Well, much against the odds my trip actually happened. 25 days in France with only one significant breakdown. Our dithering government said they were going to open the barriers on Mon 6th July so I booked a ticket on the boat for Tue 7th. In the event they didn’t actually get around to it until the Friday, but by then I was gone. My original rather naïve plan was to spend about 10 days traversing the Loire from its mouth to its source, then travel west to stay with friends in the Charente. I sort of achieved it.
Tue 7th July
I left home at about 04:30 in order to get to Portsmouth in time to catch the boat. It was due to leave at 08:15 and they normally require you to be there 45 minutes before the scheduled departure time. However, because of the extra precautions on this occasion they’d changed it to 90 minutes. Home to the dock in Portsmouth can be done in about 90 minutes, but in an Acadiane I thought I’d better leave a little longer.
No problems en route and I was there in nice time for the boat which was surprisingly busy. Each arriving vehicle was allocated a coloured sticker – blue, green, yellow or red – and then the chaps in orange jackets had great fun trying to sort us into our separate colours. Part of the problem was trying to see the difference between blue and green from a distance, and the rest was with drivers who simply followed the car in front and ignored the chap jumping up and down and waving his arms.
Happily Ambroise was one of the first cars to board so I made a bee-line for my cabin and went back to sleep for a couple of hours. Sadly the restaurant wasn’t open so I waited until I got to France to grab a late lunch at a boulangerie.
On disembarking from the boat there was a bit of a queue for passport control. Oh for the old days when the French authorities couldn’t be bothered and one usually found the control booths empty. This time the man who checked my passport just said (in an accent taken straight from “‘Allo ‘Allo!”), “What are you doing driving my car?” and “It’s a beautiful car.” Nice to be appreciated.
My first night’s stay was with James Duffell at The Old Cider Farm in Cormolain – about an hour from the ferry if you know what you’re doing, or a bit longer for me. James has a Dyane of his own, plus a 2CV van. It’s a rule of life when visiting France that every place you want to go to will be “fermé le …” and sure enough his local pizza establishment was fermé le mardi, so we drove into Bayeux for a pizza.
192 km
Wed 8th July
There was a relatively long way to go today. I had originally intended to travel out on Brittany Ferries’ Bretagne from Portsmouth to St Malo which positions you much better for the mouth of the Loire. However, at this point the only suitable boat running was the Mont St Michel from Portsmouth to Ouistreham. This meant I either had to drive a long way west just to turn round and come back again or compromise slightly on my start position. As the countryside to the west of Nantes is a little dull and industrial I decided to start my trip proper from Nantes. I had therefore booked a chambre d’hôte in Monnières, just outside Nantes.
It was still 300km from Cormolain to Monnières which is quite enough for the first proper day’s travel in an Acadiane. The chambre d’hôte was actually within a vineyard and once I’d cooled down the proprietor insisted I had a bit of a wine tasting. This started out in the usual way with a small quantity of each wine poured into a glass to be swirled around, sniffed and then carefully tasted. However, once we’d tried all four of his wines he then started filling my glass up properly – and his too! I suspect it was primarily an excuse for a convivial drink at the end of his day.
I asked my host if I could buy a half bottle of one of them to have with my dinner; he reached into his fridge and presented me with a bottle which was about half full. That worked out about right with my meal and I retired to bed pleasantly relaxed.
299 km
Thu 9th July
I took a stroll down to the river before breakfast to find that Monnières has a rather fine bridge. If you look carefully you can just see wreaths of mist rising off the river. A proper French breakfast and then I set off eastwards, vaguely planning my day and thinking about the route ahead. After a little while it suddenly struck me – my bill had been too small. They’d charged me only for the room and the couple of bottles of wine which I’d bought forgetting that they’d given me dinner as well. I couldn’t leave it like that so I turned around and drove back to the vineyard to pay them the rest. They were quite pleased. Oddly, my satnav took me back by a completely different route from the one it used on the outward leg.
I set my satnav initially for Thouars, chosen because it would mean heading due east. I had no intention of doing the big châteaux of the Loire – I’ve seen them before and it wasn’t the point of the trip. Instead I was keeping a bit further south and just enjoying the French countryside.
