Wednesday, 28 September 2016

2016 NSCC Finals

Even though the 2016 NSCC championship was in the bag for Derek Beck, by the time the final round rolled up on September 18th, there was still plenty to play for among the rest of the field – the fame, the glory, the lucrative cash prizes and sponsorship deals and, of course, the adoring groupies. The day didn't start well when an early-morning drivers' meeting (well, earlier than I got there, anyway) let everyone know that York Raceway has caught a dose of the pox that is plaguing every motor sport venue in the country – noise complaints. Come next year, the raceway will have been operating on the same Melbourne site for 40 years, yet a couple (literally, a couple) of complaints to the local environmental health could spell disaster. I can't think of many other motorsport disciplines where competitors are allowed to run completely unsilenced motors, but this might be something to bear in mind at the next AGM when it comes to discussing the rule book – perhaps it's time to look at running silencers again?

Anyway, after an uneventful run up to York, it seemed that we'd be in for a pleasant late-summer day. There were nine NSCC cars qualifying, just enough to bugger up a nice eight-car ladder, and way out in front was Russ Pursley, his 9.67 at 142mph giving him a commanding lead. Next in line was Ian Walley, still struggling for form on a 10.9 at 128mph, then Derek Beck in the TVR, still playing it safe with the gas on 11.9 at 114mph. James Murray was back up to speed, his 12.1 at 116mph netting fourth, followed by Pete Smith's late model Shelby in the centre of the field with a 12.6. The lesser-spotted Lee Opey in the little Punto ran 14.1, Steve Gilmour in the repaired Cortina clocked 14.8, Dave Smith in the Lexus barge managed 15.7, then Rick's 16.0 closed out the field.

Round one opened with Pete racing an empty lane, Opey having trailered the Fiat for various reasons, all of which helped Pete cement a certain second place overall. Next, Derek trounced Dave with a 12.1 to the barge's 15.7, before Russ took advantage of his bye to run a mighty 9.600 at 143mph. Gilly was trying hard to holeshot James, but tried a little too hard, leaving 0.009 of a second before the green light and cherrying his chance away, before Ian put the smackdown on Rick, a 10.0 showing exactly what Ian was after this afternoon, including third place overall in the championships, leaving Rick to claim fourth.

The semis opened in entertaining fashion with Russ throwing the flyweight Dutton down the track in 9.5 seconds against Pete's 12.8. Ian had a bye and used it to the full with a 10.2, that nine-second run just eluding him again. Then it was Derek versus James, which should have been a close-run thing. It wasn't, as Derek tore off an 11.1 at 123mph to seal the deal. In the other lane, James' timing ticket showed that he was on for a NPB but at half-track, a jet of smoke or steam from under the bonnet caused him to back off. It turned out that the second stage of nitrous had had a spot of windy-pops and blown its high-tech copper pipe out of the air scoop via the ever-extending bend in the bonnet – what James saw wasn't smoke or steam; rather it was a lot of nitrous venting into atmosphere...

That set up the three-car final. By this time, the weather was beautiful, the sun was warm and I was sweating like Cliff Richard's lawyer. Derek, the already-champion, wasn't taking any chances, and just broke the stage beams on his bye to go through to the final. Meanwhile, the winner for closest race of the day had to go to Ian versus Russ, the two yellow terrors. Neither was particularly sprightly off the line, but Russ got a slight jump and both were on a mission. At the stripe, after having run a string of mid-nines all afternoon, Russ could only (“only”!) manage a 10.1 at 138mph as Ian claimed the win with a 9.99 at 136! I figure that to be a margin of victory totalling three hundredths of a second...

And so it came down to the final, the last pairing of the whole day's racing, and it was Ian's turbo Cortina versus Derek's gassed TVR. Derek had the advantage off the line as the Cortina spooled up, but then Ian was away, catching Derek and sprinting past him to a 10.1 at 135mph, with Derek crossing the stripe a moment later on 11.4. A good, clean final to see out another day's racing and another year's NSCC championship.


Derek may have lost the final but he won York's Hot Rod Challenge, and is overall champion of that, too, so he still got a pot for his mantelpiece. He'll have another round of trophies come the AGM. He's going to need a mantelpiece the size of Blackpool prom if he carries on like this. After prize-giving, everyone headed home – well, everyone except James who was helping Des Taylor with a fuel pressure fluctuation on his Fox Mustang – with the grim realisation that another season is over and now we have the slippery slope down into winter, Christmas, and all the joy that brings. It's jolly depressing to be saying goodbye to people you know you're unlikely to see until next year, wishing them a merry Christmas in mid-September. Still, that's six months to be preparing for next season, or saving up to pay off on the last one. Will we be ready? Or, more likely, will we find ourselves with three days to go before Easter thinking “Shite, I'd best get cracking on the car!”?

Eugene

Friday, 16 September 2016

NSCC Rounds 8 & 9

It seems like there's been a huge gulf of time between round six at York and rounds eight and nine at York. And that's because there has been. Eight weeks. Two thirteenths of a year. Most of the summer.

It's hardly been slack time, though – the weekend immediately following round six was a busy one, opening with a new event on the calendar for the Saturday. There was a big Steampunk get-together at no less a venue than the Doncaster hangar that is home to the last flying Vulcan bomber. In fact, they'd laid out all the trade stands and whatnot underneath the Vulcan's tremendous wingspan, and there was a stage with various odd things going on throughout the day. They'd suggested there could be a bit of a car show outside, and asking a gang of hot rodders whether they'd like to visit a huge, powerful piece of classic machinery is akin to asking a wasp if it might like some jam. It was a cool idea, and turned out to be a popular event despite the fact that it pished all morning.



The following day, round seven took place up at Kirkbride. Some made a bit of a 'Power Tour' of it, leaving Doncaster, taking in the Leeds cruise (getting there fashionably early; in fact, they were there some fashionable hours before everyone else) before making the long cross-country trek to Kirkbride. There was some camping, then some racing. I wasn't there, so that's all I know...

The following weekend was Dragstalgia. I've never been to Dragstalgia before. This is a terrible oversight, as it turns out, because it was a bloody tremendous event. There was sunshine, there were Fuel Altereds, there was beer... Imagine if the NSRA Nostalgia Nationals had been organised by a paid staff with a large budget and a stab at Teutonic efficiency. Brilliant. I'll definitely be going again, although atmosphere-wise I still prefer the Shakey events. It was a bit of a downer for Keith Freeman, mind you, who decided to take a really close look at the advert hoardings on the retaining wall. Fortunately, Keith was fine; the same can't be said of his '32.

