:: GUMBALL 3000 BLOG ::

Team 3 Ezer did the 2006 Gumball 3000 rally in a Porsche Boxter s (Team 100). On the famous M5board he wrote a really nice story about the European leg. Read the whole story below.

Hi Guys,

This was my take on the European leg. Some details have been omitted to protect the guilty as my wench sometimes reads this site and I don’t want to be castrated! Our account of the USA final party will also be up in a day or two:

Friday morning arrived nice and warm in Budapest. Mussy and I were picked up by his chauffeur in a brand new S class Merc. Arriving at the BA desk we asked for an upgrade, but the lady said that we were already assigned seats in cattle class, but she would try and move us further to the front.

Despite it being early morning, I decided that it was perfect time for a Bloody Mary in the lounge while Mussy learnt to play on my PSP: I had discovered the perfect method of rendering him quiet for a couple of hours. The flight was great; we had indeed been upgraded to Business Class, a bonus that was coloured only slightly by the brash whining voice of a septic tank (septic tank = yank = US citizen) going on about his property deals (time-share crap FFS!).

London is always a good town in which to have fun. Having moved the car from the Chancery Court to the Trafalgar Hilton (and paying 35 quid for a car wash!). The day was spent drinking Bollinger while waxing the car. As we only had a baby Porsche this year we were determined that she had to be looking her best. In the evening we hooked up with Michael Ross, Emma (from last year) and the seriously smooth Allessandro Grimaldi (who should win the ‘Most Decent Man Alive’ award) at Michael’s place ‘Tabernacle’ – great food, great service (as you might expect sat next to the owner!) and great women J. Common sense prevailed and we left early as the next two days were going to be hectic. I got back to my room at 2am. This turned out to be the earliest night I have had on the Gumball in 2006!

Registration day. Sleep in until 11. Try and register. Usual Gumball organisation: cram everyone into a small windowless corridor for 2 hours. I dread to think how much money was stood around me waiting; a rough guess was just over 800 million pounds – 20 quid of which was me J. Eventually we got our Gumball Goodies: some were identical to last year, others worse: the sunglasses! Oh My God! What 70’s hell did they come from? Last year’s shades were fantastic L. Also the shoes: last year a pair of black DC shoes with the Gumball logo on them. This year? Some plain white canvas ‘road-slappers’ like the old Dunlop Green Flash plimsolls. Having already raided my first aid kit for blister kits for the Gumball Crew (who had to wear them), I gave mine away after 30 seconds. I loved the new Annual though (mainly because I was on page 26) and the new CoPilot was cool and looked much better than last year.

There was enough time to wax the car one more time and polish off another bottle of bubbly, then some sleep before the Premiere. Turned up to the joint late (I was warned by Mussy that there was no-one there at the official start time). There was only La Bam’s Lambo and the 612 Ferrari that Max was borrowing for this year, and about 30 people hanging around outside the joint (some engineering faculty on the Embankment). Went in and for once Gumball was giving away free booze to Gumballers (well, free if you ignore the entry fee for the Rally!). Well oiled by rapid consumption of 10 vodkas, we were herded into the cinema (much, much better than last year). We were not allowed to take our drinks in, so it was lucky that I had a bottle of rather fine Remy Martin with me. It duly got demolished, and was the only good thing about the movie: talk about repetitive crap! It was 20 minutes of good ideas and jokes strung out for a couple of hours. Soon I could take no more and followed Steve H and others to the bar.

The Gumball Party was in full flow when I got there (after a fine dinner of fish and chips – much better than the buffets that Julie’s Mum makes for Gumball!). The cognac was flowing, the cigars were great (my box of Cohiba Sublimes 2004 went down well), and there were several very pretty girls wandering about the place. I was again determined to have an early night, as we all knew that the Sunday night was going to be a rather long haul to Budapest. Mussy did the decent thing and went to bed around midnight. I crawled into my room at 3.30 am, having walked to my hotel via a kebab shop. Just as well Mussy and I didn’t need to meet until noon.

Start Day. The start day started well: me with a complete hangover and the oil container in the front splitting, soaking everything in the front baggage compartment with Mobil 1. To say I was a tad peeved was an understatement. We did a clean up as best we could, but then Mussy decided ‘fcuk this’ and ripped out the lining of the compartment. Much better. Everything re-packed and ready to leave the garage – just in time to have Julie scream at us to re-park the car until 1pm - glad to see no pre-start nerves on her part . Eventually we got out of the garage behind an F50. Luckily we got out quickly, before the vibrations from the Ferrari shook our car to bits. One seriously loud engine.

