Last
updated: October 2006
Student
Gumball Rally 2006
In
September whilst people across the country were battling their way through
the clearing process, finishing off their summer jobs and generally
preparing and packing for the new academic year, 500 students drove
across Europe in the first ever Student Gumball Rally. Nathan Millward
was one such adventurer.
I love driving, I love cars, I love being a student, so three months
ago when I stumbled across a website for the first ever Student Gumball
Rally, I gathered the troops and booked our place.
The
premise was simple; over 150 teams, made up of 500 students, all competing
for a £1,000 prize on a six day motoring adventure across Europe.
At the end of the 1,500 mile journey lay Croatia, and the mother of
all parties in the coastal resort of Zadar. It sounds easy, yet with
the route snaking through Cologne, Prague, Budapest and Zagreb, this
was to be as big a test of man and machine as these students were ever
likely to face.
Drawing
inspiration from the original Gumball Rally, where new moneyed rich
boys hoon across America or Europe in an assortment of high powered
supercars, the twenty-something graduate organiser thought it time the
student population of Great Britain got in on the act. If you’ve
seen epic ‘80’s driving movies such as Cannonball Run or
Smokey and the Bandit, you’ll have some idea of what’s about
to transpire.
The
adventure began at Dover town hall under a blue September sky. Pulling
into the half empty car park we were apprehensive, then without warning
all hell broke loose. From nowhere an endless wave of flamboyantly decorated
student cars descended upon the town, shattering the peace and waking
it from its slumber. You couldn’t move for tatty superminis and
well polished German saloons, yet for novelty value, the fully functioning
hearse, black London cab and 6-litre American Town Car had the others
licked.
With
registration over and Student Gumball stickers applied, it was time
to hit the road. For some however, it looked like this could be the
start and end of the journey. Gushing fluid as it arrived at the dockside,
the hearse looked like it had carried its last corpse. Fortunately,
the automotive reaper spared it this time and with a cough and a splutter
it was back in business. One thing’s for sure; Dover never has,
nor ever will see anything quite like it again.
To
the other holidaymakers on the ferry that day I can only apologise,
for as the Mexican wave of car horns and klaxons ricocheted around the
hull, they must have wished they’d taken the shuttle. For the
Gumballers however, this was just the start, for as the cargo doors
swung open in mainland Europe, the wave of colour and noise that erupted
from the hull was immediate. With Calais brought to a standstill, the
image of French cheering on English is one I’ll never forget.
The
journey started with a 250-mile dash through France, Belgium, Holland
and into Germany for the first stopover in Cologne. With no drama to
delay our progress we were soon nudging the city’s outskirts and
contemplating a night sleeping in the car. Foolishly, we’d failed
to book any accommodation and as we went from one ‘full’
hotel sign to the next, our lackadaisical approach to planning was proving
idiotic in the extreme. Teaming up with two other teams we finally found
a bed in the next town. A quick shower and a taxi back into Cologne
and we were soon partying with the rest of the Gumballers in the city’s
gothic centre.
As
morning broke, the reality of the 400-mile journey to the Czech capital
of Prague kicked in. Equivalent to driving from London to Edinburgh,
for this bunch of weary travellers the task was mammoth.
Having
started well, day two soon went down hill, and fast. Picking up signs
for Nürnberg, we ventured off the highway to take in a few laps
of the town’s legendary race circuit. After an hour of U-turns
and puzzled head-scratching it took a map-reader with a most basic grasp
of English to realise the track was 200 miles west at Nürburg,
not Nürnberg. A vowel and a consonant have never caused so much
havoc. By the time the error was spotted we were stuck in a traffic
jam and going nowhere.
Little
did we know the guys in the convoy ahead were in an even tighter pickle.
Clocked at 151kph as the unrestricted Autobahn joined an 80kph single
carriageway, the speeders were relieved of 190 Euros, led away to the
local police station and had their car impounded for the night. The
end of their Gumball? No chance. With seats to spare we lead the convoy
to their rescue.
With
the speeders on board - they would return the next day by taxi - we
headed for the Czech border and what turned out to be a rather unpleasant
run-in with the border guard. Having taken issue with our travel documents
we were left with no option but bribery. So, with 48 cans of Red Bull
energy drink the deal was done and we were on our way. Welcome to Eastern
Europe.
With
nightfall marking our arrival, we descended on Prague, the city of a
thousand spires and a place where stunning architecture sits atop a
more sinister underbelly. Compared to the cheery, well-groomed face
of Cologne, Prague by night wears a pockmarked scowl that demands caution,
although with the party in full flow that was the least of our concerns.
We weren’t the only ones with a story to tell. Leaking petrol
tanks patched up with tape, broken cars abandoned at the roadside and
a team having to drive all the way from Cologne to Prague with no windscreen,
were just some of the stories to emerge over a round of beers.
Day
three and with Prague soon a speck in the rear view mirror it got surreal.
