Who do you think I am?
Posted: 17 Jan 2020 19:47
During the 1940s and '50s the name of Argentinian Juan Fangio was well-known in motor racing for his fearless use of speed and tactics. I mention this to help younger readers today understand the sarcastic comment with which I was faced sometime in the late 1960s when I badly misjudged my approach speed to a set of petrol pumps.
I'd just begun courting the girl who would eventually succumb to my boyish charms - trouble was, she lived in Cardiff and my home was in north Oxfordshire. No problem; my rusty, trusty A40 would carry the day. My route included that long-distance dual carriageway, the A40 and up until then my driving experience had never met with a high-speed road.
The day - and the car - went well but as I passed homewards through Monmouth and began ascending the big hill over which the road climbed towards Ross on Wye, it dawned on me that fuel was running low. Being on a dualled road meant I couldn't turn round. Hmm. Press on regardless, then. The A40 (both of them) crested the hilltop and began a long, straight descent to the next valley. Near the bottom of the hill I was pleased to spot a petrol station. The pumps were located (and still are today) a little way off the main road, sitting in an expanse of concrete containing many heavy lorries behing them but, the main carriageway curving right, the entrance slip was dead straight.
Not being used to "high" speed motoring, I failed to realise that I needed much more distance to stop. The result was that I shot past the pumps with tyres squealing and front wheels locked, much to the surprise of an old chap sitting on his chair by the pumps (fifty years ago we had lovely people called "attendants" who would fuel one's vehicle and might hope for a tip - they were often disappointed).
Sheepishly I re-started the engine (why do they stall when subjected to a sudden stop?) and reversed up the slope to the pumps. The attendant stood up, took a deep suck on his fag, gave me a hard look and uttered those immortal words, " 'Oo the 'ell d'ya thing you are - bleedin' Fangio? "
Later, I told Bar of this event and down to this day, if I misjudge a bend on a strange road or have to brake suddenly, my fair passenger will sometimes murmur - well, you've guessed it.
I'd just begun courting the girl who would eventually succumb to my boyish charms - trouble was, she lived in Cardiff and my home was in north Oxfordshire. No problem; my rusty, trusty A40 would carry the day. My route included that long-distance dual carriageway, the A40 and up until then my driving experience had never met with a high-speed road.
The day - and the car - went well but as I passed homewards through Monmouth and began ascending the big hill over which the road climbed towards Ross on Wye, it dawned on me that fuel was running low. Being on a dualled road meant I couldn't turn round. Hmm. Press on regardless, then. The A40 (both of them) crested the hilltop and began a long, straight descent to the next valley. Near the bottom of the hill I was pleased to spot a petrol station. The pumps were located (and still are today) a little way off the main road, sitting in an expanse of concrete containing many heavy lorries behing them but, the main carriageway curving right, the entrance slip was dead straight.
Not being used to "high" speed motoring, I failed to realise that I needed much more distance to stop. The result was that I shot past the pumps with tyres squealing and front wheels locked, much to the surprise of an old chap sitting on his chair by the pumps (fifty years ago we had lovely people called "attendants" who would fuel one's vehicle and might hope for a tip - they were often disappointed).
Sheepishly I re-started the engine (why do they stall when subjected to a sudden stop?) and reversed up the slope to the pumps. The attendant stood up, took a deep suck on his fag, gave me a hard look and uttered those immortal words, " 'Oo the 'ell d'ya thing you are - bleedin' Fangio? "
Later, I told Bar of this event and down to this day, if I misjudge a bend on a strange road or have to brake suddenly, my fair passenger will sometimes murmur - well, you've guessed it.