The French have always been known for their quirkiness. There is the unique French cuisine, the cavalier attitude toward sexual relationships, and, not least, the many cars exhibiting that special je ne sais quoi French attitude.
Of course, there are the to-die-for bespoke coach builders of the 30’s through 50’s. Stellar houses such as Bugatti (many people don’t know that Italian born Ettore Bugatti were mostly produced in France), Figoni et Falaschi, Delahaye, and Talbot Lago, created some of the most beautiful 4-wheeled creations ever.
Then, there is the “homely but cute” category of French vehicles. Simca, Renault, Peugot, and not to be outdone: Citroen.
The instantly recognizable Citroen Deaux Chevaux (2 CV) was France’s answer to the VW bug, and presented a face that only a mother could love. But not far behind in the quirkiness category has to be the Citroen DS. A car with too many one-of-a-kind features to enumerate, was not unknown on American soil during the 60’s and 70’s, but in recent years, these cars have become quite rare. Such is the case of the beautiful example of this model owned by Austinite Chris Greta. His story below:
I’m not sure where this crazy obsession with Citroens came from. Maybe it was a vague memory from my first trip to Europe back in the early 80’s. I was a skinny 20 year old college brat hitchhiking around Europe with a backpack. I slept on trains and stayed in the worst hostels on earth. But I remember seeing these bizarre French cars zipping around Paris. I remember thinking “the French…” Who else could produce such a strangely designed car.
Years later I found myself living for good design. My job was to think of a better way to do things. Better visuals. Better creative. I made my living not being safe in my ideas…
Then somewhere in there, I took another look at this bizarre French car.
As I learned more, I could see the parallels between this strange machine and my goals in life. When they introduced the DS in 1955, it was the most radically advanced car ever built. It was 30 years ahead of everything else being made. The list of advancements goes on and on but the part that sparked my imagination was the fearless decision to do what nobody else had ever done. It was a huge gamble for the small French car company… But it paid off. They made over 1.5 million DS’s and they changed automotive design forever. My 1971 DS is nearly identical to the original model in 1955 and still today, looks amazing. The ride is sublime. The interior is fantastic… Eccentric as hell, but fantastic.
It’s a moving sculpture. Park it next to any other car you’ve ever seen and you’re eye will end up on the Citroen. A while after I got home from this trip, I took it to a car show at The Broken Spoke in Austin. There were exotic custom hot rods costing ten times my lowly Citroen, but it was the favorite of the show. People were drawn to it like flies, for reasons I may never fully understand.
The Citroen design and management teams could have been called crazy to take such a huge risk, except that they were right. The DS was voted the Product of the Century. The Macintosh computer came in second. The 747 came in third. Vive La France. Vive La Crazy.
The best automotive designers alive convened a few years back and voted the DS the most beautiful car ever built. Jaguar and Ferrari came in second and third. Google it. It’s true.
So I realized at some point that I wanted to posses one of these strange machines before I die.
Bucket List if you will.
Then the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if you have something on your bucket list, why wait. You could die tomorrow. Or next week. And all those Bucket List goals would be little nothings left on a scrap of paper that die with you.
I took two years to learn everything I could. I searched the usual places. Craigslist. Ebay. Every Citroen Web site I could find. I learned the best years, what to look for, what to avoid. I now know more about these crazy cars than anyone really should.
Craigslist came through. I was looking in the listings in Sacramento and I found her. The picture wasn’t good, but all the things I wanted were there. Later year, green fluid (it’s important), Euro spec with the swiveling headlights, five speed… It was perfect. Low miles and excellent body and interior. It needed nothing.
So it was the perfect choice… AND it was in Northern California. The only thing better than getting the car you want is to fly across the country to drive it home.
Dozens of emails. Dozens of photos. Lot’s of calls. The deal was struck and the timing chosen.
But the most important part. Could my 19 year old son Maxx go with me. We talked about it and he loved the idea. We booked the flight.
The owner was a Dentist in a small town a couple hours west of Reno and he agreed to trailer her there so we could avoid being eaten going over the Donner Pass. Good idea.
We landed in Reno and had no problem seeing the car drive by. We hopped in and drove to a lot nearby. We spent an hour learning about all the strange French ways of doing things. This was important. Everything is backwards and upside down. We exchanged lots of cash, signed papers, threw our bags in the trunk and hit the road.
Our first stop was the nearest Walmart. Ice chest, drinks and fly fishing rods for the thousands of hungry trout along our route that we knew were waiting for us. As we pulled up to Walmart, a beautiful French girl skittered up quickly on her pointy little heels to get emotional over our newly acquired symbol of her homeland. She loved the DS and couldn’t believe one was in a Reno Walmart parking lot.
She gushed for twenty minutes and when she left Maxx said “I want one of these…”
Citroen put a lot of amazing technology in the DS. It was the first car with removable body panels (steel, aluminum and fiberglass). It was the first with inboard disk brakes, crumple zones, rollover protection, swiveling headlights, turn indicators at eye level and true aerodynamics… All in 1955 when most cars looked like chrome refrigerator boxes. And it gets 30mpg.
