DEREK BELL
The Legend
S o, there we were, enjoying tea and homemade cake. Lesson learned: if you’re going to have an off-piste moment in a Porsche, do so in France. Scroll back a few days and I was sitting down for dinner in the Grand Palais in Paris with Porsche specialist Carlos Beltran, feeling a bit apprehensive ahead of my first attempt at the Tour Auto. It was a pleasure to be in the French capital, one of the world’s great cities despite the pain it has been forced to endure of late, but I was starting to wonder what I had let myself in for.
I met Carlos last year during the Goodwood Revival Meeting and we soon thrashed out a deal to contest the 2017 Tour Auto in a 1974 Porsche 911 Carrera RS 3.0. It was only after I saw the many – many – cars gathered together in scrutineering that the enormity of what lay ahead fully dawned on me: around 2500km of action on road stages and circuits that, for the most part, were unfamiliar. Not only that, I would be sharing driving duties with a man I barely knew – and I am not a good passenger.
There were a variety of classes, some more serious than others, with Porsches by the dozen, not least a non-turbo 935-style car driven by former ALMS champion Gunnar Jeannette, and a tangerine-coloured 911 that Steve McQueen and I used to thrash around in during the making of Le Mans, which is now packing a megahorsepower 3.2-litre engine. No pressure.
Patrick Peter and his team put together a fantastic event, though. I had a blast, as did everyone else from what I could see of it. A DFV-powered Ligier JS2 was unquestionably the fastest car at the various tracks, including the new Pau road circuit and Albi, which has gained quite a few chicanes since my last visit.
I am glad that I contested the Mille Miglia last year, but it reminded me of the opening lap of a Formula Ford race, only one that lasted for hours on end. The Tour Auto was something else entirely. Yes, there were a few shunts, but competitors seemed to be driving within themselves for the most part.
Which brings us to the moment when I parked our 911 against a tree. It was on the afternoon of the second day, barely a kilometre away from the end of a very twisty and equally narrow special stage. I had found a rhythm and was thoroughly enjoying myself until I was momentarily caught out by a damp patch from where it had rained overnight. The car never rotated, it merely lost traction. The back end sidestepped and we clipped a bank and partially slid down the other side, with only a small tree stopping us from tumbling 30ft onto the road below.
We were informed that it would be at least three hours before a truck could be sent out to retrieve us. It was at this juncture that a couple of ex-pat Brits came along and offered to drive us to their home for tea and cake. We headed off in their Renault Twingo and spent a few delightful hours enjoying their hospitality before they drove us back to our beached Porsche. Damage to the car was minimal. At least it was until the spectacularly grumpy driver of the recovery lorry turned up and refused to heed any advice as to how it should be extricated. Instead, our ‘rescuer’ hooked his winch to the front of the car and dragged it out, the hitherto immaculate right-hand side flank smacking against the tree and just about everything else before all four wheels were back on the asphalt. Fortunately, our off-road excursion hadn’t damaged anything vital so we carried on for another three days and made it to the finish. A particular highlight was being done for speeding, the police then asking to have their photos taken with us and the car…
We were never even remotely in the running for outright honours, mind. Heck, we didn’t even have proper timing equipment. We just relied on the gauges and basic arithmetic, which was sketchy at best. The French-helmed Ligier – the same car that finished second to the Mirage driven by Jacky Ickx and myself at Le Mans in 1975 – was blisteringly quick everywhere and appeared set for victory, only for the final stage to be canned due to someone else’s accident. As such, the crew missed out on the necessary points to seal the deal. The win, instead, went to James Cottingham and Andrew Smith, the GT40 duo having performed brilliantly all week.
As to whether I would contest the event again… I would say yes. Unequivocally so. It was just about the most fun I’ve ever had with my clothes on.
Well, almost.
‘WE WERE DONE FOR SPEEDING. THEN THE POLICE ASKED TO HAVE THEIR PHOTOS TAKEN WITH US AND THE CAR’