We want to hear your road trip horror stories! (Inspired by the Nurburgring trip that made me despise the Audi RS7)
We want to hear your road trip horror stories! Whether it’s break downs, traffic, illness… whatever caused you to wish you’d never set off on your journey, we want to hear it! Hit the comments and we’ll round up the best. To inspire you, here’s a story I never thought I’d tell.
We want to hear your road trip horror stories! Whether it’s break downs, traffic, illness… whatever caused you to wish you’d never set off on your journey, we want to hear it! Hit the comments and we’ll round up the best. To inspire you, here’s a story I never thought I’d tell. It happened last year, and was supposed to form part of a feature about road tripping to the Nurburgring, but I was so thoroughly fed up when I returned that I never wrote it up and tried to forget it happened. So, in the spirit of sharing, here goes!
I get to do some pretty cool things in this job, and when Audi offered me the chance to drive an RS7 to the Nurburgring to watch the six hour World Endurance Championship race I was obviously pretty excited. I’d driven an RS6 shortly before that and absolutely adored it, so as I dropped behind the wheel to set off on the 400-mile journey to motorsport Mecca, with four countries and an ocean between me and my destination, I was in good spirits.
The first problem occurred when I got to the ferry terminal late due to some crazy traffic, and had to wait an extra hour to get on board a later boat. No biggie, I thought. Once in France it was all plain sailing, but then I hit Belgium, and tried to make my way around Brussels. My carefully laid plan to avoid the city during rush hour was now screwed thanks to my little ferry mishap, so I found myself stationary on Brussels’ ring road getting more and more fed up. Then the sat nav popped up saying there was traffic on my route, and asked if I’d like a diversion around it. Hell yeah, I would! So with my new route in place I skipped off the highway… and into the town centre. Yep, the Audi took me out of the frying pan and into the fire, so I spent the next three hours in stop start traffic trying to get out of the gridlocked city.
Speaking of stop start, the RS7’s stop start tech pushed me to boiling point until I dived into the menus to figure out how to turn it off. You see, in most cars the engine stops when you have your foot on the brake and are stationary, then starts again as soon as you lift off the brake. Same’s true of the Audi, but for some reason it also applies the handbrake when the engine turns off, and is slow to release it, so you lift off the brake, push the accelerator and nothing happens, so you push a bit harder and then the handbrake suddenly releases, catapulting you forward. It means you’re sat in a near-£100k car with everyone watching you kangaroo about. Not a cool look.
With Brussels finally behind me, I started to make some progress. As my destination grew ever closer, the fuel gauge was dropping closer and closer to empty, but I’d managed to keep the range above the remaining mileage, so my plan was to get near to the Nurburgring before filling up to avoid expensive highway fuel prices. Unfortunately, the Nurburgring is in the middle of nowhere, and none of the rural petrol stations were open late (yeah, it was past bed time by the time I even got close to the circuit), which left me on the orange light in a 550bhp car cruising through the Eifel forest well below the speed limit. Not cool and super stressful!
Once I finally made it to the circuit, my spirits were briefly lifted by the famous red Nurburgring sign, but that was short lived. I was staying in the hotel that’s attached to the circuit, but the sat nav was saying I’d already arrived, so I asked a car park attendant how to get to the hotel. Unfortunately, he didn’t speak very good English (better than my German, though), but from what I could gather he was saying I couldn’t park at the hotel and that I had to speak to some other guys. Well, I was more than annoyed as I’d been told I had parking, so I approached a group of other attendants further down the road. Again, none spoke English, so I was left standing in a field at midnight, unwittingly 100 yards from my destination, waiting for someone to help me. Eventually a bloke turns up and tries to make me give him €20 to park in his field. I politely declined and as Friday turned to Saturday I went crawling along looking for the hotel. I finally found it just next to where I’d been gormlessly standing for 15 minutes before, and a very polite hotel employee ushered me into the car park beside a Porsche 911 GT3 RS and Koenigsegg One:1. I was too exhausted to take a picture, and the latter was gone by morning, sorry!
Despite being shattered from what was ultimately a 12 hour journey (should’ve taken eight hours, tops) I had an utterly fantastic weekend watching the racing and mucking about on the Nordschleife with Boosted Boris. But the road trip from hell wasn’t finished with me yet.
The journey home was fairly uneventful, though the sports seats were giving me chronic back ache. I even managed to avoid Brussels city centre, and was treated to an incredible electrical storm as I left Belgium.
As I arrived at Calais, the border guard clocked me in and sent me on my merry way with a smile and a quick “by the way, the French ferry drivers are striking, no ships have left all night.” My heart sank, and as I eventually found where I was supposed to be going I joined a long queue of fed up holidaymakers in a torrential downpour. I also discovered that night that the RS7 does not make a comfortable bed.
