In quarantine with AUTOhebdo – News, story, you have the floor!

Eternal Pau…sterity

Alan is calm and makes sure to stay focused. The British septuagenarian is harnessed in his cigar on wheels, his very expensive Cooper 71 from 1964. In front of him, on the starting grid, two majestic apple green Lotus 24s offer his view their plump sterns and topped by two enormous exhaust tubes menacing like machine gun barrels. They too impatiently wait for the lights to go out to finally launch into the crazy round and shout at the top of their lungs in an infernal concerto.

Alan is delighted to have been able to qualify behind these two magnificent cars with their bewitching noise. Today, his goal is to keep up with their frantic pace in order to make the most of their mechanical symphony which makes his hair stand on end with each acceleration. He loves his old English green Cooper, but he regrets that the vocalizations of his four-cylinder do not produce such joyful lyrical flights as the V8 Climax.

In his small mirrors he sees the antique BRM of his old friend Graham who is discovering this legendary circuit. Alan had told him: “Follow me to Pau, you’ll see, the weather will be terrible, but your taste buds will be delighted and your stomach will be full! ". By encouraging him to follow him, he did not expect the weather to be dry for this 2007 edition of the Historic Grand Prix. He also didn't expect Graham to stick to him during all the tests to learn the trajectories. Logical result: his friend qualified just two places behind him.

All these old Formula 1s from the 60s have lost none of their splendor and they will be able to fight a splendid battle like in the great era, but half a century later!

Susan, his wife, who has followed his mechanical escapades since a young age, is sitting in the shade of the large stands, carefully holding her old film camera in her hands. She has an immoderate taste for everything related to art. The refined shapes of his cars, mixed with the grain of his black and white photos, earned him great recognition during his exhibitions in England. His heart can't help but speed up before leaving. She may have been used to this stress for ages, but her subconscious cannot accept without flinching that her man is rushing at full speed into a rolling sarcophagus. Especially since here, as in Monaco, it seems that “it makes or breaks”.

The wild animals are released! The rear wheels slip a little and finally deign to propel the old Formula 1 cars on the narrow circuit enclosed by uncompromising rails. The Lotuses in front of Alan scream together for his greatest pleasure. His friend Graham managed to gain a place at the station bend and is now in his wake. Already, the twin Lotuses seem to be taking off on the climb towards the Casino. Alan tries to motivate himself by shouting into his headset:

– Come on Alan! We are not going to be satisfied with a simple podium! We fight like a little kid! Come on !

Graham lets go at Beaumont Park, he prefers to ease the accelerator before the long curve leading to Foch and gently lets Alan's Cooper escape, seeming to jump from curb to curb. The leading trio emerges, engines screaming, in the straight. The roof of the stands vibrates with fear at the devilish sound that crushes the eardrums. Alan notices his friend's absence in his mirrors, but sees the sharp snout of a white car peeking out. In the next round, it is now stuck in its aspiration and clearly threatens to displace the Englishman at any moment. So, he increases the pace and uses the entire small width of the track to contain his opponent. The white car is still there, lurking under its exhaust pipe. She gives no clear signal of an attempt to overtake. Alan is sweating profusely and struggling like hell to keep his mount on a still acceptable trajectory. The rails are getting closer and closer to his wheels and seem to attract him like a magnet.

– But who is this guy? he shouts into his sweat-soaked hood.

His lap times improved and he inexorably returned to the two leading Lotuses who were wondering what “old” Alan Baillie had eaten at breakfast!

The loops follow one another at a dizzying pace; the protagonists are constantly on the razor's edge as if they were facing the test of their lives.

The speaker exults and believes it is appropriate to recall the canonical age of the Englishman to accentuate the sporting and technical feat that he is currently accomplishing at the wheel of his little Cooper. He has now joined the Lotus 24 in second position; it even seems to him that he might soon push her with his snout. He receives in full visor the burning gases of the terrible chrome exhaust outlets aimed at him. The white car is still nestled in its wake as if attached to an imaginary trailer hitch. He briefly thinks that, seen from the outside, their three cars going at full speed must give the impression of a terrifying procession on the verge of falling apart. He imagines, in a flash, Susan's face blurred with worry, sitting on the cold cement steps of the stands.

The three cars arrive braking extremely late from the station with a screech of smoking tires. Spectators from the stands Cheers stand up nervously. Alan squirts on the inside of the bend and passes the Lotus 24 which immediately falls behind him in the hope of fighting again. He exults with joy, but the jubilation subsides when he discovers that damn white car still in his rearview mirror.