The following weekend was the Total Retro show up in Cumbria, then the weekend after was the Mopar Euronationals, still my favourite event on the calendar, and a mighty muscle car party. I thought this sign made an excellent gathering area for the NSCC cruise...

After a swift half at the pub, a few of us headed to the shop in Wellingborough. In the car park was another vessel that shared an almost identical paint code to Ian's Cortina. Ian did manage to pick the correct vehicle upon his return, having remembered that his had a parachute attached to the back.


After that, I treated myself to a couple of weekends off to work on the Mustang, while others went along to the NSRA Supernats and Blackpool classic and custom show, then it was August bank holiday weekend. There were two events on the calendar – the Retro Rides Gathering and NSCC rounds eight and nine at York, a real shame as the RRG is always an event worth attending.

Heading to York was a trial, with some heavy rain most of the way on the Saturday evening, but the pits was crammed. Sunday was a little brighter but the cool track with a strong crosswind that was failing to dry it out meant that some of the heavier hitters were leaving 'em on the trailer. Still, 13 NSCCers managed to make it out for qualifying. Russ Pursley led the way, a 10.9 second charge at 124mph belying the crap conditions, with Derek Beck next on a still-no-gas 12.4 followed by James Murray at 12.9. A closely-grouped clump of Ford-powered Fords followed, Pete Smith struggling to put the Shelby's power down on 14.1, Steve Gilmour wringing 14.2 from the Pinto Cortina, then Andrew Errington with an ever-improving 14.3. Dave Mears put the red Firebird in the middle of the ladder with a 15.2, then another bundle of old Brit Fords, Shaun Cockroft's Escort and Nigel Henderson's Anglia, both ran 15.3. Dave Smith put the big Lexus in tenth spot with a 16.2, Rick Swaine was close behind on 16.3, Scott Presland in the V8 Pop managed 16.5 and Mark Presland held the ladder with a 19.3.

Round one opened with Dave Smith running a solo, his opponent, Gilly, having done in his head gasket in qualifying and electing to stick the Cortina back on the trailer. As the track dried, Pete recovered form to a 12.9 showing against Rick's 16.3, before James ran a no-gas 13.8 to end Scott's day. There was an upset in the middle of the ladder when Dave Mears ran a 15.2 to Shaun's 15.4, a 0.194 second margin, but Shaun's reaction was 0.216 quicker than Dave's, giving Shaun the win by a difference that could be measured in fractions of a gnat's knacker. Rather more convincing was Derek's seven second margin over Mark, before Andrew took a big gamble, allowing Nigel a half-second head start before beating him with a 0.6 second quicker run. That's the gnat's other knacker. He likes to live dangerously, does Andrew, as does Russ who ran his bye to the tune of 10.9 seconds.

Come the quarter finals, after another mercifully brief shower of rain had added an extra level of frustration to the event, and there were seven men on a mission. James used his Rover power to finish Andrew's charge 12.8 to 14.5, then Dave tried a little too hard on the lights, redlighting away the Rizla-paper-thin chances he had against a charging Pete. Russ was giving no quarter, his 10.7 handily covering Shaun's 15.3, while Derek took it easy on a 14.2-second bye into the semis.

The semis went to form, and although James had been slowly improving since discovering a mystery nitrous fault the week preceding the race, his 12.6 couldn't quite match Derek's 12.1. Another improver, Pete had been picking up a tenth every round, and did so once again, but his 12.8 couldn't touch Russ's 10.01 at 133mph...

Once again, the final came down to the two plastic-fantastics, Russ's Dutton and Derek's TVR. It should have been a race, but Derek still hadn't turned the gas on – his power of self-restraint is almost monastic – and Russ had chucked out all the sandbags, the not-so-mellow yellow Dutton firing off a 9.9 to handily cover Derek's 12.7.

That evening saw the usual on-track Cackle For KC, followed by a swift exit Barneswards for the sort of nosebag that TV adverts claim would feed a village of Biafrans for just £2 a month. Despite the financial disparity, I still didn't mind coughing up the extra to eat it in a pub with good beer and fewer flies. After that it was back to the track where the bar was playing host to a pretty damn decent rock band followed by a burlesque turn that seemed to be popular. There was also video evidence of the Cookie Monster having it large to some banging tunes, though I'm not sure if that was part of the burlesque turn or not.

Bank holiday Monday was a better day all round, weather wise, perfect racing weather. Late the previous night, Ian and Adam turned up after another mammoth thrash to get the Cortina back together. Other new arrivals for the day included Andy Turner in his smart V8 TVR Taimar, and the improved weather meant that Simon dragged the Bootlegger Camaro out of the truck to stretch its considerable legs. Three new arrivals, plus one drop-out from the previous day made... hold on, let me get my shoes and socks off … 15 qualifiers.

Ian made it worth the trip straight away, grabbing pole with a 10.3 at 136mph, with Russ right behind on a 10.4. Simon replied with an 11.0 at a rapid 133mph, then a one second gap to Derek on 12.0, with James hot on his heels at 12.1, getting closer to previous form. Pete was back down to 12.9, then there was a whopping gap to a close clump beginning with Andrew Errington on 14.9, then Red Nose Dave on 15.0, Nigel Henderson on 15.11 and Shaun a whisker behind on 15.15. Rick carded a 15.9, Dave managed a 16.0, Scott next with a 16.5. Andy Turner was suffering with engine gremlins that turned his V8 into a V6 and struggled to a 17.5, with Mark filling out the table with a 18.9.

Round one opened with Derek rattling off a 12.7 against Scott, Derek presumably being in a hurry to get back to winning the Hot Rod class. The mid-table match-up of Dave Mears and Nigel Henderson went the way of the red Firebird by a short margin augmented by a pretty big reaction time bonus. Andy Turner managed to squeeze a 15.5 out of the TVR, but Simon in the opposite lane ripped off a 10.9 to seal that deal, followed by Pete's 12.9 covering Rick's 16.5 with time to spare. Andrew Errington was way off his new pace, his 15.4 gifting Shaun a trip to the quarters with a sharp 14.8, before James's 13.6 sent Dave off to play in the other classes. Russ and Mark's match-up was only likely to go one way and did just that, Russ ripping off a 9.7 to Mark's 19.1, then Ian took advantage of his bye to batter the track with a 10.2 at 134mph.