After about 10 hours in the claustrophobic Audi, we were finally let onto a ferry as daylight broke, and a few hours later I parked the RS7 up outside my flat, stumbled into my flat and collapsed into bed. The whole experience gave me an utter hatred of the RS7, and whenever I see one I can’t help but recoil in disgust. It looks great and goes like stink, but I have too many bad memories…
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Plain and simple, I was driving up to State College in whiteout condition. An a-hole in a white Jeep doesn’t realize that his running lights aren’t on on a highway! I could barely see them. I tried flashing and turning on and off my headlights to alert them of their own cars lights, but nothing got through to them. It infuriated me so much on their lack of common sense that I wanted to ram into the back of them and blame it on their stupidity, but it was my mom’s van and she was in the passenger seat. I had to follow their dumb behind for quite awhile. worst road trip experience ever. To this day I want to knock out that idiot.
Tales of the White 740 GLE
It was a beautiful mid-summer day in the Hills of Headwaters. Sun rays reflecting off the car’s white paint. The kind of relection you get from paint that has survived two centuries of Canadian winters. We packed the car ever so strategically, checked the tire pressure, topped up the oil and filled the tank; Nothing but regular for this car, baby.
“It was a five and half hour drive to Montreal,” Google said.
“Just straight across the 401, no problems,” Google said.
Well my 1989 Volvo 740 GLE (optional sunroof - broken) with its leather seats, missing headliner, and 100 and some odd horsepower, had an itinerary of it’s own. It would drift with great effort, understeer like a bucket and refuse to pass anyone anytime I asked it too but this day was different. This day my 1989 Volvo 740 GLE would take me on a hot, hot journey.
The engine was grunting pleasantly to the beat my 10inch flea market sub. The windows were even rolling down all the way, it was a good day. As we neared the end of our second hour I noticed surges of no power. This continued briefly until the inevitable happen. The car died doing about 120 on the 401 in moderate traffic. This was okay though because I’m a positive guy. I maneuvered my way to the shoulder and threw on my hazzards. No dash lights, no coolant leaks, oil levels good…Weird. After about 5 minutes of confusion the car started effortlessly.
“See!” I said to my friend, “Nothing to worry about.”
Needless to say my optimism got the better of me. We spent the next 8 hours pulling over every 20 minutes to let the engine “relax” (for lack of better understanding). Though it was 28 degrees out, we ran the heat on full blast thinking we could extract warmth from the engine and reduce “relaxation time”. At one point we even had an audience of gas station customers clapping and cheering as we started up the Volvo and pulled away from pump number 5. Little to be known, this very same audience took witness to two 18 year old teenagers pushing a 1989 Volvo 740 GLE to pump number 5 only moments ago and were applauding a seemingly positive turn of events. Unfortunately, with our heads down and our hopes disolved we watched our new friends drive helplessly past as we sat stranded on the side of the road.
We did eventually arrive to Montreal and we did still manage to have an amazing weekend, but boy did my Volvo work for that trip. I encourage more automobile enthusiasts to take the Volvo 740 challange. It turned out that the vent on the gas cap had somehow failed and the vacuum being created in the fuel tank was overcoming the fuel pump and starving the engine.
The car made it home without a single problem. The gas cap though was not so lucky.
Tales of the White 740 GLE
It was a beautiful mid-summer day in the Hills of Headwaters. Sun rays reflecting off the car’s white paint. The kind of relection you get from paint that has survived two centuries of Canadian winters. We packed the car ever so strategically, checked the tire pressure, topped up the oil and filled the tank; Nothing but regular for this car, baby.
“It was a five and half hour drive to Montreal,” Google said.
“Just straight across the 401, no problems,” Google said.
Well my 1989 Volvo 740 GLE (optional sunroof - broken) with its leather seats, missing headliner, and 100 and some odd horsepower, had an itinerary of it’s own. It would drift with great effort, understeer like a bucket and refuse to pass anyone anytime I asked it too but this day was different. This day my 1989 Volvo 740 GLE would take me on a hot, hot journey.
The engine was grunting pleasantly to the beat my 10inch flea market sub. The windows were even rolling down all the way, it was a good day. As we neared the end of our second hour I noticed surges of no power. This continued briefly until the inevitable happen. The car died doing about 120 on the 401 in moderate traffic. This was okay though because I’m a positive guy. I maneuvered my way to the shoulder and threw on my hazzards. No dash lights, no coolant leaks, oil levels good…Weird. After about 5 minutes of confusion the car started effortlessly.
“See!” I said to my friend, “Nothing to worry about.”