James Duffell had shared one very helpful tip with me – if a French road is numbered D9xx then it’s a minor road which used to be a major (Route National, or N) road. Typically it’s been downgraded because a bigger A road has been built on about the same route. These make excellent driving for slower vehicles like mine so it’s worth spending a little while with the map before setting out. In any case, a large point of a trip like this is to spend time studying the maps. I had had a merry time on the Michelin website months earlier ordering all the maps which I would need.
In Thouars I spotted another classic French car – a Renault 6 in classic beige. I also stopped off to buy the necessaries for lunch from a boulangerie and the little bit of the market hall which was open. The best thing which I had added to my van for this trip was a small compressor fridge in the back. It runs off the leisure battery and means you can keep cheese, butter and meats for picnics, plus have cold water to drink during the day, and cold wine in the evening. Worth every penny but if buying on the line then keep a wary eye on the price. I found it varied dramatically from day to day. There are odd sellers out there.
Lunch was taken in the car park of the Château d’Oiron. There seems to be an unwritten rule in France that you can eat where you like, because eating is very important. You don’t do it casually though – you get out your table and chairs, spread a table cloth and then lay your food out. I was the first to start lunching there that day, but by the time I’d finished there were several others. The important thing is to find shade and really enjoy your food.
Afterwards I did have a look around the chateau (not one which I’d seen before). A bit bare, but filled up with slightly odd art. I loved their attempt at anti-infection precautions. What is the point of putting a barrier down the middle of a narrow corridor like that? Someone has read about the idea of one-way systems without any comprehension of what they’re for.
Once I got to Richelieu (yes, as in Cardinal) I decided I’d gone far enough for the day and looked for somewhere to stay. The camping looked quite tempting (I had all the necessary in the back of the van) but then I found a farm which did chambres d’hôtes and the lady who ran it didn’t really give me a choice. I enquired whether she had a room available and she promptly installed me in one without any further conversation. It was a pleasant spot though and reasonably priced so I was more than happy.
I nipped out for a bit of shopping then took my supper as a picnic on the terrace. Madame brought me out some of her plums to finish off.
222 km
Fri 10th July
Having found somewhere nice to stay I decided to take a day of from travelling and do a few châteaux after all. Checking with my hostess I found she could accommodate me for another night so I went off to Azay-le-Rideau for a bit of sightseeing. I parked up in the public car park next to the river, and no sooner had I walked into town than a green 2CV came and parked there too. Not next to my van and I was too far away to catch the owner but it looked like it was a daily driver. (Note my Acadiane in the background behind the green 2CV.)
There are actually two châteaux in Azay-le-Rideau – the obvious one in the middle of town, and then another one on the edge of town to the west. Both are worth a visit, but the second one is particularly interesting because it is also an actual home. In one bedroom there’s the usual ancient four-poster bed on one side of the room, but then on the other side there’s a fabulous stainless steel en-suite and shower. In the kitchen you have the ancient cooking ranges and cupboards, but then modern stainless steel units and lots of photographs of the family. Someone must need to be terribly tidy before they leave the house each morning.
Lunch I took in a restaurant hard by the river in Azay-le-Rideau. I was attracted to it particularly because written in large letters on top of the menu displayed outside were the words, “Pas de pizza”.
To add some credibility to my claim to be following the Loire I went a bit further north to visit the actual river at Pont de Langeais, then wandered back down south again and returned to my chambres d’hôtes. On my way through Richelieu I passed a Renault 4 van going the other way and we exchanged cheerful waves. Another picnic supper and this time my hostess brought me out some local cheese to try.
125 km
Sat 11th July
I resumed my intended task of following the Loire to its source and set of due east with a target of La Charité-sur-Loire. I’d visited this town a few years earlier and quite liked it. It also had the advantage of missing out the bit of the Loire through Orléans – I’m not a great fan of big city driving, particularly not in an Acadiane. I managed to set off and cover the first couple of hundred yards with my handbrake on which was annoying. Fortunately not too far though.
I stopped for morning coffee in a small town called Loché-sur-Indrois at a bar which had its tables set on both sides of a narrow but main road. Half the time it was peaceful, and then a massive juggernaut would thread its way between the tables. Fortunately they could go only slowly because the whole place was pretty narrow. I had a look around the town, which seemed neat and well cared for. The war memorial listed 67 dead in the first world war and 8 in the second. For a town that size the toll must have been devastating.
