PROUST'S MADELEINE

It's not the prettiest youngtimer we'll ever see on the road. Tone, a multi-talented artist—musician, graphic designer, comic book author, journalist, and TV presenter—explains why the R18 GTX estate car of his childhood is his Proustian madeleine.

The first time I was behind the wheel, playing with the clutch of the family Renault 18, I was 11 years old.  That's right. My father is trying to teach my older sister to drive on a small road along the Charente River, just outside Jarnac on the eastern outskirts. My father is a very busy man, and moments with him are as rare as they are precious. But this time, he's really here, and we're actually going to drive! The sibling rivalry my sister and I have makes me laugh out loud every time the engine stalls. I silently swear to myself that I won't put the car through the same ordeal. But of course, as soon as my feet touch the pedals, it's her turn to laugh! 

Despite everything, with its high-pitched creaks, engine jolts, and bumpy handling, the Renault 18 lived up to its promise and let itself be tamed! What a feeling of pride! After that, and quite unconsciously, I must admit, I was allowed to drive my mother's car. It was to be expected; one day, using the handbrake to impress a friend, I ended up in the ditch. In the end, even if it was a kind of 80s-style learning experience, it truly taught me a lesson because, even before getting my license, I decided at that moment never to try a turn using the handbrake again!  Ah, dear Renault 18, I owe it to her  So many other memories…

On the ring road, I breathe in the scent of winter sports departures, the aroma of a trunk overflowing with belongings. Snuggled in the back seat, lulled by the ebb and flow of gear changes and slowdowns in Parisian traffic, I'm filled with the joy so unique to childhood, that joy where the promises of the near future aren't yet thwarted by the awareness of their fleeting nature. Does a chrysalis feel the same kind of enchantment in the tranquility of its cocoon? I watch patches of gray sky drift by between the buildings. Through the window, where my nose is pressed against the condensation, I begin to piece together the puzzle of the sky. Leaving Paris, the holidays begin! I'm immersed in a comic book where the Renault 18 becomes Snowpiercer. I lose my grip on reality when my father suddenly slams on the brakes. The car skids with a screech of tires. Too late to avoid the car in front. Faced with the sight of the dented bumper, I imagined saying goodbye to my February vacation with Dad! Seeing our crestfallen faces, the driver of the other car, brimming with mechanical ingenuity, managed to straighten the metal and patch up the R18! "There's no leak, you can go!" Now we could enjoy the long straight roads lined with crystallized trees, the flashing lights of the tunnels where I became Actarus in his Goldorak, the curves where the clutch played its best part, and the snow-capped peaks!

The following summer, it was Mom who paid the price for this makeshift repair. While on vacation in Spain, the car's water temperature warning light indicated engine overheating after every hill. The radiator had been dented, forcing us to make endless stops in heat as oppressive as that in Blueberry's adventures.

After so many wonderful moments spent near my grandparents' house, picnics and swims in the Charente River, and trips to the junkyard to unearth the most unusual objects, my cousin one day asked to borrow the Renault. When he rang the doorbell, I answered. He asked to speak to my parents. I don't know if it was the tone of his voice or an instinctive feeling, but I felt my heart pound and I immediately understood that something had happened to the car. Too badly damaged to drive home, I never saw it again.

Upon seeing the miniature photographed by Julien, it's easy to understand how all these childhood memories overwhelmed me, and like Proust speaking of his madeleine, "A delicious pleasure had invaded me (...) It had immediately rendered life's vicissitudes indifferent, its disasters harmless, its brevity illusory, in the same way that love operates..." Thank you, dear Renault 18.

The Tone for MyLittleRedCar