Citroën DS Rescue
The future of the past rescued by the future of the future
The future of the future rescues the future of the past.
The self-driving car is a new thing, right? Wrong! The Tesla you see here – the support vehicle for this epic DS rescue mission – is equipped with ‘autopilot’ but it wasn’t the first.
Beneath the tarmac of the M4 in Berkshire is a cable, laid in 1960 by engineers from the Road Research Laboratory. Put there before the motorway was opened to the public and running unbroken for nine miles between Reading and Maidenhead, the empty highway was used to conduct experiments on a fully automated driverless car. It drove itself at speeds of up to 80mph – even in rain and snow – and was
equipped with a mechanism to pick up signals from the magnetic field generated by a current flowing through the cable underneath the road surface.
And the vehicle in question? The world’s first fully automatically controlled vehicle was a Citroën DS. The RRL had attempted to experiment with a Standard Vanguard estate but thanks to the big Citroën’s standard high-pressure hydraulics used for steering, gearchange, brakes and suspension, it was the ideal research tool as all of the controls could be made to respond to the signals in unison.
Nowadays, with the cable long since forgotten beneath the millions of unsuspecting motorists on the M4, automated cars are a reality – most eminently in the form of the remarkable Tesla. Some 54 years after the DS experiments in Berkshire, Tesla boss Elon Musk introduced the Autopilot system, which uses a number of sensors and on board cameras to keep the car in line.
Age of the robots
I can think of no better support vehicle in our efforts to rescue my mate Darren’s DS, recently purchased in the south of France. Alongside Darren, myself and mechanic Nev have launched a bid to retrieve the car, which will mean crossing the entire country. Expensive, no with a plentiful network of Tesla Supercharger stations, the trip should cost exactly nil Euros in our borrowed Model S. Since it has no engine, we fill the two large boots, front and rear, with the necessary tools and set off for Marseilles. Plotting a course could not be easier. Tell the car where you want to go via its enormous ipad-like centre console and it decides on a route that allows for a pause at one of the 480-volt charging points – a 60 minute plug-in giving you a range of about 300 miles and time for some French spec rocket-fuel coffee.
Much like the DS must have been back in 1955, the Tesla is beyond anything I have ever known. In Autopilot, the car really does drive itself. I found myself travelling for hundreds of miles, never once touching the steering wheel or pedals. Back in 1960 the scientists at Crowthorne – reckoning their automatic steering system was more effective in maintaining a steady course than a human driver – said all cars in Britain would be automated by 2010. It’s doubtful they could imagine how fast a modern car could be, however. Hit the Tesla’s ‘Ludicrous button’ – a nod to Mel Brooks’ film Spaceballs – and there’s a Star-wars-esque rush of stars on the centre screen as you’re propelled seamless to 60mph in 3 seconds.
‘Just as the DS was in 1955, the Tesla is unlike anything else on the road today’
The power is instant and with no gearbox, it feels like an aircraft at takeoff. As the miles pass, I become hooked on the car. It’s intuitive and addictive, in the same way as a smart phone or tablet.
Hours later, we turn a corner and before us rests the majestic form of our target: a 1973 Citroën DS. Astonishingly competent the Tesla might be, we may as well have pulled up in a wheelbarrow. The Citroën still manages to shame it. The clock is ticking and we need to turn around immediately. We get straight to work – Darren firing it up and Nev diving underneath just as soon as the car rises up on its suspension. Nev is a New Zealander and, although able to fix almost anything, he never really explains what magic he’s weaving under the bonnet – despite my best efforts to find out. There’s a lot of mumbling about fuel and in an instant he’s dropping a new fuel pump in – and flushing crud out of the tank.
The exhaust is secured properly and some engine tuning commences. Following a volley of muffled swearing from under the Citroën’s huge bonnet, Nev shuts it and takes his place behind the wheel. Within hours of arriving, we’re ready for departure and our journey north. Nobody wants to drive the Tesla. Later, I relieve Nev from his duties and I sink into the large, cosseting seat of the DS. A bright blue Mediterranean disappears in the rear-view mirror and people stop and wave as we glide through villages. The Citroën immediately demonstrates its talent for absorbing every bump, its surprisingly tenacious road holding and ability to shrug at danger like a drunk chain-smoking French professor on a bicycle.
The long road north
A short time later, we’re settling into the long cruise home on the autoroute. We’re on deadline and a ferry awaits us in the far north, so we are putting a huge amount of faith into our forty-year old Citroën. Tesla gently bobbing about behind on its optional £2000 air suspension, the DS is especially good on the quiet French motorway tarmac and beats the newer car on both space and comfort. Only the drone of the Citroën’s gruff four-pot lets it down. We make it to Clermont-ferrand before the Tesla alerts us to its need for electricity. Nev has become concerned by a warning light on the Citroën’s instrument panel and sure enough, the older car needs a gulp of bright green hydraulic fluid. The leak is only slight though and New Zealander Nev delivers another incomprehensible mumble. I take his enthusiastic leap into the driver’s seat as positive news.
Darren and I follow in the Tesla and it’s from here, we can fully admire not only the Citroën’s svelte good looks, but the way in which it uniquely moves. Road imperfections and undulations pass underneath the body, causing the wheels to move dramatically upwards into the arches. The body itself shifts
not an inch, remaining completely level. This same remarkable movement can be observed on any Citroën equipped with this suspension – from GS, SM and CX to modern day C5 and C6.
Some 200 miles later and some spluttering from the DS coincides with a timely electricity stop. A minor fuel leak is located and repaired and a mere splash of hydraulic fluid leaves us feeling pretty smug. Just this morning, this old car was dusty, abandoned and stranded in a Marseilles car park. 45 minutes later and 250 miles of Tesla juice injected into the modern motor, we press on to the port of Caen and – mostly thanks to the calculations provided by the Tesla’s unnervingly intuitive navigation system – we have made it to the majestic Mont St Michel of Brittany Ferries. Concern over, Nev becomes positively animated, grinning at a clearly chuffed Darren. We shake hands an enjoy a beer.
On board ship, the DS has not gone unnoticed by young car nut Arthur Hanley. Having spied us on the car deck, he approaches us alongside dad Michael. ‘I subscribe to Practical Classics. I love old cars but I love French ones the most.’ I ask him if he noticed the other car we were in. The boy shoots me a blank look and gleefully continues to talk about classics. ‘I want a Peugeot 205 for my first car’. Good lad!
Following a welcome snooze, we disembark at Portsmouth and I say farewell to the DS and my colleagues. My route home in the Tesla takes me from Wiltshire eastbound along the M4 and to the stretch of road where that cable lies buried under the tarmac. The Model S has blown me away. It makes every other new car - from petrol to diesel - utterly obsolete. I reckon it is the greatest leap in automotive engineering for half a century. If you don’t believe me, just try one. It really is that good. Yet I arrive home to find my own DS parked in the driveway and the Tesla once again becomes invisible. The future of the past is still somehow more special – and probably always will be.
‘Once dusty and abandoned, our DS is now conquering all of France’