After a stop for fuel and another to buy a baguette (still eating the cheese from Thouars) I managed to find possibly the best picnic spot of my whole trip by the river in Chârost. Shade for both me and the van, picnic table, and a delightful river to sit next to. It does make a big difference to your after lunch driving if you can keep the van from getting too hot whilst it’s parked. Us Acadiane drivers don’t have the luxuries which 2CV drivers enjoy, like an opening roof.
The rest of the trip to La Charité-sur-Loire was without incident and the town was as nice as I remembered. Not having booked anywhere to stay I started looking, first south of the town and then north. One suggested place was a motel, next to the old main north-south road and only yards away from the new main A road. I’d never come across anything quite like it in France before. There was a reception at one end and then just a wing of about 12 rooms sticking out to one side, with space to park your car in front of your room.
I initially rejected it and went on to Pouilly-sur-Loire (where Pouilly-Fumé comes from) but found it growing on me and eventually went back and took a room. The very friendly lady on reception sold me a bottle of the local wine and undertook to make me an omelette and salad later on, which was excellent. There’s a particular knack of making an omelette which I have never mastered – almost crisp on the outside and still runny in the middle. She also gave me some local cheese to finish off.
The room was slightly comical, but clean and comfortable. It had the strangest bath I’ve ever seen – only long enough to sit in (not lie down) and tapering towards your feet, in both width and depth so you end up sitting with your feet up in the air. I don’t know why they bothered – surely far more sensible just to have a shower.
270 km
Sun 12th July
The weather was starting to get distinctly warm so I determined to head up into the Massif Central in the hope that the higher altitude would mean that things were cooler. Acadianes may work just fine in continental heat but I don’t.
I stopped in Décize to spread out maps and plan my route and whilst I was there a man with pretty much no teeth stopped his much more modern van to tell me how much he liked mine. You do get a pleasing amount of attention driving an Acadiane in France.
Gannay-sur-Loire is a nice, well presented village where I saw not one but two 2CVs. The first was a fine old grey one belonging to a Dutch chap who was working on a house there. We chatted for a while and exchanged notes. Then when I’d had my coffee at the shop/restaurant/bar in the village a rather battered old green one appeared and parked up nearby. I didn’t manage to to see the driver of this one – it just appeared when I wasn’t looking.
Next stop was in Lapalisse where I had an interesting time trying to get fuel. (A 20L tank means filling up at least once a day – sometimes twice, but at least it never costs very much money. My diesel C5 has an absolutely enormous tank and whilst it can do an easy 700 miles between fill ups, the bill to fill it is then correspondingly large.)
At the first garage which I tried, the pumps were the kind where you pay by card at the pump – no option to pay a person. With the Acadiane’s right-hand filler half way along the vehicle there was only one pump which I could use and that one was facing directly into the glare of the very hot sun. I suspect that prolonged exposure to strong sunlight had actually faded the display. I managed to read the first screen of messages, but then it asked me which of four fuel choices I wanted (why do French self-service pumps do this – it seems completely unnecessary?) and I couldn’t read any of the choices, no matter how much I shaded the screen and peered with my strong reading glasses. I gave up and pulled my card back out, which upset it a bit. I expect it recovered.
The next place was a supermarket and I carefully followed the arrows labelled “fuel”, only to find myself arriving at the pumps going in the opposite direction from everybody else! There was a bit of a queue from the other direction, but happily one pump was queue-less and it was the right side for me. I sort of expected to be shouted at for coming straight in, but nobody said anything and this time I did manage to fill up. Once I’d filled up I moved my van off the pump and then parked up again to try to work out where I’d gone wrong. The more I checked the more I was convinced it was a case of “they’re all out of step but oor Wullie”. Even after the queue had cleared, people continued to drive in over the “exit” stop line, fill up and then exit out of the arrowed entrance. It must have been some kind of local unwritten convention to ignore the road markings.
I found another good picnic spot at Le Breuil, again in the shade but no river this time. A neighbouring cat crossed the road in order to sit and watch me eat my lunch. The other really useful thing which I had brought was a JetBoil water heater, which meant I could finish off my meal with coffee. Very civilised.
