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 20^th. 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 12^th. 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.

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...

NSCC Finals

September was a busy month, with the ever-popular NSRA Hot Rod Drags over the 12^th and 13^th, followed by the hotly-anticipated NSCC finals the following weekend. The HRDs were terrific as ever, with the weather coming along to spoil parts of Friday and the last bit of Saturday, but otherwise race-party-race-party-race … which is how it should be.

The following Saturday, a lovely day saw the faithful heading Yorkwards mid-afternoon to set up camp ready for a full Sunday's racing. Cruising towards the track from Howden, Simon Boot's crew wagon was already parked smack in front of the Barnes Wallis and looked like it had been there a while, and didn't look like moving any time soon. A quick set-up at the track then led to everyone heading back to the Barnes for a scran. We'd booked seats for 15 arses, and had all chipped in to buy the landlady a lovely bouquet and a big box of chocs, which she thought was delightful. It wasn't so delightful for the last four to arrive – Ian, Adam, Lorraine and Doug – as there were already 15 arses on seats so she told the latecomers to bugger off! Looking on the bright side, Doug did get an extended ride in Ian's Cortina, which he said was... exhilarating. After a properly good nosebag, everyone returned to the track to fill any remaining space with beer either in the bar or around the Boot Camp brazier.

Sunday began early with a mist as thick as a bricky's butties, but it soon burned off to leave a gorgeous, clear, sunny day. Qualifying got under way, Ian Walley posting an early 10.6 at 127mph, a reward for having thrashed to repair the damage done on last round's mighty, explosive launch, and for Adam, who chucked some cash into the pot to get Ian to the finals at all. Next up was Doug on 11.8 at 118mph, and just by qualifying he managed to sew up the 2015 championship. James followed on 12.5, then Pete Smith in the family late-model Shelby on 13.1. Steve Gilmour was next up, wringing 13.3 out of the Pinto-propelled Cortina, then Sandra-Lee in the Cummins-powered Land Rover, improving to a 13.8. Terry Morgan's rat Morris was top of the bottom half of the ladder with 13.9, just ahead of Lee's Punto at 14.1. Andy Errington was back with the black Mustang at 15.1, followed by Rick in the other black Mustang at 15.84, then championship runner-up Nigel in the Anglia at 15.86. Dave Smith in the big barge Lexus was bringing up the rear at 16.1. Blimey, for a Hot Rod series there's not one car there powered by a Chevy engine – what's going on? There was already some drama afoot, as a somewhat sideways launch from James was traced to a broken link on the four-link that looked like putting him out of competition for the day. Fortunately, some quick thinking assisted by a portable generator, an arc welder, a SEAT van with a tow-hitch and the expertise of Andy Leigh and Ian Walley got the thing fixed and ready for the first round.

The first round opened with Gilly cranking out a terrific 13.2 to out Lee's Punto, followed by Terry shutting down Sandra-Lee 13.3 to 13.7. James was gently testing out his freshly re-engineered rear end with a 13.6 over Rick's 15.8, then new champ Doug and the second placed chap Nigel met up, Nigel cherrying the race away against Doug's extremely sleepy 1.6-second reaction. Pete's Shelby beat Andy's SN95 13.5 to 15.2, then Ian beat Dave by the narrowest of six-second margins to complete the first round of eliminations.

Quarter finals started with a close match-up, Pete wringing a 13.0 at 111mph out of the blown Shelby, but it wasn't enough to catch James's 12.4 at 113mph. So that Aldi arc welder seems to have been up to the job, then. Doug's 11.6 at 119mph was plenty to cover Gilly's 13.5, while Terry went out to Ian 13.6 to 10.9.

The semis opened with what should have been a race as tight as a whale's clout, but there was some gamesmanship afoot – Doug had apparently run out of gas, while James had more gas than Joey 'Jaws' Chestnut*, meaning that the race should have gone James's way, but Doug was then seen fitting a bottle courtesy of Ian Walley Racing... When the lights ran down, Doug ran a 13.4, a no-gas time, while James took the win light with an on-gas 12.6. Like Doug gave a shite – he was already champion! Ian had a bye into the final, but, never one to waste an empty track, ripped off a 10.3 at 130mph.

So, the round finals and the final NSCC run of the year was set up, and it was two shonky old MkII Cortinas. James was well away when the lights ran down, but half a second later Ian gave one of his explosive launches and hunted him down. James managed a 12.4 at 112mph, but Ian's 10.3 at 130mph was more than a match and gave him the win.

It had been a tremendous day's racing, a really fitting end to yet another excellent season of NSCC. Doug had the championship sewn up, and had earned it well with a car that had been reliable and daily-drivable whilst still rattling off low elevens like a stroll in the park. Yes, we may have taken the piss about it being a bright orange ricer, leading to the superb nickname Uncle Ben, but he's certainly shown the more traditional HRG fare what it takes to win NSCC. A close runner-up was Nigel in the little four-pot Anglia, a proper little street rod that's been absolutely everywhere this season, and so close to the top of the table. It's been a good year with a handful of rain-outs and the odd disaster, but lots of superb racing, plenty of laughs, and an excellent turn-out of qualified NSCC cars. With plenty of winter garage reshuffles, projects and new cars ready for next season, 2016 looks like it could be another bumper year... Thanks to everyone concerned!

