Voitures Anciennes

[RobertArthur]

From highly prestigious cars to the other end of the financial spectrum, to the low-cost side. Apparently, back in the analogue days, I was very sparing with taking photos. After a long search, I finally managed to dig out a few pictures of my first 2CV. A camping holiday (July 1968) with friends in Spain, not too far from Zaragoza. Where, of course, we also got to know the local people. What I always found handy was that you were never short of a few camping chairs, you could just take them out of your car, always to hand. To be honest, I doubt whether that practical functionality will be found in the NEO-2CV as well.

[Hotrodder]

You have certainly taken me back. On my first exploratory tour of Europe back in 1971. A camping trip, a tiny 2-person ridge tent in an Austin Mini, with a girl I met on the plane from LA to London. We arrived in at a campsite on the outskirts of Paris, ready for our first great adventure. A group of young people turned up in a 2cv. In lest than 30 minutes they had removed the doors and the seats to use them as in your photo. I only understood much later that driving a car without doors is truly liberating on a hot summer's day.
We made it as far as Rome and although we had planned to get to Brindisi and get a ferry to Greece I had blown most of my petrol budget on a clever watch in Switzerland so couldn't afford the extra distance. When we got back to UK I found there was virtually no tread left on any of the tyres on the Mini. The Alps had taken their toll. Thankfully there was no rain to distract from the fun on that leg.
Many thanks for the memory.

[RobertArthur]

More memories, about slow- or fast driving. Two other guys, in a Cooper version of the mini, had just arrived at our destination, the campng Victoria in Jaca. They were exhausted after 1407 km. Why: in 1960s France, the wider arterial network featured three-lane Route Nationale roads. Characterized by a shared middle lane used for overtaking by vehicles in both directions, these became notorious as "suicide lanes", resulting in high head-on collision rates. The central lane was essentially "first come, first served".

With our fully loaded, underpowered 2CV, we had no choice but to drive steadily along the right-hand side of the road. Combined with the 2CV’s suspension comfort, this meant that the three young men got out at the campsite barrier feeling smooth and relaxed. Our Cooper-driving friends, who had been driving much more sportily, were only somewhat approachable the following evening. They were a bit knackered from all that overtaking, slowing down, accelerating again, braking, and doing it all for hours on end. Every now and then, we would glance quietly to the side, at the undulating landscape and the many wrecked cars lying there by the roadside.

Did everything really go smoothly? No: 100 km south of Paris, I thought: is the engine getting too hot, or am I imagining it? Delay number one. No, the fan had come loose from the round metal mounting plate to which it had been secured with three spot welds and hadn’t budged for years. Now it was moving slightly every now and then, hesitantly, just by friction... To a village garage where, fortunately, they had a spot welder. Delay number two: Just before Pau, the next day, something went completely wrong with the suspension on the right-hand side; a mounting point turned out to be rusted through. As luck would have it, there was a car paint shop and bodywork a hundred metres further on, on the left-hand side of the road. From there to our final destination.

The most direct and common route from Pau to Jaca goes via the Col du Somport (1,632 m). one of the toughest, steepest climbs in this region. Almost at the top, at a very sharp left-hand bend, a black Traction Avant suddenly came hurtling down our side of the road; above us there was nothing but sky, and to the right a steep precipice. I slammed on the brakes, which just about worked. But then the engine wouldn’t start again. I got out; the person sitting next to me kept pumping the brakes, because the handbrake wasn’t holding, I got out and placed a block behind a rear wheel. Then I partially dismantled the carburettor, cleaned everything out and tried to start again. After three attempts, the two-cylinder engine came back to life...

A week later, almost flat battery...something with the alternator. I drove the other 2CV to Huesca, halfway to Zaragoza, to the official Citroën garage and asked in my best Spanish, which I’d carefully practised beforehand: 'Por favor, dos escobillas de carbón para el alternador de un 2CV. el modelo AZ, fabricado en 1962.' Yes, they had them in stock – what a relief. That’ll be a piece of cake. Well, no – it didn’t work; they were too narrow... I should have known; French car manufacturers in particular had a habit of changing their suppliers every six months or so, over the years various alternators had been fitted in that model range, each with slightly different carbon brushes. With that second set, which were slightly thicker and didn’t tip over in their holders, everything ran perfectly again. I learned a lot those three weeks...

For those with an interest in the technical side, here is some illustrative material from my little garage manual.