Needless to say my optimism got the better of me. We spent the next 8 hours pulling over every 20 minutes to let the engine “relax” (for lack of better understanding). Though it was 28 degrees out, we ran the heat on full blast thinking we could extract warmth from the engine and reduce “relaxation time”. At one point we even had an audience of gas station customers clapping and cheering as we started up the Volvo and pulled away from pump number 5. Little to be known, this very same audience took witness to two 18 year old teenagers pushing a 1989 Volvo 740 GLE to pump number 5 only moments ago and were applauding a seemingly positive turn of events. Unfortunately, with our heads down and our hopes disolved we watched our new friends drive helplessly past as we sat stranded on the side of the road.
We did eventually arrive to Montreal and we did still manage to have an amazing weekend, but boy did my Volvo work for that trip. I encourage more automobile enthusiasts to take the Volvo 740 challange. It turned out that the vent on the gas cap had somehow failed and the vacuum being created in the fuel tank was overcoming the fuel pump and starving the engine.
The car made it home without a single problem. The gas cap though was not so lucky.
I don’t have a horror story for myself, but I know one that someone else had due to my actions.
This happened a few years ago. I think near the end of summer, or in the fall of 2012.
So I’m heading from Austin Tx up to Witchita Falls Tx. This is about a 4 and a half - 5 hour drive (depending on route, and if you do the speed limit). Just north of Ft Worth I end up behind a silver Mustang. I stay behind the Mustang all the way to Witchita, which is about 2 hours or so. Just outside of Witchita, I notice the driver in the mustang is acting strange, and I realize we are doing about 100 or so with me still behind him. I suddenly come to the realization that I have been following him since Ft Worth almost 2 hours ago, and he probably thinks I’m following him. We finally get into Witchita, and I look at my GPS, and notice I’m about to miss my exit. I quickly swerve across 3 lanes to make my exit. Well a split second before I do that, the mustang swerves to take the same exit, and I end up following him perfectly. I can see him losing his sh*t. I’m fairly certain he thinks I’m following him now. We get off the ramp, he slows down to about 30 mph in the middle of the high way. I finally go on past him so I can make my delivery.
Now it’s not a horror story for me, but just think about what the driver in the Mustang must have been going through.
A few years back my (ex) partner and i were driving from Auckland to Wellington (NZ) which is about a 650km trip. We loaded up my R32 Golf with out things and set off. All was going well untill we hit Levin 500ks away from home. I shifted down to pass a truck and when i put my foot down, nothing happend.. so i slowed down and shifted down again and still no gain in rpm. We pulled over to the side of the hiway and the car suddenly died and wouldn’t start again. Turns out my fuel pump had decided to pack it in. I walked for about 5ks before i found a garage that was open (it was Dec 26th and this was small town Nz) and they kindly towed my car back to their yard and let me keep it there untill i could come back in a weeks time with a car trailer to pick it up. Absolute pain in the backside. Still loved that little Golf though, great car.
Brace yourselves, it’s a long one.
Summer, 1997.
I am driving from Houston to Salt Lake City. I have a worn out 83 Ford LTD, the “euro” model with the v6 and zero power.
The trip starts out pretty well. I’ve loaded up a bunch of luggage to take back with me to Salt Lake from my childhood home in Houston, so the trunk is tied down with a rope, and stuff is towering over me on all sides. The car is sitting low to the ground due to all the weight.
I pass through Ft. Worth and stop for drinks. I pick up a 12 pack of cokes and put them in the cooler with fresh ice. The temperature is well north of 100 degrees, but I have air conditioning. I leave out 287 heading to Colorado. I’m blasting along the highway doing 95.
BOOM! PSSSHHHH! … Suddenly with the loudest bang I have ever heard, the hood is enveloped in a cloud of steam. Loss of power. THEN the dummy light comes on. I pull off onto the shoulder scratching my head. I get out and look, but all the hoses are intact. This is before cell phones, so I leave the hood up and prop myself against the car with a cold Coke. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 1 hour passes and nobody has stopped. Finally a county sheriff pulls up behind me. He says I am about 20 miles out of Quanah TX, and promises to call a tow truck when he gets into town. Another hour later, this beat up old Chevy truck shows up. Guy pulls out a chain and hooks ‘er up. Good thing I had experience being pulled on a chain - it’s harder than a rope. 20 miles on a chain, and he pulls me to a rickety mechanic shop.
They look at it for a while and figure out that the problem is a blown freeze plug. Unfortunately, it is on the back of a cylinder head, so it’s about one inch from the firewall. That means they can’t drive in a new freeze plug without removing the head. The alternative is a rubber plug that screws in. Genius! I toss them $80 - good thing I had taken out cash for the trip - they didn’t take debit or credit - and I’m on my way.
