We started the day tied for first, we finished nowhere near the top.

We started at a square next to the Chateau de Frontenac... but I had a chance to run around, buy some gifts for my boys and grab some pictures of the environs and the cars lining up.

I then met dad in the garage and we drove up to circle the square and get in line. As we passed the front Jean Taylor yelled to me and I stopped. She wanted us at the front of the line for some pictures... so we gladly obliged.
I drove the first segment, (sorry no pictures) a short run up the St. Lawrence river, that we completed easily. We switched drivers at the checkpoint, for Dad to finish the first leg and check out for the next...


Dad was a tad too eager, and arrived one second (probably about .5 second) too early. Rally masters measure in full seconds, and the infamous Iain Tugwell was weilding the master clock. Dad was screwed. We were pretty much out of the hunt... as one second of penalty time with this group of remaining leaders would hurt us.

Dad was cruising along at the wheel and we were about one-third of the way along the route when he passed a phone company truck and pushed the Jag a bit beyond where we have before, and as wel settled back into the lane a loud *pop* noise along with a puff of some substance came out from under the XK's bonnet. We both looked at each other to confirm that we both heard/saw the same thing. Now we both heard a rythmic clicking... it changed with the engine's RPM changes, and we decided to pull over and look.

The fan belt was a tad shredded, but still on. We were between towns and decided to nurse it to either the next one, or perhaps as far as the checkpoint and make a change. Dad said he had a spare in the trunk, so we hopped in and headed off, albeit very slowly and carefully.

A few miles later the gages all go wonky and we know the belt has given up the ghost. We dive off the road into a convenient driveway.

The engine compartment was *terribly* hot, and it took us a good long while to even get the old belt off. I was finally able to do it by lifting it up and over the radiator fan and dropping it down far enough to pull it out from under the car. We then spent about 30 minutes gingerly loosening the bolts around the generator and trying not to get second degree burns in the process. Eventually our checkin time arrived, and I recorded the event:

It was easily in the 80's F and we were both hot, tired, and frustrated. The owner of the house we were parked in front of finally showed up (he is a school bus driver) and offered us some cold water to drink. Wonderfull! He did not speak English, and Dad doesn't speak French. I am about equally poor in both languages, but I was able to explain our situation (and introduce myself, like a proper garcon 'decole!: Je'mappel Chuck, et c'est mon pere Charles. Je ne parle pas Francais... un petit peau."

we asked him to borrow a pipe for a cheater, so we could loosen the generator without burning ourselves, and instead he called a local mechanic friend of his.

Eventually the rally mechanics showed up too, and with much hand signalling and broken "frenglish" we all agreed that the spare was too short by two inches and the local sped off in search of a correct-sized spare.

The local returned with the right belt, and the collected mechanical wisdom finally solved the issue. We now know that it takes 5 mechanics to change a 1954 Jaguar XK-120's fan belt.

We resumed our journey, fully aware that the next checkpoint was likely closed.

We arrived at the checkpoint, a resturant, to find it practically abandonded. The checkpoint is closed, and only a few rally staffers are left. We grab a small amount of food and throw it down as fast as possible. One rally staffer, Wayne Brooks (bless his heart) offers us a checkout time and some hope of completeing the next segment. He assigns us 2:05, and if we can get to the next checkpoint before 2:00 (when it is scheduled to close) we should be OK. I hop behind the wheel and fly off down the road.

The road is pretty rough and about 20 or so miles along I hit a bump and a *loud* rattle/whack is heard from the right rear. Dad & I do that double take at each other and by the time I bring the car to a halt from 70+ mph we are about a quarter mile down the road. He glances back and shure enough, we have lost a wheel spat on the right rear wheel. I turn the car around and we head beck to where we thought it came off. Looking along the side of the road we don't see it, but we turn around and Dad climbs out and starts looking in the woods.... Bingo!.


"All the parts falling off this car are of the very finest British manufacture."

Of course, like buttered toast, it lands with the outside on the pavement. It is all scratched and looks like it will require quite a bit of work to restore, BUT at least we found it.

We continue on and run the segment as fast as we dare, but arrive at the checkpoint probably minutes, if not seconds after it was abandonded. *Sigh* another TWO checkpoints missed, as we were not able to check OUT of this one for the next segment. We find a gas station, stop to fill up and swap drivers. Now Dad gets to finish up the run to Mount Tremblant. We find ourselves on a wonderful road, up in the hills, with fresh asphalt and lots of bends twists and turns. I lookbehind us and rolling up at an awesome rate is Rally organizer Rich Taylor, hard driving a gorgeous 500sl.

He stops us and we chat for a bit, and we fill him in on our mishap-filled day. He zooms off and leaves us to negotiate the same road with technology from another era.

The rest goes without incident, excapt when we arrive at the hotel, the checkpoint staff - Rush & Mary Workman, are a bit confused when they see our score card with no check in-out times written since the first segment. We explain our day and head on into the hotel.

We enjoyed an excellent dinner at a great little bar at the base of the ski area. I enjoyed more "high speed" access from my hotel room and managed to get most of today's page up before turning in.

OK, take me to the next day!