In one village I came across another Acadiane so stopped for a quick photo.
I was aiming for a hotel up in the mountains called “La Vie en Rose” which had a lot of good reviews and the night before seemed to have plenty of rooms available. (I didn’t book in advance because I didn’t know if I would get that far.) Sadly when I got there at about 4 o’clock they said they were now fully booked so I resorted to booking.com to try to find somewhere to stay. I hate using these on-line companies because of how much they rake off, but at that point I didn’t seem to have much choice. They recommended a chambres d’hôtes about half an hour away so I booked a room and set off up ever more mountainous roads. The last 1 km was up a dirt track with a cliff to my right and a big drop to my left so I was quite glad when I got there, but…
Madame was désolée but despite the confirmed booking she didn’t have a room available for me. She did however propose to me a caravan! Slightly shabby looking but with a spectacular view and quite clean and non-grotty inside. I was a bit concerned about the idea of a chemical loo, but she reassured me that the loo and shower facilities for me were in the main building so I went along with it. I already had all I needed for a picnic supper (chilled wine in the fridge) and I really didn’t want to drive any further.
I instead spent the evening with my maps spread out on the table beside the caravan, enjoying the view and my wine and planning my next day’s travel. Not wanting to be let down again over accommodation, and knowing that Tuesday would be the Quatorze and thus a public holiday I spent a while browsing the web and booked a nice looking chambres d’hôtes near Le Puy-en-Velay (where the lentils come from) for my next two nights.
After a day of strenuous driving up mountains I checked the van’s oil to find the amount that had been used was negligible – if any. My gearbox may be worryingly noisy but the engine bit seems good.
The caravan was quite nice to sleep in except for an irritating mains hum which seemed to get louder as the night got quieter. After consultation with my host, I simply unplugged the mains supply to the caravan and then all was peace.
270 km
Mon 13th July
After last night’s planning, my aim today was to get to Mont Gerbier de Jonc – the apparent source of the river Loire. This meant descending from the Massif Central, then climbing again to the target mountain. I had a fairly early breakfast which included pancakes and dandelion syrup (pis-en-lit in French, referring to their diuretic properties) and set off.
I was slightly concerned about going back down the same precipitous track by which I’d arrived but it turned out that Mrs G had brought me in by a bit of a back route. Simply turning the other way out of the entrance to the place brought me very quickly into the village by way of a perfectly ordinary road. I descended into Ambert, bought some supplies (but not fuel – a mistake!) at a supermarket, then drove south on a remarkably straight road.
My first indication of mountains was a sign saying “La Chaise-Dieu – ouvert”, implying that there are times when it isn’t. Soon after that we started to do some serious climbing and I came to appreciate why 2CV van and Acadiane drivers throw them around the corners quite so much. I don’t think I was driving quite like that but you do learn not to lose your speed if you don’t have to. It will go round corners faster than you expect, and the more speed you can keep the less likely it is that you’ll have to drop down to 2nd (or worse still, 1st) gear. You have to look ahead, gain speed in the run up to a climb, and then do everything possible to keep that speed for what can be 5-10km of solid ascent.
I even overtook a camper van at one point – he was doing about 40 km/h whilst I was doing perhaps 60 km/h and I really couldn’t afford to lose my speed. Neither of us had any available acceleration but fortunately I came up behind him at a good point and managed to sail past. Apart from tractors, about the only thing which I overtook on the whole trip. It does help a lot to be behind the wheel of a left-hand-drive vehicle.
One impressive feature on this climb was the railway. Again and again we’d do a section of stiff climbing and then as soon as the road levelled out for a minute we’d cross the railway line again. It must be an exceptional climb for a railway engine.
I finally reconnected with the Loire in Brives-Charansac. Funnily enough the river flows around the Massif Central and not through it. It was getting smaller, but still a bit of a way to go. After that we started climbing seriously again and eventually emerged into what seemed rather like upland alpine pasture. You become very fussy about places to stop. There were quite a few parking areas with numerous camper vans in them and spectacular views but most were unsuitable for two reasons:
- No shade
- On an up-hill slope
You have to think about how you will later exit the parking area, and if it means a long grind up hill in 1st gear then you’re much better not stopping there in the first place.
