MGB AN IDEAL RIDE FOR A FRENCH ROAD TRIP
Who would’ve thought a classic would be a fine companion for roads of the French countryside
NICE, France — If you happen to be wandering the streets of Nice just east of the harbour, and you’re in the habit of peering down alleyways, you might be lucky enough to spy a sign reading L’Automobile Classic Cars Club. The small garage door is usually open and after walking through, you’ll be presented with a cornucopia of motorized wonders.
While a 1925 Buick sedan and a pair of immaculately restored Harley Davidson single-cylinder racing motorcycles from the 1970s might seem out of place in Nice, the hits just keep on coming: a 1958 Porsche 356 Coupe, a 1958 Jaguar XK150 Roadster, a Messerschmitt microcar, a Ferrari 308, an MG TC and a very rare, and quite fetching 1960 Borgward Isabella coupe. Also a few American muscle cars and some ratty barn finds, a 1930s Auburn convertible, a Jaguar Mark 2 sedan and a 1955 Caddy convertible lurking in the corner like a beached whale. Some are for sale, some are here for restoration, and some are owner Tom Brault’s personal prizes, like the silver 356.
Brault opened the business up a few years ago, after cutting his teeth restoring classic cars. It’s kind of a full-service enterprise now — buying, selling, restoring and handling sales of customer collections, while also providing vehicles for corporate events, films and weddings. The Riviera is a bit of a treasure trove for classic cars, having been populated by generations of wealthy sun lovers. As Brault puts it, you never know what might turn up.
But my wife, Claire, and I were not here to buy. We were hoping L’Automobile Classic Cars Club might have an interesting rental with which we could cruise the Cote D’Azure. As luck would have it, Tom had two cars for that purpose: A massive, 1970s Buick convertible and a 1974 MGB.
Ah, the classic British roadster would be perfect. Yet, when first laying eyes on the MGB, my heart hardly spilled over with Mediterranean lust. This specimen could quite possibly qualify as the homeliest MGB ever to leave the factory in Abington, England. Ironically, it was a North American-spec car, meaning it had ugly rubber bumpers and a raised ride height. It was also painted in a questionable shade of brown.
Still, the old dear made all the right noises and was in fine fettle. Its steering, transmission, engine and brakes all felt fresh, and on these roads, all were going to get a workout. Surprisingly, people loved this little brown car — we got all kinds of looks and friendly waves, even from those driving considerably more desirable classics, including a late1950s Mercedes-Benz SL and a beautiful, cream-coloured Citroën Traction Avant convertible.
The thing to do when driving from Nice — after dropping the top, of course — is to head east toward Monaco and Italy. There are three roads carved into the spectacular mountain side — the Basse (Lower) Corniche wends its way along the coastal villages, the Moyenne (Middle) Corniche cuts through halfway up, and the Grande (Upper) Corniche offers stunning vistas from on high.
We started on the Basse, making various detours into wealthy enclaves and getting lost on a few occasions. But hey, that was the whole point. You can’t be in a hurry here, as the roads are sinuous and traffic heavy. The MGB played perfectly into this; its unassisted steering is weighty at first, but becomes feelsome once on the move And with only 78 horsepower from the 1.8-litre four-cylinder engine, excessive speed was never an issue. It did have decent torque, though, so we growled along in second and third gear pretty much all day.
Avoiding the insanity of Monaco, we jumped up to the Moyenne Corniche and viewed the principality from above as we headed to Menton, the most Italian of French towns that sits right on the border. A lunch of exquisite pasta and caprese salad completed the picture. We strolled down to the beach and I noted to Claire how many French women seem to be quite forgetful, leaving half their bathing suits at home. She was not impressed.
Returning on the Grande Corniche, the road is more open and the views breathtaking. About halfway back to Nice, we ducked down to the Moyenne to take in the Medieval town of Eze that perches 427 metres above sea level at the top of a near vertical, narrow peak of rock. Nicknamed The Eagles Nest, it’s been a strategic post for centuries, and exploring its warren of alleys is truly enchanting. The oldest building here is the Chapelle de la Sainte Croix, dating back to 1306.
Leaving Eze on the Moyenne Corniche, we crossed the impressive eight-arched Bridge of the Devil Viaduct that spans the Gaffinel Ravine. It was built between 1911 and 1914, but a legend in the village tells a different tale. A peasant, fed up with crossing the ravine to tend his flocks, made a deal with the devil: A bridge built overnight in exchange for the soul of the first living creature to traverse it. In the morning, standing at the edge of the new bridge with his dog, the peasant threw a stick which the dog chased across the bridge, thus satisfying the debt. Satan was not happy. Nor was the dog, I suspect.
We concluded our day with a de rigueur late afternoon drive along the Promenade in Nice, a five-kilometre stretch flanked by the azure Mediterranean to the south and historic hotels, parks and the old city to the north. Rolling back to L’Automobile Classic Cars Club, we parked the MGB next to Brault’s blue Ford Thunderbird.
The bill for our day of topdown fun was 250 euros; money has a way of vaporizing here at the Cote d’Azure. Had we been stupidly wealthy, the obvious strategy for this motorized excursion would have been to buy the red-overtan 1988 Rolls-Royce Corniche (84,900 euros) that was in the showroom. Perhaps next time