In case your Monday morning is/was an uneasy one, here’s an intense video to make it seem more bearable in comparison. On Sunday, in Leirosen, Norway, a truck rig being towed up a hill got a car-width too close to the roadside barrier and plunged down the mountainside – taking the tow truck with it.
Using the words “Make the jump” can be ill-fitting here, but do that to see the video.
Show Me Your War Face.
What does the plowing rounds in your town? I’ve already shown the little red Suzuki machine that handled the snow drifts a while ago, and here’s a bigger, greener, meaner companion to it.
It’s a 1990 Mazda B-series pickup, originally red, that’s received a two-tone black-on-green matte paintjob. It reminds me of a soldier in full equipment, ready for everything and his face smudged with camo paint.
I’ll admit it. It’s a strange thing to like, but I really enjoy sleeping in motorway service areas.
I mean In Europe, anyway; I can’t honestly say I’ve tried it in England without recourse to a Travelodge or some similar mischievous-night-away-with-the-secretary establishment. But in the big, well lit rest areas of Europe, with no “2 hr maximum stay” in force, and no teenagers wheelspinning furiously in neon yellow Citroen Saxos, I feel strangely comfortable.
I even enjoy watching the traffic speeding by, the colourful convoy of heavy haulers destined for ports far and wide. At a service area I feel involved in something, I’m in my little boat, sheltering from the storms in a cosy harbour, mixing with the salty sea-dogs and their big freighters.
Weird romanticism aside, this was another very pleasant place to stay, nicer if it wasn’t for the stares I noticed from the main building, as waiter-looking types in shirts and nametags wondered what the little Peugeot with the steamed up windows was doing there all night long. No matter, after a brief pause to eat some brekkie and use the excellent Sanifair facilities, we were back on the road.
Another morning, another amazing view.
Through the morning haze we could make out the purplish hues of the German Alps. We had been flanked by valley sides for much of our drive from Austria the previous night, it was so dark that mountains merged with sky, but occasionally the lights of buildings high on the hillside had given away the topography. Needless to say, Southern Germany is home to some very big scenery.
After our Burger King last night we went minimalist for breakfast, but made good use of the excellent Sanifair facilities to re-humanize us for another day of touring. For the uninitiated, Sanifair are a company who look after the toilet areas of a growing number of service areas across Europe, and how I wish they’d take over duties in England.
A session in a Sanifair bog might cost half a Euro, but you receive immaculate surroundings, piped relax-o-muzak, a choice of three wiping materials, and a toilet that cleans its own seat after every visitor. And you get a voucher for your money back afterwards! Nicola and I combined our vouchers to gain a Euro’s worth of discount on a bottle of water in the sensationally overpriced shop; no matter, we were refreshed, and clean, and ready to throw ourselves at our next port of call.
Considering how the day before had ended up, we both slept surprisingly well.
Severe tiredness had probably contributed to our success in finding slumber, but looking at our surroundings this morning, and hearing the trucks as trundle past our parked Peugeot, we would almost certainly have struggled to kip under any other circumstances. Now properly installed in the South of France, the nights were warmer and the sun shone for longer. There was a different quality of light on offer as well. Everything somehow looked more colourful (through these rose-tinted holidaymakers contact-lenses), no matter how familiar they were. The turquoise of Nicolas car seemed almost iridescent in the morning sun.
Our breakfast was usually a basic affair, and today was no different. The butter we had been keeping in the coolbox was doing surprisingly well, it still smelt and tasted as it should do. The bread, too, had remained fresh and tasty, and I finished it off today. The apples we had picked up after hitting France had been the real success story, though, particularly succulent, and providing a distinct whiff of healthy eating to take the edge off our Roasted Nut Tracker bars. Actually, we were eating like royalty on this trip.
Calais, France, is hell on Earth, designed with the sole intention of confusing disorientated foreigners.
I found myself here, along with my girlfriend Nicola, having already been travelling for over four hours. We had taken it upon ourselves to go on a bit of a holiday, not, of course, by plane to somewhere exotic, but by car, exploring two and a half thousand miles of Europe. The previous year, myself and a friend had proven that four thousand miles could be dispatched by car in a single week, and rather than being scared off by such a daft endeavour Nicola wanted a piece of the action. Our objective today was to get through as much of Central France as we could, in as little time as possible.