I did eventually manage to find an excellent lunch stop, only two or three kilometres short of the summit. On a gentle bend with woods on both sides there was a little lay-by – lots of shade, and even a slight downhill slope for the exit. The woods on both sides were alive with buzzing insects and it was a relief to get out of the brilliant sunshine for a while. Of course, being at altitude the risk of burning is that much greater.
Another excellent lunch from my fridge – best thing I bought for the trip (with the possible exception of the carburettor service kit which came into its own later).
Just a very few kilometres further on I came to the summit of Mont Gerbier de Jonc. I was slightly startled by the sheer number of camper vans and other vehicles parked up there – clearly a very popular tourist destination. If you want to get to the absolute top you have to walk up that last bit and quite a lot of people were doing it. I decided the sun was just too strong for that sort of thing, but I was intrigued by the idea of a water-less water closet. I suppose it’s a bit like RSVP – lots of people use the initials whilst having no idea what they stand for.
Having reached my target destination, I now wanted to get to my overnight accommodation near Le Puy-en-Velay. To get there Mrs G suggested retracing my path across the mountains, but I had a better idea. By going south a bit more I got onto a small road down a valley, which in turn joined a more main road heading up a valley route to Le Puy. I felt I’d done all the serious mountain climbing which I needed, and by now I was getting a bit worried about fuel. After passing up the opportunity to fill up at the start of the day there had been just no opportunities since. I did have 5L in a jerry can in the van’s little cupboard, but I didn’t want to have to stop and use it. I resolved to stop at the first available garage and fill up, regardless of price.
In the little village of Le Béage there was just what I needed – at a price. One single establishment was village shop, restaurant and filling station with just the one pump. 1.58 euros a litre, but that’s what you pay for the convenience of fuel in a little village. In a bigger car I might have done a partial fill, but it’s hardly worth it in an Acadiane. I could have filled up and just driven on without paying because no-one took the slightest interest in me using the pump, and I had to hang around for some time in order to find someone to pay.
Only slightly further down the road I came across a Citroën dealership which also sold fuel. How much more satisfying to have filled up there.
It was a bit early to arrive at the accommodation but I remembered from the description that it had said it had shady gardens and by then I felt I really wanted a bit of shade. I thought I’d ask whether I could just sit in the garden, but the owner said it didn’t matter at all about my being early and showed me to my room. Excellent place.
I’d ordered dinner for the evening (table d’hôte) but she apologised and said they were booked to go out for dinner so would I mind having it on a tray in my room or in the garden. I opted for the garden which proved to be the right choice. It wasn’t so much a tray as three trays so I sat in the garden in the relative cool of the evening reading my book and slowly eating my dinner. An excellent end to the day.
181 km
Tue 14th July
Le Quatorze!
I was booked into my chambre d’hôte for two nights so could spend today just pottering about. The first job was to give my van some slightly overdue grease to its kingpins. They’re meant to be done every 1000 km – or 1 megametre (1 Mm) if you want to use SI units – and it had been nearly 1600 km since mine were last done. Happily I had all I needed in the back of the van and my hostess gave me permission to do the work round by the stables of her house.
You just jack up the front so the wheels are off the ground (there are axle stands there too – you just can’t see them in the photograph) then a few squirts of grease to the nipples on each king pin. The worst bit was the blue latex gloves, which were dripping with perspiration inside by the time I took them off. You wouldn’t want to keep a pair and use them again.
I had been told by my hosts that I shouldn’t miss seeing some of the upper reaches of the Loire. It has a reputation for being quite a savage river here, not at all like the wide placid flow which you get in places like Amboise. You could tell by looking down at the bed that at times it’s a raging torrent. There are lots of small châteaux dotted up the river – château in the sense of castle, rather than luxurious palace. One particular one which was recommended to me was a few miles upstream and again involved some interestingly steep roads.
The château itself was perched on top of a cliff above a small hamlet, the hamlet being deep in a v-shaped valley. The official parking was down at the bottom of the valley but again I could see that driving an Acadiane out of the car park would involve extended use of 1st gear to get back up the hill. Fortunately there was a picnic area near the top of the hill, and again that was shaded where the official car park wasn’t, and only a couple of hundred yards to walk. You do get in to thinking ahead when touring in an Acadiane.