Next I’m cruising through Amarillo, TX and making good time. Then at 11pm just north of town…. BOOM!!! PSSSHHHHHH!!!!!… Ahhhh man, not again. I pull off at a roadside rest stop. A family in a 60s International pulls up behind me, and offers help. The whole family. Father, Mother, two daughters and a son. The guy works at a national bus company so says he offers to drive me into town (with the family) to the bus depot to get a rubber freeze plug which apparently they kept on hand all the time. He picks out three, and we hope one will fit. While we are riding together, I learn that his other son is in the hospital and will have a potentially lifesaving surgery the next morning, but it is extremely risky. The family couldn’t sleep so they were just going for a drive.
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We get back to my car, and he helps me install the rubber plug. We decide that the one put in by the mechanics before must have been too loose. However, the plug that he brought doesn’t fit very well. So it’s decided he’ll follow me into town, where I’ll hang out until morning. I parked at an all-night truck stop, so I could get dinner and be in a well lit area. He promises to return the next day at noon after his son’s surgery to help me install the proper plug correctly. I toss him $40 and wave goodnight - it is now 3AM. I go to sleep in my car.
The next morning is sweltering hot again. I have breakfast and chill. Noon comes and goes. No family, no International. I get in the car and start it up. The auto parts is just a few miles away, so I should be fine. 1 mile down the road… BAMMMM!!! PSSSHHH!!!… there goes the plug. I put up the hood again…
This time a pickup full of rednecks stops. They promise to take me to the auto parts to buy the plug I need, if I will buy them a 12 pack of beer. Unwisely, I agree. Once in the vehicle, I realize that it wouldn’t be their first 12 pack of the day. I get the plug, I buy the beer, we have adventures, and I make it back to my car an hour later still alive. I install the plug and drive directly to the auto parts myself, where I say forget it, and buy 5 more plugs, tossing them in the trunk.
By now it’s 3pm. I look at my cash reserves and I’m down to $15. Time to hit the ATM! ….. ….. Transaction Denied. WTTH??? I have $1000 in my account. Call the bank, and they tell my my account is locked due to “Suspicious Activity”. I explain that I’m travelling cross country and ask them politely to unlock my account. They refuse. I ask to speak to a supervisor. They claim all the supervisors are in a meeting. I ask them to interrupt the meeting. They claim the meeting is in another building. Then I’m told very nicely that checks will still be honored, so I can just use checks. I explain that I’m a thousand miles from home, and the nearest bank branch is hundreds of miles away. In 1997, nobody takes out of town checks. It is 3:30PM on a Saturday, I wouldn’t be able to get to a bank anyway. No help.
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On my first roadtrip, me and two of my friends where driving from a town near munich to the Bodensee. We did about 350 Km on the first day and had a lot of fun. On the second day though our car broke down so we had to get it fixed and go home again. The best thing was we tryed to fix the car on our own for about an hour or two, while it was raining as hell. After we gave up we called the ÖAMC and had to wait another three hours before thei arrived, just to tell us that we have to go home again and pay them about 150€ for nothing. Kinda ruined our roadtrip but yeah, was still a lot of fun if I think about it^^
Interesting issue with the stop/start. My dad has a brand new A6 and it works as well as any other car. Although I still turn it off, cause I find stop/start extremely annoying in every single car I have experienced it in.
We always went on road trips in our old Kia Van with a huge english caravan behind it(hate as much as you like). One year we went to Southern part of France, and in Belgium we went to fill up. We drove on and a bit later my mom and dad realised neither of them had payed for the fuel (my parents tried to contact Texaxo about it but they didn’t care).
The next year, we drove past that exact same fuel station and I said: ‘Hey that’s that fuel station where we forgot to pay last year’, a couple of seconds later a tire of the caravan blew (note these were some nice dunlops).
Later on, we drove through Paris, and in some slow traffic all kinds of emergency vehicles started flying past us. Then we heard a strange nocking from the right front tire. Turned out there was a bolt in the tire and we had to change it in the middle of a Paris traffic jam with emergency vehicles racing past to a huge train crash that happened.
Later that holiday we had another problem, the kia wouldn’t start. Eventhough it was and easy to work on reliable car, we couldn’t figure out the problem. The road side service couldn’t either (we were on a camping already, luckily). A day later I decided to check all the fuses, eventhough they looked fine while plugged in the fusebox. Turned out one was burned, but this wasn’t visible when it was in. Luckily we managed to get it started again and continued our trip.
My dad he went and bought a Tesla Model S. because we were going to the french riviera it was a wonderful holiday. But after about 2-3hours of driving you had to stop and load the batteries that wasn’t the best option because of that we went from sweden to france we totally drove 8500 kilometres. Dad was very happy all the time because it cost him nothing that hole holiday.
and actually on the road home i got happy because we drove on the Nurburgring whit the Tesla that was really cool. Maybe it was the first Tesla on the ‘Ring