Preparations & the First Setbacks
May 2021. Time to get ready. The goal: drive to Port-Saint-Louis-du-Rhône in Camargue to pick up our sailboat So Fabbulus, waiting patiently in dry dock. Then bring her back to La Trinité-sur-Mer in Brittany by road.
Romain had been planning every detail for weeks:
Rent a trailer suitable for a keelboat
Find a vehicle capable of towing the trailer and our 1.7-ton aluminum baby
Find a driver with a valid trailer license
Organize crane lifts at departure and arrival
Figure out how to transfer the boat from the rental trailer to another support
Secure storage space in Brittany
Raise the funds to finance the expedition…
For sure, with a bigger budget we could have hired a professional transport company. But that would have been too easy… Fortunately, we’re lucky to be well surrounded: several friends contributed to Romain’s birthday pool to help finance part of the trip. Huge thanks to them!
We can also count on Basile, who lends us a piece of land and a cradle trailer to store the boat upon arrival — and who can handle the crane operation to transfer the boat from one trailer to another. Yvan offers us his Touareg 4×4 to tow the boat. Gwenegan, a friend’s brother and a professional truck driver, agrees to be our driver. All that’s left is to find a transport trailer. Throughout France, there is only one professionnal renting one suitable for our boat: SpeedNautic, in La Rochelle.
Fifteen days before departure, Gwenegan calls us: he’s broken his arm. Plan B: Séb, whom we once met through carpooling, agrees to drive a 17-meter convoy for people he barely knows.
The day before departure, I prepare food for the next three days on the road: quiche, lentils with sausages, potato salad, chocolate cake, homemade bread, cheese, coffee… Timing will be tight and we won’t take the highway — we’ll need to be self-sufficient.
Then another phone call: after a minor accident, the Touareg is in the garage for repairs. We have less than 24 hours to find another vehicle. Somehow, we manage to find one.
Tuesday, June 8 ● Day 1
Despite all these setbacks, we’re ready to leave on Tuesday morning. First stop: a small village in Vendée where Séb, our new driver, lives.
La Rochelle: Trailer Operation
3:00 PM. We hit the road again under bright summer skies. Late afternoon, we arrive in La Rochelle at the rental company. The employee brings out the trailer and begins the inspection:
— Well, one of the marker lights is missing. But that’s not a big deal. You’re not driving at night anyway, right?
— Actually, we are. We’ll be driving all night.
— Oh…
He continues his checks.
— You’re not going too far, are you?
— Port-Saint-Louis-du-Rhône, in the Camargue.
— Oh… that’s quite far…
And then:
— Oh by the way, it’s missing a support block. But that’s fine — you’re not towing anything too big, right?
— A 7.60-meter sailboat. 1.7 tons.
— Ah… I see…
The taillights don’t work. We dismantle the plug: everything is corroded from seawater. Séb grabs a screwdriver and a can of WD-40 borrowed from the rental shop and begins his own inspection, gradually discovering the full extent of the damage.
All the lights on the left side are out — on the trailer and on the van. Every wire and fuse is checked. Taillights are replaced. We reconnect everything. Now none of the lights work at all.
Four men are now bent over the fuse box. The boss shows up, glances at the situation, and says:
— Maybe there’s a special trailer fuse box that blew.
Then he gets in his car and drives off.
We test everything again. Suddenly, the right side starts working again (the ways of mechanics are mysterious…). Temporary solution: connect the left lights to the right circuit. The side marker lights still refuse to turn on.
That’s when we realize this trip won’t be smooth sailing… Or, as sailor and poet Jean Le Cam once said, “It wasn’t going to slide like a fart on an oilskin jacket.”
At Night, All Trucks Are Grey
7:30 PM. We set off with a 17-meter-long convoy. We cross rolling countryside searching for a place to eat. Séb backs the whole setup into a farm track as if he were parking a tiny city car. We sit on the mudguards and have dinner facing the sunset.
A few kilometers later, it’s time for a bathroom break. Séb sprays more WD-40 into the plug (which he discreetly took with us), and miraculously — the side marker lights come on. Night has fallen. New surprise: the headlight switch lever is broken. To use high beams, you have to hold the lever while steering.
Near Corrèze, Séb gets tired. He settles into his hammock set up in the back of the Transit and Romain takes the wheel. Later, near Rodez, it’s my turn. Technically, we don’t have the proper license, but if we want to stay on schedule, we have no choice. It’s my first time towing a trailer. I go carefully. Very carefully, apparently — because this is the second semi-truck overtaking me.
