An Annual Event

It Happens every Year

There are some things you can set your watch by, and the annual exodus and returns from the city are one of those things. People just can’t wait to get out of their offices and to hit the road on their way to vacation-land. Personally, I cannot fault them for feeling like this. The first day of June, and July, and possibly the day or two before are the days for the mass exodus, and by mass I do mean just that. Millions of people stack themselves into little tin cans with wheels and head on out.

For the Traffic Department this must be their time of year for the greatest headaches. It is when over-crowding becomes very real. There are whole families all in one moving place thereby making the possibility of total disaster so much closer to happening. I have sworn that during these times I will not join in the madness. If I have to drive at all it will only be very short distances, or I will leave after everybody else has gone, and come back when they are all at home.

Coastal towns become besieged by people from the interior of the country, as well, people who live along one part of the coast decide they want to go to another, or that they want to go to their holiday homes with swimming pools inland.

These are supposed to be happy times. However, all to often families suffer disasters while in motion. It doesn’t have to be this way. There are some things that drivers can do to ensure that they will not be part of the unhappy statistics:

- Never drive when you are tired. Be sure that the night before you get a decent rest that will prepare you for the day ahead. Stop every two hours for a rest.
- Never, never, never drink alcohol and then take control of a vehicle. Forget custom, start a new trend and leave alcohol or drugs out of your consideration.
- Everybody has to wear a seatbelt. Remember, a toddler roaming around loose in the car will kill everybody through causing a distraction.
- Be super alert and attentive. Anticipate what might happen and prepare for it.
- Eat light meals along the way so that you are not made drowsy by heavy foods.
- As the driver, your judgement will make or break the holiday. Be a hero to your family and get them there and back safely.

My wish is that during this Summer there will be no fatal crashes. However, if I can’t have that wish, then at least there should be as few as possible.

Good Luck Everybody, and Happy Motoring!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Cars I have loved

Cars I have loved , and loved, etc.

I was the first person in my family to own a car. I bought it when I was sixteen years old from a U.S. Navy officer who had treated it as though it were a pair of his dress shoes. It was spotlessly clean, and white, and a Ford Prefect, with a visor. No car ever meant more to its owner than that one, and I’m not talking about the seller, I’m talking about myself.

With the transfer of documents something happened to me, and as I sit here all these years later, I’m not really sure what it was, but I changed from being just anybody to being a car owner. I had transport, and thanks to the seller it was elegant and looked as though it just came out of the showroom. I recall the rather bemused reaction of the officer who was a little surprised at how a simple car could mean so much to one person. He kept repeating, “Well, I did want it to go to a good home.”

That car confirmed that I had become a man, even though I was too young to legally own it, and to license it. That didn’t stop me from driving it, but looking back that was really a stupid thing to have done. The risk I took was having an accident that would have been uninsured, and all the attendant problems of driving without a license at the very start of my life. What the hell was I thinking?

When I finally went to test for my license I had to get someone walking nearby to drive the car into the testing area. He said he could drive but I really didn’t know if he actually had a license. Anyway, he parked it and went along his way. The examiner said he’d seen me arrive and asked where was my driver. The driver has gone, I replied. “What if you fail your test?” “I didn’t come to fail,” said I. What arrogance!

Later that day while I was driving on my newly acquired permit, a pedestrian stepped out into the road and I had to brake sharply. It was the examiner.

My next car was a Jaguar XK120, British Racing Green, and convertible. I was living in London then, and that car was all engine. One evening I decided I would attend a concert at the Queen Elizabeth II Concert Hall, with The Queen Mother as Patron. I had dressed in a tux and I attended solo. On the way I stopped at a red light and was immediately sought after for my autograph by some excited girls calling me Lennie. I had no idea who Lennie was but I milked the situation as much as I could.

After the concert I went to stand at the side of the red carpet to see the Queen Mother leave. To my utter surprise she came over to me to ask whether I had enjoyed it. I was so tongue-tied I‘m sure she didn’t understand a word I said.

I next bought a Ford Capri that was just lovely. It confirmed in me a fan for Ford cars, even though I never bought another. I would actually love to own a Ford Mondeo, but perhaps at a later date. The Capri gave me the same sort of prestige I had enjoyed with the Jag, as I was living yet again in Bermuda. I drove it for years and years, and when the time came to write it off, you might have thought I had lost a family member. In a way, of course, I had.

