Soon we were speeding (yes! we could even reach the speed limit!) on our way again across France, Belgium, Luxembourg, France again...stopping for fuel to find it rationed, but no sign of barricaded roads. But then there wasn't much else about at all at 3am...
Come morning, we took a (unintentional maybe...) detour to a hypermarket for beer, food and fuel.
Then we arrived at the Swiss border. Bit of a shock really, there was someone there! And they charged us 20 quid for a little sticker so we could use the motorway - thats the last time we use THAT border crossing during working hours! The sticker didn't seem to make us go faster on the motorway though...
Anyway, what with stops and roundabout routes we got to our hotel around lunchtime. After a quick trip to the hypermarket for the days food, beer and wine supplies, a rather silly game involving a tennis ball, some wire and Lake Geneva resulted in more than a couple of wet travellers. Mrs Chunder, Major Clanger, Colin and Nick however exhibited a strange and unnatural aversion to freezing cold November lake water and went back to the hotel dry.
Then a very uncharacteristic bout of sleeping took place, before a revival of silliness saw some candles found on the beach set sail for the far shore - it seemed to me, like candles in the wind? Finally Major Clanger and Nick discovered an affinity for even colder lake water under the cover of darkness. And under the influence of 59p bottles of 'Champagne'. Back at the hotel, the still sleeping rabble were roused, and we set about trashing the hotel rooms. As usual, the morning came to the realisation that it was us and not the hotel that had been trashed the night before. Nice Brie though. Mmmmmmm, cheesy odours!
Then, an appointment with Destiny. Unfortunately, Destiny had been unavoidably delayed by a faulty winch, and we had to go and visit his junior partner Brushwithdeath in the meantime. Actually Colin took up this challenge, and jumped off the 600ft Hanging Bridge at Niouc, whilst the Chicken and Mother decided to take the silly option of rolling and bouncing down the mountain in an inflatable plastic ball. After the Chicken had impaled the Zorb on a tree, Mother's descent was somewhat deflated (despite the judicious application of gaffer tape), but just as giggle-inducing nevertheless.
Aviator Man booked an appointment with Screamingterrorandprobabledeath, but the Giant Swing could not be set up in time for our return to Destiny. As it happened, Destiny had just popped out for a moment when we got back, and was hidden in a cloud - screams occasionally could be heard - so we waited at the bottom. It seemed that we would not get to jump - it was getting darker, and the weather was crap - but when the Cable Car came down again, we were told that Destiny could in fact probably squeeze us in before supper if we hurried.
At this point The Iron Chicken decided that;
OK - first a comment about Swiss mountain roads and rear-wheel drive transit minibuses; they are not friends when wet. Maybe it was just the short wheelbase variety, but the minibus on more than one occasion showed a greater affinity for the cliffs than for the road - I think the front wheels were striking in sympathy with the french Truckers.
Whatever, when the survivors of the Cable Car got down again and were asked for payment, there was a minor problem...Mr Flexible Friend was not welcome, due to his little machine being elsewhere. So we had to follow the keepers of Destiny at a pleasantly speedy pace down the interesting mountain roads to Sierre to get cash from the machine. And chestnuts - which come in decent sized bags in Switzerland! Probably the only thing thats cheaper there than here.
Well one thing led to another and rather than heading off for france again, we ended up in a Restaurant eating what appeared to be the sweepings up from the forest floor - a very tasty forest floor mind you...and plenty of it. Eventually however, the first leg of the trip back had to be started, and Mr Chicken decided to go a more interesting and different route this time....
Zoooooom went the bus. Zzzzzzzzz went most of its passengers. With a few miles to the French border to go we passed a petrol station and nearly stopped for it...but fuel is cheaper in france and it didn't look easy to get into, and the needle was only just touching the red...
After a few miles of hairpin bends climing into the Jura mountains, we passed ooooh, 3? 24 hour garages, but being Swiss they were automatic ones and only accept Swiss cards or cash. No cash on us, except French. But then it was just a few more miles to France, and there were a couple of towns on the fairly main road we were on....mind you, when we got to the border town, it was getting pretty critical so we asked the French border guards where the next garage was. "Oooooooh, hmmmmm" they said seriously. Then pointed back towards Switzerland. Then they suggested using the automatic garages with our cards, as French auto-garages don't take cash. This was not looking good at all. But then one of them had an amazing flash of brilliance, and gave us the trip-saving information that the last garage we'd passed in Switzerland actually took FRENCH cash, and we had some, and it DID!!!! Mind you, having put the money in the machine, we discovered that not only was this the only garage in Switzerland to accept french cash, it was also the only one in the stupid country NOT to sell diesel. Bum. And did we get the money back from the machine? Ha! AND it was a BP garage!