- Impossible ! It's impossible ! There was no room for two!

As he climbs towards the Oscar Bridge, he stares at the black, open helmet of this mysterious pilot. He notes with astonishment that it has not been legal for at least fifty years and that the guy wearing it seems to be taunting him while smiling toothily!

– BLOODY HELL!

Alan is exasperated and returns at high speed to the leading Lotus. The spectators are standing in front of the incredible performance of the “English grandpa” which the commentator skilfully relays by bawling into the microphone. Alan refocuses on his trajectories and tries to forget the white leech for a moment to attack the car in front of him. The same model, a magnificent and bubbling Lotus 24 with gleaming exhausts. Its driver was somewhat taken aback to see the Cooper overtaking him and made some small damaging mistakes. He fails to brake at the turn of the bush in a cloud of smoke as noisy as it is fragrant. The opportunistic Alan takes the opportunity to sneak inside with a smirk. He doesn't even have time to realize that he has just taken the lead in the race when the cursed white car overtakes him from the outside in one breath! Helpless, he explodes with rage:

- NO ! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE ! Physically impossible!

This time he can clearly identify the back of this white rocket.

– LOTUS 32! A 2 formula ? They're kidding me!

Being overtaken in this way by a car of a lower category, and supposedly less powerful, gets dangerously on his nerves. He fully intends to hold the organizers accountable for this exasperating charade. Are we making fun of him?

The two cars crossed the finish line for the penultimate time at full speed under the race director's desk. He raises his index finger, we begin the last round. Huddled behind this mysterious Formula 2 of supernatural agility, Alan notices incredulously that its engine emits no heat or noise. The still fresh wind of this late morning rushes into his neck warmer as if the way ahead was clear. He decides to go all out and try to overtake this outrageously fast crew. Victory matters little to him, he wants to give this black-helmeted madman his due. But the white car is definitely too fast and crosses the finish line with a good head start. The Briton cuts his speed immediately after the checkered flag which the director fails to wave as the winner passes. Quite irritated and in a hurry to do battle with the official authorities, he immediately put his car away at the exit of the stands to the cheers of the grand stands and the applause of the marshals around him. Furious, he takes off his full-face helmet, tears off his hood, and walks the pit lane like a warrior. He grumbles at each of the congratulations and pats on the back. Overjoyed, Susan walks up her row of stands in the same direction, to join her triumphant husband in front of the podium.

Jean-Paul Pasquet, president of the Automobile Club Basco-Béarnais, takes him to task:

– Superb race, Mr Baillie! Didn't have enough gas for a victory lap?

- Jean Paul ! Don't make fun of me! I want to see the technical passport of this Formula 2!

- Pardon ?

Alan is angry with anger, he swears to the President and Joël Do Vale, the race director, that he has never participated in such an unequal competition.

Carried away by the anger stored up during the eight laps of the race, he belched names at the attention of the stewards apparently incapable of waving blue flags or penalizing this white Formula 2 with dangerous behavior. Alerted by the outbursts and the extreme state of tension of the pilot, Doctor Mothes arrives to the rescue. Visibly embarrassed by this ludicrous scene, he points to a screen at the back of a stand, where the general classification appears.

– Mr Baillie… you have won! I have rarely witnessed a race of such intensity: great art!

With a crestfallen face, Alan details the incredible ranking. A crowd of journalists surrounds him, he almost feels ridiculous. He is the first, the green Lotus 24s complete the podium.

– Where is this damn Lotus 32?

– Peter Studer is eighth, replies Pasquet.

- No ! Not this one! An all white, immaculate Formula 2, its driver has an illegal black helmet! He dislocated me like a suicide bomber in the Bush!

The assembly stares at him, asking questions in a shy hubbub. Pasquet breaks the burlesque of the scene and invites him to watch the video of the race to the command post. A quick manipulation by a technician and Alan discovers the last laps of the event. He watches, speechless, at his authentic exploit in the streets of Pau.

With a sullen face, he still agreed to go on the podium to the cheers of his friend Graham and the inexhaustible tears of joy of his wife. The speakers sing “God save the Queen” for the umpteenth time, a real hit during the Historic Grands Prix…

The doctor invites Alan to a separate prefab, he absolutely wants to examine him. He concludes skeptically:

– I have nothing particular to report about your general state of health, Mr Baillie, but it seems that you have been the victim of hallucinations. Also, I will advise you to have a brain scan as soon as possible in order… to reassure us all.

