What really happens when your car breaks down on a European road trip — and how we got it fixed in the middle of nowhere.
The Start
After meticulously planning our road trip, waking up at 1 a.m. to get to the Irish Ferries port at Dover, and voyaging across the Channel, we (and our M4s) finally made it to France. A collective sigh of relief followed — this was the start of our 15-day journey to soak in the sights and views Europe had to offer. That day alone, we had 8 hours of driving ahead, from Calais to Stuttgart, to knock out the long haul early. The next day was another 6 hours to Slovenia, and we were determined to stick to the plan.
But that plan quickly went down the drain when whenour car broke down in France just two hours into the trip, warning lights lit up all over Nick’s dashboard. What followed was 24 hours of unexpected problem-solving, navigating unfamiliar roads (and languages), and doing everything we could to get back on track — and we did.
What Went Wrong – How our car broke down in France
If your car broke down in France like ours did, you’d quickly learn how hard it is to get clear answers.
Two hours into the drive, we’d just spent twenty glorious minutes bombing it down the French toll road with a convoy of UK cars — AMG GTR, GT3 RS,, E46 M3, 720S and, get this.. a GR Yaris (which was unexpectedly keeping up) … you get the idea. It was pure madness. The kind of speeds we probably shouldn’t be mentioned in writing.
Just as I hit record to grab some content, Nick came through on the radio:
“Bro, my dash has lit up like a Christmas tree.”
His iDrive was stacked with errors, and the car suddenly felt sketchy to drive. With the next service station too far, we pulled over on the motorway to figure it out.
We limped it to a BMW dealership in Reims, hoping for some help. Usually, a tech might pop out and have a look — not here. The guy at reception just kept repeating,
“No possible,”
refusing to engage in any sort of conversation or even acknowledge the situation. He told us to call BMW Assistance which turned out to be the SOS button you find on all BMWs.
So we stood melting in 36-degree heat, hit the SOS button, answered a million questions, and were told… to go to the nearest BMW dealership. Cheers. When we said we already had, they had no answer.
EU breakdown cover? Also useless. Because we’d reached a garage, they couldn’t help. Never mind the fact the garage refused to do anything.
By now it was noon, and apparently all of Reims goes on siesta — every garage closed until 2 p.m. We were stranded in a car park, dripping in sweat, and still no closer to knowing what was wrong. The car broke down in France during a heatwave, and somehow that wasn’t even the worst part.
Diagnosing the Problem
With no real help from BMW or breakdown cover, we headed to the nearest non-dealership garage. It was just down the road, but of course, they were still shut for their midday break — the now-infamous 2–3 hour siesta that seemed to stop all of Reims in its tracks. So, we were left standing in the heat again, trying to figure it out ourselves.
At this point, Google and BMW forums became our best friends. Based on the symptoms and what we could dig up, it looked like a faulty wheel speed sensor.
Thankfully, Nick had a BimmerCode adapter on hand, and after downloading an app called BimmerLink, we were able to scan the car properly. The diagnosis confirmed it: rear left speed sensor. This was a common issue that occurs in the F8X platform.
With the codes identified, we figured we might as well try to sort it ourselves. The errors disappeared briefly while we waited, but came back as soon as the car started moving again. It became clear the sensor was failing intermittently, likely made worse by the heat and constant driving.
Sourcing the Part
Once everything opened back up, we started calling around trying to source the part — which turned out to be a mission in itself.
Most garages struggled to understand the UK registration number, so we had to give the VIN over the phone, spelling it out slowly, mixing in both English and French letters but still failing to get the full VIN across properly.
After a lot of back-and-forth, we finally had a win: a shop called Auto Distribution could get the part. The catch? It wouldn’t arrive until the next morning.
So that was that. We’d be staying the night in Reims, and now had one last problem to solve — finding someone who could actually fit the part once we had it in hand.
This is where things started getting funny.
The majority of garages flat out refused to help. Some understandably — Saturdays anywhere are busy for mechanics, and BM“Trouble-U’s” always pose the risk of turning into a much bigger headache. Others simply refused because of the language barrier.
(Just to be clear, we all had some very basic French and genuinely made the effort to communicate, but understanding and getting useful responses was near impossible.)
The non-dealership garage we’d tried earlier, a Point S branch, had a young guy who made some effort to find us someone who could help. Their shop was going to be closed by the time the part arrived, so when his leads fell through, he volunteered to fit it himself. In the mean time they took a look at the car anyways and attempted to see if a light clean would resolve the issue.
We exchanged Snapchats (weird, I know) and it looked like everything was sorted. Part ordered, fitter secured, and a last-minute hotel in Reims booked for about £70. Job done — or so we thought.
The Next Day
By 9:30 a.m. the next morning, we rushed to grab the part and… our Point S saviour was nowhere to be found. His phone was off. No replies on Snapchat. Nothing.
Cue another last-minute scramble.
There was a private high-end car specialist down the road from our hotel. We’d already called them the day before and they’d shut us down immediately. But we decided to try our luck in person, and it worked.
The shop, called Reims Individual Motors, specialised in luxury car sales and high-end repairs. They agreed to have a look. The silent mechanic didn’t say a word to us, no facial expressions, no reassurance — which kept us on edge the whole time.
He drove the car in, stripped out the old cable, and had the job done in about fifteen minutes without even taking the wheel off. Quick test drive, all sorted. No errors. Car felt better than ever.
Just like that, we were back on the road.
Conclusion
Parts sourcing in a different language, last-minute garage hunting, and some rapid-fire decision-making got us through it. We were back on track and facing an eleven-hour trek to Lake Bled.
You’d think the story ends here. Almost. But like a perfect post-credit scene, one last thing happened.
At around 5 p.m., somewhere between Germany and Austria, we finally got a message from our friend at Point S, the one who ghosted us.
He’d been arrested at a car meet the night before. A meet we ourselves had actually planned to attend.
So Nick’s last-minute backup plan? Absolutely clutch.