The quarter finals gave plenty of cause for celebration, starting with the Derek v James pairing, both leaving on similar reactions, Derek to an 11.7 and James to an 11.9. The win-light went to Derek, but James was delighted to be back in the 11s after such a long absence, and his first 11 at York to boot. Pete Smith likewise stepped up his game, leaving on a 0.502 reaction and tearing off a 12.2, though again the win went to the opposite lane and Simon's terrific 10.6. Dave Mears and Ian Walley both dithered on the line for over a second, but Ian's 11.6 more than covered Dave's 15.0, then Russ showed Shaun who was boss, another 9.7 seeing his through easily.

The ladder was back to form, with the top four qualifiers meeting in the semi finals, but there was about to be an upset or two – number one and number two both ran quicker times than their opponents, but both lost on reaction times! Ian ran 11.2 to Derek's 11.6 but lost on the startline 0.9 to 0.6, while Russ and Simon played the same game, Russ running 10.0 to Simon's 10.3 but losing it by another 0.9 to 0.6 reaction! That's a brace of bloody close races, but proves that even the nine-second-capable guys can't afford not to be sharp on the tree.

So Derek and the TVR made it to another final, to face the blown Pro Street might of Simon's Bootlegger Camaro. This time they were both away with 0.5 reactions, and both loaded for bear. Derek seemed to have turned the wick up yet again with a scorching 11.1, but Simon got there first, a 10.4 giving him plenty more than a car-length cushion at the finishing stripe.

That wrapped up another weekend of tremendous racing. It had been more fun than a barrel containing several monkeys and a leaky nitrous bottle, plus Derek taking a finals win in Hot Rod, James taking the win over runner-up Dave Mears in Sportsman ET, and Dave Smith taking one win and one runner-up place in JDM. That's quite a haul of trophies for the NSCC brigade.


Since then, Derek has opened up an uncatchable lead in NSCC, so as we head towards this Sunday's final round, Derek Beck and his ol' reliable (?) TVR have already got the title of NSCC 2016 Champion in the bag. For many years it's been the case that if piss was lucky, Derek would have kidney stones; this year, though, he's fought the good fight and finally gets the title that's been so long in coming to him. It seems the charm is wearing off, though, as since his lead became unconquerable, he's gone arse over tit and sprained his ankle. Ah, back to the normal order of things then, it seems. Still, there's plenty to fight for in the top 10, with third, fourth and fifth hotly contested... It's not quite down to the wire, but it's certainly chafing at the PVC sheathing. Join us on Sunday to see how it goes...

Eugene

Thursday, 7 July 2016

NSCC Round 6

(At the weekend, I recorded the last episode of the Evans era of Top Gear. I'm writing this while I'm watching it. That's multitasking, that is.)
Round six of NSCC is a bit of an odd one – it's a weekend event, but the classes are only run on the Saturday; the Sunday is reserved for the Street Racer eliminator and a Big Bracket.
(The new Honda NSX apparently has fly-by-wire brakes. Blimey, what could go wrong? I've owned plenty of cars with batteries so close to death that I've had to drive without using the brakes because lighting the brake lights would cause the fuel pump to cut out. If the brakes themselves had relied on that battery, I'd have been wrapped around a lamppost long ago)
Arriving early – well, early for me – on Saturday morning, I was pleased to see that there were 15 NSCCers ready to qualify. Well, almost ready. Jamie and crew were sitting in the gravel swapping differentials by the time first qualifier was called. Some of the usual suspects were clearly keeping their powder dry for Dragstalgia, but a 15 car field was actually the largest class fielded that day. Simon Boot was on pole position with a 10.4 at 135. Ian Walley had pulled several all-nighters to get the Cortina ready for this event, but was rewarded with second spot on 11.022, but Russ Pursley was hotter on his heels than Tabasco stilettos with an 11.023. Derek was charging hard on 12.11, still without nitrous, but Jamie had the Land Rover re-diffed and ready for second qualifying, laying down a 12.15.
(That baldy bloke has a gorgeous '68 Mustang on Top Gear. It's badged up as a GT500. Don't know if it's real. He said the Mustang brakes were “not so much brakes; more like novelty items.” OK, can't really fault him on that.)
James Murray followed on 12.6, Pete in the late model GT500 on 13.1, then Gilly in the MkI on 13.5. Tom Barker grabbed ninth with a 13.91 at a whopping 112mph, which hints at things to come, but Lee Opey was right behind on 13.92.
(“If you're wondering whether the line lock has any purpose at all... no.” Bell-end)
Andy Errington's Mustang slotted in in 11th with 14.4 – a long way off his recent best – then a big jump to Rick in 12th on a 15.9.
(“If you want a Mustang that's easy to live with, do you want a Mustang at all?” Yeah, he picked the '68 and went way up in my estimation. He should apply for Evans's job)
Dave's Lexus, Scott's Pop and Mark's Prefect filled out the rest of the ladder. With a cool day and a mighty following wind, new PBs should have been on the cards, and although the threat of rain was never far away, we hardly saw a drop.
(Christ almighty, Greg Davies is vast)
Round one of eliminations opened with Simon taking it easy on a 13.2 second bye, with a terminal of 131mph. Eh? There'd be plenty of odd results like that, as the timing computers had clearly been on the mushrooms and would spend the afternoon freaking out occasionally. Next was the mid-table match-up of Gilly and Tom; Tom ran 13.5 and Gilly 13.7, but the win light came on for Gilly thanks to much sharper reactions. Next, Dave's Lexus went out to Derek's TVR, 12.1 to 15.8. This was a new PB for the Lexus, and the high point in a day where the usually consistent and reliable Lexus's times were all over the place like a madwoman's shite.
(Is Greg Davies channelling the spirit of Rik Mayall these days, or what?)
Another close race followed when James met Andy. It shouldn't have been that close, but James managed the trifecta of a crap reaction, a missed shift and the sudden realisation that he'd forgotten to turn the nitrous on, which handed the win to Andy's Mustang. Russ took it quite easy but still beat Scott; likewise Ian versus Mark. Jamie's Land Rover went out and ran a mighty 11.98 against Rick's 16.0, then Pete ran an equally impressive 12.8 against Opey's 14.1.
(That Porsche has a 500bhp, 4.0-litre flat six. Am I the only person who thought “That'd be mental in an NSU Prinz”?)
Right, into the quarter finals, which began with Simon ripping off another 10.2 to put Gilly back on the trailer, followed by Pete cutting a 0.50 light and running 12.3 against... nobody. Once again, Ian's bottom end had let him down, and zero oil pressure meant that the Cortina was abandoned in the pits. Again. Honestly, Ian's luck is so bad that if he fell into a bucket of tits he'd come out sucking his thumb.
(How much?! One million for a rebuilt Aston? Bugger that. And if I had a million pound Aston I wouldn't chuck the keys to that ginger chimp)
Another close race followed, with Derek and Jamie facing off. Derek got the drop on the lights, and peeled off an 11.94 – still without the gas, which means he's knocking on the door of that TVR NA record. Jamie was just two tenths behind, too. I did love Jamie's air filter. He has a turbo the size of John Merrick's head feeding another turbo of similar size, so what does he have to stop them sucking in things like leaves, gravel and light aircraft? A sieve, cable-tied in place. I don't think Jamie goes to the motor factors, the scrapyard or the hardware shop like the rest of us; he just raids the kitchen.

