Journey to Comanesti

“Nigel and I first got our Class I licences in the 1970s, so nowadays the first challenge when we do our trip to Romania is to understand all the new technology in the lorry. This year, with our top of the range Mercedes tractor unit, was no different and we never did completely crack the digital tacho.

With two of us sharing the driving and good weather we covered huge distances: Belgium, Germany, Austria and Hungary shot past and before we knew it we were at Oradea and through the Romanian border in 20 minutes. On previous trips we have spent 24 hours getting through the border (even after liberal distribution of ‘presents’ and judicious queue jumping). EU membership is really good for international haulage.

1,800 miles and 42 driving hours later we arrive in Comanesti. As ever the hard working volunteers unloaded us quickly and the watching policeman made sure that there were no problems as we reversed nearly a quarter of a mile down a narrow lane past some roadworks.

After a glorious shower we set off early to drop the rest of our load in Buzau near Bucharest. We saw again people we had met on our first trip in 1992 when the situation in Romania was desperate and we were happy to discuss how roads, buildings, the economy and people’s lives have improved in the years we have been going there.

We set off again and as we climbed the rain turned to snow. We had experienced this on previous trips and knew that gritting and snowploughs were not common in Romania. As we went higher and higher all we could do was follow the tracks of the lorry ahead and try not to look down as we went along the side of the valley. As we neared the top and it was getting dark we crawled into a village. Just as we were looking for somewhere to park up and wait out the snow a plough appeared and so we tucked in behind him and kept going to the top of the pass. Unfortunately he turned round and went back again so our journey down the far side was challenging and slow.

At the bottom of the mountain range we came to Brasov, a familiar name on the dial of 1950s radio and a favourite place of ours. After several miles of banging over horrendous potholes and squeezing past horse and carts we arrived at a bridge 3 inches wider and 2 inches higher than our truck. Just as we inched onto the bridge we noticed a sign showing a weight limit of 10 tonnes – we were 35!

Back on a familiar route, we were bowling along flat out on a smooth empty road when with a buzz and then a bang, a front tyre burst. The truck suddenly became a wild thing. Nigel kept us on the road, just, but we needed all of it before we could pull up at the side. Then began a long, long wait. Fortunately the weather had closed in again so there was not much traffic, but we spent the night terrified that someone would crash into the back of us.

By the middle of the next morning we had discovered that there were no available wreckers to tow us off the road and no tyres of the right size to be found in Romania. Modern lorries do not carry spares or jacks so it looked like being a miserable weekend until we had a brainwave – why not lift up the middle axle (as we were now running light) and use one of the wheels of that to get us moving again? An hour in the icy wind with a team with a heavy jack from a nearby garage and we were on our way. A tough grind back across Germany got us home safe, but tired.

So why do we go? Because it is fun and an adventure. We went to see our friends, to see the children who are doing so well and to watch the reawakening of a beautiful country ruined for so long by terrible politics.”