My next car was a VW Scirocco, a real prize that I bought from a man who sold it for reasons unknown, because it was sexed up and looked fabulous. It had oversize tyres, was shiny black, with tinted windows. The inside was like a space ship with all sorts of add-ons, and the sound system was to die for. In reality, it was a super stereo system on wheels. I drove it until I left Bermuda when I gave it to my brother. Unfortunately he was unable to keep it up and it died a natural death.

We came to Spain and bought a Fiat station wagon, that for me, was very down to earth. We made good use of its space, but in the end it developed a hiccup that no-one was able to rectify. It was therefore just left to sit. When I went back to it to start the engine and try and deliver some large refuse to the dump, it ran perfectly. All it needed was a vacation. However, because of its advanced age we sent it to the home for senior cars, and in its place I bought a Chrysler seven-seater people carrier. This is an American car that had such a wonderful roar, but some thugs decided it was much too nice a car for me to drive, so they stole it and set it alight.

In place of the Chrysler I bought a Volvo 850. This is my everyday workhorse and a really fine piece of engineering. I just love the car, although it developed a habit of trying to kill me by simply ceasing to run without warning. When I called on the Volvo experts to fix it they had no idea what was wrong with it, and instructed that I was to remove it from their garage. Stupid bastards! In other words I was to take it away and dump it.

I demanded from Volvo, Sweden that they find me some real help. They instructed the main concession for Spain to talk to the garage, and they came back to me, suitably chastened to ask that I let them take another look. It’s fixed now, and the problem was so simple. A change of the main fuses cleared that up. Gradually, I found that I was spending a lot of time in the garage with it as a number of parts needed to be changed due to its age, so when the opportunity of a lifetime came along, I was ready.

One of NATO’s VIP cars was put up for sale. It was a Jaguar Sovereign that had been treated like a mascot, and no-one had ever got in that car, with the exception of mechanics, of course, with dirty shoes. It sits outside my house now as my classic car that gets driven once a week, if the weather is good.

It was a silly thing to do, I grant you that, but at my age I may never get the chance to do anything quite as silly again. Here’s to life!!!!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Motorcycles

Very Cool Motorcycles


I have ridden motorcycles all of my life, and now that I am 72 it may be time to give up this love affair, but I am still mounting them and riding on. My favourite experience over more than 55 years just simply has to be the time I spent on The Honda Goldwing, but frankly, that has come to be a bike too heavy for me these days.

I reflect on the ease, when I was much younger, with which I rode hard and fast, sometimes with others, but often as a solo rider. It all started with a moped and the movie “The Wild One” with Marlon Brandon. That galvanised several bike groups into being, but in defence I have to say that our main menace was on the road. Once we got to where we were going we were a perfectly decent bunch of guys.

Fortunately, all the young guys that I rode with survived our passage of growth to go on to bigger and better things. In my case that included touring Europe over about three months on a BSA 500. What a wonderful bike that was. Very durable, because it took two of us around England, Scotland and Wales. Holland, Belgium, France, Spain, Portugal, Gibraltar, Italy, Germany, and Switzerland. I have the most fond memories of that epic (for me) adventure, and don’t regret a moment of it.

Various motorcycles came in between the BSA and the Goldwing, but with the ‘Wing I had attained the ultimate riding experience. Now, don’t get me wrong, if I had my choice I would have one Harley and one Goldwing. They are each representative of different biking lifestyles.

If you ever ride a ‘Wing you will get the same question many times: “Why don’t you just get a car?” I can understand where the question comes from, especially as the ride is quiet and comfortable, with music and mobile phone access and Communicator helmets, but you are outside the box of a car, and that makes all the difference. Even nuns turn their heads to look at this bike.

I have never seen a Goldwing that has crashed, and I hope I never do. That would be one sad sight. The bike is so heavy that riders always worry about dropping it. There is a technique for lifting it on one’s own, should you have the strength, but you never want to have to put it in practice.

On the down side, riding bikes is a dangerous activity, and always has been. However, when you are young and indestructible the risks are not recognised, or even thought about. As you grow older you start thinking that I might fall and break a hip, or something. I’ve got a mortgage, for crying out loud! Recently I had a small accident that broke my leg. I’m back walking and functioning more or less normally, but I am carrying two long screws in the leg that reminds me of the incident that came at a time in my life when it was difficult to recover.

