It took three weeks of trying before we finally managed to get Geoff Shirt to answer his phone. His is the phone number MG Enthusiast said you should ring to get details of this year's Kimber run. I forget how many times I cursed them for not giving his address - for every other MG run you can send a stamped addressed envelope - but it must have been about the same number of times I hung on for ages, vainly hoping there was someone on the other end. God knows how the other 599 applicants got through. We later discovered his answer phone had gone on the blink.

Anyway, we sent back the entry forms and our twenty pounds, having chosen to go on the D'Arcy run. Because the thought of 600 MGs all using the same stretch of Derbyshire lanes does not really bear thinking about, for the natives at any rate, the run is split up into three completely different routes, and on each route half the field go clockwise and the other half anticlockwise making a total of six possible routes, which divided by 600 cars means.... well, you should be able to work that out. What it actually means, is that with cars leaving from about nine 0' clock through till after eleven, the field gets pretty spread out, though for good parts of the run there was usually another MG within sight, either in front or behind. But it certainly wasn't as densely populated as last year's Regency Run or the South Downs run, which actually is a pity. It's definitely more fun to travel in close company with several other MGs.

Each of the three routes had a place of interest to act as a halfway stopping place. For the D'Arcy run it was Lyme Hall, near Stockport, famous for being the setting for the TV film of Pride and Prejudice (from the book by Jane Austen for the unliterate).

The other two were the Tramways Museum and Denby Pottery which to us somehow didn't seem to have quite the same romantic attraction. All the routes started and finished at Chatsworth, famous of course for the RAC rally stage amongst other things. It also has a large country house attached.

We decided to make a weekend of it and go up on the Saturday, the run itself being on the Sunday. We booked into our favourite Derbyshire B+B, Mr Clifford Corton's establishment at Grindleford, about three miles north of Chatsworth.

We discovered him last summer late one evening when darkness was falling. We were getting tired and hungry, or at least she was, and we'd been endlessly, fruitlessly and with increasing desperation, driving down country lanes looking for a suitable stopping place for the night - you know, a picturesque country cottage with a beautiful garden, a wonderful view from the bedroom window, elegantly and tastefully furnished inside, run by a friendly host who offers you a cup of tea the moment you arrive, and insists you park the MG in the garage, so you don't even have to put the hood up. And ail for no more than 17.50 per night each. Nothing else would do at that late stage, but could we find it? Well, actually we did. Which is why we went back.

So, B+B booked, bags packed in the boot, picnic hamper filled with sandwiches, cake and Thermos, off we set from Duxford on a gloriously sunny but cold Saturday morning.

Couldn't face the thought of the A14 up to Huntingdon, so we took the scenic route through Thriplow - it was daffodil weekend, but as usual they had got the date wrong and most of them had turned brown - then up through Foxton, Barrington, Eversdens, Bourn and on to the A14 at Godmanchester.

After the boring bit along the A14, up the Ml and through Derby, we finally stopped for coffee - just in time to save our marriage - parked high up on a hillside just before Matlock.

From then on it got really good. Hood down now, we headed off along deserted winding B roads up into the hills. The rest of Derbyshire must have either gone to the supermarket or were watching Chesterfield play in the semi-final, so we pretty well had it all to ourselves. We stopped at Ashbourne where we had lunch and a beer outside, overlooking the bustling market place, then wandered around the antique shops, Dovedale where we went for a walk and climbed a hill covered in buttercups, Alstonefield which despite its name has a very pretty village green with a pub along one side; we had tea in the famous tea-rooms which are actually in the village post office. Then Axe Edge which is a wild, bleak moor, Buxton whose slightly faded Victorian elegance we explored on foot, are all worth going back to. In many ways this was the best bit of the weekend.

So finally we get to tell you about the Kimber run. Most of the fun is in the getting there!

Well Sunday morning dawned fair. Blue skies, a bit nippy but definitely hood down weather. We arrived at Chatsworth about 9 o'clock, through the big stone gateway, driving sedately down the mile long, gently winding driveway through beautiful parkland populated by grazing deer, in a convoy of brightly coloured sparkling MOs which magically all appeared out of the scenery at the same time.

Round the final bend and there were hundreds more, parked on a slope beneath the trees, with Chatsworth House forming a dramatic backdrop. Pretty impressive.

I wandered over to look at the older cars and mey up with Jacqui and Phil Harper (fellow Cambridge MG'ers) who had come up on the Friday. For the first time they were there as ordinary participants, having been part of the organisation on previous events. Peter and Evelyn Paige ( another couple from Cambridge) had also come up on Friday, but at that time of the morning were, according to Jacqui, still in bed. The Harpers were in their white Maestro, Eveline had her Jubilee, and Peter in an MGRV8.

