London to Brighton Veteran Car Run

Today was the 118th London to Brighton Veteran Car Run.

The Run commemorates a law that was passed in November 1896 that permitted motor vehicles to operate without requiring a man to walk in front of them. It also increased the allowable speed from 4mph to 14mph. (The requirement for the man walking in front to carry a red flag had already been dropped in an Act passed in 1878).



So, up to 500 ancient cars manufactured before 1905 set out from Hyde Park in central London this morning to drive the 60 miles to Brighton seafront.

It was a cold morning with a strong breeze coming in off the Channel and leaden clouds threatening to dump rain. Most of the old cars were open-topped and the passengers were wrapped in warm and waterproof clothing, like the folks below..

Many seemed to be enjoying the experience, like the lady in this yellow car..

And, although they weren't going terribly fast, this lady was hanging on to her hat...

I was thinking to myself that these put-putting cars are so old and fragile, they could hardly be accused of breaking the speed limit. Then I saw the police pull over one of them (below) - surely it wasn't for speeding? "But officer, I can't do more than 30mph, even with a following breeze - honest!"

To be sure, even cyclists were overtaking the cars...

Mind you, some of the cycles were rather high-tech, including this one sporting a Welsh red dragon flag.

There was one car carrying a full complement of passengers. It looked like Mum was driving and there were four or five kids in the car - plus a dog.

 And still the cars came...

It was starting to rain now, in a rather determined manner, an increasing splatter of large drops, so, shielding my camera lens, I headed down to the seafront, the official end point of the race. The wind was getting up, long lines of dirty grey rollers were breaking on the beach and a sudden squall meant the visibility dropped to a few hundred meters.

The occasional car squelched past the Palace Pier, past the Brighton Eye, the streets glistening under grey clouds.

At the official end point in Madeira Drive there were welcoming marshals in yellow tops, video and still photographers (their long lens shielded in plastic bags), a loudspeaker announcement of the details of the arriving cars, and clumps of damp spectators. Each driver was briefly interviewed before they were waved on to parking.

It was now after midday, and with the rain still falling and everywhere sodden, more cars began to arrive, the passengers probably desperate for a hot drink and a change into warm clothing.

I must admit my own thoughts were also turning to dry clothes. I'd forgotten a brolly or hat and my head was soaked, my wet jeans stuck to my legs and trickles of cold water were working their way down from the neck. Time to go home.