At the height of Europe’s inter-city races, 148 competitors set off from Paris to Vienna in an event run concurrently with the annual Gordon Bennett race. The duality not only contributed to the excessive number of starters but also created a line-up of all shapes and sizes, from tiny Renaults to the more powerful but occasionally sluggish Panhards, Mors and Mercedes. The field included a number of wealthy amateurs, among them the colourful Count Eliot Zborowski in a Mercedes, the American driver William K. Vanderbilt in a Mors and another American, George Heath, in a Panhard.
Once the cars were away from Paris, hundreds of spectators rushed to board a special train for Belfort to witness the end of the first stage. Near Nangis the railway ran alongside the road and startled passengers watched as Henri Fournier’s car sped past them at a speed approaching 80mph (129km/h). Fournier paid the price shortly afterwards when his car suffered a broken gear shaft. Well down the field in eighteenth at the conclusion of that first section was Frenchman Marcel Renault in a little 16hp car made by Renault Frères, the company he had founded with his brother Louis. Although he couldn’t hope to match the bigger cars on the fast stretches, Renault came into his own on the twisty mountainous sections, notably on the third day when the field tackled the 5,912 foot Arlberg peak in western Austria. The descent from the mountain was extremely dangerous because car brakes had never previously been subjected to such a rigorous test, but Renault coped admirably and made up so much ground through Switzerland and Austria that he held a clear lead by the time he reached Vienna on 29 June after four days of hard driving. Then right at the death he nearly threw it away. The finish was in a trotting track on the outskirts of the city, but on entering the stadium, Renault drove round the track the wrong way. The race organisers insisted that he leave the stadium and re-enter in the proper manner – a detour which cost him 15 minutes and meant that his margin of victory over Count Zborowski was much smaller than it would otherwise have been. Six other Renaults made it to the finish, including brother Louis despite his car being hit by the Mercedes of Baron de Caters while waiting to check in at the Salzburg control. The collision left the Renault with several broken spokes in one of the front wheels. With no spare wheel, Louis’ intrepid mechanic found some wood and used a sharp knife to create makeshift spokes strong enough to take the car through Austria to the finish.
However, the misfortunes of the Renault brothers were nothing compared to the adventures experienced by Charles Jarrott at the wheel of a 13.72-litre Panhard. On the second day of the race the car’s wooden chassis collapsed just short of the overnight stop at Bregenz in Austria. Jarrott and his mechanic, George Du Cros, felt that if they could somehow strengthen the frame, it might carry them through the next stage to Salzburg at the very least. They managed to acquire a drill and some bolts but attempts to find four long pieces of wood proved fruitless, until inspiration came just as Jarrott was preparing to settle down for the night at their hotel. He later wrote: ‘I was just getting into bed and had turned to put out the light, when my eye fell upon a stand used for carrying a tray, and in a second I perceived that the four legs of that stand were exactly what I wanted.’ Conveniently reasoning that it was too late at night to ask the hotel manager whether he would be interested in selling them the stand, they set about dismantling it anyway and drilled four holes in each length of wood so that in the morning they could bolt the pieces on each side of the broken chassis frame. The wood being extremely resilient, Du Cros had the bright idea of drilling against the wall. ‘He was delightfully successful,’ recorded Jarrott, ‘but the trouble was that he drove it through too far, and brought down half the plaster. And then, in endeavouring to show how easy it was on another portion of the wall, he succeeded in bringing that down also.’ At that juncture Jarrott managed to drill a hole through his arm instead of the wood and for the next half-hour the pair had to rip up bed linen for bandages. ‘There was nothing in the room we did not utilise for something or other,’ said Jarrott. ‘I hate to think what must have been the expression on the proprietor’s face when he discovered what had taken place.’
The following morning they evaded detection by creeping out of the hotel at first light and were on the road by seven o’clock, reaching Salzburg just in time to scotch a rumour (which The Times correspondent was in the act of cabling to London) that they had been killed in a crash. The makeshift chassis did its job, although at one point on the final stage Du Cros had to lie full length along the bonnet with a towel wrapped around the pipe to prevent water from leaking from the radiator. But then, no more than 3 miles (4.8km) from Vienna, the distorted chassis frame caused the gearbox to break and lumps of machinery fell into the road. The indefatigable Jarrott commandeered a bicycle and pedalled off to get help. He returned to find Du Cros being towed towards the finish behind a horse-drawn cab. This ignominy was too much for Jarrott to take and he promptly slashed the tow rope and jumped behind the wheel. As the car rumbled away, belching smoke and flame, the exhaust box fell off. The gearless monster lurched uncontrollably across the finish line, at which point it finally expired. It wouldn’t move another yard, but Jarrott and Du Cros were unconcerned. Against all the odds, they had completed the Paris to Vienna motor race.