I had never driven a 2CV before, and found the gear change rather awkward at first. But after a good deal of grinding and crunching, I managed to get used to it. Mechanic George agreed to come with me to navigate and to teach me how to change gear.
We took a ferry to Calais then drove through France to the first hotel where we were to start.
The mountains were staggering. Now and then we had the opportunity to go up a cable car to see the view and dodge the wild goats! The weather was hot, hot and hotter, and since we were crammed pretty closely into the little cockpit, we had to make bundles of coats mainly jammed in the passenger’s footwell.
The little Citroen carried on well, though not very fast with its 602cc engine.
Col de la Bonette, French Alps
A helping hand from Geordie cyclists in the Alps
I competed in the 2CV3 on several other occasions. I never had a navigator to help again though, I was on my own after that. On one occasion in France in the Alpes Maritimes, I was happily puttering along on my way to a Col I’d found on the map, around a corner and – no grip, slid sideways along the road and dropped its tail off the road into a field.
When I’d recovered myself and checked that there was no damage to me, I climbed out and scrambled back onto the road. While I was scratching my head and wondering what I should do next, Lee and Dani (a couple on a motorcycle also searching for Cols on the Tour) arrived and helped to calm me down, then went to the next village to see if a garage could be found.
The next people to turn up were a group of half a dozen cheerful Geordie cyclists who couldn’t see a problem. “Doesn’t look very heavy,” they said, and with no bother, lifted the Citroen’s back wheel and body back onto the road. I was astounded, and very grateful. Off they went, waving.
I tried to start the car initially with no luck but when I looked under the bonnet I could see an undone connection to the coil – that’s pretty obvious as it’s on the front of the motor. I re-attached that, and we were running again. Lee and Dani got back to say that garage wouldn’t touch three-wheelers, but of course by then it didn’t matter.
A few days on, I drove rather slowly up to the Col de la Bonette (2,715 meters high) to be greeted by applause from more cyclists who had ridden up this famous climb and were waiting to load up into a van to go back down. One of them gave me a sticker for the Col, which I treasure. I have often thought that the cyclists probably climbed the hill faster than I did with my 602cc, but I managed it! The rather elderly Michelin tyres were replaced.
Breaking down in France: The clonking Citroën falls over near Le Mans
One year, on my way to the start, I was near Le Mans and not far from my hotel when I braked at a small roundabout. There was a worrying ‘clonk’ from the front of the car. I pottered on very gingerly, clonking every now and then when I used the brakes, hoping to see a garage where I might get some help.
It was a Friday evening so naturally everything I passed was firmly shut. I got to my hotel and opened the bonnet. On closer examination I could see that the motor was loose and wobbling about on its brackets. George was due to meet me the next day having entered on a Honda 90, so I thought I’d wait and hope that he could give me some advice when he arrived in the morning.
It turned out that the engine mountings – all four of them – had fatigued and broken so the engine was not held down at all, and when I braked it fell over! I rang the faithful RAC get-you-home which I’d bought once more, and the Citroen was soon loaded onto a recovery van with the driver calling it ‘La Petite’ then taking me to the nearest Hertz.
George stood by while I was offered an Opel Astra for the week. When a car is hired, the hirer marks an outline of the car with existing bumps and scratches. It seemed to take a long time but at last I had wheels again and followed the Honda 90 to our official start. I thought that at least I would take advantage of the hotels and meals I’d already paid for, and I was lucky that I was able to thumb a lift on most days in a very nice Morgan belonging to Graham Austin and his wife, before moving back to the Opel to find my way to the following hotel.
Near the end of the week, I had a text message from recovery to tell me that the Citroen was ready to collect, so I returned the Astra to the Hertz outlet nearest to the garage which had done the work. Upon examining it, the man behind the counter eventually tore up the diagram originally marked with existing damage saying “C’est plus simplement, ça.” He then threw the diagram into the bin and kindly called a taxi to take me to the repairers. The man who had done the repair asked if he might photograph the Citroen next to his own pride and joy (a wood ornamented Mini estate) then patted my car on its little rump saying, “Le pauvre.”
Back to Calais for the ferry, and home – no more problems.
Sun, shade and ice cream: The 2CV3 takes on the Portuguese heat
On another Tour des Cols, the start was at a hotel located in the south of Portugal. I took a ferry on that occasion which left Portsmouth and took me to Bilbao so that I would not have to fight my way to Dover, a horrible drive from Oxford where I live.
I drove south through Spain and again it was hot, hot, hot! I stopped at a supermercado to buy a long-sleeved shirt to prevent being grilled by the sun in my open car and discovered that the store was air-conditioned – ideal for cooling down. When I stopped for petrol, I was advised to lean on the ice cream cooler and to buy a lemon ice, which I gladly did. I reached Portugal safely only to find it even hotter.
On this Tour we searched for castles rather than Cols on the whole, and the temperature hovered around 45°C most of the week. The Citroen, being air-cooled, did get a bit hot too and I learned to park it in the shade wherever and whenever I could and not to work it too hard. We finished the event in the north of Portugal, so my trip back to the ferry at Bilbao was much shorter.
During this trip I discovered various cheap places to stay rather than finding pensions as I had in France. This time I used Ibis Budget whenever I could, since they were always near a restaurant of some kind, and food in Spain was usually very good whatever the level of caterer. I found more castles than I usually found Cols, simply because they could frequently be seen in the landscape.
The three-wheeled Citroen and I have explored lots of other places in England and Wales too. It always makes people smile, and in France I am often surrounded by enthusiasts wanting a photo.
The Pyranees mountains, France
The Pyrenees, a bump in France and a gendarme’s approval
The last trip abroad I entered was another Tour in 2023 exploring some of the Pyrenees. I was sans navigator again, but friends George and Andy used G’s trials-prepared Reliant, and Andy volunteered to navigate for all of us with his phone.
At one point, trying to keep up with them on a roundabout, I bumped into a Frenchman who was determined that I was in the wrong lane. Although I tried to argue, this was fruitless – ever tried arguing with a Frenchman, in French, in France? And I had to accept the blame. George and Andy came back and stuck my indicator back on with gaffer tape then we carried on. The only later difficulty I had with this was that the boys had more stamina than I did, and I was ready to stop long before they were!
Once we’d got to our official starting hotel, I went out on my own as much as I could and did pretty well, as far as finding Cols and landmarks was concerned. The Pyrenees were spectacular all right, and the hotels which were part of the Tour often had cool places to meet before dinner. One had a swimming pool too, which was more than welcome since the weather was hot once more.
On the way back, the thing which sticks most clearly in my mind was following Andy’s directions past Bordeaux, finding that we were on the Bordeaux Ring Road and it was rush hour. I completely lost sight of them as I was very low down in my car and was only about the same height as passing HGV wheels. At last, I took myself off the ring road and texted for help. “Follow the green signs to Bordeaux,” replied Andy. I did that and saw them in a layby, pulled in and stopped. Closely followed by a Gendarme (police officer). The lads hid down under their dashboard, saying, “what’s she done now?”
It turned out that the Gendarme simply wanted to take a photo of my unusual car. He saw the still gaffer-taped indicator, pointed at it and asked what was this for. I did my best to explain about my accident with a Frenchman earlier in the week. The Gendarme leaned over and winking roguishly said “You must be careful of Frenchmen in France,” and went on his way chuckling away. And so to the next truck stop where we found meals and rooms, then safely home.
Those are some of my adventures with my classic (!) car, but I hope there will be more. I have never given a car a nickname, but if I ever did, I think the 2CV3 might be ‘La Petite’.
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