(£100,000 for an MGB?! Hahahahaha. 300bhp, though...)
To round out the quarter finals, Andrew not only cracked the 13s but bitch-slapped them and kicked their back doors in – a good dose of gas gave him a 13.7 at 106 for a NPB. It didn't help, though, as Russ in the next lane ran a 9.89...
(For some reason, my TiVo recording finished in the middle of all the presenters dicking around driving a Mini over a jump. I can't say I'm particularly disappointed about that.)
Soon it was time for the semis, which opened with Russ running a 10.1 to end Pete's run of luck. Then Simon ripped off a 10.1 of his own at a heady 142mph, which put Derek out, but he was happy with an 11.91. This set up a final to look forward to, Simon having run consistent low 10s, but Russ having shown nine-second form once already. The two lined up and made mighty burnouts – Simon's burnouts had been the talking point of the day so far – then moved into stage. This would be a real nail-biter... or not, as the case may be. The lights ran down and Simon left a cherry on the tree, leaving Russ to cruise to an 11.4-second win and full points. Simon at least ran a 10.2 to compensate.
So, another excellent day's racing from NSCC, and time to pack up and go home. As I was packing up, I noticed Russ's wheel-arch extensions, cunningly fashioned from cardboard and duct tape. 

None of this “You can't enter Street Racer because your tyres stick out of your arches” baloney that we had last year. Alongside the car were small mounds that looked like molehills, but they turned out to be clumps of rubber dust that he'd dug out of his arches! 

In fact, Russ would go on to the semis of Street Racer on the Sunday, but Simon would have his revenge, winning the title and the pot.
Incidentally, Ian had been all the way home in the van on Saturday afternoon to pick up some new bearing shells and a firkin of oil, came back to the track and spent the night rebuilding his bottom end. Now that's dedication, and it took him to the Street Racer final where he finished runner-up to Simon. Three NSCCers in the top four – I think that speaks a volume about where the real street racers live, doesn't it?


Eugene

Saturday, 7 May 2016

Rounds 2 & 3 and other ramblings

I love animals. I love all animals, and wish absolutely no harm to befall any of them at the hands of humans unless they're to be humanely slaughtered for food. This has been my mantra ever since I was a kid, but I recently had to amend it with a specific addenda: I wish to exclude one or more mice. That particular mouse/mice that ate my 1981 British Leyland Motorsport rally jacket, which I won when I was about 8. My hero at the time was Tony Pond, the rally driver, and my Dad had taken me along to a big BL Motorsport evening seminar at a big BL dealership in Birmingham – it may have been Bristol Street Motors, possibly even Patrick Motors, I can't remember that bit. I do remember seeing TR7 V8s, Dolomite Sprints and SD1s, Minis, all in race or rally trim. I won a prize for answering some question correctly, but they didn't have a kid's-size jacket at the time so they had it made specially and posted it to me. It was that lovely late Seventies, early Eighties satin-finish Nylon, really classy, and I thought I looked like Charlie Big Potatoes in it. I recently found it, tucked away in a box in the back of the unit, and bloody mice had eaten bits of it!
Mice, you fluffy little bell-ends, WTF? The unit is on a farm! Are you really telling me you can't find anything nicer to eat than nylon jackets, PVC wiring sheathing and foam seat padding? “Mmmm, never mind those huge mounds of grain, fresh vegetables and berries, here's a stash of inedible, man-made, synthetic shite! Tuck in, lads!” Remember Fingermouse on the TV? Well if I ever catch you, I'm going to make an indy sequel called Bootmouse. Then I shall jam a foot of dowel up your chuff and use you to scrub the inside of my exhaust pipes.

All of which leads me neatly and seamlessly on to rounds two and three of the NSCC season at York Raceway over Mayday bank holiday weekend. After Easter's meet was as wet and windy as Jacuzzi full of vegetarians, I wasn't holding out much hope for this event given that the forecast was not brilliant. It was compounded by rain, hail and high winds before I'd even set off from home, and the fact that I had to have the wipers on double-speed on the way up the M18. Never a good sign. However, upon arriving at the track at 5.50pm and joining a lengthy queue waiting to get in, it was T-shirt weather with most early arrivals already well into their stash of tins.

Waiting in the queue was Dave Billadeau with his new '67 Plymouth wagon – beige, four-door, full interior... and a ProCharged big-block sporting well in excess of 700bhp and similar torque figures. Bob on. Next to him was Emma in her '57 Chevy gasser, not long back out, and apparently this was its first trip to the strip since its last race at Pomona in 1968! Now that's a story.

First into the NSCC pits with me was Jamie Hughes with the Land Rover, soon followed by Rick, Mark and Scott. 'Red Nose' Dave Mears was with them; he'd taken the long way round from Wolverhampton to join them at the Knaresborough cruise. He was followed by Pete and Vicky in their Gin Palace. The place was filling up quite nicely, but it was bloody cold. I wandered around, stopping for a burger with the Thoburns, a spicy sausage with the Knaresborough crew and some pizza with the Smiths – it was lovely, and meant I didn't have to open my Pot Noodle. The bar remained open even after they'd stopped serving, which was cool, but when I returned to my tent I found it covered in ice, and my sleeping bag had frozen to the inside of the tent. Nice. I had to empty a two-litre bottle of water to act as the en-suite, and I'm bloody glad I did – I didn't fancy getting out of that tent for any reason. It was so cold, I barely got any sleep, being kept awake by crows at 4am, skylarks at 5am, and James Murray blowing Reveille on the bowel bugle at 5.15, just 10 feet away, with such gusty gutsy gusto that I'm sure my tent went up in the air, spun around a few times and landed on a witch.