OK we thought, this will be interesting - the customs blokies reckoned there waasn't a garage until Dole. That was only 87km down the road...but as the Chicken optimistically pointed out, it was down hill most of the way, wasn't it? So in the dark, passing occasional unattainable fuel supplies, we set off to cross the Jura mountains on a spoonful of diesel. 'Whisper Mode' was utilised rather a lot...swooping down some probably very picturesque bendy roads with just the whistle of the wind and gravity to power us, then crossing fingers whilst using the engine to pull us up the far side of the valleys...
To cut a long story a bit shorter than it might have been, we rolled into the Formule 1 hotel car park in Dole to a bit of a cheer and a lot of a sigh of relief. Then of course there was beer, food, and a brief attempt at flying a very large kite in a gale in a hypermarket car park in the rain. Having narrowly avoided being dragged into the closed petrol staion and being electrocuted on overhead lines, AviatOr Man decided that perhaps the conditions weren't ideal after all... [This actually proved just a bit longer lasting than the baby paper kite that briefly flew from the back of the ferry on the way across...] Maybe the buggy will come out in future?
Aha - the morning. There is only one time that it is harder to find fuel in France than late on a Saturday night. First thing on a Sunday morning...
So a further 25km down the road - on the flat with Whisper mode opportunities rare - and we were quite pleased to find an open garage. With a broken card machine. Luckily we had enough bits of cash lying around the bus to buy some diesel...
After that things were probably a little boring, and we arrived back in Calais well ahead of schedule. Of the 8 who had made the entire trip, 4 were grinning, 3 were somewhat annoyed at having been cheated by Destiny, and 1 was plotting to get revenge.
Yes, in the last trip of the series, we went by car (here's one I hired earlier for speed), as usual though we adapted the lights for the continent (using sticky-back plastic).
...and to go where lots of people have gone before. (but we are told that toilets are on the plans for the jumpsite next year, so the bushes will become a little more hygienic).
Anyway, the VW Passatt 1.9TD lived up to expectations of new time records for the trip to Switzerland, which was just as well as we only had Friday night to Sunday night to do it in. Iron, Mother, Major and Soup (alias The Captain) sent out for a dawn raid on Destiny. The car actually had a darn fine stereo with a working tape - so there was no danger of having to listen to 107.2 Crap FM like last week, the radio station which follows the motorways because thats the only way they'd have an audience. It also had an interesting little dent in the boot lid, and a very smeary windscreen, but apart from that it was speedy luxury on wheels, and a brief stop at Maidstone Services soon cured the smear through liberal application of screenwash to most surfaces of the car...inside and out, even if temporarily.
Now this stop...well, we missed the 22.45 ferry by 1 sodding minute, after driving down from Brum via Hayes and Surrey Quays. It seems that Fate, like Destiny, will always catch up in the end - last time we went on a car based cable car trip a few years ago, we arrived at Dover at 2.55am without a ticket, and left the harbour perched on the extreme end of the 3am ferry. Not this time.
This week we followed the ferry company guidelines and had bugger-all fuel on the ferry. Well, we'll stop at the first station on the other side....which is what we did...sort of...
As it happens, there isn't a petrol station for over 70km once you drive up the motorway sliproad at 3am out of the port at Calais. [If you think this is getting familiar, I assure you, this sort of thing is traditional, and at this point in the history of the club, we have run out of fuel only twice - both times IN the garage car park, oh yes, and once whilst cresting the brow of a hill down to the first open garage in over 80 miles]
Mind you, we did get the feeling that Fate might be fighting back at last. At least they give regular signs telling you the distance to the fuel stop on French motorways. Going by the [horribly accurate] fuel guage, we were not quite going to make it. So we slowed down to 80 [miles per hour, none of this km rubbish] to conserve fuel. 10km from the fuel stop, we still looked unlikely to do it, so whisper mode was instigated on the down hill bits. With 2km to go we could see the glow of the lights in the cloudy sky, and dropped down into the valley, in a serious bout of whisper mode The Chicken watched the speed drop to 50 before gently adding power for the uphill. No chance for acceleration, little hiccups came from the engine about half way up the slope, but we got to the top...dead flat, 1200m to the garage, 60mph. Dead engine. It is very quiet on an empty French motorway with the engine off, gently decelerating towards the distant lights of a Total garage [it is ALWAYS a Total garage]. Counting down the meters, and the speed, we were down to 200m and 10mph when we hit the sliproad, and Mother, Major and Soup jumped out, fell over, got up, and gave a helping hand into the garage. So - we still made it to the service area before manual assistance!