We were near the start of the grid and all went well: friends came and said hello, pictures were taken, and I laughed and pointed at the cellulite and saggy bums of some of the ‘Playboy’ and ‘CoPilot’ ladies, some of whom, while undeniably worthy of my attentions, were wearing hotpants that showed not only a camel’s toe, but the whole foot and a bit of the camel’s leg as well! The drivers’ brief went as expected, with the usual hello from the Plod. Poor Max wasn’t feeling too well though: just earlier he had been twatted on the head by a piece of falling scaffolding in the hotel and was still bleeding fairly badly from a head injury. I applied ice, but he needed stitches (turned out he needed 2). As a result he sadly missed the start of the rally: same as last year, the start was awesome! Much better organised and safer this year than last (when we almost ran over several people).

The first kilometre went well, and then our navigation went tits-up: the new GPS unit kept trying to take us back to the start line! Wretched thing. We met up with a little convoy of a Lambo Murci, a 430 and a Noble and they knew the way to the M20, avoiding 99% of the speed cameras on the A2. We tagged along, and all was well until we approached the motorway. Just as we were getting ready to get up to a decent cruising speed, along comes Plod on a bike, and sits in front of us doing exactly the speed limit. Bstard! There is soon a long line of Gumballers tailing along behind the biker. When the first car made a move to inch pass, the copper made sure that the message was: “overtake me, and I arrest you”.

How long would this tedium last for? Surely the copper would not lead us all the way to Dover? Our hopes were raised some 30km later by the biker pulling into a service station. At the very moment that everyone was applying pressure to the right pedal, suddenly the rear-view mirror was full of blue flashing lights. Screaming up to us was a police pursuit vehicle, pulling at least 140mph. Who was he after? Answer: All of us! As soon as he reached the front car he slammed on his breaks and slowed to the speed limit. Exactly the speed limit! He was our pace car into Dover.

Checking in should have been a matter of 30 seconds or so, but the dastardly cheese eating surrender monkeys had other ideas. They started doing intense ‘document checks’, but they didn’t know what they were checking and so copied out (by hand!) all the documents. Rumour has it that this was a result of a request from Alex Roy who had just gone through. We managed to get on the train behind Alex, and on our train there were only 3 Gumballers, leaving about 40 behind us. The fun with officialdom had started!

Entering France there were no problems, and Mussy and I pushed on to the Belgian border. At the border the French had a small checkpoint, but it was good natured and caused us no hassles. Then we became more cautious in our driving as we moved closer to the checkpoint at Chateau Beloiel. 10km from the checkpoint we thought that the Belgians were up to their old tricks of sending Gumballers the wrong way: there was a police stop and we were ordered to follow a police motorbike. It quickly became apparent that the Belgians wanted us in and out of the place as soon as possible, and the police biker wanted some fun, as he showed some speed. Within a few minutes we were in the crowd of people. These Belgians are mad – must be all the mussels with chips and mayonnaise! We had made the checkpoint around midnight, a lot earlier than last year.

The Chateau was a stunningly beautiful baroque masterpiece. So we met the Prince who owns it, had a few nibbles and then left, all too conscious of the miles that lay between us and Budapest. We wanted to be past the police before they realised that Gumball was running slightly early. We were living on false hopes. Same as last year, the plucky little Belgians had closed the motorway and were diverting all traffic through a checkpoint. They were searching all cars very thoroughly for radar/laser detectors and jammers. I was concerned. Not wanting to pay a 1,500 euro fine for having a detector, I had removed it and placed it in the rear boot of the car. It was not hidden. Great.

Then came one of those little breaks that makes life OK: the rather cute policewoman asked us “where is your baggage compartment?” Without hesitating both of us replied “in the front” and Mussy duly opened the bonnet. The police went through the car with a toothcomb, but failed to realise that this Porsche had a mid-mounted engine, nor rear-mounted. 10 minutes later our documents were returned to us, and with a kiss and a wave we departed for Germany and beyond.

Entering Germany I increased the speed so we were cruising just below 200 to conserve fuel. Then the first nasty surprise hit us. The German autobahns have large stretches of unrestricted speed. Most of the motorway also has electronic signs that can be altered to control traffic flow. At night, except in the case of snow or an accident, they are always switched off. Every single one, and I mean every single damn one of these fcuking inventions was turned on. To 80kmph! Typically we would come around a corner at 200 and suddenly see the new restriction. The driver would have to stand on the brakes and let the wonders of Porsche callipers do their stuff. As we passed the start of the restriction there would always be a set of police pursuit cars waiting for us and measuring our speed. Three times the police pulled out and followed us for several kilometres before realising that we knew they were police cars, and not that a group of Audi S6 or BMW M5 owners had decided to have a 3am gathering in a remote spot in Germany!