Sunday dawned... well, I say dawned, I didn't get to sleep until the sun came up and took the frost off, so I was still in bed at 10am. I did, however, manage to shamble into some clothes, brew up, get scrutineered (the most peremptory scrutineering I've ever witnessed) and signed on in time for NSCC first qualifier. It was very cool, with a mighty crosswind, but many people were running quick times. Russ Pursley led the ladder with a 10.4 @ 138mph, with Ian Walley not far behind on 10.8 @ 131. Doug 'Uncle Ben' Hague in the Beast From The Far East was next, 11.9 @ 117, then hot on his heels was Jamie, who had managed to shag 12.0 @ 114 out of the old oil-burning Land Rover. Derek was still taking it relatively easy on his fresh motor and very fresh diff, no gas at 12.1, then James Murray in with a 12.3. A small jump then to Pete Smith with the blown Mustang on 13.5, followed by Lee Openshaw's sprightly little Punto on 13.9, Andrew Errington breaking NPBs all over the show with a 14.3 on a sniff of gas with Andy Frear's 'Smog Monster' Bronco a whisker behind on 14.4. Dave Mears had 14.9 out of the Firebird to stay ahead of Shaun Cockcroft's 15.0 from the MkII Escort, then came Ryan Chatburn in the Lexus Soarer, a car bought as a donor car but which turned out to be far too nice to break. Rick Swaine's Mustang was next at 16.0, clearly suffering after multiple attempts to fit a radio in the pits the previous evening, then Dave in the other Lexus at 16.1, then Scott in the Pop at 17.1 to make a nice, neat, 16-car ladder.

With rain forecast for the afternoon, we went straight into eliminations with a minimum of organisation and a maximum of dicking around. James opened proceedings with a 13.6 victory over Red Nose Dave's 14.7, followed by Russ handing Scott's arse to him 10.7 to 18.0. Ryan redlit away any chance he may have had against Jamie, though Jamie's 12.1 would suggest that that was a fairly slim chance, before Ian had Dave's trousers down 10.8 to 16.4. Shaun's 14.8 fell victim to Derek's 12.2, while a close race between Pete's 14.1 and Andy's 14.2 was actually won by Pete's slightly less dozy reaction time. Rick copped a drubbing from Uncle Ben, 11.8 to 16.0, then Andrew's 14.00 was enough to beat Lee's 13.9, again due to sprightlier reactions.

Round two was the quarter finals, and the account was opened with a race as tight as a fat lass's jeggings – Uncle Ben ran 12.0 to James's 12.2, but James's 0.1-second advantage on reactions means they must have been a gnat's knacker apart at the line. Jamie then fell victim to Derek, 12.4 to 12.1, Russ's 10.6 shut down Andrew's 14.1, then Ian's 11.0 was enough to end Pete's day.

The semis were another treat. Derek was still showing commendable restraint, leaving the gas out of the equation, which meant his 12.1 couldn't touch Russ's 10.6, but then Uncle Ben found the other knacker on that gnat in his race against Ian, the Nissan getting a three-tenth drop on the Cortina at the startline, but Ian managing a five-tenth quicker run. There was no time for listening to the gnats singing soprano, though, as we'd been promised rain – the adjective used was 'biblical' – so it was time for a swift turnaround. As both Yellow Perils headed for the line it was anybody's race, and both left cleanly on unspectacular reaction times. In the end it was Russ who triggered the win light, his 10.20 at a mighty 142mph just pipping Ian's all-Ford machine's 11.7 at 130mph.

Trophies, adulation and champagne all round, and we still had an hour before it was time to set off to the Barnes for the post-race nosebag. The 'biblical' rain never really showed up, but I was praying for a thunderbolt when Vix and Pete told me that their motorhome was so warm the previous night that she'd had to kick the duvet off... Bless. The run out to the pub was a gentle affair... mostly. The food was excellent as ever, but after a day getting wind-battered, a big meal with a cold beer in a warm pub left a lot of us looking even dozier than usual. The bar was bouncing again, but I blame dry rot in the floors for that, and by 11pm most people had already sacked off to bed, so I did similarly. I was extremely glad of the en-suite pop bottle in the early hours, but the just-woken-up waz was a bit of a gamble – it was very close to the neck of the bottle; in fact, I was “touching froth”, my new favourite phrase from the weekend.

It was grey again on Monday morning, and the wind had shifted again, but instead of being a following wind from the right, it was a following wind from the left. Rain was due at lunchtime so we tried our best to get all the qualifying done early-ish. We'd lost Doug 'Uncle Ben' Hague and Andrew Errington, who'd got something better to do elsewhere, and Jamie had bust his starter motor. It hadn't just 'stopped working' like everyone else's starter; no, this one was bust. In two.

Russ got the pole spot again with a 10.2, Ian second on 11.1, and Derek still staying on the wagon gas-wise with a stout 12.0. James took fourth with a 12.4, while Pete got excruciatingly close to the 12s with a 13.01. Lee managed 13.5, and we'd been joined overnight by Stephen Gilmour in the minty-fresh MkI Cortina who posted a 14-flat for seventh. Andy's Bronco was the top of the bottom half on 14.5, then Shaun and Dave Mears in quick succession with 14.7 and 14.8 respectively. Then came another tight grouping (stop sniggering at the back) of Rick on 15.8, Ryan on 15.9 and Dave on 16.0, then Scott picking up a few MPH on a 17.2.

It was looking decidedly black over Bill's mother's as lunchtime approached, and with just Sportsman and Pro ET left to run their second qualifiers, a motorcyclist hopped off at the top end, just as he'd gone through the traps at 100mph. I remember seeing him on the startline, with about six feet of wheelie bar with the wheels set half an inch off the deck. Poor bugger, he was eventually taken away by the air ambulance, but aside from a few broken bones he's in good shape. By that time the rain had started, though, and after a light shower to lull us into a false sense of security, it came down with a vengeance – Sodom, Gomorrah, York Raceway. As soon as it stopped, there were dozens out with the brushes to get things dry again, and before long the sun came out and the afternoon turned into a beauty.

