At the appointed hour, a dozen or so of Solihull’s beauties were gathered in the square awaiting Mark Summerbee. The roar of a V8 heralded his (late) arrival, and we quickly broke into two groups, with Mark and Russ Beck taking charge. By now the rain had stopped, and the day was beginning to look like it might even get brighter. What more could we ask: dry above us, and still seriously wet below us? Russ took the following under his wing: John in his Series 11, Bob (wife Karen and daughter Emma) in their Series 111, Chris in his Rangie, Darren and Paul in a V8 90, and me (with son Toby, and nephew Tom – he who wrote about my comfort stops in the last edition of FP. I’ll get him back somehow!) in my 90 CSW.

The pack headed off to Kelshall and Reed for Lane 1, where the usually mild stream had built up into a mixture of deeper water and boggy ground. A couple of months ago, someone in our group had managed to lose most of his Disco’s wing (actually, it was his missus’ car, and none of us saw her speak to him for the rest of that day), so with a quick check of the ground and those concrete sand bags, we all crossed without incident.

Lane 2 took us to Buckland, where coils and leafs alike were tested in equal measures. Heading on to Cambs, and Little Chishill we were suddenly challenged to a flat out race against none other than a herd of 20 odd deer. After speeding along side us, they cut across Russ, and ended up in a field contently watching us drive by. With no free venison on this journey, we crossed to Essex and continued on through Chrishall, Elmdon, Duddenhoe End, Clavering, Stickling Green and Newport to conclude an excellent morning’s work over 7 lanes, and in near Meditterean temperatures (OK some of us only had a couple of layers left on at the coffee break mid morning!).

With much relief, we reached the Fox & Hounds for lunch (if Mark likes their curly chips so much, why doesn’t he buy a bowl of his own?), and swapped war stories with Mark’s group.

At this point, Bob handed over the keys of his Series 111 to her indoors, Karen. Some of the men looked at Bob with fear in their eyes. You’ll never get those keys back, we mumbled, but alas too late. Her white knuckles told you those keys were not leaving her grasp, and woe betide any who dared to try. Immediately outside the pub, and parallel to a swollen river, lane 8 was a good initiation for Karen, and one she passed with flying colours.

On to Debden, and some seriously overgrown lanes. I’ll find the tip of my snorkle one day! Things were beginning to get more challenging, and most of us were gobsmacked to see an elderly couple in the grandstand watching us. Okay, a couple of crumblies were sat on the bank minding their own business as we crawled through. We progressed on and through a sharp 90 degree left at the top of the field, parallel to one of the local farmhouses. It was seriously rutted now, and Russ decided to back out of the farmer’s tracks, and take a more sensible path. John and Chris followed suit, despite me suggesting to Chris that he and I should try the deeper option. Well, I thought, I’d go for it anyway. Halfway along, I wished I hadn’t for three reasons. One: I got completely stuck with my steering guard rather than my front wheels now in touch with the ground, two: Karen tootled past me in Russ’s tracks, and three: Summerbee and his team arrived. Should that matter? Of course not, if you weren’t the recipient of him asking: "So, Owen you got stuck, and she (Karen) got through no problem?" After about the fifth time of asking me this question, I waited for all the kids to be out of earshot and replied.

Darren came to the rescue with tow rope in hand, and the final stretch was ably assisted by Chris joining up to Darren’s in a 3 vehicle tow. By the end of the lane, we had ourselves a convoy, with Russ and Mark’s groups joining forces. As we drove around some of the sleepier villages, it was great to see

the reaction of the Sunday afternoon walkers and gardeners. Most greeted our approach with a smile, others, perhaps seeing the ex-military vehicles in the group, probably wondered whether WWIII had started!

The consensus was to finish the day’s drive via Brent Pelham/Furneaux Pelham using the car wash that Mark’s group had gone through in the morning. We proceeded down a seriously flooded lane/ford without incident and most vehicles enjoyed a wash half way up the door. For good measure, we turned around at the bottom and got more of the mud off, going upstream. As people headed off to Beds, Herts and beyond, five vehicles were stuck behind John Ralphs who’d suffered some damp electrics on exiting the ford. Kevin Penhallow came out in sympathy with a transfer box problem, but both sorted themselves out to conclude a great day’s greenlaning.

Many thanks to Russ from all who followed him in and out of a dozen excellent lanes through great countryside. If you’re wondering, Karen never did give Bob his keys back. We warned you Bob………..!