For those of you who might not be aware of it, the MPG Marathon was an event held annually in the UK in which competitors tried to achieve the highest possible fuel economy, measured in miles per gallon (hence MPG), over two days (hence Marathon). It wasn’t something I ever though I would take part in until 2013, when I received a call from Andrew Andersz.
Andrew has now retired, and spends a good deal of his time occupied in the not obviously connected activities of drumming and playing bowls, but before he began to indulge in such pleasures he was a major figure in motor industry press relations, working in locations as far apart as Detroit and Singapore. He is also wise in the ways of economy driving, and had performed wonders in previous Marathons, on which his navigator had usually been the journalist Alyson Marlow. In 2013, Alyson wasn’t available, so Andrew, apparently unaware that superior options must be open to him, asked if I would take her place.
I said I’d love to, as long as I could drive on at least one of the six sections. He agreed, hiding his lack of enthusiasm with the skill of an experienced PR man, and then set about trying to find a car. These were usually supplied from the press fleets of manufacturers keen to benefit from the publicity a good result would provide, and Andrew was able to sweet-talk Mazda into providing an example of its compact hatchback, known as the Mazda2.
The question then arose of what route we would take from each checkpoint to the next. Up to 2012, this had not been a matter for discussion, since the route was prescribed in advance. For 2013, the organisers adopted a new tactic of allowing the crews to choose their own, which complicated the whole business enormously and led (at least in our case, and I dare say in others) to much poring over maps and devising cunning schemes.
We were confident of our strategy by the time we met up one Wednesday morning at Tankersley Manor near Sheffield, where the Marathon was based and where Andrew had just woken from luxurious slumber.
"Hello, Andersz." "Hello, Finlay. You look terrible." "I feel terrible. I was working late yesterday and had to drive here overnight." "Good Lord. Have you had any sleep?" "A couple of power naps in service station car parks. Other than that, no." "Well, would you allow me to buy you breakfast?" "I certainly would." "Excellent. And after that, go to my room and have a shower. You smell like a tug-of-war team."
Day 1, Leg 1: On paper, this was a simple run from Tankersley to Washingborough Hall, just east of Lincoln, achieved by taking motorways and dual-carriageways for most of the route and nipping through Lincoln itself. Our preference was to go cross-country and skirt round Lincoln, since we wanted to avoid both motorways and cities as far as possible.
In between yawning and reading out directions, I was deeply impressed by Andrew's driving, which seemed to involve almost no use of the throttle pedal at all. We had no illusions about using less fuel than all the other teams, but there was a prize for whoever could improve on the car’s official combined figure by the greatest amount, and we saw no reason why we couldn’t win that.
A sign explaining to other drivers why the car in front is going so slowly.
Photo copyright Toyota
The Mazda’s combined figure was 56.5mpg. We arrived at Washingborough with just over 66mpg displayed on the trip computer – a promising start, we felt. We were also late, largely because I sent Andrew in the wrong direction at a mini-roundabout, and risked being penalised if we didn’t make up time, but we reckoned we could do that on the next leg without sacrificing economy.
Day 1, Leg 2: An almost direct drive north to Burnby Hall Gardens in Pocklington. Fascinating place, well worth a visit. I'd have stayed longer if Andrew hadn't grabbed me by the ear and hauled me back to the Mazda, pointing out that we had a schedule to keep to.
The obvious way to get from Washingborough Hall to Pocklington was to go back into Lincoln and head up the A15. Unlike anyone else we spoke to afterwards, we went east to avoid Lincoln and took the back roads (being careful to bypass Market Rasen and Brigg in the process) before joining the A15 a few miles south of the Humber Bridge, where the weather conditions were unfavourable.
"Andersz." "Yes?" "It's very windy here." "Yes." "I suspect that this will not be helping our economy. Do you agree?" "Yes."
And it didn't. We gained on time, despite my second navigational error of the day, but lost on economy. Nobody's fault, this one. Unless they're directly behind you, which in this case they weren't, high winds are never going to do your mpg much good, and we weren't the only ones to suffer. Andrew, however, was becoming noticeably agitated.
Day 1, Leg 3: He became a lot more agitated – as did I – when, having successfully bypassed York and started heading south, we were brought to a standstill by roadworks which left us sitting in a traffic jam for five minutes. Andrew switched off the Mazda's engine, as the rules allowed him to in situations like this, so we didn't use any fuel, but we became worried about getting back to Tankersley on time, given that traffic was starting to build up as the afternoon drew to a close.
Our concerns turned out to be unnecessary. Crafty route planning, excellent driving and a brilliant navigational suggestion by Andrew all meant that we arrived at Tankersley bang on schedule, with the trip computer now showing 62.2mpg. Andrew had hoped for more than that and was disappointed, but I didn't see how he could have done any better.
Day 2, Leg 1: This, we reckoned, was the make-or-break section. Starting from Tankersley and finishing at Mottram Hall in Cheshire, it obliged us to drive through the Peak District, a merciless part of the world for anyone who considers the consumption of a teaspoonful of petrol as grievous as the loss of a child.
Checking fuel levels at the end of the event.
