CIVIC OCCASION
Four New Zealanders went on a magical trip around Britain recently, and used less petrol than anyone else has ever managed. Donn Anderson reports on a fascinating week that only confirmed his view that the UK is an absorbing place to visit...

It was in the early hours of the morning, when you sometimes had to smack yourself on the face to stay awake, that the feasibility of the project was called into question. Prior to our record-breaking fuel economy run around Britain several people had asked why we were attempting the run and yet they could never know just how tough this drive would be.
        Driving the VTEC-E-engined Honda Civic 3-door hatchbackeconomically was not so much tiring - after a while human body reached almost automatically to the job of easing the most kilometres from every gallon of petrol. What was draining was keeping going from more than 40 hours at a time, sleeping only every second night, and what seemed like a comparatively simple (but not so simple) task of route-finding.
        Drive around the coastline of mainland Britain? Seems easy enough. Just follow the road nearest to the coast, and keep the sea on your left during the clockwise run. Alas, it's not as straightforward as it sounds in a place where there are literally thousands of roads, big and small.
        When we finally rolled into Brighton on a grey Saturday morning in late September, a week after leaving same seaside town in sparkling sunshine, it looked as tough we had a new figure for listing in the Guinness Book of Records.
        The top-up at the same service station where it all started confirmed these observations. We had covered 6111kms ( 3798 miles) in seven days and used 200.86 litres of super unleaded petrol for an average of 3.286 litres/100km. This 30.424km per litre or 85.947 miles per gallon - as near as damnit to 86mpg. Remarkable. Amazing, really.
        Remember the days when we thought 60mpg was incredible? Now US President Clinton is asking the Detriot motor industry to develop and build cars capable of 80mpg plus. I'd like to tell the Americans that Honda is already doing it.
        The 1992 succesful attempt in a pair of mechanically similar VTEC-E Civics had resulted in 3.58 litres/100km (78.9mpg). We had comfortably bettered this in a bid to use the least amount of petrol in a production car within a specified time.
        Despite covering 36kms more than the 1992 attempt ( due to becoming lost), we used 16.66 litters less fuel. What with the devaluation of the British pound and appreciation of the Japanese yen (and the fact that we used less fuel!), it cost the Japanese doctor and organizer, DrShigeru Miyano, less to mount this year's run.

CAUTIOUS ABOUT RESULT
I wasn't optimistic at the start about bettering the 1992 result, particularly as the team of expert drivers last year had included the late Denny Hulme. Some of the drivers in the latest assault were inexperienced in economy driving, and the 1993 model Civic was still comparatively "green" with only 4000km on the clock.
At the same time, it was completely standard and had not been given any pre-run preparation. Concern was heightened when we were split into two teams. Sandy Myhre, my wife Lynn, and I were joined by Franck Pasqualini, a 22-year-old Corsican.
Franck's a keen motoring enthusiast with a sharp knowledge of motor racing history. But he hadn't spoken English for four years. His French was excellent, but he said ours was awful.
Pasqualini had never visited Britain and had never driven on the left side of the road! During his initial driving of the Honda Accord Aerodeck station lead car, I thought he was handling the difficulties of driving on the "foreign"(to him) side of the road with aplomb when he suddenly negociated a roundabout the wrong way. Fortunately for us all, no one was coming the other way.
Meanwhile, Amanda McLaren, daughter of late Bruce McLaren, was teamed up with Shigeru and the Dutch husband and wife team of Jan and Ria Smit. This made logic since Amanda was the only driver in team B who was totally conversant in Englsih.
It meant there were four New Zealanders in the two teams. As a counter to long driving hours which reached near danger levels in 1992, a team of five English drivers from Honda Drivers Club of GB came in to do the last night run. By this stage we were so acclimatised to the lengthy hops that another day on run wouldn't have been here nor there.

