On the beaten track

Roger Hicks learns a few valuable lessons when trying to drive along an old railway track

Exploring the French countryside in a Series III... along a disused railway line

“I'd probably have been all right with limited slip"

The French have a wonderful phrase: une fausse bonne idée, a false good idea. This is when you say, “hey, wouldn't it be great if...” and unfortunately the answer is no. Sometimes you can work this out just by thinking about it. Other times, you have to try it. As I did recently.

The part of rural France where I live was once incredibly well served by branch lines, each with its own tiny station, typically only two or three miles apart. Trains were used in place of buses, which is no surprise when you consider that a hundred years ago the roads were at best Macadamised, or paved with small un-tarred stones: not the same as tarmac at all. Today the branch lines are all closed, and increasingly overgrown.

So, why not try driving along some of these closed lines? Sounds like fun, doesn't it? Well, yes, it would be – if it worked. There turned out to be two enormous drawbacks. One is that 16 inch wheels with standard tyres aren't quite big enough. I'd have been a lot better off with 17 inch wheels, or bigger tyres, or both. The other is best summed up by a quote from Horace: "Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret." In other words, you can kick out nature with a pitchfork, but it'll always come back. I apologise for quoting an author from 2100 years ago, and in Latin at that, but I wanted to point out that the invincibility of nature is not exactly a new phenomenon.

As any schoolboy knows (and probably most schoolgirls too), the 'permanent way' normally consists of a bed of stones (the ballast) on which are laid sleepers that in turn support the rails. And, this is where life gets interesting.

Standard gauge is famously four feet, eight and a half inches: the inner edges of the rails are 1435mm apart. The nominal track of a Series III is 1330 mm: 12 mm, or half an inch, smaller. Measuring the actual track of my Series III, the outside edges of the tyres are about 1500 mm apart. In other words, although it is perfectly feasible to fit railwaycompatible wheels on a Land Rover (you've probably seen pictures of it), and although it is theoretically possible to balance pneumatic tyres on the rails as long as you can steer to the nearest quarter inch or 6mm, in the real world you need one wheel just inside one rail, and the other slightly on the far side of the other rail. Because of the ties that hold the rails to the sleepers it is a good idea to drive a little further offset, in order to avoid bumping over them and scuffing the sidewalls of the tyres.

Now, if you're running a railway, only the rails have to be level. The top of the rail is about 5 inches, 125 mm, above the sleepers, and the sleepers are typically up to four inches (100 mm) proud of the top of the rail-bed. The ballast slopes off quite sharply on either side of the rails. All this makes for an inherently bumpy ride: your Land Rover will bounce up and down.

Ground clearance is marginal to begin with, by which I mean, of course, rail clearance. As it turned out, the suspension spring retaining brackets on the passenger side kissed the rail on a regular basis – every few feet, the rust was scraped clean where the bolts hit it. But hey, this is what Series Land Rovers are designed for, right? I decided to live with the crunchand-bang and carried on.

The end of the road turned out to be just 500 metres into the journey: 550 yards, not a lot more than a quarter of a mile. I'd already ploughed through a couple of thickets, and there had been several places where I couldn't even see the rails, but that was okay. Eventually, though, I ran into a thicket I couldn't get through. The wheels just didn't have enough traction. Yes, I could have let down the tyres for more grip, or fitted snow-chains, but that would only have given me a few yards more. Any individual bramble or wild rose won't stop you. Hundreds or thousands will. Unless the alternative is certain and imminent death, life is not long enough to cut through them all.

Time to turn around. Also interesting. Backing up wasn't difficult, but it is not easy to make a three-point turn across a heavy camber, with rails in the way. This is where I got it wrong. Instead of re-aligning the Land Rover the way I'd come in, with the driver's side wheel just inside the tracks and the passenger side outside, I had the passenger side wheel just inside the track and the driver's side outside. But, as with many leaf-sprung Land Rovers, the springs on one side – the driver's side – and they had settled slightly lower than on the other. As a result, it wasn't just the occasional kiss any more. Quite soon, I

ground to a halt, both wheels on the drivers' side lacking the grip to push me any further forwards. I'd probably have been alright with limited slip or lockable diffs, but alas I don't have either.

Fortunately, since the last time I'd got seriously stuck, I'd bought some Tracmat bridging ladders. Sand ladders are good, but bridging ladders are well worth the extra money. I could have jacked up the wheels and built up the terrain under them as I did in Hungary a few years ago: there were plenty of ballast stones in the rail bed, after all. But ballast stones are small, and easily scattered by a spinning wheel: ladders are a lot better. So, jack up one side, and put the bridging ladders under both driver's side wheels. Problem solved – for about 30 seconds, after which I found myself in exactly the same situation. I just couldn't get the wheels across onto the other side of the rails.

All right, time to try the other (and in retrospect, more logical) approach. Jack up the front, put the ladders under both front wheels, and drive across to the other side of the tracks. One ladder was constrained by the proximity of the right-hand (driver's side) rail. The other wasn't quite high enough to allow a sure crossing of the left-hand (passenger side) rail. I needed to raise it a bit higher. Again, I could have used ballast, but again, that would have been a lot of small stones. What I needed was a slab of wood two to four inches thick (510cm) and maybe a foot square (30cm). I didn't have one (I have since sorted one out), but I did have my Land Rover workshop manual, my Land Rover parts list, and a thirdparty workshop manual. All were A4, 210 x 297mm, or a bit over eight inches by a bit under 12 inches. Combined, they were a little over a couple of inches (5 cm) thick. Result!

And so I got back on the right side of the tracks (as it were), and I bumped and crunched my way back on to the road. All in all, it was a very small, very short adventure. But it also taught me (or reminded me of ) at least a dozen basic truths. First, if you're going offroad, you need to be prepared. Second, you want recovery equipment reasonably accessible – it took me an age to get those ladders off the roof rack. Third, jackable sills are all but essential. Fourth, protective gear is invaluable: heavy boots, thick trousers, work gloves. Wild roses and brambles are not fun, though the blackberries were delicious. Fifth, secateurs are often a lot more useful than big, macho machetes, axes and entrenching tools, though it's a good idea to carry all four. Sixth, it's not a bad idea to carry two or even three spare wheels in difficult conditions. I didn't need them but I might have. Seventh, I ought to carry a couple of chunks of timber to tuck under bridging ladders as needed. Eighth, I should have reminded my wife to wear a sports bra. Ninth, it's not a bad idea to try things out as near home as possible. If I'd got hopelessly stuck I could have walked home in an hour or so, and found a friend with a tractor to pull me out. Tenth, leave all the doors unlocked, including the back door. You may need to get out. Eleventh, it doesn't do to get too precious about scratches and scrapes. Twelfth, not everything that looks like a good idea is in fact a good idea!