The Beginning of the Long Hauls

Passau to Bolzano, Italy 250 miles

Released from his covered parking retreat, Guy was immediately put to work transporting his charges through northern Italy to France. First stop was Bolzano, Gateway to the Dolomites. We expected to struggle up some long grades, but the highway followed a valley thick with fruit trees. Apples, apricots, pears flanked the highway for tens of miles. Italians loved the old car, and showered it with praise at every opportunity. “Que bella machina,” was a phrase often heard. Some other classics shared the accolades, however:

After a night’s rest in Bolzano, we continued south to Cuneo, which we were told means wedge in Italian. The wedge of the town separates the Gesso and Stura Rivers. As luck would have it the town square where our hotel was located was the assembly point for a European car rally, the Ruota D’Oro Storica. The rally attracted about 75 older European classics about to take off on a weekend driving adventure. It was great to mingle with the Italian motorheads, and appreciate the work they put into preserving their cars.

Bolzano to Cuneo 320 miles

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France

Cuneo to La Ciotat 200 miles

In Cuneo we left the Autostrada behind, and finally headed into the hills for what we believed was a shortcut to the French coast. However, steep grades, numerous halts for construction, and impossibly narrow village lanes slowed our progress. For a car conceived to roll on wide American boulevards, Guy’s considerable avoir du poids, and lack of power-assisted steering or brakes makes him quite a handful for the chauffeur in the mountains. Tipping the scales at 5500 lbs, it takes a bit of effort to budge the tall whitewalls just to make a lane change. You’ll get a real workout at the big banjo wheel cranking hard left into a power-on 180-degree uphill hairpin with a quartet of impatient motorcycles on your bumper. Of course, Guy rises to each challenge, gears engaging smoothly, clutch holding, and, perhaps most importantly, single-circuit drum brakes never fading. After a full day of driving, we reached the home of my old friend Jacques Buisson in the coastal town of La Ciotat near Marseille. No stranger to the old-car scene, Jacques has an affinity for VW buses and trucks.

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We had a great time visiting with our friend Jacques, the stiff Mediterranean breezes allowed the kite surfers to put on quite a show for us. One day we took the ferry to Isle des Porquerolles, an undeveloped island perfect for biking, hiking, and swimming.

La Ciotat France to Mataró Spain 316 miles

Next stop the Barcelona region of Spain. We opted to stay at an Airbnb in Mataro, about 40 miles from downtown Barcelona and use the commuter train to travel to the city. The arrangement worked out well for commuting, but parking on the narrow streets was out of the question. An underground parking lot was located, and a helpful attendant helped me slot the Cadillac into a short, narrow parking spot. Of note, Guy did set off the facility’s CO alarms.

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Mataro to Zaragoza Spain. 208 miles

I had originally planned to cross the Iberian peninsula driving two days, but I had second thoughts, and added a stop in Zaragoza. Driver and passenger fatigue was certainly part of the reason. Day after day in the hot old car can tire out the crew. A nice modern, air-conditioned autoroute hostelry would be just the ticket. Also, Guy had developed a thump, thump, thump at highway speeds which emanated from the left front. The noise/vibration appeared to be at wheel rotation speed, so mentally I ran down the list: bearing, wheel, tire, brake? In any case, it would need attention. Our Zaragoza motel had a comfortable covered parking area, so I got the left front corner jacked up and gave the wheel a spin. The bearing was smooth, the brake did not drag, and the wheel ran true. The tire, however, had a knot in it the size of my fist. Changing the wheel was no big deal. The spare tire, of course, was not a 4-inch wide white, but a utilitarian black wall. To make matters worse, the spare wheel could not accommodate the wheel cover. I hoped a neighborhood tire store could swap the back wall onto the whitewall’s wheel so we could at least roll with the wheel cover, but, alas, my best high-school Spanish couldn’t convince the tire shop to complete the task. I suppose there are worse things than driving across Spain with only three whitewalls.

Zaragoza to Mendinaceli Spain 100 miles

A shorter day of driving preceded our two night stay in this historic hilltop village. Local residents encouraged us to visit a Roman arch, and the city walls from where you can view the evaporation ponds for salt collection. The town was also a stronghold for legendary Spanish warrior El CID and the town sits along the El CID discovery hiking trail. These days the town is a destination for tourists, and events. We were witness to at least one big wedding, with guests spilling out into the ancient streets.

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Mendinaceli to Azoia Portugal 500 miles

This would be our last full day of autoroute driving, but there would be no taking it easy. We were scheduled to get to our Portuguese vacation rental near Lisbon before dark, so we were anticipating a 12-hour day. Guy had performed admirably on his epic 4500-mile journey from Iceland to the Spanish coast. But do previous results guarantee future successes? How many 500-mile days can you expect from your 86-year-old limousine? Frankly, most cars this age can be found in museums, not cruising a Spanish freeway. There is plenty of time to reflect on all the things that could go mechanically wrong with the car, but by keeping the speed under 55mph, and a keen eye on the gauges, the car performed well.

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Portugal

Our race across Spain brought us to the tiny town of Azoia, Portugal which would serve as our home for the next five weeks. Our little stone house, named Casalinho Macieira, (the pretty house with the apple tree) would serve as base camp for some planned, and some spur-of-the-moment activities. Here it is worthwhile to note Guy was completely out of his element. The paint-scraping stone walls that lined the impossibly narrow streets provided precious little room to maneuver–let alone safely park. Additionally, Guy found the twisty and often foggy mountain roads a challenge. Guy was therefore safely ensconced into another underground car park, and a rental car was obtained. The rental proved an extremely useful vehicle shuttling us to and from Lisbon, and other tourist sites.

Chianti, Not Just a Wine

While Portugal would be where we flew back to the States, Lynn and I had one last side trip to complete. L’Eroica is a weekend-long bicycle activity in Tuscany. The bicycle riding re-unites mostly older riders with their older bicycles.

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Saturday riders leave before dawn on a 125-mile tour of the region, beginning and ending in the quaint town of Giaole in Chianti. Sunday’s ride, which I took, is 75 miles. About half the tour is on paved roads, which, note to self, are not closed to regular traffic. The other half is on gravel–known in the region as the ‘white roads’. The ‘heroic’ aspect of the day’s pedaling is navigating the hilly, twisty white roads on skinny high-pressure tires. Loose gravel, washboard surfaces, pot holes, and complete washouts conspire to topple riders, bend wheels, and, of course, blow out tires. Organizers suggest traveling with two spare tire tubes. You are on your own: the only SAG vehicle I saw was pushed off to the side of the road with a flat!

My 1985 Peugeot racer traveled from the US in the rear seat compartment of Guy Noir. Not a big bike by any means, once packed away in its hard-shelled container it nevertheless took up substantial room in the back seat. Of course, it had to be securely locked away each night in our lodgings. So, yes, it was a labor of love (or a royal pain) to get the bicycle to Italy for one Saturday morning ride.