Given the sheer number of castles it must have been an interesting area in which to live back in the time when they were built. Presumably all to protect their supplies of lentils.
Dinner was in a local restaurant in Solignac-sur-Loire, booked for me by my hosts. I was able to park right in front and sat at an outside table in the evening sun. It seemed very quiet for the 14th of July, but my waiter told me that all the planned festivities had been cancelled. The restaurant was also odd in that it seemed to have no menu at all – not even a choice of fixed offerings. You simply sat down and were presented with your meal. It was good food though and very reasonably priced.
92 km
Wed 15th July
Back on the road again. My plan was to have a fairly leisurely start but after breakfast my hostess seemed quite keen to see the back of me. She was outside ready to say goodbye rather earlier than I had planned but I had no particular problem with it so just packed and went.
Today’s trip involved a bit more mountain climbing, first up to Murat, then down the other side to stay with friends near Figeac. I also had plans to see whether I could call in on Dennis Childs (a man with several old Citroëns) whose home was not far from my route. The roads today were bigger (so not quite so winding) but also quite a lot busier. You do feel conspicuous crawling slowly up a hill with a large lorry stuck to your back bumper.
I stopped in Murat (another town which, like Le Puy-en-Velay has a large virgin and child statue on top of a hill above the town) and bought some bread and a coffee eclair from a boulangerie. Both I and the lady behind the counter were wearing masks, as was the little girl who was clearly helping mummy/aunty/somebody in the shop. The little girl prattled at me happily and continuously whilst I was in the shop, but a combination of the mask and her speed of speech meant I understood not a word of what she said.
After Murat the road descends through a sudden tunnel, and I emerged from that into some quite heavy rain. Steep downhill, heavy traffic and nasty rain gave rise to a less than pleasant 15 minutes or so. A police motor bike came up behind me with blue lights flashing but happily didn’t seem to be interested in me and shot away.
A few km later I discovered where he’d been going. At the end of a village, just as we emerged from the 50 km/h limit, the road widened to give two lanes going up a hill. Usually my cue to get my foot down early and try to build my speed before the worst of the slope but on this occasion I couldn’t because there was a coach sitting canted over at 45 degrees in the ditch with assorted police vehicles clustered around. How the driver had managed to do it I have no idea because it couldn’t have been an easier bit of road to negotiate. We will never know.
I managed to meet up with Dennis in the middle of Mourjou and he guided me the last bit to his house. He has no fewer than four old Citroëns – his white 2CV van is hidden behind the H-van in this picture and apparently there’s a Charleston tucked away in Kent with original paintwork and chassis. We enjoyed a cup of coffee and exchanged notes on vehicles (and the history of the area) and then I was on my way again.
My final leg was just to Rueyres to stay with an old colleague who has no Citroëns at all, but he does have a nice house.
274 km
Thu 16th to Wed 29th July
The following morning I drove a further uneventful 197 km to stay with friends near Villebois-Lavalette – a place where I have stayed many times before. It has a bit of an unreal looking château, like something painted on a pantomime backdrop – “Later that same day, on the road to the baron’s castle”. Most of what I did there is quite irrelevant to the story of this trip, but there were a couple of Citroën-related incidents.
One day, as I drove between two friends’ houses having been into town for some meat and bread, my van’s engine suddenly faded and died, and having stopped there was then a strong smell of petrol. Opening the bonnet I found a lot of spilled petrol around the carburettor but there was no sign of anything being wrong with the fuel line. Happily the van wasn’t far from one friend’s house so we towed it there and I took advice from the Acadiane UK group on Facebook. I understand the basic principles of a carburettor but have had little practical experience with them.
Before making the trip I had asked for advice about what spares to take and someone had suggested a complete spare carburettor. As these cost nearly £300 and I didn’t have one to hand I instead had taken a carburettor service kit which turned out to be very useful. The main suggestions from the knowledgeable people on FB were either a sunken float or dirt in the needle valve. I opened up the carburettor and the float seemed fine so I changed the needle valve and went to put it back together.
