Two more motoring memories
Posted: 04 Feb 2020 21:39
In the late 1990s Aston Martins were assembled at a small(ish) factory between Banbury and the nearby village of Bloxham here in north Oxfordshire. As each vehicle was completed, the assembler would take it for a test drive and fill in a guarantee form for the new owner.
One wet weekday morning I was aboard my A40 travelling towards Bloxham when, in the distance, I saw a new Aston pull onto the main A361. Between me and him were two vehicles who, in the village, turned off and thus I was behind him. The village is home to a public boys' school and nearby is a pedestrian-controlled zebra crossing. If any of the boys happen to be near the crossing when a car of interest approaches, they push the red button, the lights turn red, the car stops and they have an opportunity to study their catch for a few moments.
And so it came to pass: Aston spotted, tit pushed, Aston - on its giant tyres - promptly stops. Behind him, I come romping up with my skinny crossplies frantically squeaking on the wet tarmac. Just for a moment I thought I'd hit him but, mercifully, halted about a foot from his rear bumper.
Phew . . . the Aston's driver stepped out to inspect any damage and, when satisfied there was none, came up to my window. "Good job you didn't hit this car, mate, it's brand new."
And you know just a few times in your life, your ears hear your mouth say something your brain has only just thought up?
"You're not kidding," I replied. "Getting front wings for these A40s is almost impossible."
He climbed back into his car and zoomed away, leaving around two thousand miles'-worth of tyre rubber along Bloxham High Street!
Another motoring memory concerns the same A361 a little further along, between Bloxham and Chipping Norton. The village of South Newington has sharp bends which continue out into the countryside, where the main road rises up a steepish hill (well, steepish for an A40 anyway).
I know that road like the back of my neck and again, it was a wet weekday morning and I was travelling to Burford. A saloon car was behind me and, at the top of the hill where the road enters a lovely straight section, it passed me with horrid little blue lights flashing in its rear window. We stopped: the young driver of the unmarked Police car walked back to me. "Hello sir, have you had a drink this morning?" Yes, I admitted, a cup of tea with my toast. (Black look.)
"My colleague and I have been following you since Bloxham, and you're all over the road."
Understanding dawned. "This is a sixty-year-old car, officer," I said, " which, although regularly serviced, is a far cry from today's modern vehicles. I doubt you have the motoring experience behind the wheel of a classic like this, so you won't realise that the car follows every dip, bump, slope and poorly-repaired utilities trench into which its front wheels run."
Not a sensible reply: he and his colleague gave the A40 a good looking at, inspected my documents and - of course - found nothing amiss. That stumped 'em because their pride wouldn't let it drop just like that.
"Well sir, I hope you have been driving this car for some while," (I refrained from telling him it was since 1966) "because it needs your full attention."
I could have carried the argument back to the enemy by expressing the pious hope that all motorists, whether they be ancient or modern, would drive with full attention, but I felt that would have been pushing my luck! Happy days . . .
One wet weekday morning I was aboard my A40 travelling towards Bloxham when, in the distance, I saw a new Aston pull onto the main A361. Between me and him were two vehicles who, in the village, turned off and thus I was behind him. The village is home to a public boys' school and nearby is a pedestrian-controlled zebra crossing. If any of the boys happen to be near the crossing when a car of interest approaches, they push the red button, the lights turn red, the car stops and they have an opportunity to study their catch for a few moments.
And so it came to pass: Aston spotted, tit pushed, Aston - on its giant tyres - promptly stops. Behind him, I come romping up with my skinny crossplies frantically squeaking on the wet tarmac. Just for a moment I thought I'd hit him but, mercifully, halted about a foot from his rear bumper.
Phew . . . the Aston's driver stepped out to inspect any damage and, when satisfied there was none, came up to my window. "Good job you didn't hit this car, mate, it's brand new."
And you know just a few times in your life, your ears hear your mouth say something your brain has only just thought up?
"You're not kidding," I replied. "Getting front wings for these A40s is almost impossible."
He climbed back into his car and zoomed away, leaving around two thousand miles'-worth of tyre rubber along Bloxham High Street!
Another motoring memory concerns the same A361 a little further along, between Bloxham and Chipping Norton. The village of South Newington has sharp bends which continue out into the countryside, where the main road rises up a steepish hill (well, steepish for an A40 anyway).
I know that road like the back of my neck and again, it was a wet weekday morning and I was travelling to Burford. A saloon car was behind me and, at the top of the hill where the road enters a lovely straight section, it passed me with horrid little blue lights flashing in its rear window. We stopped: the young driver of the unmarked Police car walked back to me. "Hello sir, have you had a drink this morning?" Yes, I admitted, a cup of tea with my toast. (Black look.)
"My colleague and I have been following you since Bloxham, and you're all over the road."
Understanding dawned. "This is a sixty-year-old car, officer," I said, " which, although regularly serviced, is a far cry from today's modern vehicles. I doubt you have the motoring experience behind the wheel of a classic like this, so you won't realise that the car follows every dip, bump, slope and poorly-repaired utilities trench into which its front wheels run."
Not a sensible reply: he and his colleague gave the A40 a good looking at, inspected my documents and - of course - found nothing amiss. That stumped 'em because their pride wouldn't let it drop just like that.
"Well sir, I hope you have been driving this car for some while," (I refrained from telling him it was since 1966) "because it needs your full attention."
I could have carried the argument back to the enemy by expressing the pious hope that all motorists, whether they be ancient or modern, would drive with full attention, but I felt that would have been pushing my luck! Happy days . . .