In which Sid and Doris enjoy the RTG event from Prague via Ceske Budejovice, Krems on the Austrian Danube, Sumeg and Pecs in Hungary to Arad for our first night in Romania. Then suddenly and loudly there is the cause of a surprise holiday in Arad.
Our first stop out of Prague is at the cafe in the hunting lodge at Konopiste Castle. A visit to the castle itself was on Sid’s list last time we were this way. This was the favourite home of Archduke Franz Ferdinand d’Este and his wife Sophia. They bought it in 1887 and remodelled the castle bringing in art from the Italian family. This was the couple shot in Sarajevo in June 1914 and when his father the Emperor declared war on Serbia then the whole thing got a bit out of hand.
As had the family hunting habit. The cafe walls are hung with all manner of trophies. Would you like a piece of cake? No thank you, says the beaver, I’m already stuffed. (Doris’s gag.) We also delight to see a Mouflon, a very fierce sort of sheep and considered fair game by hunters.
Better than the trophies is the musical box. Doris scrounges a Euro coin and the Wurlitzer whirls into action with organ pipes blaring and cymbals crashing.
During the day we visit a small rallycross circuit and trundle about the place at various speeds: low speeds but hard to achieve on the roads directed.
Ceske Budejovice is a pleasant little town, known throughout Czechia because maths books make much use of the perfect hectare-sized main square. Which also has bars with awnings sheltering drinkers from the showers.
On Tuesday we enjoy good roads and views. S is thrilled that we have our own Czech blue train race: three carriages pulled by what Sid guesses is a Communist era pantograph loco. The Alvis wins, this time.
Non-rally whimsy continues when Doris buys marzipan animals for some of the lady marshals…
…while Sid parks the Alvis in with the really big cars.
Non-rally amusement continues as we find Christmas trees on sticks. They are put up there to stop neighbouring villages from mounting night raids and stealin’ ‘em. The village that is robbed of its tree is a ridiculed village. That must be quite a worry. And so into Krems where S and D stayed in 2019.
En route for Sumeg we pause to offer our Arabian friends the Kammeltheater…
… shortly followed by one of the more complicated tulips we have seen.
Rumbling into Hungary there is no border fuss at all on our way to a hotel whose business is based on Sumeg castle and a special Magyar horse show in an enormous covered manège. The rally hurries into the hotel to be in time for the show and ‘medieval aristocratic banquet’.
The horse show combines some dressage, a horse being steered from a reins held by a walking handler and some fabulous riding by three Mongolians who had obviously been riding since before they could walk. The dressage was OK though marred for S and D by the bridles that have been illegal in the UK for about 140 years. D wandered off for some singing practice.
Sid would have enjoyed the ground handling show more if the horse had kicked the dude a few times. The show was saved by the Mongolians who had all the time and balance to use bows and arrows, throw spears and axes at targets and generally look at home on a hoss.
Sid explained to some 20 of the RTG party what a cod-medieval banquet would be like. The hotel kindly gave us our own dining room ( a Salon des Refusés) to eat the hotel buffet dinner instead. Is Sid a grouch?
From Sumeg we go north(!) to a the Pannonia Ring, full scale race track. This is built for sidecar racing with big run offs and is the first time we have had such a big track to play on. Sid is a bit tentative, not really having much idea what speed the car will manage in the long bends. The second lap is spent in higher gears but we only have two laps.
The country here is pretty much flat except where a little basalt plug is left over from volcanic activity.
Our next appointment is a rallycross track in an old bauxite quarry. Rain has turned the track to slush and the cars are well decorated in red mud. More interesting is to see the old mine buildings and the military helicopter training ground over the road.
Further along signs warn us not to take our ride on lawn mowers down the highway. Or perhaps something else.
On the motorway we are encouraged not to turn back, even if the next junction is a really long way.
Victor Orban has just introduced a petrol subsidy for locals. We get to pay pump prices while locals seem to register for immediate rebates.
The RTG advance party has put up a Halfway to Istanbul sign.
Soon we are in Pecs, which was Funfkirchen when part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Sid goes to see St Stephen’s Square. The cathedral was founded in Roman times, became a mosque in 16th and 17th centuries and was rebuilt in Neo Romanesque style in the late 19th century. It has been cleaned and looks new thanks to money from a Norwegian foundation.
Dinner is in a most ornate hotel. Those billeted there explain that the splendour does not extend to the rooms.
We leave Pecs town square (where the enormous groundsheet earns praise from Gill Cotton) with plenty of time in the schedule for the Romanian border formalities. We roast in the sun for half an hour, which seems to be enough penance and we are thankful to be near the front of the rally today. Just a few minutes into Romania we see our first horse drawn farm cart.
In Arad they are closing roads and part of the tram system so we can run a stage in town. There are no barriers or magic rally tape. We look at the proposed route and work out the faster cars might be doing 90 mph towards spectators with no run off. The course is shortened. At one point we are completely sun-blinded looking for a fast left hand corner. The stage then jinks left to very tight left hand hairpin. The Alvis can get around in one; Sid’s arms hurt again.
The town seems well pleased with our efforts, there is cheering and many pictures are taken.
On Saturday morning we leave Arad for Seria where the mayor is pleased to host a full-on hill climb to be run twice with a regularity on the return road between runs. It takes a while for the road to be declared closed, partly because actually it cannot be closed of mountain bikers and motocrossers.
It is a lovely road and Doris converts the test diagram into convincing pace notes. Sid thinks, No one else is getting such good navving. Coming off the last bend pulling hard in third there is vairy Big Bang accompanied with loud metallic rattling. Sid declutches but the finish is uphill so with no drive we pull off the road in sight of the line. Sid and Doris say with one voice, Game over.
Skippy and Charlie tow us up to near-level ground beyond the finish and start their diagnosis with the back axle up in the air and the whole car held on the tow strap. Their view confirms S and D’s view it is terminal gearbox failure. The rally moves on.
The locals who have helped the mayor put on the event and catering are very kind. One of them has a business hiring out ATVs and so has a trailer. Several people join in thinking where we might find a Ford Type 9 gearbox.
When these were in common use (1980s) Fords were not much sold in Communist Romania. The box is a development of the four speed Type E with an extra gear in the tailshaft housing. It was not designed for high torque engines but heavy duty uprated kits are available and there were versions for the Transit chassis which must have seen a lot of hard work…
Our new friend with the ATVs goes away, comes back with the trailer and takes us all the way back to Arad’s Ford garage where they have negotiated secure storage and workshop time for Monday. (Sid tries our new friend three times with petrol money and more but is thrice denied.)
The Ford service co-ordinator speaks English and has already started looking for spares. Sid has asked friend and rally mechanic, Jonathon Styles, for help to find a box and to fly out with it from Luton airport (Have you truly flown in from Paradise? Naah, Luton airport. Lorraine Chase, Campari.)
Jonathon is on it right away, finding a box which might be the right spec. Alex Simpson is at Goodwood so we wait until Monday to hear his ideas.
Sid and Doris take an apartment in the Arad Continental Forum, settling in for some quality tourism and a trip to the workshop Monday morning.
Oh no! What a bummer, hope you get a gearbox in time to catch up.
(You mention Skippy – we also have a Skippy in Spain. It is a Renault Kangoo, of course. My daughter has an identical vehicle called Joey.)
Good luck with the repairs.
That was a lovely read right up until a vairy Big Bang accompanied with loud metallic rattling. So sorry…
Eek! Don’t like the sound of the Big Bang!