They would then pull us over for a ‘document check’. Basically a ploy to waste 30 minutes of our time. Thanks to this we lost 90 minutes of our time, but luckily no money. The last check near Passau was a joke: four old policemen in marked cars studying our documents. Only one problem: they only had one set of glasses between them! They were good natured though, but wouldn’t release us even when the BMWs of Ant and Pete cruised past. Mussy told them that it was not fair “my father is a German! I am in a German car! Why not stop the English people in English cars?” They smiled, but still held us for another 10 minutes. In total we had passed well over 40 police traps in Germany. The last 200km in Germany was amazing driving though: unlimited roads, a golden sunrise and dry conditions. The 3Ezer Porsche ate the miles as we sat at over 230.

We caught up (they waited for us!) with the silver BMWs of Ant and Pete at the Austrian border. We formulated a plan that Ant would lead us into Austria as his car had the most sophisticated jamming systems, followed by 3Ezer and then Pete in his car which had no detectors or jammers. Soon as we were over the border Pete decided that his eyeballs were better than Ant’s jammers and led the way. We thought it would end in tears and a big fine, but Pete proved that he has eyes like a ****-house rat, and could spot a police car, no matter how well hidden, from beyond their laser range.

There were over 30 police traps between the Austrian border and Vienna. A mixture of detectors with pursuit cars a couple of km down the road, and the normal police car with a laser. We got through them all unscathed thanks to Pete’s eyeballs. We reached Vienna in good time and in good spirits, and found that we were 5th. Due to the early time of day (about 8.30am) there were no big crowds like last year, but at least the place was easier to find. We also found our good friends Alex and Michael of Team Polizei preparing to leave (they were currently in 1st position). They asked us to lead them into Budapest. Vienna was supposed to be breakfast, so we substituted that with a can of Red Bull and Mussy took over the driving for the first time that day and led us out of Vienna.

Slowly and surely we exited Austria, managing to avoid the police helicopters and two ambushes they attempted to spring on us. Then we hit Hungary and rain so I took over the wheel. Alex wanted to be first into Hungary as part of a TV challenge that he was doing (he is famous so gets on such things!). I pushed the Porsche to its limit, but the rain was truly awful (as was the screaming from Mussy in the passenger seat, begging me to slow down). He had a point (but I wouldn’t concede it!); the car was aquaplaning almost constantly and visibility was very poor. The car has very wide wheels, low mass and no traction control: it felt more like a speed boat out for a blast around the islands than a car. Behind us, like the Queen Mary 2 came the Bentley Continental of Michael and Alex. Weighing more than twice that of our car, it made light work of the water. Mussy’s whimpering grew worse as I increasingly relied on ‘The Force’ to guide my actions.

Short of Budapest we were passed by the two BMWs of Ant and Pete, determined to beat us to our home city for abandoning them in Vienna. They had the better tyres and we let them pull away: our car was already on the limit of its performance in standing water. We had one advantage: we know Budapest like the back of our hands, and we knew the GPS units would send people the wrong way. It was close though, so close. After coming into the city we put on our flashing lights and sirens (did I not mention these little additions before? How remiss of me). The traffic parted like Moses parting the sea… to reveal a police speed trap with a car and camera facing us. I hope they got my good side.

We slowed down a little bit, for a little bit and then sped up… to meet two police motorbikes. Drat! Had our fun with lights and sirens been radioed in? We appeared to have got away with it and got into the town centre. Two hundred metres from the finish line who appears behind us? Ant and Pete. In the heavy traffic there is nothing they can do and we pull around to allow Alex and Michael the honour of being first into Budapest (they had done the same for us last year).

It was 1130am. We had been driving continuously since 4.30pm the previous day. What with looking out for police and the last 150km of rain we were tired. We parked the car, Mussy checked into the hotel and I walked into the bar before going the 600 metres to my apartment. The 4 Seasons Gresham Palace in Budapest does the best Martinis in Central Europe and I wanted a few! So I had a few (thanks Michael!) and was bat-faced after just a few drinks. It was time to sleep before the party.

The party was at the Moulin Rouge. Having got through the Neanderthals on the door it was time to party. Mussy had blagged his way and got in several beautiful ladies (several of whom work for him. Look at our website and look at Pinky, his receptionist: she is 100 times more ‘hubba-hubba’ in the flesh and a really lovely lass!). I found some friends and settled back with a cigar to watch the ‘Cuban Brothers’ do their thing. The locals around me could not believe two things: that they are actually Scottish, and the number of times the lead singer played with his balls and got naked. Not a pretty sight, but very amusing. A great party. Mussy, always our morning driver, bailed out at midnight. I stayed until 2(ish… cannot really remember) before staggering home, not really wanting to wake up for the 8am drive Belgrade.

Day 2. The morning started with a panicked call from Alex Roy of Team Polizei: someone had tampered with their car and they needed an electric drill, and did I have one? Jumped into the lasses’ car and drove round with my drill, then drove home again and packed for the Belgrade trip. Mussy and I had decided to take today really easy, so we had a late start, reckoning that if we started at the back of the pack we would see more Gumballers as we drove through the day. At a leisurely pace we finished our coffees and eventually made a move.

