A twenty-four hour 2CV race, the chance to drive the track in Charlie Charleston, oh, and a hurricane for good measure. Yes, it was all as daft as it sounds.

It all started in a lay-by in Leicestershire. That’s pronounced Lester-sheer in case you are not sure – not Lie-cester-shire as it may look. That is just one small example of the curiosity that is the English language and place names, but more on that another day.

So, there we were, bonnet up and Geoff fiddling with a loose hose. Behind us a motor-home pulled up and Graham and Dawn Daniels hopped out to check if we were okay. “We’ve got one of those too” they said – nodding toward Charlie.  Offers of coffee and general chat followed and they told us of the meeting of the 2CV GB club at the end of August, including a 24-hour race. They left us with their phone number, address, email, an offer to stay if we passed their way and a promise that if we needed anything while we were in the UK, to give them a call and they would find a 2CV club member to help us, wherever we were.

Well – if they’re all as nice as the Daniels, then we should go to the meeting and it sounds like a laugh anyway, we thought. We joined the club and booked the next day! Fast forward a few weeks and this was us,

 

roaring(!) around the Anglesey race track in North Wales, with a hundred or so fellow 2CV owners. The owners parade, to which they came in all disguises, was prelude to the real day and night race.

 

 

After our turn around the track it was time for the real racers to begin. Not only were traditional 2CVs racing, but also the crazily adapted European cars – complete with BMW motorbike engines almost double the size of a regular 2CV and with all kinds of custom bodywork designs.

 

 

In the middle of all of that were, rather incongruously, three Mini Coopers as well – apparently there to make up the numbers and we were all secretly slightly amused to see the lead Mini get side-swiped by a 2CV on the very first corner.

 

 

Now, thirty-plus cars with 600cc engines zooming around a race track in Wales might not sound like everyone’s idea of an exciting weekend away, but it was surprisingly dramatic, with suitable doses of comic too.

 

 

The sight of the cars almost lifting off as they cleared the hill at the top of the turn, the two-wheeled, downhill cornering, complete with squealing brakes and smoking tyres, made it real racing, regardless of the engine size.

 

 

Even the racing marshalls, used to seeing a rather larger cc fly past them at Anglesey looked impressed and admittedly, occasionally amused.

 

 

In the pits the sheer endurance of the four-driver teams and their support crew was amazing.

 

 

All through the night they powered on, through until the following afternoon.

 

 

For some it was harder going than other – Herbie Boy scored 25 pit stops in 24 hours, but by the end, the winning cars in each category had rounded the track more than nine hundred times, driven more than 1200km, and many had worn out two complete sets of tyres each.

 

 

All had competed relentlessly and impressively.

 

Talking of impressive – about that hurricane. North Wales is not known for its balmy summer temperatures and Anglesey racetrack is rather dramatically perched on the western edge of the island, looking out to the Atlantic. As we wrestled to put up the tent, we almost snapped the poles, ripped the nylon and generally feared that our home might not make it through the night.  “Is it always this windy?” we asked. “It’s been like this all week. The locals say if the wind stops it’s the end of the world,” a cheery young lady marshall in shorts and a t-shirt beamed at us! It wasn’t until two days later that someone confessed we had been putting up our tent as the tail-end of a hurricane passed over – the locals must have been in heaven!