We recently had the opportunity to take our Tiger on a three continent tour, and we thought we would share our experiences . Our odyssey began in Europe where the Tiger was offloaded in Antwerp, Belgium. A brief inspection revealed that the Tiger hadweathered its sea voyage in perfect condition. Because we had availed ourselves of the our car club's extensive travel related services, all necessary clearances had been obtained and all paperwork completed, so there was nothing left to do but fire up the car and be on our way.
Our original plan had been to drive from Antwerp to Paris making only left-hand turns. Shortly after crossing into France, however, it 
became apparent that we would have to abandon that plan and adopt a more flexible approach. Although our pre-planned route had been cleverly calculated with the left turn scenario in mind, we nevertheless found ourselves hopelessly lost in an obscure region far to the east (or so we thought) of where we supposed we should be.
Now we are certainly no strangers to this type of situation. Throughout the years when we were more active in STOA events we had found ourselves in circumstances that were so baffling that to this day we have not figured out where we were or how we got there. Who can forget, for example, the rally at the Atascadero Tigers United in 1987? We could go on endlessly citing these muddles and agonizing over the unbearable disorientation they produced, but they have had one beneficial side effect: they collectively form a huge database that we can consult whenever the situation seems hopeless. We knew immediately what action to take: get in an argument over who was responsible for our current predicament.
When this had taken place and blame had been properly assigned, we were prepared to consider our options for resuming our journey with some hope of achieving our original objectives. Unfortunately the process of arguing had had the side effect of revealing a serious doubt about the reasons for undertaking this tour in the first place. At this point, having already abandoned our tactical plans, we decided to pitch our strategic plans over the side as well and just venture forth blindly down the road at the whim of the driver.
The first town that we came to we have since identified as Semur-en-Auxois. Unbeknownst to us they were about to start their annual Gran Prix race through the streets of the town. Through a colossal misunderstanding due to language difficulties and the fact that one of us had been playfully wearing a crash helmet, instead of being directed to a café we were taken for participants and immediately gridded at the back of the field. Jeanette had only seconds to jump out before the green flag dropped, and we were off.
At the first turn, a hard left-hander, a tremendous jam-up occurred entangling a large number of cars, but leaving me enough space to squeeze through. As I later found out, this put me in fourth place overall for the moment. My immediate problem was to remain within sight of the leaders as I hadn't the faintest idea of what the course was. Luckily this did not matter very much in the first part of the course. The picture above was taken several laps into the race when I am still struggling to keep up.