That said, it was getting late and the track was still pretty damp before we ran the first round, but it was Rick taking first exit, 16.7 to James's 13.7. Gilly's clean machine beat Andy's smog monster 14.3 to 14.8, then Ian comprehensively shut down Dave's Lexus11.9 to 16.5. Ryan suffered a similar fate at the hands of Derek, 12.3 to 16.4, Ryan's Lexus running slower on each run throughout the day. Pete finished Dave Mears's day 13.6 to 15.2, then Russ took it easy, relatively speaking, his 12.4 having Scott's 17.3 covered. Lee's alternator had packed up on the Punto and Shaun had packed up and gone home by this point, so that was round one done with.

Those absences gave Derek a solo in the quarter finals, though he still ran a 12.3, then James pulled a 12.5 out of the hat to cover Pete's 13.4. Gilly had it all to do in the all-Cortina pairing with Ian, but tried a little too hard and cherried, although Ian was off to an 11.6 anyway. Russ had a bye but ripped off a 10.6, because he can.

By now the sun was out, the sky was blue and one southerner was seen considering taking one of his jackets off. Into the semis, and Derek's resolve was tested to its limit but he resisted (or possibly he'd left the gas at home), but his 12.1 and sharper reaction time wasn't quite enough to cover Ian's 11.5. It was the same story on the other side of the ladder, James's much sharper reaction and 12.6 being no match for Russ's “Oh, are we off, then? Reyt tha'art!” reaction and 10.7.

It was definitely getting on a bit when the finals rolled around, with most of the RWYBers having gone home. In fact, most of everyone had gone home – they were still running finals at 7pm! The Yellow Perils of Russ and Ian lined up and faced off, and the race would turn out to be tighter than the clasp on a Yorkshireman's wallet, in a duck's arse, up a mermaid's chuff. Ian's reaction was hardly lightning fast at 0.9 seconds, but Russ's “Ey-up, 'appens we're off again” 1.3 reaction meant that Ian had a 0.34 second head start. Ian ran 11.37 at 134mph, and Russ ran 11.02 at 124 … or 0.35 seconds quicker than Ian. That's one of the hairs off the aforementioned gnat's knackers.

It had been a decent two days of racing, and although the three guys who bothered sticking around for round one at Easter still have a commanding lead at the top of the table, it's all getting tighter further down (unlike... no, never mind). The next meet, rounds four and five, happen just four weeks down the line from this lot, so it's still all to play for and some folk seem to be taking it a little bit seriously... Let's find out. Ta-ta.


Eugene

Saturday, 2 April 2016

Race Track, Race Retro and Round One, 2016

After a whole winter of sitting around scratching our collective bits, it's been a busy old year so far. It started well mid-February with a day out at Brands Hatch with their preview day for some of the race series and events running there this year. Under beautiful blue skies, I got to check out the new Mustang-bodied Euro NASCAR along with one of the cars racing in Bernie's V8s, the best historic racing class out there, whose rules of entry are A) the car must be a classic race car, B) it must be V8 powered, and C) the driver must not be a whinging bastard.
The Mustang-bodied NASCAR is a bit of a cop-out - it's pretty much the same jelly-mould-plastic-body-over-spaceframe-chassis as any other NASCAR, but this one has Mustang-headlamp-shaped stickers on the front. The Euro NASCARs are still running naturally-aspirated pushrod V8s, though. The other Mustang was Marcus Bicknell's '71 Mach I with a 347-cube stroker 302, four-speed manual and... well, that's about it. 
When he asked if I'd like a passenger ride around Brands Hatch, I jumped at the chance. The first thing I did was open the passenger door... straight into the wall of the pit garage. Ooooh, bugger, hope nobody notices. I then tried to get into the bit of bent aluminium with a chunk of foam as a cushion that purported to be a passenger seat. Unfortunately, it was built for someone half my width, and I still had a very bulky coat on, and then tried to fasten the five-point belts despite the fact that my shoulder blades were at 90 degrees to each other. I managed the top two and the side two, but couldn't find the crotch strap... and the driver's practice window had just opened. No time to lose, he ran over, said "Brace yourself," and plunged his hand under the foam cushion in a manoeuvre I haven't seen since James Herriot was on the telly and extracted the belt buckle. Blimey, we are good friends, now, aren't we? While I was still uncrossing my eyes, Bernie himself came over and Marcus was telling him how he had a brake judder, despite having replaced the Ford Thunderbird discs, pads, callipers, wheel bearings, the lot, and would Bernie fancy a couple of laps to offer his opinion? So, hold on, I am now strapped into a car that not only uses shonky 40-odd-year-old Thunderbird anchors, but they don't work, and I'm about to go around a race track in it?!
Bernie set off at the gallop, and Marcus was dead right - at the end of the start/finish straight, Bernie'd stamp on the anchors and the whole car would shake, the dash top hammering up and down like a wacker plate while my teeth rattled together and my retinas detached, without actually slowing the car down much. I later went out alongside Marcus, and he drives like he's on his way to Tesco. We'd just charged down the hill from Druids and onto the short Cooper straight and I caught him looking at his watch. Sorry, mate, are you due elsewhere? Watch the bloody track! Would I have rather been anywhere else or done anything else that day? Nope, can't think of anything.

At the end of that week was the annual NSCC AGM in Blackpool. James, Womble and I headed up early on Saturday morning (early for James and I being anything before noon), and arrived after a bracing walk along 200 yards of promenade. Bracing, in this instance, means having your face scoured by freezing salty rain being driven by a 200mph gale. Welcome to Blackpool. Also, did you know that 'promenade' is the French word for a grim-arsed covered concrete pathway incorporating a dog-shit-based assault course? Anyway, the afternoon rule book discussion went a lot more smoothly than usual. Too smoothly, in fact; we were finished early, with minimal rule changes. After a rather early dinner, we got on with the Tat Auction with everything from car spares to a DVD of all the ladies who got their tits out at the Nationals 10 or so years ago going under the hammer. It was tremendous, and raised well in excess of £200 for the NSCC kitty.

Late in February was the Race Retro show at Stoneleigh, a bit like Autosport for the historic racing crowd. It's always worth a trip out, though I usually go on the Friday and find that there's not enough to fill the whole day. On the Saturday and Sunday there are outdoor rally stages and, in this instance, a few burnout demonstrations to fill in the middle of the day. There's plenty else to see, though...
Classic Formula cars, cool.
Look at that, a huge old race car, massive engine, steel RSJ chassis, and on tyres narrower than Front Runners.
This 105E-based spaceframe circuit races in CSCC Special Saloons.
Now that's where it's at for me - an old SD1 done up for circuit racing, with a Rover V8 huffing through quad sidedraught Webers on a cross-ram manifold.
Apparently, real men don't drive Volvos...
Oh yeah, the Metro 6R4... wonderful thing, took me right back.
As did this - Russell Brookes's old Chevette HSR, sponsored by Busby! I remember this first time around!
This is still the most stunning rally car ever, in my opinion - the Lancia Stratos. Mid-engined, short wheelbase, and twitchier than a crackhead pissing on an electric fence, brilliant.
This caught my eye - a Vauxhall Firenza dressed up like an old Jimmy MacRae tarmac rally car. Beautiful in its own right, but on the grille was a Chevrolet badge and a 302 badge. Could it be a Can-Am Firenza? I never heard it start or saw it move, but that would be the best thing ever if it was...
Yeah, a Chevette HSR. I could just go one of them.

It was then a long wait until the four-day Easter weekend. It began well, with Wheels Day on the Friday being very sunny and pleasant, and a really good turnout marked a significant change from last year's half-empty drenched field, and the previous year's Dunsfold traffic nightmare. It was a shades-on day all day. Setting off for York on the Saturday afternoon couldn't have been more different, with high winds and rain that varied between persistent drizzle and overtaking Noah on the M18. It was dry in the bar, though (which, over the past few years, hasn't exactly been a given. Many of us remember those old Portacabins. If you can make penicillin out of mouldy bread, then God alone knows what you could make out of what was growing on the inside windowsills), and the recent revamp had encouraged a few more bodies in. It was all going so well until Fadster trashed the place. 

A quick head-count on the Sunday morning showed that nobody had actually blown away, against all odds, and despite a brisk, cold crosswind, conditions were actually pretty decent. Plenty of folks had completed winter rebuilds and were busting to test them out, but most were being sensible. Andy Hadfield wasn't getting much grip from the cold track and was mired in the 10s. Simon Boot's Camaro was fresh off the rolling road and just shaking down, but with some stonking burnouts. James, whose winter rebuild comprised of changing a leaking sump gasket, went out and ran a 12.4 and was more than happy. Derek Beck's fresh motor was being run in gently - he'd deliberately left the nitrous at home to prevent 'over-exuberance' but was running strong anyway. Russ made a few passes but then trailered the Dutton with a little top end rattle that later turned out to be a broken rocker arm. Andy Errington was a superstar - he made a couple of NPB passes at 14.5, but on his first run, he missed the first turn-off for the return road so he decided to take the second. It was only after driving over a rutted road, a muddy field, through a builder's yard, out onto the road and back in through the main gate (where they tried to charge him to get in) that he realised that there isn't a second turn-off for the return road. Although, as he quite rightly stated, he's always been told he should never turn around and come back down the track at the strip. Fair enough. 

It was a good day, better than we could have hoped for given Saturday's conditions, and we were about to get a revisit. Despite booking the correct number of seats at the Barnes, we still managed to turn up with more arses than chairs, but a good nosebag was welcome after the cold wind. While we were eating, we were treated to thunder, lightning and a hailstorm - it was better than the telly. 

It didn't get much better. The bar was rammed, and a damn good craic, but by 10.30pm it was drunk dry and everyone was peremptorily hoofed out. With nowhere big enough to gather, the evening just farted into nothing and everyone went to bed by 11pm. Overnight, the rain started, and didn't give up. It belted down. Although the forecast was for it to stop raining around lunchtime, many people who had suffered a night of being soaked, frozen and wind-battered (I blame the Barnes' vegetables) couldn't face sitting around for four or five hours on the offchance that it might stop raining, and before noon the pits were mostly empty. The track's organisers hadn't called the event off, though, so a handful hung on just in case, and, as predicted, by 1pm the rain had stopped, by 2pm there were RWYBers on track, and by 3pm, the classes were being called. Not that there were many - 19 RWYBers, one car in American Super Stock, one in Hot Rod Challenge, one in Pro ET, and a handful in JDM and Sportsman. Many people appeared on more than one of those lists... There were four NSCCers left on site, although one, Andy Frear, was staying on the bench due to teething issues with turbo pipework. So three cars qualified, Derek topping the tree with a 12.6 at 113mph, James second with a 13.3 at 107, and Dave 'Red Nose' Mears in the Firebird on a 16.0.

James and Dave met in the first round (which was also the semis), James coming out on top 14.0 to 15.7 while Derek just staged and broke the beams to go through to the finals. 
In the finals, Derek stole 0.2 from James on the tree then went on to run 12.7 at 112 to James' 13.5 at 102mph. A first round full points haul for Derek, and well deserved, but hopefully he'll have some stiffer competition at the next round and we'll be plus a full field of racers and minus Storm Katie. A damp start, but things can only get better!

Friday, 12 February 2016

Post January Payday Blues

Winter sucks. Having limped from the pre-Christmas payday to the end of January, everyone seems to be suddenly skint again. Even working in the garage is a pain in the nipsy – there's one heater in my workshop, but it's amazing how a five litre tin of Waxoyl can soak up every therm of warmth from one small heater and then immediately leach it into the concrete floor so, after three hours, the workshop's freezing and the Waxoyl's still as thick as a fuckwit sandwich.

One job I did do was change the plugs and leads on the Lexus. Here's a step-by-step guide on doing the job.
1: Don't
2: Pay some other fool to do it
3: Stand behind him and watch him like a hawk because after the first hour he'll be thoroughly pissed off and looking for any excuse he can find to blow the job out. You may need a sharp stick.
It's amazing how well they can hide such a basic service item. In one or two cases, you have to remove the covers concealing the covers you need to remove. Then you find that, for no adequately explicable reason, there's a four-terminal cam-driven distributor on the front of each bank, although two of the leads from each go to cylinders on the opposing bank through a complicated little conduit which is the size of four ignition leads plus 0.001”. Then you find that the plugs live at the bottom of a long tube going down between the cams, so after you've undone the first plug, you realise that your spark plug socket hasn't got one of those little rubber collars inside that grips the plug so you can lift it out. So you spend half an hour hunting around until you find a plug socket that has one, and take the old plug out, and put the new one in. That's when you find that the effort required to pull the socket off the plug is greater than the effort required to pull the bastard extension bar out of the plug socket. That, and the fact that the plugs are made of gold-plated Kryptonite and the leads knitted from the pubic hair of unicorns... which is the only way you could explain how much they cost. At least the car runs better.

