– By Marlis Schmidt – Photos by Marlis Schmidt & Janet Groenert —
How often do you get a birthday wish you ask for? …that only maestro Michael Barone has the power to grant.
I thought—what would be a safe, socially distanced activity one could do to celebrate a birthday that fell on a Saturday—and even better—summer solstice?
Then it hit me. A car rally! I had such fond memories doing the car rally with the Citroën Club of MN in the Coulee region of Wisconsin eons ago when my BMW 2002 was running. That’s when I first understood what it meant to have a real sports car. They were made for Coulee country with its winding roads and hills and rolling farmlands.
So on a lark, I emailed my former colleague (and president of the Citroën Club of MN), Michael Barone, to see if he could put together a car rally for my birthday which was a few days away! Oh, and by the way, supply the car. He not only was in town but willing to explore the idea. This is what I like about Michael. What most would dismiss as an inconvenient fantasy, he took seriously. He got enough interest to justify a semi-organized rally with the Citroën Car Club of MN and chose to keep the plan even after an overlooked schedule conflict and rain in the forecast.
Meanwhile, his wife, Lise, put together a route map that on paper could be a score for an avant-garde music piece with so many D’s, E’s, & F’s .
Michael said I could drive one of his Citroëns, a 2CV or a DS. In truth, the most I knew about these cars was they looked super cool and had odd French features and names.
When I arrived Saturday morning, he was jumpstarting the DS for me which seemed worrisome, and would have me say a little prayer every time I turned the car on and off. (It did fine.)
We took a one block test drive—which I guess I passed. Then he showed me some basic reminders of how things worked and warned me about this round thing on the floor which I was told was a very sensitive brake pedal. Before I could ask anymore dumb questions, like does the gas gauge work, they were off and running. I quickly threw in my picnic basket and croquet set, before I heard as he drove away—don’t forget to take off the emergency brake!
So, I hurriedly trailed their 2CV (or as he called it deux chevaux) trying to keep up best I could with just a shotgun orientation. Once on the highway, the first thing I noticed was how comfortable and smooth a ride it was and how easily it shifted between gears, even reverse. Good sign.
At the first stop we had to learn how to open the car door. You have to pull UP on the handle.
We greeted the other cars which included another DS and 2 2CVs. But before I could say hi or remember how to open the car door Michael was off again.
I became grateful for his bright colored Citroën, as I followed him the first half of the day, especially for how well the brakes worked when he made quick sudden turns.
As the morning wore on, I began to get the hang and rhythm of the stops, turns and shifts; more so, I have to say, than my navigator, who always said turn left when she meant turn right and vice versa. The second thing to get used to was shifting my eyes down to the low-riding rearview mirror on the dash; and adjusting a side mirror on winding hilly roads is near impossible.
But that was all an aside to the beautiful Wisconsin farm countryside and the thrill of seeing the funny shaped, tomato colored cars trailing behind us like some scene from a 60’s or 70’s foreign film.
When it started to lightly rain, I began what would be an alternating dance for the rest of the day of turning on blinkers for wipers and and wipers for blinkers due to their close proximity. And that “up” means “off” for wipers.
By lunchtime I knew I had held my own when Michael and the other Citroen DS driver were talking about the difficulty of driving a DS and was impressed with how I seemed to be managing (made up conversation) before Michael pointed me out as the driver and Lise vouched for me as a car person (actual conversation). I’m slowly starting to feel a part of the club.
After getting a free piece of birthday pie, we were ready to hit the road again. The rain scared the rest of the posse to abort and go home.
This would be my last chance for Michael to be there as I started the car (it helps to have the clutch all the way to the floor). I asked “am I good to go?”
He said you got to wait for the hydro-pneumatic suspension to rise, yet what I heard was you have to wait till [sump’in sumpin sumpin] and he stood behind the car until that happened.
Well having been in the car I couldn’t see this exotic and famous Citroën feature of the car rising after starting. It wasn’t until the end of the day when I looked at the car parked in the parking lot and went wait, how could I have possibly driven it so low to the ground over those backroads?!