Problem – the gasket for the lid kind of fell apart as I was removing it and whilst I had a nice new gasket ready to fit it appeared at least at first sight impossible to do. If you look closely at the picture (click on it for an enlarged version) you can see two lugs sticking out from the face of the lid and supporting the pivot for the float mechanism. The gasket has two holes for these lugs, but I couldn’t see how I could get it past the brass pivot bar.
It’s amazing what you can do these days. When I told him about my breakdown my younger son asked me whether I had found some bearded chaps to watch me as I mended it. Well, yes I did – they were just watching me by way of the ‘net. Where historically I’d just have had to puzzle it out for myself, instead I posted that photograph on the FB group and asked for advice. Within minutes someone had told me the secret. The brass piece is actually a thin pin with a thicker sleeve around it. You push the pin out from one end, remove the whole float mechanism, fit the gasket, then put it back.
I took the time to check the height of the floats, cleared a lot of mucky fuel out of the float chambers, then reassembled it and it started right up, except…
To begin with it idled quite well – slightly slowly but it did at least idle. After a short drive however it wouldn’t idle at all, not even if I tried to hold it at idle with my foot on the throttle. A further on-line consultation suggested the idle jet (I didn’t even know there was one) and someone sent me a colour photograph of a carburettor with an arrow pointing to it. Happily that one is accessible without opening the carburettor again so I replaced that too and all was well. Isn’t modern technology convenient?
Having driven my van back to the first friend’s house I then blew out the removed jet and valve with an air line so I’m hoping they’re now usable again. I presume I’d actually caused the second problem myself; in cleaning the mucky fuel out of the float chambers I probably dislodged something which then went on to block the idle jet.
My second 2CV related incident happened one evening as I was driving to the house of a family which we’ve known for quite a few generations. The late owner of the house used to have a yellow 2CV and as I was driving there with his grandson he happened to mention it and speculated about what had become of it. When we arrived at the house, there it was sitting outside and looking in very good condition. It is apparently a 1958 model and it’s now owned and driven by someone who rode in it as a small child.
The house incidentally is in the Charente, but the tree in the centre of the picture behind the house and directly above the 2CV is in the Dordogne!
Finally, at one point when pootling about my van managed to clock up exactly 10,000 km on its odometer.
Whether this is 110,000 km or 210,000 km or perhaps someone has zeroed it at some point of its life I don’t know, but it seemed like a very suitable place for an Acadiane to have a memorable event.
438 km
Thu 30th July – heading for home
Normally when going home from Villebois-Lavalette we would do the whole trip in a day and catch a boat at teatime from Ouistreham. This involves quite a lot of high-speed cruising on the péage and is fine in an air-conditioned car. Given an Acadiane and forecast temperatures in the low 40s I felt a more gentle approach was needed.
I set out shortly after 8 in the morning, aiming to do slightly over half the trip that day. I had booked a room at a chambres d’hôtes to the east of Le Mans and was aiming to do as much as possible of the trip before it got stupidly hot.
I stopped for morning coffee in a very pleasant bar in the village of Saint-Martin-l’Ars. Despite the sign on the door, absolutely no-one in there was wearing a mask apart from me.
Once you get north of Poitiers (I was avoiding all the big trunk roads) there is a long stretch of extraordinarily straight road. At one point the map shows a strange kink and you wonder what it’s for, then when you get there you find the road drops off quite a steep escarpment (hence the kink) then continues on its previous straight route. One suspects the ancient Italians were involved somewhere.
The B&B when I finally got there was blissfully cool inside and the owner even had a 2CV of her own. The evening was far too hot but the gardens were nicely shaded and I had another quiet picnic supper sitting out in the garden waiting for things to cool down.
347 km
Fri 31st July
Today was forecast to be even hotter than yesterday so I was keen to get close to the coast as quickly as possible. Although I was over halfway in my journey home, Mrs G still reckoned it would take 3 hours to get to Ouistreham and my hostess (a 2CV driver) thought it would take rather longer. My boat was due to leave at 16:30, so with the 90 minute book-in deadline I needed to be there by 15:00 at the latest.
