave Germany for the Netherlands until we are moments away from the finish. There’s no marker for the border enforced until the 90s by a 30 centimetre wall, and half a century before that, barbed wire, guard posts, and sentries.
We finally spy the business centre that straddles the two countries and turn left to cross the border at 14:56. We have bagged the tenth country. This might be the first photo we haven’t smiled in.
Arrivée
Evie brings TS2 through the Abbey gates. No fanfare. No fireworks. We spy a couple of Triumphs, and, as is customary, despite not seeing them all day, we manage to park next to Rob and Mark, who have just arrived.
I drop a pin. The road-book ends here.
We do some quick maths with the GPS App. TS2’s odometer (were it still advancing) would read 92,159. I’ve taken to checking each pin as it lands, mainly for confirmation of which country we are actually in. It agrees, “Gemeente Kerkrade, the Netherlands”. The map page of this blog tells me we’ve covered exactly 2,000 miles since leaving the driveway in Dorset on Saturday night.
Was it really only Saturday?
Looking around, we are ahead of the field. Resplendent as our current parking space is, it’s not as photogenic as the front of the abbey. We know we need better photos if we’re going to honour our pledge to promote TS2, so we hop back in and take a sneaky drive to the front door.
Evie drives her away and back to her prior parking space.
You can hear the absolute joy in Evie’s voice, but probably can’t sense the sorrow I feel as both drive away from me.
By the time I’ve walked back to the parking space to find her, more entrants are beginning to pile in. Evie’s glad to reconnect with Rhys and Aidan who’ve just pulled up in their 1500 Spit.
We wander through to the courtyard bar as a group. Rob and Mark are here, and the queue is beginning to fill with participants. I sit down to a glass of wine (thanks Rob!) and start trading stories of the last few days with Mark. Somehow we’ve not really managed to catch up at all and the last time I spent any time in their company seemed to be on the day before the start.
My phone buzzes with a message from the organisers that we’ve parked in the wrong spot, and are supposed to be leaving our cars in a secure area around the back. Evie already has the keys, so I hand her my phone so that she can locate it on a map.
Evie, Aidan and Rhys head off to move the cars, and I sit on my own for a while. For the second time today, I’m left behind. Evie and I have shared every moment for the last week and probably never been more than an elbow’s reach away throughout.
Eventually, I’m rescued by TR2 driver Tobi. He’s not on the event, but has been following our Insta and has driven up from Aachen with his son to see TS2. There’s a slightly embarrassing ten minutes of searching whilst I realise I have no idea where TS2 or the new parking location actually is. Eventually we spy a lane beyond the main entrance, and at the end of the track, TS2 and about 50 Triumphs.
We spend a very pleasant 15 minutes talking about TS2, the ways it differs from his, the similarities. Tobi clearly knows his stuff, as you might expect if you’ve seen his TR2.
By the time I’m back at the table, Evie is very happy ensconced between the Spitfire pilots, and we lose the rest of the afternoon chatting and smiling.
As the light falls and the courtyard fills up, we find the demography broadens. Beyond Rhys and Aidan, we also find Harrison, Alex, Jack, Callum and Keiran. All in their 20s, all passionate about their cars. The group expands to include Matilde and Simon, who we met on the first day. Evie asks how their event went. Matilde quickly chimes in, “It was brilliant.
I’ve only had my license for a few years, and I’ve never driven the Vitesse on UK roads. I saw you driving, Evie, and realised if you could do it, so could I.
Mum sorted my insurance the next day.”
And that was probably our proudest moment. More than the mountains, the passes, the roadside fixes and the crazy descents. From the outset, Evie had been conscious of how stuffily male-dominated the classic driving scene can be. Knowing she had provided the example that encouraged another woman to get hands-on, particularly a 20-year-old who then immediately drove through the Austrian hills, gave us hope for a more equitable and prolonged future for these beautiful machines.
And so we headed into supper, already sated by a job well done. As we sat down, Ellis approached Evie and quietly asked if she would mind helping him with something a little later. Instinctively, she assumed it might be collating records or packing finishers’ boxes. But no. To our absolute delight, he announced there would be a celebration tonight on the main steps, and that it would feature three cars deserving promotion in the official photographs.
Not only had he chosen TS2, he had walked straight past her male co-pilot to find Evie and ask her to bring it round.
We ended our night on those steps, surrounded by friends and companions: Club Triumph, the Vintage Triumph Register, TSSC Youth, Six Pack Car Club, and TR Register members. English, European, American, young and old, gathered through common experience to fête our darling TS2. A suitable bookend to the day Evie and I first laid eyes on her. Car Club Fest had operated under the byline “Stronger Together”, and we were the living proof. Arriving at Malvern as strangers to the car and the people, we leave with a circle woven together by the journey she has taken us on.