Cars were coming and leaving regularly so we left about ten o' clock and immediately climbed steeply, with fabulous views to the west and the east, skirting the western edge of Sheffield, and heading north. The route crossed a series of high moors and steep valleys, and was anything but direct. There were superb views and dramatic reservoirs up in the hills, lots of ups and downs and the odd hairpin which the older cars without synchromesh on first seemed to have a bit of trouble with. Not us though. Our main problem was Mr Corton's coffee which was pretty rapid stuff.

The sky was a perfect deep blue and it was quite warm - until we came to the Woodhead Pass high on the bleak moors between Sheffield and Manchester.

Last summer we had crossed this part of the Pennines on the Snake Pass just to the south, and never saw a thing because it rained so hard it was like a solid wall of water. It was the only time the B has ever leaked - yes it 5 true, but it chose to leak right over my right thigh. Moving my leg out of the way only resulted in a distinct lack of forward progress, so with a wringing wet right trouser leg there was nothing for it but to soldier on. We couldn't even stop for lunch - I mean what would people think if you went into a pub with one dry trouser leg and the other dripping water all over the carpet? However I digress.

But it does go some way to explain why we stopped to put up the hood, because the clouds were low and dark grey and the temperature had dropped to about zero, and I honestly thought we were in for a repeat performance of last summer. In some ways I wouldn't have minded a deluge because I think I've fixed the leak, but southern weather is a pretty poor testing ground and we won't really know until we can find a blizzard somewhere.

Quite coincidentally, putting the hood up also meant we were snug and warm while the occupants of all the other open tops which went past looked decidedly pinched and cold. Peter Paige did anyway, whom we met at Lyme Hall. He had been driving the RV8 with the hood down, and was not only frozen but hungry, and couldn't wait to get into the refreshment room.

Lyme Hall was a bit bleak and austere we thought. Partly down to the weather - the western side of the Pennines always seems to get the worst of the climate. Who would live in Manchester? Also the traffic round Lyme Hall was terrible. It is on the outskirts of Stockport which itself is on the south-eastern edge of the Manchester conurbation, and despite the cold everyone seemed to be out in their cars, waiting in long queues for the traffic lights to turn green, which occasionally they did just to keep everyone's spirits up. We were glad to get out of there and back up into the hills.

The route took us through Chapel en-le-Frith though we missed both the Chapel and the Frith, whatever that is. We also missed the road out, because we were following in a line of three or four MGs, and we all shot past a left turn only to find the road we had taken was a cul-de-sac ending in a roundabout. We all solemnly drove around the roundabout and back out again, all of us probably feeling more than a bit sheepish, but determinedly keeping a stiff upper lip, pretending that this was obviously the authorised route and trying not to make eye contact with each other in case we gave the game away. Serious stuff, these runs!

Our route then took us through Edale which is a beautiful lost valley with just the one narrow road through it. The weather suddenly got warmer again and so the hood came down once more. Ed ale leads to Hope where there is a very snug little pub in which we had taken refuge from the rain last summer. From there back to Chatsworth was not far, though we finished the run going high over the moor and back down to Chatsworth, where we joined the rest of the MGs again, under the trees.

We had a quick look at Chatsworth and a snack before wandering back to the cars where we saw Peter Paige again who seemed to have warmed up a bit since Lyme Hall. He'd obviously ditched the other three who were nowhere to be seen. We were just packing up to go when we were hailed by Peter Thompson, also from Cambridge, who had just completed the run with his father in their white 1973 roadster.

Quite a few MGs were leaving, so hood down still, we joined the procession past the House and past all the Sunday afternoon hoi polloi, who we fondly imagined, watched us enviously as they headed back to their Escorts and Corollas. Still we all got stuck in the same traffic jam a few miles down the road. All their fault of course. Sunday drivers.

This was the last year the Kimber was to start and finish at Chatsworth. Next year it will be based at Lyme Hall. That seems a pity to me. Not only is Lyme Hall another forty five miles or so further away, it is in a much more urban environment, the scenery is not as good, and the traffic is so much heavier over that side.

One of the highlights for me this year was the sheer magnificence and spaciousness of the setting at Chatsworth, which is a perfect foil for the hundreds of brightly coloured MGs. Lyme Hall feels more constricted and though probably pleasant enough (on a good day), it isn't to my mind, in the same class as Chatsworth. And the chances of good weather in the west are probably not as good, though by all accounts we were very lucky this year. Last year it snowed!

Scenically the Kimber is fantastic - easily the most dramatic in terms of scenery of any MG run we have been on so far, yet lots of variety, from soft tree-lined valleys to wild bleak moorland, industrial landscapes to large country houses in beautiful grounds. All within a run of just under 100 miles.

So we'll probably do it again next year. After the enforced break in sports car activities over the winter, any opportunity to get out and about in the company of other MGs will probably be irresistible. Although there were a few of us from Cambridge this time, it would be nice to see a few more familiar faces next year. Think about it.

Jeremy Mustoe
Cambridge & District MGOC

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