Photo copyright MPG Marathon
How to get from A to B, though? We knew that most crews would take the A628, but I was suspicious of that because of the possibility of crosswinds and heavy traffic. My preference was a much more convoluted route passing through Chapel-en-le-Frith, with many steep uphill parts but a useful number of equally steep downhill plunges.
It would be a risk, and even after Andrew agreed to it I still feared that the plan might knock us completely out of contention. My confidence rose when we asked a receptionist at Tankersley if the traffic was usually bad on the A628 between eight and nine in the morning. Yes, she said, it was terrible. We thanked her, and then requested that if anyone else asked her the same question she should tell them in a thick foreign accent that she didn't understand, and follow this up immediately by setting off the fire alarm. She laughed nervously, which we took as a ‘yes’.
This was where Andrew and I swapped roles, on the basis that he had never driven over this section and I had done so twice on reconnaissance missions in previous weeks. I insisted that he, as the economy driving expert, should offer advice as he saw fit, which he was kind enough to do on average every eight seconds for the next hour and a half.
What he didn't need to tell me was the importance of creeping up hills and then bombing down the other side, in gear but without using the throttle, sometimes for as much as two miles. I could only imagine the thoughts of the Jaguar driver who overtook crossly as I was tiptoeing up a steep hill at eighteen miles per hour but found the Mazda looming in his mirrors halfway down the other side.
I didn't need to imagine Andrew's thoughts on this at all.
"Finlay." "Yes?" "If I were driving, I wouldn't be going as quickly as you are downhill." "If I were navigating, I'd be very glad of that."
Part of the reason for this gravity-aided exuberance was the need to maintain a decent average speed. I was sure I wouldn't keep to the schedule, but also reckoned I'd stay close to it as long as there weren't any roadworks. Needless to say, there were roadworks. And temporary traffic lights. Which, when we reached them, were, naturally, red.
"Finlay." "Yes?" "This is very funny, wouldn't you say?" "No!" "I think it is." "Well, it isn't." "Strange. I used to think you had a sense of humour. Mind you, if we were to encounter a road closure on your silly route, I would not find that funny at all. I would definitely draw the line there." "That would indeed be extravagantly regrettable and a grave misfortune. But it's not going to happen." "Of course not."
Andersz after winning the MPG Marathon in 2008, when he had a better navigator.
Photo copyright Toyota
Twenty minutes later, two cries of dismay echoed round the Mazda's cabin as my intention of turning right at a T-junction was foiled by a Road Closed sign. I went left instead while Andrew worked out a detour which, rather embarrassingly, proved to be more sensible than the route I had planned.
Hearts racing, we arrived at Mottram Hall not much later than we should have done, with the trip computer now reading 61.7mpg, only 0.5mpg less than it had at the start of the day. Not too bad, we told ourselves, as we prepared to offer insincere condolences to everyone who had been stuck in traffic on the A628.
We asked several of our competitors how they had got on. They said the A628 was fine, and they hadn't encountered any problems.
Day 2, Leg 2: An easy run to Dovecliff Hall near Burton upon Trent. Our reported mileage went back up to 62.2mpg, but on reflection it could have been higher. I encouraged Andrew to try to make up the time I'd lost in the Peak District, not realising until too late that on this much flatter ground he was going to do so anyway.
We arrived at Dovecliff much earlier than we needed to, slightly gloomy but consoling ourselves with the thought that we had time in hand for the journey back to Tankersley, and could concentrate on using as little fuel as possible.
Day 2, Leg 3: The obvious method of driving from Dovecliff to Tankersley was to trundle up the M1 at the lowest speed consistent with not infuriating our fellow road users, but right at the start of our planning we had rejected this as being shallow and unimaginative. Instead, we chose a route principally made up of what we hoped would be flowing single-carriageways and the Sheffield Inner Ring Road, which we assumed would be clear early on a Thursday afternoon. At least we were right about the single-carriageways.
"Andersz." "What now?" "It has taken us ten minutes to travel the last half mile." "I know." "This can't be right, surely?" "I wouldn't have thought so. Let me ask this van driver what the problem might be . . . Oh, dear." "What?" "He says it's like this every day. There's a roundabout up ahead and it always causes tailbacks." "Really?" "Yes." "Hmm. How useful it would have been to know that before the event." "Oh, shut up."
On this final section our average fell to 57.23mpg, as calculated by the organisers – still above the official combined figure of 56.5mpg, but only by 1.29%. That was never going to win us the prize we sought, but it did put us eighth out of fourteen cars. Five of the six behind us didn't match their combined figure at all, and I thought that our result was a tribute both to the Mazda and to the way Andrew drove it. That said, I couldn't help suspecting that the whole situation would have been a lot better if Alyson Marlow had been able to do the event and Andrew hadn't had to ask me to take her place.
"Andersz." "(sigh)" "Have I just ruined your career as an economy driver?" "With my PR hat on, I would prefer to say that my career as an economy driver has been ruined while you were sitting in the car." "That's another way of saying the same thing, isn't it?" "More or less." "Oh. Sorry." "Whatever."
Top images copyright Mazda.
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