Cars are great but good car journeys are even better.
Cars have given us unmatched mobility, broadening our minds as they broaden our horizons. After the Sumerian invention of the wheeled chariot, the maximum speed of land travel over long distances was just under 5mph. It remained that way for the next 5000 years. The law of covering distance in a given time seemed as immutable as any other law of movement.
That didn’t change until the 19th century, when first the steam engine and then the petrol internal combustion engine revolutionised transport. Though the locomotive came first, the car was more significant. It allowed travellers to choose their own starting point and destination, link them by a route of choice, and allowed the traveller to go alone or with whom he or she wished. Independent mobility – previewed by the bicycle, consummated by the car – was available to all.
Gavin Green’s: a history of adventure
Though I have had some fine journeys by foot, by bicycle, by train and by plane, those by car have been the most memorable. Cars have taken me across the Sahara (Land Rover Discovery, 1989) and across a big chunk of Arabia’s Empty Quarter, the world’s largest sea of sand (Range Rover TDV8, 2008). I have driven across Europe many times, often in a Ferrari: much of the scenery, on the run from Maranello to London, is impressive. But one of the best bits has no scenery at all: the Grand St Bernard tunnel under the Alps as you cross from Italy to Switzerland. The noise is fantastic.
I have also driven across Australia (mostly in Land Cruisers), around southern Africa (in Defenders) and through much of the USA (in everything from a Ford F-series pick-up to a Mazda RX-7).
Driving from London to Sydney
My favourite car – or CAR – journey (for the two have been synonymous these past 27 years) was from London to Sydney in 1993. Now this is normally a route I would recommend travelling by wing rather than wheel. The occasion was the 25th anniversary of the London-Sydney car rally, first held in 1968. My dad competed in that epic event; when plans were announced for the silver anniversary re-run, we both knew we had to do it. He was dying of cancer at the time, which added a further poignancy.
Cars had to be of a type available in 1968. We chose a Ford Escort Mk1 Mexico.
The highlight was a special stage in the foothills of the Himalayas on the way to the old summer imperial capital of Shimla in northern India. I drove, my dad navigated. The road, as with all special stages in the event, was closed to the public (though in other parts of India this did not stop cattle and occasionally elephants sauntering across it). Perhaps most terrifying, there was no safety barrier protecting cars dropping off that thin little ribbon of road down the world’s highest mountain range.
Oncoming traffic, huge drops, elephants…
My most vivid memory was when we overtook another competitor in a 911 who was driving circumspectly (he clearly valued his life more than I did). As I went to overtake I can still remember my dad’s voice yelling over the headphones – ‘No!!!!!!’. I went, we made it, and probably the most amazing 20-mile journey (for it was only a short special stage) soon came to a premature end.
A week or so later, we got terribly bogged in thick sand in southern Australia. Frustration and anger welled inside me, as I desperately tried to move the stricken car. There is after all nothing worse on a great journey than immobility.