January has one high point, at least – Autosport International at the NEC – though this year's high point for the NEC was £12 to park your damn car and tickets in the region of £30.
It wasn't a bad do, and you did get to see cars like this mid-Seventies Hesketh beauty above, sponsored by a jazz-mag and spliff-paper manufacturers. Ah, those were the days.
There was this '85 Metro 6R4 in the auction, a genuine ex-Rothmans team car, that had an estimate of £85-95k. I don't know if it sold and for how much, because Coys haven't yet published the results. Slack-sided bastards.
Then there was a real blast from my past, a genuine ex-DTV works Chevette HSR driven by Russell Brookes! That really took me back. The estimate on that was over £70,000.
This Anglia was a bit special, but I don't know whether it was six figures-worth of special...
Bloody hell, another 6R4... they're as common as muck.
These two ladies were promoting the latest group of people who are trying to sell NASCAR experiences at Rockingham Raceway (because Richard Petty and Rusty Wallace tried and failed, but somehow this new shower think they're going to succeed. Well, come on now, that money isn't going to launder itself...). Every time anyone pointed a camera towards them, the lady on the right of the picture stuck her not inconsiderable chest out at Mach 2, prompting James to suggest that she certainly knew how to best utilise her 'gifts'. Gifts, my arse; I bet she's framed the invoice.

Star of the show was, predictably, Mark Todd's Topspeed Street Eliminator GTO on the Serck Motorsport stand, but otherwise I was pretty underwhelmed by the whole event. It's getting to be a bit samey, and the number of American companies exhibiting in the "engineering" section has dwindled to pretty much bugger-all. Hey-ho, it's a day out, but we were ready to go home before 4pm. 

There's another beacon on the horizon – the NSCC AGM in Blackpool on the 20th. Doubtless there will be much profound discourse with the gravitas appropriate to the occasion. Or not. Either way, the AGM bit starts at 1pm, there's a sit-down dinner with cutlery and everything, and then there's the prizegiving and Tat Auction and all the other fun stuff. If you're coming along, you need to book your dinner as soon as possible – you need to be booked and paid by Friday 12th. Oh... hold on... that's now. The details are all on the Facebook page.


It should be a lot of fun. See you there. Soon be spring.

Thursday, 31 December 2015

2015 at the Hot Rod Gazette

It's the end of 2015, the revellers will be out, the A&E, ambulances and police on standby, and there's a whole new year just over the horizon. Hooray... I'll be staying in, tonight, looking forward to comforting a petrified dog when everyone starts letting off fireworks at midnight. Honestly, nobody in this piss-ant little town has any money, yet every halloween, bonfire night, Christmas, new year, and any other day that ends in a Y, about £20,000 goes up in smoke with accompanying pops, bangs, whizzes etc. Bastards.

So how's 2015 been in retrospect? I think it's been a damn good year. Lots of people out enjoying their cars, lots of events, plenty of buzz in the NSCC, 15,000 views on this blog... not bad. NSCC was won overall by Douglas in his Skyline, which I think is the first time a Japanese car has won the NSCC overall - correct me if I'm wrong. It's strong, quick, consistent and reliable, and has been just about everywhere this year. And that's what it's all about (Oi!).

There were a few rain-offs over the course of the year, but very few events were totally ruined. What's of more concern is the flooding over the past couple of weeks, with Hot Rod & Hills organiser Craig, and the venue, Pooley Bridge, really copping for it. We can only hope that everyone gets back on their feet quickly.

Towards the end of the year, I went to the NEC for the Classic Car Show. I went on the Friday, and man, the place was rammed. This surprised me, as at £20-odd for a ticket and £12 just to park your damn car, I expected more people would have voted with their feet. Still, there was some good stuff to see, beautiful classics, rodder-fodder and everything in between. Two of the standout cars for me were actually Ford Capris, this clean early MkI making me think of the one owned by the current NSCC champ...

The other, meanwhile, was dressed up as a Seventies circuit racer in JPS colours and drew a right crowd.
All good fun. Since then, there's not been much occurring although, against all expectations, I have actually been making some progress in the workshop. The bare Fox Mustang shell has been media-blasted, etch-primed, rattle-canned, had rear suspension mount reinforcements fitted, a patch let into the floor pan around a cracked seat bolt, and the entire underside covered in a rather funky super-durable Eastwood chassis-black which went on as easily as possible. With that done, I decided to paint the inside of the car up to the waistline in regular chassis black. I did the first coat with 20% thinner, and the finish was .... well, it was bastard awful.

It was like glossy 120-grit wet'n'dry. For the next coat, I thinned it to 50% and that worked a lot better, although I'm still glad nobody will ever see it. So, with three coats on the underside and three coats on the inside, I do believe I've spent more of December trying to wash thick, black synthetic/enamel paint off my face and hands than doing any other single activity with the possible exception of sleeping. Each coat takes about half an hour to spray, followed by an hour to clean the damn gun. The next job is to have subframe connectors welded on. I'm going to tack them in place myself but a local hot rodder, Tony (who is an MoT tester by trade, and is about to open a new station about a mile and a half from my house - happy Christmas to me!) is going to do the actual welding. I don't trust my own welding for something so structural, especially as the subframe connectors and attaching brackets are made from really thick-wall tubing, and in some places they have to be welded to some really thin-wall chassis legs made out of Ford's finest...

Still, just before Christmas I got a present from the States. It's a nice big present - to put it in context, the bonnet it's sitting on belongs to a 1954 Chevrolet - and is full of DEI Boom Mat sound deadening and heat-shield material. This should be one comfortable road car...

So, as 2015 splutters to a halt and 2016 gets into gear, have a superb new year's eve, eat, drink, be merry and all that shite, and may the new year bring you health, wealth, and happiness. And if you can't be any or all of those things, be Timmy. Always be Timmy.

Happy New Year!

Eugene

PS - It's 7.50pm, and the bloody fireworks have started...