SHIGERU'S ENTHUSIASM
My caution about expecting a good result was eased somewhat bubbling enthusiasm of Shigeru Miyano. He is an avid motor sport follower and an admirer of New Zealand's racing greats. It was Shigeru who planned and built the memorial to Bruce McLaren at Goodwood and who persuaded Hulme to take a part in last year's economy run.
Shigeru is also confirmed Honda fan and his confidence in the variable-valve VTEC-E Civic was well placed. This 1.5 litre single-cam 4-cylinder is a truely remarkable engine. It has four valves per cylinder but uses only one inlet per cylinder below 2500rpm: the second valve , with its own cam and rocker, moves into action at higher revs.
There would be no danger of both inlet valves operation during the run. Indeed, most of times we had the reve counter between 1200 and 1500rpm, which equated to speeds of between 50 and 70km/h with this economy Civic's tall final-drive gearing.
Honda claims a unique compact combustion chamber with the VTEC-E which reduces the surface-to-volume ratio, minimizing the time required for full combustion in a lean air/fuel environment. At the same time, the engine does not use any fuel on a trailing throttle due to fuel cut-off.
At a steady 90km/h, Honda quotes 62.8 miles per gallon. "Few cars have ever achieved this level of efficiency," say the Japanese. We would prove no petrol-engined car has ever circumnavigated Britain on a mere 44 gallons, or 200 litres, of fuel.
The VTEC-E produces 66kW(89bhp) at 5500rpm which, unusually enough, is the same power output as the older carburated engine used in the Civc LX assembled and sold in New Zealand. Maximum torque of the variable-valve motor is 142Nm at 5200rpm.
Our Japan-registered Civic started life white, but was painted a somewhat garish papaya orange for the run. Shigeru is thorough om hos enthusiasm - the car's "McLaren orange" colours illustrated a link between McLaren and Hulme.
The Honda was emblazoned with two kiwi birds to provide New Zealand connection. However, one well-lubricated Scotsman at an Inverness service station thought the kiwi drawing looked more like a "boodgie" than a flightless bird.
Apart from installation of a much-needed radio telephone and use of Microlon engine oil additive, the Civic was straight out of the box. Dunlop Japan was one of the sponsors and had fitted all-weather 165/70 SP20s to the narrow 13-inch steel wheels. They provided excellent, particularly on the rare occasions when it was wet.
This was a Japanese domestic-specification car with full emission equipment and the annoying warning buzzers which drove us potty at times. Japanese market versions are equipped with a 3.25 final drive gearing which is even taller than the 3.75 ratio on the UK equivalents.
The VTEC-E is sold in small numbers in Britain but Honda New Zealand elected not to have this relatively expensive model for our market because of limited appeal. It's doubtless the right decision.
Honda UK supplied a pair of North American-built Accord Aerodeck station wagons which proved admirable support vehicles. Cathay Pacific Airlines carried the New Zealand contingent to Britain instyle, and there was also support for Kiwis from the British Tourist Authority.
Managing the assault was John Howie, a keen Honda S800 sports car owner, who kept the operation flowing from his home in Suffolk. John was involved in the 1992 run, and ran this year's drive with millitary-like precision.

JOHN COOPER VISIT
After one of the Accords was stolen on the 1992 run, we carried and used steering wheel locking clamps this time. They were a nuisance to fit and remove, but we kept the fleet intact, unlike the 587000 Britains who had their cars nicked in1992.
The Mayer of Brighton flagged us away on a brilliantly fine day and within a few minutes we were already finding the route difficult as we threaded our way through busy Saturday-morning traffic.
First stop was in nearby Worthing and the legendary John Cooper's garage. Cooper is a Honda dealership and a centre point for Mini Coopers, old and new. John Cooper was introduced to the team, but didn't realise untill later that the young New Zealander everyone wanted to photograph with the famous racing car constractor was Bruce McLaren's daughter.
John hadn't seen Amanda since she was three - and the meeting was happy reunion. Cooper took us on a wonderfull hour-long your of his facilities and recalled how he started building Cooper 500s with his father Charles, in 1946. In 1962 Cooper built the first GP car for Honda. Today he looks little differnt from when his Climax-engined cars were winning the F1 world championship in 1959 and 1960.
He showed us an amazing collection of immaculate Mini Coopers spanning a decade, and said the original idea of the Mini Cooper came from Bruce McLaren and Jack Brabham, who put Formula Junior BMC engine in a standard Mini.
He also recalled McLaren's arrival in Europe and how the young New Zealander asked where his car was. "It's over there, in the tube rack," said Cooper. Bruce had to set about and build the race car he thought would be ready, waiting for him to drive.
John Cooper remembered 1961, the year in which the Mini Cooper began production - the only time he has ever visited New Zealand, when his cars were campaigned at Ardmore. He nearly killed himself while testing a twin-engined Mini in the sixties and points out with pride that half the Mini production today are Cooper versions.
We were back on the road for the start of an adventurous week-long escapade which would highlight Britian as a land of amazing contrast. As a long-time anglophile, I was looking forward to seeing more of the UK - and I wouldn't be disappointed.
While Team B religiously followed the coast with the orange Civic led by the Accord wagon, we took the "fast" road to Teignmouth, colse to Basil Fawlty's Torquay in the West Country. Waves were crashing over the promenade walls with the highest tides in 100 years while we walked the "olde worlde" seaside town, demolished a five-pound (NZ$15) roast dinner and waited for the Civic to arrive.
Soon after ten o'clock on a balmy Saturday evening we were off on our first full section. Within a few kilometres came our first near miss when a drunk stumbled out in the main street of Torquay and almost fell across the Civic's bonnet whole was driving.
From then on, the journey became time-warp of places and maps, of countless roundabouts, of sights and experiences which could only be relished in a unique place like Britain.
Days rolled together. It was like having extended jet-lag, and you didn't know if it was Tuesday or Thursday. Nor did you care.
But we did know the Civic was using preciously little fuel - and was proving extraordinarily tractable, despite the high gearing. The challenge car was proving much better to drive than the VTEC-E Civic sedan lent to us by Honda New Zealand for evaluation just before the run.
The plan to swap drivers every 100 or so kilometres went awry. We tended to challenge over when convenient. But the idea of using the Accord as a lead and navigation car proved successful.
So did the radio telephones, although as the trip were on, the 24-hours batteries (which we recharged during the rest stops) began to die long before their best-by times.
The Civic's speedo was hardly monitored. We drove by the rev counter, striving to keep engine speed as low as possible. Howie had thoughtfully marked charge-up points on the speedo, and the critical rev range on the tacho.
But he had in characteristically missed marking our map route on one section leading into Dartmouth. From previous visits to this old naval port, I reasoned the car ferry would not be operating as the clock approached midnight.
Still we eased into Dartmouth and wound our way down a narrow street to join sailors returning home as the pubs shut - and came slap against the gates of naval base. We were lost.

