We pulled out of the grassy car park at the Nurburgring and headed back under the main straight and followed the track for half a kilometre before heading back under it and saying goodbye.

Ben Coombs was following us back to Liege, a journey of some 160km. It is odd how quickly you acclimatise to the distance and time, and how laughable some people’s reluctance to travel 5 mins to a shop to buy milk.

With a two-hour drive ahead of us, I sat back in the T350 and watched the green landscape zoom by. The roads were mainly the equivalent of B roads in the UK, crisscrossing the green patchwork of Germany. We passed through town after town, not seeing any cars, until we drove through Müsch, where a sleek, black convertible Mercedes SL500 joined the road in front of us.

This was acceptable; the SL would easily be able to lead the way and keep forward pace. Instead, the SL driver slowed down, making us crawl along, and even on the open stretches, moved into the middle lane so D couldn’t overtake in the Cerbera.

D kept his cool, though, staying well back of this obviously strange German until he saw his opportunity and opened up the 4.2l engine to power past. Soon after M opened up the v8 in the T350, and we did the same.

By this time, we’d lost Ben in his Volvo, and we kept the pace up. My phone dinged to tell me I’d got a message, and I realised we’d crossed yet another border on the empty motorway as we headed into Belgium.

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