And then there was the suspension… Instead of steel springs, they created a pressurized hydraulic system using fluid and compressed nitrogen. The car floats like it’s on a waterbed, because it is.
So this 41 year old car rides better than any modern car I’ve ever driven. At 80 mph you can hardly feel the road. The seats are big, plush grandma couches. And even with no AC, driving through the summer desert heat was pleasant. The big open, bright cabin let a great breeze blow over you. We never really missed the AC. We didn’t even miss a radio.
I rediscovered something from my first summer-long road trip in a 1966 VW Bus.
In a modern car you are coddled and kept away from the world outside. In a DS with the windows open, you become part of that world. You smell smells. You feel the breeze. You hear crickets. And since you’re not in a rush, you pull over anytime something looks interesting.
We passed through Northern Nevada.
It was flat mostly. But it didn’t matter.
This was wonderful. Floating over The Great American Desert in a crazy French spaceship with Maxx. A warm breeze. Friendly waves and smiles from everyone that passed.
I could think of no better way to do it.
We stopped at the last casino before leaving Nevada for a big lunch and crossed the border into Utah. The line was easy to spot. Big shiny casino hotels drop off to cheesy, miserable motels.
The map showed that the Bonneville Salt Flats were right ahead. No way to pass THAT up. It was otherworldly. The DS was right at home.
Salt Lake City was bland. We found a bland motel and ate bland food while foreign Mormons jabbered about finally seeing The Temple. We slept, ate and left.
Heading out of Salt Lake we shot at an angle southeast. It was a long climb in 95 degree heat. She was running hot so I pulled over to let her cool off. Got back on the road and after a few more miles, all hell broke loose. Steam coming out of the hood. Pull over fast… open the hood… coolant spewing all over the road… whip out the iPhone and find a tow truck with a flat bed… call the previous owner to find out how to get the thing on the truck without destroying it… Sunday afternoon… nothing happens till tomorrow… find a motel… Dushesne, Utah… Our new home. Maybe for a day. Maybe for a week.
The goal of every journey should be to remember where you’ve been and to be open to every sidetrack that falls in your lap. Let the road take you and enjoy every scent along the way.
And so we took on Dushesne, Utah.
Fly Fishing Kinda Sucks.
I mean, maybe eventually I’d love it. But give me a good Shumano Curado and some braided line and an Amazon full of peacock bass or some Texas flats full of hungry reds instead. Whipping around that big plastic line meant pulling hooks out of my head several times. Maxx, on the other hand made it look like art. He just felt it. The river running behind our lousy motel in the little one-restaurant town was beautiful and swift and we tried our luck as the afternoon flowed into evening. All I caught was my own head but Maxx was in his element. Whatever was living in those burbling waters, as it turns out, was safe.
The mechanical problem turned out to be pretty simple. What I realized is that old Citroens need to be tightened up every 30 or 40 years. The hose clamps on the radiator were just loose and the fluid squeezed out in the heat. The mechanic figured it out, tested the system and we were good.
The owner’s wife secretly told me she had a boyfriend many years back that drove a DS.
“He used to take me to the drive-in… Did you know the front seats fold flat and make a bed?”
Later, I tried it and she was right. Roll the seats down and you can sleep comfortably.
Only The French.
Take a picture.
I love traveling with Maxx. We’ve had some times I will carry with me the rest of my life. Family trips are great but once in a while you need to grab your son or daughter and go away. Just one on one. It’s not about teaching big life lessons. It’s not about making anything happen. It’s about just being who you are and appreciating someone who will always be a part of you.
I think the first trip we did together was skiing in New Mexico. I guess Maxx was maybe 9 or 10 and I really learned something about him. I learned his rhythm. I could tell when he was raring to go up the mountain and when he was running on empty. I let his rhythms rule the day and it was fantastic. We were going up an early morning lift. The first of the day. It’d snowed all night and as we rode up the lift, I looked below us and saw only perfect snow. No tracks. No people. We were the first up the mountain. I told Maxx to take a careful look around him. See every detail. Every tree and curve of the snow… And take a picture in your head.
I can still see that picture.
I bet he can too.
Maxx and I have fished a lot. Even when he was young, he loved fishing. He had the patience and was fascinated with what could be under the water’s surface. We’d fished the Texas coast for redfish and twice in the Amazon for all manner of horrible and wonderful jungle creatures. He was 14 when we first went and Loree had special ordered all this protective, anti-mosquito clothing. Thick socks, long pants and shirts.
After the first day it all sat in the tent and he spent the rest of the week barefoot in the Amazon rivers, as comfortable as any native born jungle kid.
The peace of the place takes you over and the rest world stops existing. It’s my favorite place on earth, and I suspect it’s Maxx’s too.
So anytime we saw a stream on this trip, in the mountains or deserts, we’d stop. We’d get out the fly rods and wade out into the water and whip that line over our heads. Its a beautiful thing to just pull over when you see something that needs to be pulled over for. We figured that if we actually DID catch some fish, we’d find some roadside bodega and bribe some short order cook to fry them up.
We never needed to do any bribing. Maxx did catch a fish on a lake somewhere in New Mexico in our first fifteen minutes and we put it back in the water, figuring we’d be hitting them hard the next few hours and have plenty for dinner.
That was our one and only fish and it turned out to be lousy cheese enchiladas for dinner instead.
There are no strangers on this road.
Every stop in a Citroen DS is interesting. Someone will come over to talk to you.
It’s a little like taking a purple llama for walk.
You stop for gas in any lost little burg and the old guy at the next pump will come and ask what is that thing. Kids point and wave from passing cars. People took pictures and videos. Conversations long and short kept you from accomplishing anything in a hurry.
Which is fine. We weren’t in a hurry. And even if we were, the Citroen wasn’t in a hurry. With a four cylinder engine, it gains momentum at a rather leisurely pace. It’d do just fine at 80mph. We even hit 90mph a couple times I think (our miles to kilometer math was suspect).
We met a lot of people. Maxx even got pretty good at The Story Of The Weird French Car. I’d be in a gas station buying more Monster Energy Tea and he’d be out giving the whole story to some mystified traveler who’d either never seen one and thought it was a vintage Porsche or Saab or, on rare occasions, knew exactly what it was and was thrilled to see one for the first time in dozens of years.
It’s a nice way to see the country. Stop often. Keep the windows down. Talk to people every time you stop. A vintage DS makes people smile. It made them happy. It’s like coming into town with free cookies or a basket of kittens. Everyone wants a reason to smile. After a while I realized we were doing a public service, spreading happiness and joy everywhere we passed. Strange French Car Joy.
It’s been years since I’ve driven a car I had to think about. Hop in, turn the key and go. But with this newfound DS, I quickly reverted to my youth… Driving strange cars that could simply decide to stop working for any random reason.
You’d carefully start it. Listen for strange sounds. Gently change gears. Don’t push her too hard. Drive her like she deserves your respect. No whipping her around corners in controlled drifts. Check the oil. Check the fluids. Watch the gauges and lights and appreciate every new mile you cover. It’s refreshing. You get in touch with the fact you’re in a unique hand-built machine who’s nearly as old as you are.
Of course, in the middle of the night in an empty desert, you pay extra attention.
We drove through Lubbock.
Lubbock has 200 million cattle waiting to be turned into McMeals. During a hot summer day it’s dismal. During a hot summer night, it’s dismal and dark.
Somewhere around The Stink we started seeing hundreds of red blinking lights on the horizon. Soon they were all around us. Finally, that alien invasion they’d been promising for years. I figured we were safe since they’d figure we were there to greet them in our spaceship.
But it was not to be. Wind generators.
So we braved the Stink of Lubbock and as we saw Amarillo ahead and she started missing. It was maybe 2AM in the middle of nowhere and she’s missing. Running rough, running like hell. And the last place you want to be broken down is exactly where we were. Quick, get out the iPhone and find a mechanic next to a motel. My logic was to get to the mechanic shop, turn her off and see if she’d start again. if not, we’d walk to the motel and try in the morning. It was a great plan that actually worked perfectly. We checked into a dumpy motel and the next morning the mechanic tightened the coil wire and she started right up.
Of course, it was complete lunacy to assume you can drive a 41 year old French car halfway across the country at the height of summer. There are hundreds of thousands of things that can go wrong but if you take too long to think like that, you’ll never leave the house.
It turned out to be a truly grand adventure.
Think about it. See some of the most beautiful countryside on earth, with your son, in one of the most amazing automobiles ever created. Pretty hard to beat that. Even with a couple breakdowns, I wouldn’t change a single minute.
How do you spot an opportunity like this? Or do these things only exist when we dream them up. It’s up to us to come up with the concept, however unlikely it may be, and then work backwards against a million odds to make it happen.
I’ve been on a lot of great walkabouts all over the world. Each trip has added something to my life and opened my view of the world. We are the sum of our adventures so we owe it to ourselves to take as many as possible.
I wonder how my father’s life would have been if he had the luxury to taking walkabouts like this. He gave me the opportunity to see the world, even if it was on my own. I guess that’s the duty of a father to his children. Give them the opportunity to see the world on their own terms with whatever gifts you can give them. My father let me believe I could make it on my own and I did because of his faith in me.
I hope to give Maxx and Marlo those same gifts… Know you can take on the world and win. I know you can. I’ve seen it in you. Do great things because I believe in you.
And never shy away from an adventure.
story contributed by Chris Greta – Austin
I’ve loved this car since I rode in a friend’s in Belgium in 1985. There’s no other like it. Thanks for this lovely story of falling in love with it, searching out and finding it, then driving it cross country with your kid. Plus fishing. Pretty much perfect.
I can totally relate to the story !
We have a 1967 ID in Belgium and one day would love to see it cruisin around in Texas. Until now that was not on the agenda, as we are expats, but soon be living here onwards… and instead of leaving the goddess behind, I would luv to surprise my husband getting her to Texas. Only scary part is, where to do some TLC and maintenance? Where do you went/go to have her up and running? You feedback is much appreciated… in the meantime I will try to find me a good car-import company that can handle bringing a classic over via sea-travel.
Thanks a zillion !
Merci, Marion 🙂