But, I still love motorcycles, and I do ride whenever it makes sense. So, if you see a cool looking senior citizen gliding on by, that’s me. Be kind and give me a thumbs up! Please!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Home Again

No Place like Home

After a road trip of 2, 400 kilometres, we are home again, safe and sound. As I stated in the first of this series, I would not normally take to the roads during peak driving times when everybody and his brother are out and touring, but because we have a friend who now lives in France, we took the risk. However, our timing was such that we allowed all of the madding crowd to go ahead of us, and we came home after they did, leaving us with normal traffic.

We thoroughly enjoyed our visit with our friend. Before she moved she was always near at hand, but now that she lives in another country we realise what a truly wonderful person she is, and we miss her dearly.

We were together on the day of the Royal Wedding, and it was so nice to see that people all over the world joined in with street parties and celebrations all of their own. The curious thing was that I think it was both a wedding and homage to William’s mother who was taken from us far too soon.

Diana’s funeral brought out a side of the great British public that no-one knew they were capable of, and after all these years they still care. By giving our love and best wishes and unqualified support to her oldest son, we somehow were able to express our continuing admiration to Lady Di, Queen of Hearts.

We left our friend on Saturday to drive back to Valencia, and although with two of us driving we could have made the trip in about twelve hours, we took two days by driving through places of interest. From the area of Poitiers we headed south to Pau, in France, a charming little town that sits at the base of the Pyrenees Mountains. We took our time and followed National roads all the way, being very careful to obey traffic signs and speed limits, because the police were very much in evidence.

After a comfortable night, we continued on our journey that took us through and over the mountains, along some of the most pleasant, and challenging roads one could ask for. When it came time to cross the border we did so on the inside of a tunnel that was 8.9 kilometres long. It was our intention to spend the night in Alcañiz, a busy little town with a grand Parador in Spain. Spending the night there was a lovely experience and a fitting last night away from home.

From Alcañiz we simply headed for Valencia, and home. It had been a wonderful way to spend the Easter holiday. We were able to do so without serious incident, and our choice of route was both interesting and informative. On the way to our destination in France we spent about twenty-five euros in tolls. On the way back, we spent zero on tolls, but it really is a shame about the fine of 100 euros I picked up by finally getting caught by radar.

Ah well!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

On the Road Again

On the Road Again with a visit to Cognac Country

With apologies to Willie Nelson, we continued our trip to France, having stopped to celebrate Good Friday with the good people of Zaragoza. Driving was relatively good because of the absence of overcrowding on the road, and for this reason there is not a lot to discuss about the drive itself, except to say that the further north we travelled the greener the scenery became.

This is because in this part of the country the rains come with more frequency, and in this regard they are the lucky ones. The river Ebro flows freely generating an excess of water that the south want to buy. Because of politics, the North won’t sell the water for reasons that even they don’t understand. It’s just part of the stupidity of men.

We carried on into France, and the only complaint I have is the robbery that is carried out by each little community taking tolls from travellers. I’m sure that the practice is excessive, and at one time it was the highwaymen who robbed the traveller. These days it is the authorities who carry out the ritual.

We spent the night in a rest stop in the town of Bordeaux that was pleasant enough. It is an important French town with many typical government buildings that are architectural works of art. However, we were anxious to reach our destination to visit with our friend in a little town called Couhé. I want to describe this little paradise in greater detail once I have had the opportunity to get to know it well.

We did a little day trip once we arrived and had a chance to settle down. France is wine country, or to be more exact grape country, and you find yourself in the midst of all of the well-known household names, such as the afore-mentioned Bordeaux, Chateaunauf, Champagne, Sauvignon, Beaujolais, and Cognac, to name a few. It was to Cognac that we took our day trip to visit the home of famous brandies, or to be more precise, Cognacs. Apparently anyone can make a brandy, but not a Cognac. There is only one Cognac district for many good reasons.

We paid a very pleasing visit to the home of the cathedral of fine Cognac, Remy Martin, a fine drink that I have been an aficianado of for over 50 years. We were given a well-presented tour by a young American in Cognac Country, a lovely exchange student named Laura. I was so impressed by her manner and cordiality that I promised her I would tell you that you would do well to include a visit to her establishment in your plans. The entrance charge is well worth it.

For me, a confirmed Cognac drinker, this was the equivalent of a visit to the fountain and the source. The visit takes two hours and includes a good description of the manufacturing process, and, of course, a sampling session. Whether it is V.S.O.P. or the XO line, for me Cognac is the best. When it comes to deciding which brand is at the top it may be a case of who has the best public relations, however, I have tried most of the well-known brands and I love them all.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael