Organised chaos

Their transport was a clapped-out Batmobile, their mission - to make it from St Malo to Krakow in the ultimate European banger race. And all for charity. Tom Edwards rounds up his Ramshackle Rally adventures WHO would have thought that a humble Guernsey number plate could attract so much attention abroad?

1. 'I've never seen one like that before.'

2. 'Why aren't there any letters?'

3. 'Is it real?'

4. 'Where are you from?'

5. 'What?'

This was the cast-iron order of questions I would find myself answering in chirpy robotic fashion day after day on the Ramshackle Rally.

When I imagined myself dragging an old banger through Europe for the best part of a week, I had assumed the subjects up for discussion might include light-hearted jibes about America's foreign policy and heated debates about cheese. How wrong I was.

So predictable did the mechanics of conversation become that I even found myself rushing through the motions whenever any stranger came within 10 feet of me.

1. Well you wouldn't, because as far as I know we are the only jurisdiction to feature just numbers and no letters, my friend/your Highness/Noel Edmonds.

2. I guess that's just the way it is, but you'd have to ask a dead person or a DVLA employee for a definitive answer. Failing that, you could always make it up yourself and post it on Wikipedia.

3. Of course it's real. I'm not a fugitive on the run from Woolworth's. Then again, I could be bluffing...

4. Guernsey.

5. Never mind.

Naturally this failed completely, as in most situations people just wanted to sell me gas or offer directions. My flurry of nonsensical verbal diarrhoea did nothing but draw blank expressions and create a semi-awkward atmosphere.

Anyway, I digress...

About two months ago I was approached by Investec bankers Craig Allen, Claire Baker, Javan Isabelle and Stuart Simmons to join them

on the rally.

They had devised a cunning plan to get a free holiday (I mean, raise money for the Dyslexia Day Centre) and needed a Guernsey Press man to provide the publicity for their employer, which had selflessly agreed to front the cash.

I accepted immediately and not once throughout the five-day, 1,600-mile journey did I regret my decision.

This was exactly the kind of job I felt destined to do from the start. Exploring unfamiliar and exciting cultures and writing about it all - magic.

The madness began as soon as we left St Peter Port by ferry en route to St Malo.

I had been daydreaming my way to this point, but once let loose on the open seas it became a reality and the adrenaline surged through my veins.

I hadn't visited France for 15 years - and what was I going to make of Austria, Slovakia and Poland? Would it really turn out to be all clogs and old, communist housing blocks? Fortunately I was to discover a wealth of surprises.

Our first hurdle was to make it from St Malo to the start line in Calais. A mere 300 or so miles and a whole day in which to do it - there was no need to panic. But 10 hours later, with the petrol light flashing and us totally lost somewhere on the outskirts of Paris in complete darkness, it wasn't such a pretty picture.

The GPS device sounded like a broken record repeatedly uttering 'perform a U-turn as soon as possible' and I had lost the will to live.

But we're fighters (or gormless idiots, depending on how you look at it) and we managed to survive that mini-crisis to begin the rally in style the next day.

'Surreal' just doesn't do justice to the sight that greeted our wide eyes at the start line.

It was as if a scrapyard had come to life and taken itself off to a fancy dress party.

In one corner the Mario Brothers were revving the engine of a battered Proton and in another a group of guys dressed in pink ballerina outfits were striking poses atop their classy banger.

I was particularly impressed by four raving loonies who had gone for the full-on, 70s Grease-Lightning look. How they fitted those massive afros inside that little VW Golf I'll never know.

There were all manner of motoring monstrosities: a rasta-mobile, Scooby Doo van, mock ambulance, London taxi and my personal favourite, an A-Team van. One group had even gone to the trouble of kitting out its car with felt in the style of a giant fox.

Pure genius.

Our chosen theme was the 'Batmobile people carrier' - a fairly restrained look in the grand scheme of things. Eccentric yet practical, you might say.

The whole point of the rally is to have fun. It's not a race. There are no prizes for finishing first and you run the risk of getting disqualified if you're caught repeatedly speeding.

The idea emerged as the antithesis to 'posh' rallies such as Cannonball and Gumball, in which you're given a red light if you don't have a Jaguar XKR and Daddy's chequebook.

Now 'normal' (and I use that word in its broadest, most meaningless capacity) people have the opportunity to hit the roads and join in the senseless carnage.

One thing Ramshackle has, which the others possibly lack, is a cracking sense of humour.

Everyone is aware of how blatantly ridiculous the whole concept is and everyone, without exception, accordingly embraces that philosophy.

Life is such a serious slog sometimes, let's just enjoy the ride and savour every second while we can: that's the

general consensus.

And I'm in total agreement.

The organisers put on a different challenge every day as if it wasn't already enough of a riot. I don't have the space to describe them all here, but I will dwell on one of the more colourful examples.

'Your mission today,' said the challenge pack, 'is to get your photograph taken with as many policemen as possible en route to Austria. You will earn extra points for covertly making bunny ears behind each officer's head. Good luck. Oh, and don't, whatever you do, go through Germany. You have been warned!'

Hmm... that's like taking a group of hippies to a face-painting tent and telling them they have to wait outside while you get made up as a panther.

Not only did we grace Deutschland with our presence, we also managed to get several photos with the law and got stopped and searched only 11 times. Not bad for a bunch of clueless novices like us.

But that was mere child's play compared with one Ramshackler, who spent a rough night in the cells after having been arrested roadside while disguised in a full-body cow costume, complete with fake udder.

It was funny hearing him boast about it the first time, but after a while I thought he was just milking it.

It has to be said that Guernsey driving prepares you very well for rallying on Europe's worst and most absurdly potholed roads.

Once you've mastered the narrow lanes of Torteval, the backstreets of Bratislava don't seem so daunting, I can assure you. Just try it and you'll be pleasantly surprised.

There was a serious side to all this, though. I had my eyes opened to some exciting and unfamiliar cultures and experienced some magnificent cities and countryside.

For me, the highlight was either the breathtaking midnight light show at Strasbourg Cathedral, which transfixed us all for a good half-an-hour, or cruising towards the awesome skyline of the Alps as the evening sun melted into the jagged horizon.

Moments like that I will treasure forever.

I feel the need to spare a brief moment to mention the unsung hero of the rally and that was undoubtedly our beloved Batmobile people carrier. From the relentless winding mountain roads to the never-ending expanses of Autobahn, it took everything we threw at it and just begged for more in return.

At the end it was given away to the staff at the hostel where we stayed in Krakow and it makes me smile now to think of them using it for jolly little shopping trips to stock up on toilet paper and biros.

I was thrilled to have taken part in this mother of all road trips and offer my sincerest thanks to Craig, Claire, Javan and Stuart for inviting me along.

The in-car banter was the icing on the cake and there was never a dull moment. We effectively just laughed our way across Europe - and what better way to travel?

It's an addictive experience and one I would recommend to anyone crazy enough to give it a go.

There's already talk of Ramshackle 2008, with a special twist.

It's a scooter rally in Thailand.

The idea of a convoy of Vespas from Bangkok to Phuket is just too crazy to resist.

So enlightened was I by my little adventure, I have been inspired to write a book (well, more of a one-sided pamphlet really) in which I aim to turn my mistakes into useful tips for future Ramshacklers.

It has the roll-off-the-tongue title of:

'Tom Edwards's guide of what not to do when attempting to drive across Europe in a £100 car for a laugh with your mates.'

Pretty catchy, eh? Unfortunately it contains just three points at the moment...

1. Don't tell people, 'I'm best mates with David Haselhoff'.

It ain't big or clever and it gets you nowhere.

2. Never freewheel down the Alps.

3. If someone suggests a cunning short cut after having consumed a bottle of Jagermeister, beat him or her around the head with the steering wheel - but remember to replace said weapon in its rightful place immediately.

Like so many things in life, it's a work in progress...