The Mostly Aluminuim Road Show (part 1)

They say nothing is ever a total failure - it can always serve as a negative example. Hold that thought.....

So, after thinking about it for many months, lying awake at night imagining the might of both cars taking to the road at once in a sort of mostly aluminium express, with a borrowed trailer I packed the Land Rover for camping, the Seven for blatting and steered North.

The Defender's come on a bit on terms of organisation for this kind of trip. There's now a place for everything, and unlike previous trips I rarely find myself unpacking the entire car just to gain access to one thing, which seems a bit of a shame really as it has to be said there's always something Tardisly reassuring about stacking the entire contents of the car on the tarmac next to it, taking a step back to observe the sheer amount of stuff that Solihull's Finest can house, then hiding it all away again.

The Defender makes a very good tow car, and the Seven makes a very good towed car so they make the ideal combination. They look right together, and drive extremely well together with the Land Rover shrugging off the additional load as usual.
Setting out late afternoon on the Monday, as the sun started to set, all was good. Pity it didn't last, but more of that later.

As with all Land Rover journeys, there was no hurry. Instead, just solid momentum and a gradual ticking off of the miles. Add a trailer and it becomes trucking, not driving, so I wound down the window and treated my right elbow to a bit of breeze. I also became aware of an overwhelming desire to eat fried egg sandwiches and smoke a B&H.

By dusk, without any major snags so far, I was well past the Lakes and both the Land Rover and I were in need of refuelling. Coasting to a halt in Todhills Services, I climbed out of the cab to cool drizzle, the orangey glow of sodium floodlights and the pong of diesel. Ahhh......trucking.

After refuelling I moved the car and trailer and car over to the empty car park of the nearby Little Chef, closed, silent and in darkness - just the way a Little Chef should be. The vacant tarmac offered a strange sanctuary from the three lanes of the M6, just a few yards away. It was tranquil enough to just stand there, brew in hand, enjoying being stationary for a while, yet every so often another truck would rumble past reminding me of the transport artery I'd temporarily stepped away from.
Despite still being a few miles from Scotland, this break gave me my first experience of what travelogue writers refer to as mixing with the locals.
Over wandered a chap from the only other car in sight - a silver BMW 6-series, isolated in the middle of the empty car park.
"Narrr thoots sweeeeeeeet" he declared on spying the Caterham, which I think translates as "Now that's sweet".
Nice of him to say so I thought, so I did the polite thing and asked him about his car.
It was an early 6-series, a solid looking block of Deutsche Technik, parked with appropriately Teutonic precision between the white lines and despite looking like a reliable motor, Empty Car Park Man soon explained it was a dud. He'd just bought it, allegedly from a former Chief Constable of that parish, and the head gasket had let go soon afterwards. I did wonder if, bearing in mind the car's previous owner, said head gasket's demise had perhaps been brought about by falling down some stairs or tripping over a kerb but my curiosity was soon superseded when Empty Car Park Man then explained he'd tried contacting Plod (Ret) but found him to be "powdered".
Scots accents not withstanding, I have no idea what he meant.
Random car park encounter complete, it was back to the M6 where I continued North through the drizzly night, leaving Tothill Services and midnight behind me......

To be continued........