— Don’t worry, it’s all straight roads from here, Romain says.
In reality, we’re in the tight hairpin bends of the Aveyron region — the most winding stretch of the trip. My eyes are glued to the mirrors, praying not to clip the trailer.
Wednesday, June 9 ● Day 2
At dawn, I finish this unusual initiation with a failed U-turn in a parking lot: van bumper against trailer wheel bar. That wakes Séb up — refreshed and ready to take over.
A High Point & a Search for Caffeine
Just before 6 AM. The sun hasn’t risen yet as the Millau Viaduct rest area appears ahead. We’re all dreaming of hot coffee — but the rest stop is closed. We make do with cold leftovers from the thermos. We climb to a viewpoint just as the first rays of sunlight flood the valley beneath the viaduct.
Further down the road, we search for an open café. Every town we pass is deserted. Nothing until Port-Saint-Louis-du-Rhône, where we finally find a terrace serving the precious caffeine! We’re on our third espresso when the second Seb of the adventure arrives: Séb du Sud.
Sea, Wasps & Sun
The team complete and fully awake, we arrive at Navy Service port. The temperature quickly rises in the giant asphalt yard with no vegetation. Our boat is there, in the largest dry port in Europe.
Soon we discover stowaways: two wasp nests have settled in the aft lockers. The Sebs handle it while Romain and I finalize paperwork and confirm the crane time. When we return, problem solved — they removed the nests with their bare hands, without a single sting!
But as we tidy up inside the boat under blazing sun and Séb tries to fix the remaining trailer issues, we’re attacked by what Séb du Sud calls “niakniaks” — tiny biting flies that leave red marks. They’re joined by their friends: tiger mosquitoes.
Lifting the Boat
2:30 PM. The boat is positioned under the crane and soon rises into the air. Tension is high. One mistake could be costly. The front arm of the trailer meant to hold the bow is bent and doesn’t position correctly to secure the load during braking.
Our DIY kings, the Sebs, wedge a random wooden block they found on the ground to stabilize it. Large straps secure the boat to the trailer.
A port employee comments:
— Well, I hope that holds. If I were them, I wouldn’t cross France like that…
Trailer Lights & Christmas tree in Camargue
Since I’m not very useful during the loading process, I’m tasked with finding magnetic wireless trailer lights. The electrical system is still unreliable, and we need an alternative for the night drive ahead. I locate a farm supply store in Arles, 45 minutes away.
5:00 PM. I manage to borrow a car and take Séb with me. The salesman, more used to tractors than sailboats, finds our situation surprising but does his best to help. Unfortunately, his kit won’t solve our problem.
Last hope: Gifi and Action nearby. We leave with a generous stock of adhesive battery-powered LED lights and bicycle lamps. Total cost: €21.42.
Back at the port, the others look skeptical. Séb installs everything on the trailer and along the boat’s sides.
Night falls. We take quick showers at the port, grab a bite, say goodbye to Séb du Sud, and hit the road again.
The Camargue landscapes slide past the window. After a while, Séb pulls over to check the straps and lights. Our little lamps work perfectly — the aluminum boat looks like a Christmas tree!
But we quickly realize we’re not alone. An army of mosquitoes is attacking us. Romain, who had walked off for a quick break, runs back:
— We need to get out of here right now!
We drive off fast, windows wide open to chase out the last invaders. For the next half hour, we scratch from head to toe. In the distance, the sky turns threatening, and a storm catches up with us. We pray our absolutely-not-waterproof lights survive the rain.
A wide load in Downtown Montpellier
Just at the limit of an exceptional load (2.65 meters wide), without knowing our exact height and avoiding highways, it’s crucial to choose routes without obstacles (bridges, tunnels, etc.). We have a rotating beacon plugged into the cigarette lighter for tricky sections and follow a truck GPS… which leads us straight into downtown Montpellier.
— Waze says straight ahead.
— Google Maps says left.
— Did you check “avoid tolls”?
— We’re going to end up in a tunnel…
We try to find our way back. That leads us to a sloped roundabout followed by a bridge underpass. I already picture the sailboat wedged between the traffic circle and the arch — but it fits!
We eventually get back on the correct road, passing through narrow villages, tight bridges, improbable turns. The beacon comes out regularly. Séb is magnificent.
