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Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

“There should be snow by the side of the road so it really feels like we have driven in the Atlas mountains” I said. Be careful what you wish for, Holden.

As we had climbed over the highest road in Morocco a few days earlier, we had certainly seen the remains of snowy peaks, and there was even some of the white stuff still clinging on by the side of the road. So, we could tick that box.

Snow by the side of the road - tick!

Snow by the side of the road – tick!

 

The High Atlas sure is pretty!

The High Atlas sure is pretty!

The day before, sugar-coated mountain tops and sunshine!

The day before, sugar-coated mountain tops and sunshine!

 

However, just a few days ago – long after the mountain passes had been declared “snow-free” we were driving from Midelt, in the Mid Atlas range, to Fes over a lower pass, we had our customary roof-off-whatever-the-weather approach, despite a few spits and spots of rain.

“Hang on, ” we said, almost in unison “that’s not rain, it’s snow!”

The first few flakes were fun, fluttering down in soggy splats on the windscreen, but as we climbed higher, at around 1900m, it started to come down so thick and fast that the roof was definitely going back on and that was the least of our worries!

 

The visibility when it was still okay

The visibility when it was still okay

Visibility was closing in fast - this is a mountain road!

Visibility was closing in fast – this is a mountain road!

 

Suddenly our colourful Moroccan world become monochrome

Suddenly our colourful Moroccan world become monochrome

We were 60km from our destination, on a winding mountain road in a virtual white-out!

Honestly - there is a mountain over there

Honestly – there is a mountain over there

 

An almost total white-out

An almost total white-out

Three times we had to stop to clear the windscreen. So much snow had packed across the front of poor old Charlie Charleston  that no air could get to cool the air-cooled engine and it was in the bizarre danger of overheating in the snow, the headlights where virtually blanked out with the white stuff and at one stage the wipers simply stopped in mid-swing, too jammed with snow to cope.

The third stop to clear the windscreen and headlights

The third stop to clear the windscreen and headlights

Geoff is standing at the front of the car and is barely visible

Geoff is standing at the front of the car and is barely visible

 

Finally as we descended into Ifrane – ironically one of the top ski resorts in Morocco (no, we didn’t know there were ski resorts here either!) – the snow stopped.

A white-knuckle ride we didn’t expect, but all part of the adventures. By the snow on the side of the road measure, we have driven across the Atlas mountains in style!

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Boiling brakes, a forklift truck, a deux chevaux and a horse

“Yeah, he doesn’t do very much,” boomed Bruno, the mountain sized mechanic, as he threw an accusing thumb over his shoulder in my direction.  It seemed a little bit harsh to me.

I had only arrived at the garage with our neighbour – also Bruno – and Charlie Charleston about an hour earlier. The yard was full of old cars and motor parts and was dusty and shadeless, so after sixty minutes of French-translated car banter and discussion about 2CVs, I had grabbed the chance to step backward into the gloom of the workshop to avoid the relentless glare and heat from the sun. Thankfully, I quickly realized that the thumbs’ accusatory trajectory was passing me by and as I turned to follow it, came face to face with a shameless, but still disinterested, horse.

Un cheveaux

A horse inside

Not so much of a work horse

Not so much of a work horse

 

He was barely a few metres away from me and so completely still and silent, the single cheval had melded into the darkness, watching impassively as big Bruno went about his business on our deux chevaux. Apparently he is a regular attendee, but clearly not much of a team player. It was a pretty unconventional garage in other ways.  As an ex- mechanic I was really looking forward to getting a look underneath Charlie, when they put him up on the ramps. In this part of France, for ramps read forklift truck! Safety stands are for sissies.

Charlie and the forklift

Charlie and the forklift

Up, up and away

Up, up and away

 

No sissies here!

No sissies here!

The next surprise was the bill. For an hour and a half of work, including giving Charlie a full once-over, changing a tyre and a couple of other things – 10 euros. Yes,  TEN euros!