After that we went quite fast, in patchy fog and bits of rain, but not a lot of traffic and made Dijon by 7am, took a semi-accidental different, but good, route to Switzerland by 9am. Destiny was somewhat surprised to see us at 10.30am. But...the sun was shining, the snowline had descended to well below Leukerbad and we could actually see the cable car very scarily clearly. It was a loooong way up.
Then there was a minor problem which resulted in a crash course in lunberjacking, as the bungy hanging from the descending cable car decided to make friends with a tree. The tree is a little smaller now. The exertion (the bungy was a little heavy) underlined the fact that we were rather high up - breathing was not easy. Of course it threatened to become a lot less easy - hitting rocks at 120mph have that effect you know...
Major Clanger, one jump from the thing under his belt the previous week, was thinking of a number of very good and eminently plausible reasons not to do it again...
The Chicken looked at the sky - lovely cloudless sunny day, it was quite warm actually. He looked at the time - still morning, plenty of time available. It wasn't going to get dark for quite some time, and there was no long queue of expectant jumpers to be disappointed. Hmmmm, its a lovely day to meet Destiny at last. Bugger. Time for a little lie-down.
Chunder was busy working out when he last jumped....4 years ago from a crane in Cambridge? Well, if you put that crane on top of Canary Wharf Tower, it would be almost as high as this jump....
Even Mother, who has been known to express the opinion that he has become bored of bungy jumping, and rarely looks anything but detached, was looking a little teensy weensy bit edgy...
In the cable car with some Belgians, The Chicken managed to grab the only available seat, which was quite lucky as legs made from jelly aren't very good for standing on. Major Clanger got busy with his cameras, and music played and totally failed to distract us from the increasingly distant ground.
The hapless victim is kitted out, the door is opened, and oblivion beckons. Extremely picturesque, snowy mountains still towering above you, vast expanses of space. It doesn't look so far down after all, until you spot the tiny speck that is a vulture-like bird circling directly below you...a long, long way below you.
There is a countdown. Then there is acceleration, sudden rising rush of air, speeding images of mountains and shrinking cable car; then, having reached near-terminal velocity in excess of 100mph, things become almost stable, the panic passes, hmmmm its quite nice really, travelling 120mph towards a rapidly approaching ground - at least things make sense... After 10 seconds of freefall, deceleration is fairly gentle, the bounce back seems to go on for ages, but soon you are able to pull yourself head-up and take in the situation. 500ft above the ground? 500ft below the cable car? Oh yes - and there are some people on the cliffs about level with you - wave at them...then look at the birds circling away to the left, then right as you slowly spin round getting a 3D, 360 degree panoramic view of the spectacular alpine landscape. Don't you feel small now? Mind you, not as small as the dot which you appear attached to by the tiniest elastic thread...only now there is something falling towards you, yellow and flapping - well I'm glad they're enjoying their lunch, and I don't suppose you can slip on a banana skin this high up...it flaps past.
Soon however, the winch line gets to you and you have to concentrate on attaching it to the right bits as you and the bungy are pulled back to the little box on the wire that you started from. Inside again, it is most definately T-shirt weather.
Mother Clanger rediscovered an excitement of falling. Chunder looked seriously spaced-out. But they will no doubt have their own experience to tell.
The rest of the day involved a little more adrenaline on gravel surfaced hairpin bends (the car was much better than the bus at playing with occasionally icy, bendy roads). No more fuel problems. A drive to Pontarlier for a hotel. Beer. Food. Even if some heathen sad cases went (and albeit threw Fries around) a certain unmentionable excuse for an eatery.
The next day we broke all records and made Calais at 12.57, and came back on an early ferry. Then we had to negotiate the as usual appallingly crowded British roads.
Now - what next?