"SCRATCHING" A CAT
The route regained, we headed on westward. Franck was having his first driving spell, and he came on the radio phone: "Orbit One to Orbit Two. I've scratched a cat."
"What do you mean, you've scratched a cat?"
Well, I'ave' it a cat."
"How is the cat?"
"I think it is very dead..."
Two am and the night clubs are coming out in Plymouth. There are taxis everywhere. Clearly, they take drinking and driving seriously here. We gas up the Accord, but the 45-Litre tank in the Civic is hardly impaired by the distance already covered.
We would have no difficulty packing more than 1200km into each tankfull of unleaded fuel as the Civic eased on with economy that would make a diesel engine envious.
Back behind the wheel, I was starting to become sleepy. The tiredness comes in waves. A boost from BBC Radio 2 which can be heard nationwide but plays same fifties songs it did when I visited Britain 25 years ago. Even the disc jockeys are 1968 vintage: some things in Britain never change.
I wind up the good-quality FM radio and Bing Crosby and Sachimo (Louis) Armstrong keep my spirits up. In the "dead" hours, just before dawn, a great jazz session on Radio 2 would again revive me. Good music has a stimulating effect on the brain.

LAND'S END REACHED
It is a long, long way to Land's End on a bleak, overcast Sunday just after 7am. We stop for photos and verification of the Civic's Guinness logbook. The car park is deserted, save for a lone manwho says we can't park where we've stopped. We ignore him.
Now we're heading north, through picturesque St Ives, and the weather is brighter as the sun appears. Hunger pains dictate a breakfast stop where we encounter the only rude person on the whole trip - and he is definitely not British by the affliction of his southern European accent.
Everyone else is helpful and fascinated by the economy attempt. The warmth and hospitality is gratifying.
We head to New Quay, running past superb, sandy beaches eaual to the best in New Zealand. The Civic skirts Exmoor National Park, negotiates Porlock hill (the steepest road in Britain) and on into Minehead and a welcome dinner and bed. We finish this section late afternoon - but the finish times would be much later on subsequent stages.
As Team B headed off into darkest Wales, we slept befor tackling sodden M6 motorway north to Liverpool, home of the Beatles and Cilla Black. We find our bed and breakfast hotel rendezvous at Wallasey west of River Mersey by cleverly asking direction from a driving school instructor.
Team B is not so fortunate, and waste about an hours trying to find us. Finaaly they phone in, and we run out tolocate them with the help of a local. his part of Liverpool looks depressed and bleak, but an excellent Italian meal sparks us away for northward run.
Our drivers have already experienced tolled private roads in wayward regions, and men sitting in little booths at 3am to collect small fees, sometimes as little as 20 pence (60 cents). North from Liverpool to Southport, through affluent areas reflecting a wealth which had not been apparent an hour or so earlier.
At Blackpool in Lancashire, the famed north England seaside town and home of TVR, we look in vain for public toilet at 1am. I listen to Isle of Man radio as we skim the edges of the Lake District before entering Whitehaven, a depressing working-class town.
Breakfast is nowhere to be found. We stop at supermarket adjacent to a service station but they can't sell us a cup of coffee. We buy banana-flavoured milk and pour it over Weetabix but it doesn't really work. These Kiwis must look mad, and a garage attendant strolls over."I've heard about your plight, and I'd like to make you all a cup of coffee,"he says. A touch of northern hospitality.