The two Brunos

The two Brunos

Big Bruno also worked on him a second time a few days later, replacing the steering rack assembly, the control arm and king pin for the princely sum of 150 euros for parts and labour.  With Bruno from El Castell still on hand to translate, we also got the stories from his father of his trips across the Sahara desert in a Peugeot 504, which he did five times – taking European 504’s to sell at African markets.

Charlie looking a little slimmer and slightly surprised

Charlie looking a little slimmer and slightly surprised

Shopping for spares

Shopping for spares

A good look at the engine

A good look at the engine

We found similar generosity in Spain a few weeks ago, and luck. Which is something of an understatement when it comes to losing brakes on a long descent down a narrow, winding mountain road, where every corner is a hairpin bend with no safety rails. Pont del Comte sits at 1800 metres and we were coming down the hill, having proudly conquered the summit earlier in the day.

Geoff and Charlie up the mountain

Geoff and Charlie up the mountain before the descent

Now 2CVs are real workhorses (unlike the one in Bruno’s garage), but there are some quirks that you have to learn. Firstly, their old design doesn’t work with some modern inventions – like synthetics. So, no synthetic engine oil or brake fluid. No problem until you drive it hard on a hot day and the brake fluid starts to boil and the brakes start to fail. It started with needing just a couple of pumps on the pedal to get a response, then three pumps, four pumps till after a few kilometers I was tapping my foot faster than a fiddler at a hillbilly hoe-down. So, as we hit the town of St Lorenc de Morunys, pumping away at the less-than-ideally responsive brake pedal, we rolled passed a garage with a sunshine yellow 2CV sitting outside. Surely, a sign! I don’t speak French, but I was able to communicate with the mechanic with lots of pointing, hand gestures and my best mime of driving a car with no brakes. When you don’t know the language, just keep smiling and making an ass of yourself. I thought the brake fluid was contaminated and asked if he could flush the system. The mechanic was great, he stopped what he was doing to work on our car.

Breathing space from boiling brakes

Breathing space from boiling brakes

Two plates of tapas, and a couple of hours later we were on our way again, with cheery waves from the owners and offers to come visit any time! Two hours labour, new brake fluid and adjusting the rear brakes, total cost a ridiculously low thirty euros! Cheap bills and cheery service seem to be the norm when you drive a 2CV. The next day we dropped by the Citroen garage in Solsona to ask about getting repairs for a hole in the exhaust we have had for a while. Sure, bring it in tomorrow morning.  We had bought some new exhaust parts when we were in Alcaniz , so as well as welding the hole, they also fitted the new section. Again – a pretty cheap bill, friendly, fast service and we were on our way again. Charlie Charleston has been in good hands right from the start. I confess to a slight bias, but from the ever-generous Johan in Amsterdam , even though he looks a little crazy here:

Johan is a good guy really!

Johan is a good guy really!

to those we met just passing through….. mechanics are bloody great people.

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Ten-Up in a 2CV

“You’re making the little car work very hard, don’t you think” an elderly man commented at the campsite the other day as we loaded Charlie to the gunnels as usual.

“I used to have one of these cars when I was a student, he added. “It was great for parties. We would take out all the seats apart from the driver, roll the roof right back and the we could get ten people in it, standing up.”  And that’s not working  the little car too hard, we wondered????

Then with a fond grin he remembered “one time there were only eight of us, so we picked up a couple of hitch hikers too. They were pretty surprised.”

It seems almost everyone we talk to has a fond memory of a 2CV .. what’s yours?

 

 

Getting the best view in the house

Getting the best view in the house

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Meet Charlie Charleston

They’re called Ugly Duckling, Flying Dustbin, Umbrella on Wheels, Tin Snail or even Jernseng (which sounds funnier when you know it’s Norwegian for Iron Bed).We call ours Charlie Charleston, the 2CV.

Charlie Charleston – no nicknames or shortforms please – is our gorgeous 1986 Citroen 2CV, Charleston model and pretty damn stylish, even if we say so ourselves.

It’s a little car with a fascinating history of design, social and mechanical engineering, which you can read more about from Geoff in More Hammers than Spanners, but for now, just know that he is going to carry us, our gear and Chubby Coleman on the first part of our adventure.

And because he’s special, he’s also got his own tumblr account