OCTANE CARS
Dixon heads to Le Mans in his Mustang; Waddington’s 944 blows a new tune
A ROAD TRIP TO the Le Mans 24 Hours, to celebrate a mate’s 50th birthday? Count me in! And I knew straight away that I’d be taking the Mustang. This is what classic cars are for.
Our crew – pictured above, left to right – of Dave, Damon, Robbie, birthday boy (and top Octane photographer) Matt Howell, Sam, Samarth (not shown, because he’s having a kip in the BMW) and myself were distributed between three cars, the others being Sam’s ‘turbonator’ Mitsubishi Evo and Damon’s ’80s-cool BMW 525e. Preparation of the Mustang mainly consisted of painting the headlights yellow to give that period French look, for which I used some translucent lacquer that’s intended for decorative glass. I have no idea quite how legal this may be, but it does give that authentic Un Homme
et Une Femme vibe.
Sod’s Law meant that I had to be in London helping to get last month’s Octane ready for press right up to the Thursday we left for Le Mans, so I arranged to leave the Mustang in the secure parking at Windrush car storage in Shepherd’s Bush, just off the A40 Westway (www.windrushcarstorage.co.uk), which I’d thoroughly recommend if you have to park up an interesting car for any length of time. Then, late on Wednesday night, after two very long days at the Octane coalface, I drove down to a Premier Inn near the Channel Tunnel ready to meet the others for a 10.30 crossing in the morning.
Deciding on a route to Le Mans is always tricky: do you go
autoroute for speed, or back roads for scenery? We decided to compromise by blitzing the motorway as far as Rouen, then deviating onto routes nationales for the final stint to Le Mans. I say ‘speed’ but in fact I set the pace at a heady 60mph in the Mustang, mindful of the combination of a boot laden with camping gear and aged tyres that might not tolerate anything faster. Fortunately, the others seemed happy enough to tag along behind, particularly Sam in the Evo, which needs refuelling almost as often as the Mustang.
With the sun shining after days of torrential rain in the UK, we
were a happy bunch as we cruised comparatively empty French roads, and even happier when we stopped for steak frites in one of those archetypal sleepy villages that we Brits appreciate so much. We were slightly less happy to be told, as we drove into the camp site, that glass bottles are no longer permitted – and we had three crates of bottled lager between us. Only one thing for it: decant the alcohol into a plastic water carrier (above right). What we couldn’t
‘WE WERE A HAPPY BUNCH AS WE CRUISED EMPTY FRENCH ROADS, AND STOPPED FOR STEAK FRITES ’
salvage, we donated to the young security staff, because they’d been so nicely apologetic about it.
After the pressures and short nights leading up to this trip, I’d hoped to get at least a few hours’ sleep on the Thursday night, ahead of the madness of the race weekend – but it was not to be. To our great misfortune, only a few yards away from our allocated pitch was a yobbish bunch who’d erected a big marquee, a temporary bar and a PA system blasting out rock music until nearly 5am two nights running. They’ll never know how close I came to grabbing the big steel hammer I keep in the Mustang and, as the Americans say, ‘going postal’.
Sadly, post-race comments on Facebook suggest that this kind of selfish, hooligan behaviour is all too prevalent at the 24 Hours. Ironically, on the Saturday night – when you don’t expect to get much sleep, due to all those noisy cars racing around – the hooligans were relatively quiet. Sunday night, post-race, was a different story: the bonfires being lit around the campsite, burning everything from camping chairs to bicycles, gave the place a post-apocalyptic feel and certainly kept the local
pompiers busy.
Campsite anarchy apart, we had a great time. There’s a new tram system connecting the circuit with Le Mans proper, and the Old
Town, perched high up and just inside the city wall, is charming and a great place to have an evening meal once you’re tired of circuit fast-food. We enjoyed the madness of the pre-race parades through the city, too, with Tour de France-style freebies being hurled from floats and vintage cars.
Heading out to watch the nighttime racing at Mulsanne or Arnage corners is a must when you’re at Le Mans. The sights and sounds of the race cars decelerating hard for the turns – the exhausts of the LMP sports-prototypes emitting an artillery barrage of pops and bangs – before yowling away is unforgettable. For me, though, the real stars were the Corvettes in the GTE class, whose thunderous V8 roar was on a wholly different scale of decibels from anything else on the circuit.
Our journey back on the Monday was pleasantly unremarkable – croissants outside a supermarket for breakfast, service station baguettes for lunch – and the Mustang used barely a third of a litre of oil and no coolant in nearly 1000 miles. What a car.