Panic in the Streets of London – The Gumball Comes to Town
By Kevin Turner

Standfirst: Across Europe last night long-distance truck drivers and insomniacs out for a midnight stroll complained of terrifying near misses with “things that resembled cars but where going faster than a goddamn rocket.” According to one traumatised survivor: “I saw what looked like two headlights approaching from behind but before I could really focus they were nothing but pin pricks in the distance.”

“It scared the mortal shit out me,” he added.

Such stories are expected to appear in police reports across Belgium , Vienna , Budapest , Sicily , Rome and Florence over the next few days, as the Gumball Rally heads towards its ultimate destination, Casino Square , Monte Carlo .

"Officially this is not a race; we don't want anyone speeding. It's about style and adventure." That's how event founder Maximillion Cooper described the sixth annual Gumball Rally, but no-one believed him. Certainly not the bunch of superbike riders decked out in Rossi-replica lids and expensive leathers who were enthusiastically gunning their engines to the delight of the crowds that lined the start route of this depraved ‘adventure'.

“One of those guys is going to get carried away and do something stupid in a minute,” said a voice in the crowd and sure enough, even as the words left his mouth, an R1 lurched forward, its front suspension compressing savagely as the rear wheel lifted elegantly into the air. In the same instant, the rider twisted the throttle and his bike disappeared amid a scream of engine revs and blue tyre smoke. It was a classy move, a perfectly executed stoppie followed by a nice burnout that had the crowds baying for more. Unfortunately, this delicate display of balance of control was executed right in front of a policeman, who immediately ushered bike and rider to a stop and issued a stern reprimand that may or may not have involved three points and a fine.

It was a classic case of brain fade, a highly illegal move conducted right in front of the law and amid thousands of cheering petrol heads. But if the rider allowed himself a moment's madness, you could hardly blame him. For five or six hours on Saturday 14 May, central London was transformed into a kind of self consciously ostentatious Essex car park. Stereos as big as kitchens blared out Richter Scale drum & bass, engines designed with callous disregard for economy screamed as needles pounced into redline territory and the assembled masses stared with incredulity at the awesome display of vehicles that convened on Waterloo Place , just down from the garish lights of Piccadilly Circus . The Gumball Rally had come to town, and car nuts from all over the UK had turned out en masse to witness the spectacle.

The whole event smacked of flaunted wealth and affluent tomfoolery. “You want me to slow down and turn up the traction control? Fuck you, here's what this little bastard can really do.” Black lines and burnt rubber all the way down the Mall and my lawyer can sort out the legal matters. Say what you like about the super-rich: if you can afford more justice than the rest of us you may as well enjoy it, and on Saturday afternoon, most of them were doing just that.

But no one in the crowd was complaining, even as they bumped and jostled their way through the hastily improvised parking lot, catching a stolen glimpse here and there of ultra-rare machines that very seldom stray past the boundaries of Monte Carlo . The array of vehicles was impressive. I have seen a lot of wonderful cars at a lot of fantastic events, but the nature of the Gumball made the turnout even more surprising. I'd expected 355's, DB9s and 911s, not Enzos, F40s SLRs and GT3s. Certainly not a tank! 

It's not often you get to see the streets of London transformed into a drag strip, and it was particularly refreshing to see the almost complete absence of crowd control or officialdom that usually turns such events into distant spectacles. In keeping with the nature of the Gumball, spectators climbed traffic lights and telephone polls in search of any and every vantage point. In general, the police kept a discreet and respectful distance. They seemed to understand that this wasn't going to get messy. It was more pantomime, with the crowd booing good naturedly whenever they intervened to calm an over-zealous biker or herd the crowd back a few feet off the road. It was very much a case of turn up and enjoy the fun, and if a few children get squished in the process, well you buy the ticket and you ride the ride.

We made our way down the Mall, pushing through the crowds that lined the streets and spilled onto the road, often completely blocking the path of the cars as they mingled with Saturday afternoon traffic in a curious mix of Côte d'Azur glamour and staid London practicality. A black cab pursued at snail's pace by a couple of 550 Maranellos and a 360 Modena , engines snarling in frustration like wild beasts paraded to a baying mob. Then, all of sudden a gap would open up, just long enough for a first/second gear blast that left plumes of tyre smoke hovering over the cheering masses. It was nice gesture, a little dab of thrill for those who will never know the wealth and luxury that goes hand in hand with owning one of these machines.

And the celebs were out in force, keen to prove they qualifications stretched above the creation of dubious jazz/funk banality to the realm of race driver-cum-adventurer. Chris Eubank pulled up in his oh so discreet Hummer to excited cheers of U-BANK, U-BANK, while Jenson Button made an altogether more subtle entrance, looking slightly perplexed (but irritatingly cool) in his pristine blue NSX - no doubt a gift from F1 engine suppliers, Honda.

But there could be little doubt who the real stars were that afternoon. The sound of those Ferrari V10s, echoing off the narrow London walls was almost eerie. A ferocious power, hungry to be let loose, impatient and edgy amid the congested city streets.

Once the initial celebrations were over, the cars and drivers fanned out across London , all searching for the fastest route out of the old city and on to the continent. As we rode back through town, the SV650s filtering through traffic to the undoubted chagrin of the competing drivers, the site of Lamborghinis and Porsches sitting motionless in traffic was surreal. They may not be completely indigenous to London , but plastered in race decals and clearly on a mission, they appeared a wonderfully bizarre spectacle. We beeped and waved to all we passed, and the drivers clearly appreciated the support.

After all, we are all speed people, and we simply understand.