Only two or three of the cars were instantly recognisable as 2CVs; the rest had been chopped and dropped and dragsterised and turned into something out of the Wacky Races. They had tinted windows and halogen headlamps and advertising logos and neon undertrays. They were still rubbish round corners, though.
I've always had a soft spot for the 2CV, the first car I can remember my family owning. They're a much underrated Cute Car, undeservedly losing out to the bratty little Mini and that well-known Nazi sympathiser the Beetle. They made a lovely noise bumbling around the track, closer to a squadron of Spitfires than a Formula One race.
Once you've seen the cars go round the circuit a few times, though, the novelty wears off. When it grew dark we headed to our hotel in Liège for dinner, and on Sunday Howard and I forsook the rest of the race entirely and popped over to Germany.
There were two things I wanted to do in Germany. One of them I didn't manage; the other was to visit a motorcycle superstore whose clothing had recently been recommended on the bike club mailing-list.
In fact we visited it twice, once on Sunday for their 5€ buffet breakfast with unlimited coffee and once on Monday (when the shop itself was open rather than just the café) for browsing. I bought a jacket and Howard bought some socks. It's always nice to have a souvenir.
Monday's visit meant that our return journey to the tunnel took us through Holland, which I hadn't been expecting and brought the weekend's tally of countries to four (France, Belgium, Germany, Netherlands) - not bad going for two days. It's a shame we didn't manage to fit in Luxembourg too, despite all the road signs in Liège doing their best to direct us there.