WHAT A RIDE

You know when you have arrived: its not hobnobbing with Hollywood’s elites, its not yachting with the Monegasques, it really begins with when you possess a Mercedes Benz.  The Ferraris, the yachts, and the jets are just extended baubles.   The  Benz becomes the definitive possession that says it all, from any corner of the globe.  

Once upon a time that definition in life expressed the status to which I belonged.  Keen to pick up the order, placed in SE Asia, from its source in Sindelfingen and drive back through Europe, much thought went into process.

The flight from Manchester to Stuttgart – in the autumnal season with rain made the flight slightly bumpy but filled with excitement having fully paid up for my new “legs”. 

 

Awaiting cleanup before delivery

Mercedes Benz VVIP treatment for me exceeded expectation.   Picked up at airport and delivered to the Mercure hotel right next to the plant.  German evening meal totally filled up the tank for at least a week.  

Pick up time:  The maroon CLS 55 AMG shining through its polish, smelling of new leather. Some perfumery company should bottle that smell, a puff or two when it wears off would bring back its spanking new feel. It stood in the  showroom like The Emporer in his throne hall, and he already had a nickname.    It maybe over stating the fact, but believe me, every penny, every pound of hard work was invested in this machinery.  It said everything you wanted to say about yourself.   Yes, my first touch of wealth – and now with a few signature I was ready to take it for a spin. 

GPS on, check.  Input destination, check.   Mirror adjustment, check.  Familiarize  with the instruments, check.  Press the button and it glides out the plant. 

Sindelfingen a short distance from Stuttgart, we circled on the outskirts of the town through the Autobahn with ease.  The steering wheel on the right did give a few blind spots but the car was going to be used on the English Motorway where they drive on the correct side of the road.

Stuttgart

Destination the white cliffs of Dover via Ostend: At least 350 miles to go with my foot on the accelerator, it still took almost 8  hours of driving.  Entering Belgium,  the downpour got heavier, the outside looked hostile, and the night drawing in but the clock was only 4pm tea time.   Ostend’s Thermae Palace hotel promising sea view was shrouded in fog and rain, the thought of a swaying bouncing trip to Dover drove me to eat less for fear of upchucking in the sea.

Spanning this vast body of water, and tucked with a little knowledge of sailing, I suspected  the Beaufort Force was around 6.  The crest of white foam was high enough, the wind strong and breezy.   The trip will not be very pleasant for some of those that need Dramamine.  The insurance paper in case the car dropped into the sea put away for safety.   I was ready for any rolling and swaying.

As we neared Britain, the white cliffs of Dover became visible through the fog and rain and it was time to collect our cars preparing for docking.   Jumping in the car, the smell of newness, coupled with the excitement of first ownership of a cool car, the thought of a 6 hour drive from the South to the North of England was like a walk in the park. 

White Cliffs of Dover

First stop-off a little racing at Goodwood’s autumnal race event.   Hobnobbing with post Ascot revelers in the VIP section, my shiny new CLS55 stood proudly against the ageing Rolls.  The owner’s maturity matched the Silver Seraph.

Me and Wolfgang on the road

Bet on a horse, won and sped off into the night.  Just me and my “Wolfgang.”