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Ultimate Challenger Road Trip: Day 1
London to Paris
Morning rush has died down a bit as we roll out of London's Chelsea district for day one of our Dodge Challenger European road trip. There is still a lot of traffic; a hodgepodge of blue, white, silver, black. Working Brits seem to favor city-smart, but anonymous Fiestas, Fits, Golfs and smarts. (NOTE: Click on any photo to see a larger image)
So it's no surprise that our bright orange Challenger SRT8 literally stops traffic. It's not just the color, carbon fiber hood stripes, and 20-inch Alcoa forged five spoke wheels -- the car seems cartoonishly supersized on this island. Merely pulling out of the underground parking garage is an ordeal -- the big Dodge seems as wide as it is long.
Once underway, she's a big orange pussycat that lopes through London with the ease -- even if we're driving on the wrong side of the road, on the wrong side of the car. Did I say pussycat? Make that a tiger and one that's more than happy to roar when the throttles planted on the M25 out of London. Our first stop: Brooklands (top photo) -- home of the world's first purpose built racetrack, built two years before the fabled Indianapolis Motor Speedway -- and a few surprises.
As we drive onto the giant, silent bankings (you thought NASCAR invented banked turns, didn't you?) it's hard to believe this place was the hub of British aviation and motorsports during the early 20th century. It looks almost like a farm, with small buildings and large tin sheds set in a green field; in the distance are industrial buildings. The only clues to Brooklands' former glory are the old clubhouse, now headquarters of the excellent Brooklands Museum, plus various retired warplanes (including a Harrier fighter) and commercial aircraft (like the Concorde).
Back in 1907, some 1500 laborers worked eight hour shifts for nine months to clear the field and build the Brooklands circuit. Naturally, the first thing we do is pull our Challenger SRT8 up on that steep banking for some photographs.
It is an awe inspiring track, not just because its size (originally 3.25 miles in length), but because of the nerve it must have taken to race here. Sure, the pavement hasn't been used since 1939, but even the short and slow drive up and down the banking reveals that it is not a smooth ride. Pencil width gaps and seams are everywhere in the coarse asphalt. These were also the days before the concepts of K-rail and runoff; high at the top edge of the banking -- where the fast cars spent most of their time -- is nothing but trees.
Of course, back in the track's heyday, men were men, and only the manliest of men were race car drivers; guys like Sir Malcolm Campbell, the reason we came here. Sir Malcolm is our Chrysler connection with Brooklands and everywhere you look, you see his legacy. Campbell first started racing at Brooklands in 1911, and subsequently entered over 300 races -- more than twice as many as any other driver. He won here driving a Chrysler (he was the London distributor) in 1925.
Campbell is best remembered for his numerous attempts at the world land speed record in his giant Blue Bird cars. The name came from a play he particularly enjoyed. Inspired, he painted his Darracq race car a special blue and won twice at Brooklands the next day. From then on, all of his race cars would be named Blue Bird.
In 1924, Campbell set a speed record of 146 mph behind the wheel of 350 horsepower, V-12 powered Sunbeam. Three years later he set another record, clocking nearly 175 mph in a Campbell-Napier Blue Bird. The following year, Campbell picked up his third record of 206.95 mph at Daytona Beach in Florida. After trading a few land speed records with American racers -- including a particularly successful attempt that earned him his knighthood -- Sir Malcolm went for broke at the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah. On September 3, 1935, he became the first man to exceed 300 miles per hour (301.337 mph).
There is a lot more to see at the Brooklands Museum -- including an excellent bicycle history museum and a jaw-dropping collection of war planes, but we're on a tight schedule. We've got a train to catch -- across the English Channel. We head out onto the M25 - the busiest motorway in Britain -- and drive east, then south towards Folkestone, and the EuroTunnel terminal.
Until this underground rail link was completed in the early 90s, the only way to get your car off this island was by sea or air. At 147 pounds sterling (nearly $300), it is not exactly cheap -- but it is quite fast. A regular ferry across the English Channel can take hours. Our ride to Coquelles, France, is supposed to be around 30 minutes.
After passport control, we pull directly onto a waiting train. It's an orderly procession and a remarkable display of British and French teamwork -- though the whole process is eerily reminiscent of the way cows are lined up in chutes before being popped between the eyes and turned into Big Macs. We drive into specially-designed double decker railcars -- four vehicles per car -- park the Challenger, sit back and relax.
The ride is reasonably smooth -- though a few instances of intense side-to-side vibration wake us from a well deserved nap. A few minutes later, a bilingual recording informs us that our 31.5-mile journey is nearing completion. Not bad at all -- from start to finish, just over 35 minutes.
Disembarking is the same orderly procedure, though we have to readjust two things -- our watches for the plus one hour time difference and our minds because we're now on the right (and correct) side of the road. Vive le France! Before heading directly for Paris, we refill our stomachs and gas tank; 10.89 gallons of 95 octane costs $101.54. Good thing we're getting better than expected gas mileage out of these Challengers (around 18 mpg).
It's roughly 300 kilometers from Coquelles to Paris; Angus reckons four hours with traffic. At first, that seems hard to believe as we cruise between 75-80 mph through a light sprinkle of Peugeots and Renaults. But when we roll into Paris, it's just after 6 p.m. and we're met by a wall of rush hour traffic. We'd covered 173 miles in 2 hours 20 minutes. The next seven miles takes us an hour.
We're also met with more noticeable gawking than we had in London. Along with being a far crazier breed of driver, the French are much more curious about the Big Orange Beast we're piloting. Motorcyclists give up the thumbs up as they zoom by within millimeters; truck drivers flash their high beams. As we're stuck before a traffic circle that can only be described as pure anarchy -- two young boys on bikes pull up to gawk at the Challenger. They circle and point, squinting at the SRT8 on the back, the Dodge badge up front. The expressions on their faces make it clear they're not quite sure what to make of our big American muscle car, but the bobbing of their heads is a clear sign of appreciation.
More adventures from France when our journey continues tomorrow. |
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