My route was quite a flog across country. Fairly early on I came across a closed road, but apart from a sign saying “Road closed” (and it really was closed) the authorities didn’t seem to feel it necessary to give any other clues. Presumably they thought anyone using it would be a local and thus know how to circumvent the closure. I eventually got around it with a bit of guesswork and resumed my journey north.
It was seriously hot and even my van started to show the strain a bit. At one point, slowing for a roundabout the brakes started juddering horribly. I hadn’t even used them very much. Driving with the window open was like sitting in front of a fan heater, but driving with it closed was worse.
I wanted to get to somewhere which was a) near the coast and b) in the shade. I happened to know that the car park of the Pegasus Memorial met both of these requirements so I was aiming for there. After what seemed an awfully long drive I finally got there and had a late picnic lunch with lots of ice cold water (hurrah for the fridge) and a strawberry tart.
I had an hour or so to kill there, and then drove the short remaining distance to the Brittany Ferries terminal. That was easy, but then began a very long wait to get onto the boat. Although it arrived on time on its trip from Portsmouth they seemed in no hurry to get us loaded and we spent an unusually long time just sitting there in the heat.
In the end it left the port an hour late; it would be nice if they had communicated with us a little about this. That in turn meant we were nearly an hour late arriving into Portsmouth, but on the plus side my little van was one of the first off the boat which is always a good thing at Portsmouth.
I managed to get in a short queue for passport control – only five vehicles in front of me – but they did seem to be even slower than usual. I dread to think what it was like for the vehicles which were last off the boat. The new electronic forms didn’t help. Given that you had to give your passport number when you filled in the form, you’d think they could have linked the two together, so that when the passport officer scanned your passport they could have had a note appear, “Form completed” and thus not need you to get your phone out, find the form, hand your phone over (really good virus precautions there!) and then scroll through the form checking it. Some of us were better than others at having the form ready on our phones.
I was just congratulating myself on getting through passport control relatively quickly when a couple of chaps stepped out from the customs shed and waved me in. They could do with a bit of training on how to give clear hand signals – I thought at first they were waving me to go on, but it turned out that what the chap meant by waving to my left was that he wanted me to go right and into the shed. I’m sure there used to be stuff in the highway code telling you how to do this properly.
My van and I got a really thorough inspection. I suspect it was a trainee officer quizzing me – he was very young and there was a second one watching him throughout. The questions were interesting, as was the way in which they were asked. Some were asked twice, presumably to make sure the answer didn’t change, and others were kind of open ended. A particular amount of detail was needed – they liked you to be able to expand on your answer, but then after a fairly small amount of background information they very quickly lost interest. Some made no sense at all, like asking whether I’d bought the van in France during the course of my trip, when he already had the V5C in his hand.
They had great fun with all the storage compartments in my van. Great piles of spare parts, camping equipment, a small amount of booze, and lots of clothes. Some small excitement when they thought they’d found a hidden mobile phone, but it was just my other phone case – the one which I use when not putting the phone in a clip to use as a satnav. They even took my spare wheel away to X-ray it, but eventually they decided I was too dull and sent me on my way.
I could have done without that extra 20 minutes delay but I can see why they picked me out – a bit of an odd profile, and good practice for their trainee chap.
I stopped at Chieveley Services on the A34 for some fuel. Even that involved a bit of fun because the chap behind the till seemed to have fallen asleep or something and the two drivers in front of me had to bang on the glass to get him to switch on the pumps. I was quite glad I had stopped because it took 17.5 litres to fill it up, meaning there was only 2.5L left in the tank – not enough to get home. I don’t think I’d have enjoyed using my emergency can of petrol on the side of the A34 in the dark – especially with a petrol filler on the offside of the van.
The rest of the way was uneventful and I got home just before one in the morning.
378 km
Reflections
My original idea had been to cover the 1000 km of the Loire in about 10 days – 100 km per day. What I discovered was that that doesn’t really work – 100 km is too short for a day’s travel. My host at the maison fort near Le Puy-en-Velay lent me a book about the upper reaches of the Loire and reading that you realise that every single village has a wealth of stuff to explore. You could either spend the amount of time which I did doing it (200 – 300 km per day) or take at least a year and then write a whole book.
Still a satisfying expedition though, and I proved to myself that I can do a long trip in my Acadiane, plus mend at least some of the likely problems to be found en route.