In which a key is lost, and we drove over a pass.
“Is it OK if Marko drives with us today,” asks Harry.
“Yeah of course!” we say, excited to hear the leader is joining us.
We’ve perfected packing up now, Millie takes down the tent in seconds and I have the tesselation of the boot down to an art – she then wanders off round the campsite trying to find people to take items of unfinshed food (normally half a bottle of wine, or some milk, we are genuinely that tight for sapce.).
Except. We are quite security concious in Car 38, we keep the key in a safe, easy to find location. The ashtray.
And we also leave the roof down. For security. But last night it rained and this morning the key isn’t in it’s special place which we only realise when we jump into leave. Worry thee not, we have a spare, cut specially for this trip… We put it in the ignition, we turn the engine on and… The engine goes off again.
Shit.
Immobliser fault.
I stare in horror at the dashboard as everyone starts to leave, then cast my mind back to last night, the 20 minutes walk into town, through long grass.
“Come on, let’s pull it apart.” I say to Millie, and everything comes our of the car, all the bags are empoited and the tent is pulled apart.
The French require you carry a high viz jacket inside the car, and we are tight for space, so we’ve brought our cycling jackets and they are doing double duties as our waterproofs. (We don’t have room for TWO jackets). and that’s where the key is. In the pocket of my hi-viz stuffed under a seat. It was raining last night and I was wearing it. It is not raining this morning.
Everyone except our buddies in the Corrado and Z4 (how nice are they?) have left, we try to make up time but the roads are really busy and the MX5 ain’t that quick uphill.
Umbrail Pass first then Stelvio.
Pretty as hell, busy as hell, no-one is letting us past. Crazy bikers with some VERY varying levels of skill (I always associate bikers as taking riding seriously, but it’s just not the case. 25k on a GS and another 3k on kit but can’t ride round a corner.) We catch the R2R convoy and go past about 30 cars in two stunning overtakes, picking off a couple more at a set of temprorary traffic lights, but as we get to the Italian border it’s pretty much solid traffic.
Pretty though.
There’s a warning on the CB radio that the Italian cops are stopping everyone but we sail through, in fact everyone except the T1 sails through. And to be fair I’d have stopped them too, they look suspicious.
After the passes we’re on motorways all the way to a small campsite with views across the Adriatic to Venice.