Alan shakes his head refusing to believe that what he saw was a figment of his imagination:

– Doctor, I don't drink, I only use gasoline fumes almost every weekend. This crazy story is a first for me.

– There is a beginning to everything, Mr Baillie. You reach an age where the body plays tricks without warning. Do this scan, please.

The Briton nods to satisfy the doctor and find his freedom in the paddocks as quickly as possible... in search of this cursed ghost car. Susan is in his footsteps and has had enough of raking the Philippe Tissié stadium for the third time.

– Alan, this car doesn’t exist! You dreamed, you are tired. Let's go back to the truck.

The meeting ends, everyone puts the equipment in the semi-trailers to transport it to another circuit, Monaco precisely. Susan has set up a cabin that serves as a darkroom inside the vehicle. This little compartment of her own allows her to develop her prints as quickly as possible on the go. The photos of her man's superb race are swimming in the revealing tray before her impatient eyes.

- Oh my God !

– What’s going on darling?

Susan quickly searches for a plausible lie and is slow to respond.

– …nothing serious Alan, just that my camera strangely didn't work today.

Alan grumbles once again while putting away a pile of tires:

– Welcome to the fourth dimension…

In the light of her red lamp, Susan examines in amazement a strange white car surrounded by a luminescent halo.

In all the photos featuring her husband, she finds behind him the ghostly Lotus 32 without a bib and its driver in a black helmet. She massages her temples, tries to find a rational explanation for what she sees. None come to him. She resolves to remain silent about her discovery so as not to have to suffer the mockery of unbelievers and to spare her pilot husband, already well tested by this story. These days, one could easily accuse him of image falsification in the hope of rehabilitating Alan's fanciful statements. There is only one photo left to reveal, that of the podium. The silhouettes of the first three appear followed by Alan's closed face contrasting with the joy of the Lotus drivers. A fourth person finally emerges, as if bathed in a radiant fog. The latter draws a V for victory with her hand and displays a big smile accompanied by a facetious look at Susan.

– Oh my…!

This time, she holds back her exclamation so as not to arouse her man's suspicions. She giggles frantically, hands over her mouth, in a fit of giggles. Susan has just very clearly identified the ghost who happily shares the first step with her husband.

Not at all tired, Alan insists on driving the truck heading for Monte-Carlo himself. Susan almost falls asleep in the passenger seat as the vehicle majestically leaves the circuit, guided by the organization's volunteers. Big goodbyes, horn blasts and night is already falling.

As soon as he enters the A64, he notices a strange milky glow in the distance on a bridge spanning the motorway. The closer he gets to the light source, the more his throat tightens. He doesn't dare believe that his mind is still playing tricks on him. Straight ahead, a few meters up, a white Lotus 32 parked against the railing stands out very clearly and its driver is standing next to it. He is bareheaded and greets Alan warmly like an old friend.

– Name of D…! Alan slams on the brakes and stops the heavy truck in the emergency lane. Susan wakes up with a start and turns on the warnings in a saving reflex.

- Are you crazy ?

Alan has already jumped onto the asphalt and, gathering his courage, runs towards the bridge.

When he comes back into the cabin five minutes later, he is as white as a sheet, and tries to persuade his worried wife:

– Damn, he disappeared! He was there ! On the bridge ! I know who he is, and we know him!

Susan turns lasciviously against her door to go back to sleep, hiding a mischievous smile in the darkness of the cabin:

– Are you going to tell us again that your old friend Jim Clark visited you? Nobody will believe you. Accept this fact and thank Jim for pushing you to victory today. Now drive or we'll have an accident.

Alan remains stunned and mute before the insight of his wife, already on the verge of going back to sleep. He does not ask for his remainder; the pneumatic brakes whistle and the convoy slowly gets back on the road. Haggard, at the wheel of his big truck, Alan seems, in a low voice, to meet a ghost:

– See you next year my old friend Jim.

-

Alan Baillie was born on January 17, 1937 and won 8 national titles and 2 international titles in different categories. This insatiable driver has participated in a good thousand races in his career which is not over!

Jim Clark was born on March 4, 1936, he is a true legend in motorsport. He won 2 world championship titles 1 formula in 1962 and 1965, he is also the only one to have won the Grand Prix de Pau 4 times. He died in 1968 during a Formula 2 race…

—

Comment and send us your writings via the Facebook group “In quarantine with AUTOhebdo”. The editorial team will make the selection every day. Your keyboards !