As we both know the city we took the fast way out of town and suddenly we were in the front pack of Gumballers and were overtaken by Alex Roy - who had left the hotel almost an hour earlier! The GPS units had sent all the other cars on a huge diversion of at least 40km! Cruising down the brand new motorway to Serbia we noticed another problem with the GPS: the last ½ of the road to the border was so new that it wasn’t on the map: the GPS sent another bunch of cars off the motorway and onto a really slow country road for 75km.

2km from the border we met Alex and Michael in the Bentley. They had made a schoolboy error and run out of fuel, caught out by the lack of any petrol stations on the new stretch of motorway. With only a gallon in a jerry can they would have to drive very slowly to a station. Luckily they managed a replen in time. We couldn’t help them as we had a Porsche - unlike last year’s Lotus we knew that we could trust the fuel guage and so had no spare fuel on board. We reached the border ahead of them and were amazed to be waved through at both the Hungarian section, and by the Serbs. Normally this could take up to an hour.

Advising Mussy to take it easy we headed onto the main road to Belgrade. As we approached a regular speed-trap location I told him to slow to 80kmph. Sure enough, there were the police and a gaggle of fans. What I wasn’t expecting was police reaction to us: they desperately waved to us to speed up! So Mussy applied some ‘gas’ and we were soon belting along at 200. “This cannot last” was my thought as we had the same reaction at the 2nd police checkpoint a few km later, and I thought I was correct when approaching the 3rd police trap at 200 the laser alarms and jammers exploded into life.

Mussy slammed on the brakes to take us out of ‘license losing’ territory and then switched off the jammers. Still too fast I thought as the police indicated us to pull over. “You were only doing 130! You must speed up!” was what the police said to a stunned Mussy. So to the policeman’s delight we put on our flashing lights and sirens and pulled away as fast as we could. It seemed the Serbs were the opposite of the Germans and Austrians!

From a previous job, I know the road to Belgrade like the back of my hand, and was able to tell Mussy when to go slow; the road is in a very poor condition in places. One such place was a flyover near Novi Sad. The camber changes on the top and tries to fling an unsuspecting driver to the right. We slowed to about 60mph and still got a wobble. We later found out that the Rolls Royce Phantom was not so lucky and tried taking the bend at full speed. It was wiped out, having spun and destroyed both ends of the car and had a small fire. Luckily no-one was hurt. Worse news was that the car, under 8 weeks old, only had third party insurance in Serbia. Ouch!

As we approached Belgrade we started to see the crowds grow, with all the bridges being lined with flag waving fans. As we approached the city centre the traffic was mad: everyone was flashing us and honking their horns. The problem was that the city centre was obviously gridlocked, and we were moving nowhere. “In for a penny, in for a pound” Mussy quoted aloud as we applied the lights and sirens in the city centre and drove in the opposite lane of the road. As we reached the top we had amazed police staring at us: two bald guys in a Porsche with sirens and flashing lights going, driving down the wrong side of the main road into town. As we went around the corner, we saw the problem: at least 30,000 people crammed into the small city centre. The final few hundred metres were dangerous and slow as the people were crammed so tightly against us even sardines would have commented.

Eventually we were able to park and get out the car – though opening the door was difficult due to the crush of people. Mussy learnt a valuable lesson: do not give out freebies: everyone wants one! It almost caused a riot as people tried getting hold of our stickers and cards. Lesson learnt we made our way into the City Hall for lunch. We were in the top 10 and almost at the end of our European leg. The crowd was mad: so many people, but really good natured: Belgrade was fantastic, and many Gumballers were heard saying that they wished they were staying in Belgrade for the night before flying to Thailand.

I was happy as I met a friend stationed as a diplomat in Belgrade and he brought his Communications Officer with him: a stunning lass and former model in NY who promised to bring her friends to a party later that evening. Several Gumballers fell in love with her and wanted her to fly with them on the next leg!

There was then a terrifying run to the airport to load all the cars doing the US and Thai stages onto the transport planes. There were many ‘street racer’ types in battered old Saabs and motorbikes who wanted to race us to the airport. There were accidents and some injuries as these people sadly failed to realise that the Gumball is not about short little sprints and racing: it is about surefooted, sustained high quality driving and great parties. Mussy had his revenge on me (for scaring him in the rain the previous day). We exited the city extremely quickly (as I know the city well) and after a few hair-raising minutes we were at the airport. Most amazing point of the journey was when a pillion on a motorbike swivelled in his seat (almost falling off in front of us in the process) to get a better view. Truly insane!

At the airport there was more mayhem (including a crash of a few ‘wannabe’ cars on the approach road, but we were there, and for us, the European leg of Gumball was over.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 10th, 2006 at 11:15 am and is filed under Generall, Gumball Teams, Gumball stories, Gumball 2006. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.