An overturned lorry had brought the carriageway to a standstill and
there, amongst the queuing traffic, three student Gumballers were playing
golf from atop their minibus. Even the locals were amused.
With
the traffic finally cleared, it wasn’t long before we were in
Hungary and on our way to bribing our second officer of the law. We’d
failed to purchase a mandatory local tax disc and so the policeman wanted
us to return the next day and each pay a 150 Euro fine. We just wanted
to get to Budapest, so with a fresh 50 Euro note we waved goodbye to
another corrupt official.
If
only negotiating the streets of Budapest was as easy. Lost and with
only a crumpled map for guidance, the crossroads in the centre of town
called for an immediate decision. As navigator I should have had the
answer, but I didn’t. Then, from out of nowhere, the Gumball hearse,
driven by Elvis and co-piloted by Jimi Hendrix, rocketed through the
junction, left to right. That was our cue to follow and in no time we
were jockeying for position in the hotel car park with the rest of the
Gumballers.
With
the sinful side of Prague still lodged in my memory I didn’t have
high hopes for Budapest, yet I couldn’t have been wider of the
mark. A stunning city with a hard working population clearly proud of
its visual and cultural splendour, Budapest is somewhere I certainly
hope to return to, although at the time, my only concern was squeezing
into the cowboy outfit I’d prepared for the night’s fancy
dress theme. Yeehaa!
The
morning of the fourth day soon came and as we peeled ourselves from
our beds it felt like someone had been messing with the space-time continuum.
Was it really only 96 hours since we were in the shadows of Dover’s
white cliffs? With so much driving and partying crammed in to that short
space of time it felt like we’d been on the road for a month.
With the cobwebs desperately in need of a clear out, the offer to make
the day’s 200-mile journey to Zagreb in the passenger seat of
a convertible MINI was too good to miss.
Blazing
into Croatia behind the flashing neon’s of a police escort, kindly
arranged by the Croatian Minister for Tourism, we felt like kings. And
with the authorities happy to set the pace at twice the legal limit,
we pointed the MINI at Zagreb and floored it.
Crossing
into Croatia doesn’t just signal the point at which two nationalities
draw their boundaries, instead it marks the point at which Western Europe’s
flat, greyscale landscape is replaced by a world of lush forested mountains
and never ending valleys that zig-zag all the way to the Adriatic. It’s
just a shame the Zagreb taxi driver wasn’t as awestruck by our
attempts to haggle over the inflated tourist fares as we were by his
native land.
I’d
like to report that the night in the Croatian capital was a dignified
and orderly affair but I’d be lying. With too little sleep, free-flowing
local beer and a lakeside nightclub, there was only ever going to be
one outcome. I could argue we were crocodile hunting in a tribute to
Steve Irwin, but the reality is that we were a little drunk and thought
it a good idea to swim. It wasn’t.
The
final day of driving and with no borders to cross and a straightforward
drive to the coast, it was left to a bowl of the local goulash to create
a scene. Dog, cat or any other star of Animal Hospital, who knows, but
the meat was still on the bone and had the look of roadkill. Not surprisingly,
it had the taste to match the looks.
With
the local cuisine making uneasy progress through my digestive system,
we were soon in Zadar and pitching tent on the shores of the sun-kissed
Adriatic Sea. Described by some as Croatia’s answer to Ibiza -
maybe in 20 years time when us Brits have conquered it with roast beef
dinners and ‘kiss me quick hats’ - Zadar is a charming seaside
resort with wealth oozing from the porthole of every moored yacht and
offshore luxury cruiser. Judging by the headlines of the local newspaper
- positive I hasten to add - the townsfolk had been expecting us. Whether
the holidaymakers on the campsite knew they would soon be penned in
by 500 boisterous UK students is another matter.
After
five days on the road, there was now time to reflect on a journey that
had taken us from one side of Europe to the other. With so much ground
to cover we may have missed most of the sights and experienced only
pockets of local cultures, yet that was a small price to pay for the
privilege of journeying with 499 like minded individuals on a carnival
across Europe. It hadn’t gone without incident. There had been
three write-offs, two impoundments, a dozen breakdowns and two Gumballers
hospitalised, yet the camaraderie amongst the students was like nothing
else. The eventual winners, ‘Maximum Craic’, were not the
team who crossed the finish line first, they were the team who stopped
at every opportunity to tow and repair more than a dozen stricken teams
along the 1,500-mile journey. The £1,000 prize was rightfully
theirs.
With
the batteries recharged it was time to head home. Having said farewell
to good friends, strangers six days earlier, we plotted our course and
hit the road. Driving through the night, we cut up through Slovenia,
Austria, then across the border to Germany and into France, making the
Sunday morning ferry to Dover in time for breakfast. Drained of energy,
lacking in sleep and needy of a decent meal, we were all exhausted,
yet in no doubt that we’d just enjoyed one of the best weeks of
our lives. Student Gumball 2007 can’t come soon enough.
by
Nathan Millward
