The first Gumball 3000
Maximillion Cooper had a brilliant idea. Having studied fashion and law, and mixed in social circles from motor racing to music and movies, he thought he would lay on a high-octane party for his friends. A party that would roll across Europe for five days, taking in race circuits, nightclubs and five star hotels. A party where the super unleaded and the champagne would flow in equal measure.
With inspiration drawn from the Gumball Rally and reflecting the epic mileage planned, the event would be called the Gumball 3000 and would kick off in London on April 30 1999.
Gumball 3000 is now a global brand, having run events all over the world, there’s a charitable foundation and much merchandise. But back at the beginning it wasn’t quite so slick. There were uninvited guests, parties that failed to materialise, Formula One passes that didn’t exist.
Max invited Autosport magazine, who invited me. And while most of the field would be driving Ferraris, Aston Martins, Lamborghinis and Porsches, I would be in a Caterham – for an average of 600 miles a day.
Day one took us from the Bluebird Cafe in London’s Chelsea to Chartres in France, via hovercraft and central Paris (not fun in a Caterham in a thunderstorm). I arrived late, dishevelled and exhausted, only to feel more pathetic when Chris Eubank turned up in his Peterbilt truck, hours later, full of energy and spouting poetry.
Day two began with the craziest Le Mans start in history. With all cars lined up and a traditional drivers sprint it saw half the field – including Charles Morgan in his Plus Eight – taking to the grass to avoid a Lamborghini Diablo that somehow spun from a standstill. A few laps at Mas du Clos circuit were tame in comparison. But there had been at least one casualty by the time we reached Monte Carlo – an Aston Martin grenaded its engine and the owner was now behind the wheel of a Smart ForTwo.
And there’d be no rest, with an overnight blast along the coast to Rimini, Italy. The highlight was switching places with Gordon Murray’s son Dylan to ride behind Luke Craft in his LCC Rocket. Returning to the Caterham was like riding in an S-Class by comparison.
Day four was a big one, the final destination being the Nürburgring, where, after the bar was emptied, someone discovered that the pit garages weren’t locked and the Grand Prix circuit was accessible. Following the Cuban Brothers on to the circuit and then being overtaken on the grass by a Vauxhall Frontera full of supermodels made for the most surreal lap of my life.
The final day was a hangover-clearing sprint back to The Met Bar at the Metropolitan Hotel in Park Lane, via Spa-Francorchamps.
Along the way there were accidents, speeding tickets and breakdowns – mostly the rattiest Maserati Biturbo I have ever seen.
It was chaotic and exhausting, and I have a daily reminder of this glorious detour sitting on my desk: a Gumball machine, of course.