After lunch, we made our first detour to the Maiden Rock Cidery on top of the hill.
When we pulled up, I realized, now that we were the sole Citroën, how much attention the car attracted and by default, us. It was a little embarrassing and I felt undeserving and a little like an imposter.
We ordered a flight of hard ciders and sat on their porch watching a torrential downpour which would make any reasonable person go home. It gave us time to bask as the fake recipients of this James Bond car and make our game plan. We were able to match up our location to the coded map Michael had emailed and decided to follow it to our dinner destination at the Stone Barn Pizza Farm.
That’s when the adventure began. We were on our own, following an alphabet soup map in search of Porcupine Cemetery, what would become an increasingly important landmark (besides me always wondering where porcupines were buried).
Janet, sporting her matching mask and blouse she made, by now had learned the difference between right and left and had become my nimble navigator who never missed a turn or if we did, she immediately caught it. With no mileage markers we had no advanced warning when and where the next turn would be. No small task looking for the smallest street sign, or the most unassuming road that couldn’t possibly be right, but was.
As the topography got more dramatic, I knew we were getting deeper into Coulee country.
All senses and limbs on alert with hand, eye and foot in coordination with the clutch, brake, and gear shift. Never knowing what was around the bend… one minute we’d be driving through gentle rolling farmland saturated in a summer solstice sun, the next minute we’ve zigzagged down into a steep dark canopy of trees. It was like an outdoor amusement park, with a built-in roller coaster and just as thrilling.
Janet continuously reminded me that it was a 2-way road, and to stay on the right side with all these blind turns. The car always reacted to the hill saying gear down dammit, give me some help here.
I almost missed the elusive Porcupine Cemetery, which immediately required a steep hairpin turn seemingly away from our destination. That’s when I realized that this is not a destination-based drive.
Nevertheless, after driving for several hours, we eventually descended and safely landed on 4 wheels again. We had phone reception briefly enough to realize we were going to be 45 minutes late to our Stone Barn rendezvous. And for the first time, we missed a turn on our map, and weren’t exactly sure where we were. About the same time we lost service again.
Now I was in the driver’s seat, because I have great experience in getting lost and having to rely on my sense of direction. Sometimes it means using the direction of the sun. I said when in doubt find Cty Rd D, it will lead us to where we need to go as it had many times earlier in the day. Sure enough, we found D at the next T in the road and instinctively went right, which took us to the Mother River (the Mississippi).
We went a few miles down the river before we turned off in the direction of the Stone Barn Pizza Farm. On this flat open farm road, there was now a different person driving than the one who started in the morning. After the baptism by fire in the Coulee territory, I no longer was self-conscious of either driving or of the car. I zipped into the crowded parking lot as naturally as if this car had always been mine and was as comfortable a fit as an old leather glove.
The Stone Barn was lovely and our friends made it there on trust and faith instead of texts. We had some down time watching an oriole fly back and forth to its hanging nest. It was brightly colored as some of the Citroëns driving earlier, perhaps Michael and Lise were there. After a wood fired pizza, we toasted champagne to the birthdays and the solstice, and then we all left.
People, again, watched and stared as we rolled out of the parking lot, this time I just nodded and smiled… because the car and I were now one.
As we started our return trip home, the longest day had turned into the shortest night, and it was dark enough to turn on the lights. For the first time I was stumped as to where the headlight switch was. A couple of guys, stealing wood from the gas station in Pepin, couldn’t figure it out either and basically said we’re screwed. But I had one percent left of power in my phone which I used for my last question to Michael. I had been reluctant to call him, like I was a kid out past curfew; but to my relief, a friendly voice provided the embarrassingly simple answer, and the headlights came on. He also told me I was a brave woman. Doing this didn’t seem like a brave thing to me, but I treated it as a compliment, and coming from Michael as a badge of respect.
As we drove home in silence, I made a note-to-self that I needed to know a lot more about Citroëns…and more importantly, where I could get one.
