In 1991, I was living in Munich and was trying to go to as many Formula One races as I could. That September I went to the Italian Grand Prix at Monza near Milan.
In those days before Internet reservations and before a common European currency and before everywhere took credit cards, I would camp out of whatever car I drove to the race in. I had my Lotus Esprit with me in Munich, which was great for driving, but not so good for sleeping in, so I rented cars. For the Italian Grand Prix, Hertz gave me an Audi 200.
The most direct route was to the southwest, mostly on mountain roads over the Alps, for about 300 miles. It would take me through Austria and Switzerland and Garmisch-Partenkirchen and St. Moritz and around Lake Como.
I intended to be at the track in Monza by 8am. After a short nap after work, I left Munich at 11pm. It seemed like I had plenty of time.
The first delay was at the Austrian border. As I later found, at large border crossings on big, multi-lane highways, you just drive across. But, at small crossings, the border agents often have nothing better to do and ask lots of questions, particularly when you are entering the country in the middle of the night. I understand the German language, but I don't speak it very well, so I just went into dumb American mode and kept repeating that I didn't understand what he was saying and where I was going. Eventually, he got frustrated with me and just let me into Austria.
Once in Austria, I took a wrong turn and went off in the wrong direction. I have no idea where this happened or where I was going. Eventually I realized that I should be going away from Innsbruck, not towards it and turned around.
After this, amazingly, I starting seeing city names that I expected to see on the map that I got from Hertz. Yes, I was finding my way across four countries, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, with a rental car road map.
Going into Switzerland was both better and worse than going into Austria. There were two border guards. They were much friendlier than the Austrian and they spoke English. However, they were also carrying automatic weapons. After a brief chat where I explained where I was going, one of them took my passport, went into the office and spent the next 15 minutes doing who knows what. I ran out of things to talk about with the other guy and spent much of the time waiting. After checking whatever was being checked, I got my passport back and was sent on my way.
The road through Switzerland was a fun drive, even in a big Audi. I was less than graceful through some turns. The only disappointment was that, because it was at night, there wasn't much to see. In fact, since it was also night time when I drove back, despite spending several hours driving in the Alps, I never actually saw them.
In contrast with Austria and Switzerland, the border crossing into Italy was a non-event. I almost stopped at the border, but got the sense that I was disturbing the agents' naps and proceeded into the country.
Between the delays crossing the Austrian and Swiss borders and making the wrong turn, I was already behind schedule when I hit traffic. But, at least it was daylight and at least it was alongside Lake Como, so I could enjoy the view.
I got to Monza too late for the 8am track session. At the track, I followed the signs to Camping and pulled up to pay. The attendant was confused; it didn't help things that he didn't speak English and I spoke no Italian. I guess they didn't have a lot of people camping in nice, new Audis. Eventually he just sold me the three day and two night passes and directed me where to park.
And I found my space, pulled out my pillow and blanket and went to sleep for a couple of hours before the F1 cars started their next session.
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