Higher stakes this time though. We would be travelling for the next eight days in a 1995 Peugeot 306, the very car Nicola uses for the commute to work every day. We had no particular reason to choose this as our favoured transport, In hindsight this was far from the obvious choice of vehicle in which to undertake such an expedition, a decision that now seems downright reckless when you consider that the Peugeot had been maintained solely by yours truly for the past 18 months. And it had recently suffered a problem with overheating….
Editors Note – This is another great read from Friend of Hooniverse Chris Haining, who goes by the screen name of Rust-MyEnemy. Go over to his blog to get to know Chris more.
Well, with you guys enjoying Labour (sic) Day, I thought I’d step into the breach. And I thought I’d abuse this privilage by opening my heart and sharing one of my problems.
Last week I spent £9 on eBay. This investment saw two envelopes land in my in-tray, one of them containing a 1992 Jaguar range catalogue, the other housing a brochure for the 1987 Leyland DAF Roadrunner truck range.
Thing is, I’m 30 years old, my CD collection features The Orb, Boards Of Canada and eclectic current acts like Wild Beasts and Little Dragon. I have a beautiful Girlfriend and a reasonable circle of friends who don’t groan whenever I approach them. I fly stunt-kites and am a Glastonbury music festival regular. I have a couple of tattoos. These are all reasonably cool hallmarks to have, but all of this can only go so far to balance my disturbing fetish for collecting brochures.
Those of you who call Southern California home, know that we have some wicked cool roads on which we may pretend to some kind of driving hero. However, one of those roads – in fact one of the best if you happen to be of the sport-bike riding persuasion- has been closed now for nigh on 18 months. Angeles Crest Highway (SR2) snakes north out of La Cañada Flintridge, and traverses 66 miles of the San Gabriel Mountains east to the 138 at Wrightwood.
Following the Station Fire, rock slides and washouts made the first 7 miles of the two-lane road impassable, requiring a long detour if you wanted to visit, oh say Mount Wilson’s observatories, or Newcomb’s Ranch. Ever since then, a yellow gate has blocked egress to the road just north of Foothill, but as of this morning, that gate will swing open and the chapparal-lined road will be re-opened to traffic and disco bikes. If you don’t happen to live in the LA area, this might not have the same meaning as to those of us who do, but just think, now you’ll have something to do should you ever visit here!
Of course I now have one less excuse for not getting my Healeys on the road again.
Image source: [lawheelman.org]
This olelongrooffan doesn’t often offer a suggestion to check out one blog over the other. There are a ton of great ones out there. But I do have this to say about that.
The Roadwork blog, as noted in the sidebar here in the Hooniverse, is definitely a must read. Excellent writing as well as thoughtful images. Make this a once a week read.
Imagine having the job of delivering somewhat rare and exotic cars throughout Merry Old England. Nissan 350Z’s and GT-Rs, BMW Z4M’s, Mercedes AMG63′s? Tame stuff for him. Plus, they are not the decontented US versions.
Yeah, I’d Do It.
Once you have finished here in the Hooniverse, and checked out that latest from those geeks over at Atomic Toasters (not really, they helped me identify an instrument from my Dad’s estate that is bringing in some serious bucks on ebay), check out the blog our fellow Hoon, RustMyEnemy, does.
I know you’ll enjoy the hell out of it. LRF.
And no, this is not the mutual admiration society gathering!
(Editors Note: This is another submission by our good friend across the pond, Chris Haining, aka Rust-MyEnemy. He described his experiences with amphibious vehicles while at University. It’s a great read, and a great Hooniverse Motorboat Monday Piece.)
Seals are incredible animals. Their beguilingly innocent faces with those teary, doe-eyes belie their astonishing grace and agility in the water. Unfortunately, once on land they transform from streamlined torpedoes into ungainly, lumbering brutes. They have amphibious abilities, but are far happier in a marine environment than on terra firma.
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