BONNIE SCOTLAND
Across the border into Scotland, and immediately the countryside looks more like New Zealand. There are signs to nearby Lockerbie where the ill-fated PanAm Jumbo came down.
We wind through amazing roads, travelling for miles without seeing another car or person. Down to the Mull of Galloway, through enchanted little fishing villages that haven't charged in a hundred years.
We'd love to stop, but there isn't time. But it's daylight and we are treated to sights the tourists and almost all Britons will never see.
Northward towards Glasgow, but, it's a long, long drive when you follow the coast. We see rabbits, deer, fox, squirrels and occasional hedgehog. Most humans are in the bed, lucky sods.
Glasgow is huge, but we cross the Cyde and heard through Jackie Stewart's old town of Dumbarton. There's a misty rollercoaster ride through wooded up hill-dpwn dale country into Arrochar for our overnight stop.
It's 2am, we're sevral hours late, and we are drunk with tiredness.We 've been on the go for 43 hoursand wondering why on earth we agreed to such a drive.
Next morning the landlord at Mansfield Country House - who used to race formula 3 - taps on our door. Otherwise, we'd still be sleeping. After breakfast we stroll along the shores of Loch Long before heading north through magnificent highland country which matches the best you'll see in the South Island. The weather is perfect.
At Spean Bridge, Franck is in a panick. He's left his jacket, complete with passport, French ID card and money, in the wardrobe at our Arrochar hotel. No problem. I ring Mansfield and our kindly host posts the jacket on to one of our southern hotels.
The drive up to Loch Ness is considerably less taxing for us than the trip around the top of Scotland to John O'Groats for Team B. Not a monster in sight on this sparkling day. We enjoy a good meal in Inverness, grab three hours'kip. and are ready to go again at 1am. We haven't a clue what day it is, but Amanda arrives and says she has just had three hours'sleep in the support car. She is always saying that! We head through the night, through the places like Banff, Macduff, and on into Aberdeen. Darkness turns into another beautiful day where the lead car loses me in a magical little fishing village. Through Dundee, and on to savour the sights of impressive St Andrews, that most famous of golfing towns.

MORTALLY WOUNDED
Sandy asks policemen in a village to verify the logbook. He says he's be happy to do that for us Ocker Aussies.
"Actually, we're from New Zealand," says Sandy.
"Och, I've mortally wounded you," replies MrPlod.
The Firth of Forth Bridge looks amaizing on such a splendid day, and Edinburgh is a sight to behold. I'm in love with Scotland. Again.
We head to Dunbar, and into Jim Clark country. This is a long section back into England that starts to go terribly wrong for us in darkness at Newcastle Upon Tyne. The lead car loses me on a roundabout when a car chops in front of Civic. I take the wrong exit, realise the error, and stop at the first opportunity.
The radio telephone fails to work. Worse, the spare route map has been taken out of the car and I haven't a clue where I am. Newcastle is huge. Just huge. I wait for half an hour, but, the lead Accord also gets lsot attempting to retrace steps.
It's 9pm and I'm somewhat depressed at the prospect of throwing the whole challenge away. ut          have some money and make for the first service station where I gas up the Civic and buy a map of the area. On a dual carriageway the Accord sees me going the other way but, in frustration, cannot turn around!

THEY FIND ME
I'm on my own. Fortunately I remember that the destination is Filey in Yorkshire. I plan the route, hit the road, and an hour later there's a flash of lights behind me. Miraculously, we've found each other. They're glad to see me. I'm glad to see them.
A midnight stop in darkest Yorkshire to refuel the Accord. "You must be glad you've just got the Olymoic Games," says the attendant.
"Actually, we're New Zealanders," was our reply, which we had heard before.
Filey and bed have never been so welcome just after 1am, as the Honda UK team took over the Civic to head south for New Romney and the Blue Dolphin, a 16th-century hotel, our last night stopover before the easy run in to Brighton.
With all the sights and experiences, it would have been easy to have forgotten the whole point of the exercise. But we never stopped trying tosqueeze as much economy out of the Civic as possible. The lack of power steering was never a handicap, but we would have liked illumination of the electric window controls. The ventilation was unable to cool the interior on the warm, sunny days when we could not open the windows for fear of impairing economy.
The drive had been real adventure, an opportunity to explore rare territory, to hear a different accent at almost every stop, a chance to appreciate some of Britain's magnificent past, and to prove a point. It was also a solid test of relationship and endurance.
There were times when we were holding up traffic, but these were infrequent because so much of the route was in the depths of night or lonely country roads. And we wrote a line or two in the book for a better environment.
Only a diesel car has done better, at around 100 miles per gallon. This was a one-litre Daihatsu Charade 3-cylinder diesel. But already we're thinking about a crack at the diesel record, and I believe we can improve on the 1993 petrol result with a VTEC-E Civic. That's the trouble with these record-breaking runs. You always think you can do better.
A pity about "scratching" the cat, however. He was the only real casualty of the whole trip.