Eugene

NSCC Round 8... not 9

It's been almost two months since the last load of bumnuts on here. It's also been almost two months since the last round of NSCC. Coincidence?
It had certainly been a long, long wait since the last round of racing, but that only made the anticipation all the sweeter, and unless you arrived at York early on the Saturday evening prior to Sunday and bank holiday Monday's double header, you had to pit in Barnsley. Clearly everyone was taking the Sunday's racing very seriously, as they were all in bed by midnight ... or maybe they were just a great bunch of mincing fairies.
There were a couple of new faces among the usual suspects - Vix and Pete Smith turned up with their blown '07 Shelby Mustang and a small stately home on wheels, while Dave Mears appeared with his 403-powered red Trans Am and a shonky little tent like the rest of us. Some familiar faces brought new cars out for late-season debuts - Biff had a rather shiny (but not black) Trans Am powered by a 455 Olds, his old (black) SN95 Mustang now in the hands of ex-Viva pilot Rick Swaine, while the Hughes clan shared driving duties of the new 1600cc MR2-based Imp, Dec running in NSCC while Paul drove it in JDM brackets.

Sunday was a lovely day, warm but slightly overcast, but with the pits full of all classes, track time was in high demand. After two rounds of qualifying, Russ's Dutton dominated with a 9.75. Ian Walley, back with a new Dart block after the old one was found to have a nastier gash than Katie Price, was running it in gently with an 11.0, Doug "Uncle Ben" Hague third with 11.8, then James Murray with a 12.4. John Peace was the only one in the 13s with a 13.4, while Biff opened his account with a 14.0. Vix was just behind on 14.1, still using the traction control and no burnout to save the expensive Pirellis, with Sandra Lee in the Land Rover on 14.4. The diesel Landy now features a 4L80E transmission, but in true Land Rover tradition, Jamie has eschewed complex computer controls in favour of a series of rocker switches. Yes, a diesel Land Rover with push-button auto! That's brilliant. The lesser-spotted Lee Openshaw, not seen since May, was back, and feared no ridicule by bolting on a pair of pink front wheels. Why is uncertain, but the ones on the back weren't brown, sadly. He managed a 14.56, a whisker ahead of Steve Gilmour's 14.58, then Andy Errington, on the bottle and rounding out the top half of the ladder with a 14.6.

Shaun Cockroft was along with his handsome little Escort Harrier on 15.0, then Phil Winstanley's Moggy on 15.1, Andy Frear's mighty zombie apocalypse Bronco on 15.2 and Dave Mears with a 15.3, not a bad start for the car's first trip to the strip. Rick was getting the hang of his new steed with a 15.7, then Terry Morgan in the SBF Morris rat-rod on 16.2, and Dave Smith in the big barge Lexus at 16.33. The Hughes' little Imp was getting the hang of the job with a 16.34, Scott in the handsomely-facelifted Pop on 16.4, Nigel's Anglia on 16.9, then Mark Presland rounding out an impressive 22-car ladder with an 18.7. Twenty-two cars... the NSCC was the biggest non-RWYB class of the day!

Round one opened with John Peace taking it easy with a 14.1 against Dave's Lexus on 16.0, while the mid-table match-up of Andy Errington and Shaun Cockroft was decided on the line with a red light from the Escort. Russ ran a stout 10.9 against Mark's 18.9, while Mark's identical twin, Scott, was on the receiving end of a 12.0 from Uncle Ben. Ian Walley had turned up the wick a little, his 10.6 easily covering Nigel's 16.0, then a battle of the British Tin saw Phil's Moggy come unstuck at the hands of Gilly's giant-slayer Cortina, 13.8 to 14.2.

Biff had suffered overheating, puking and an embarrassing leakage in the pit lane during qualifying... Sorry, I should have said Biff's CAR suffered overheating, puking and an embarrassing leakage in the pit lane during qualifying, but was back to cover Terry's 15.6 with his 14.1, while James's almost shiny Cortina ran 13.7 to Dec's 15.9. Lee's pink bits clearly gave him an advantage, shutting Andy's Bronco down 14.5 to 15.6, then Vix rattled off a 14.2 to Rick's 15.7. The first round of eliminations was concluded with Sandra Lee blasting out a 14.1 - I believe a NPB for the diesel Landy - to Dave Mears' 15.3.

Round two followed ... eventually ... and opened with Biff stealing the win from Vix by less than two tenths of a second. Russ was up next on a bye, and usually a bye is an excuse to take it easy and not risk damaging the motor. Russ clearly couldn't give a bucket of steaming monkey dumps for that school of thought, using the solo run to bash out a 9.48 at 138mph.

Doug wasn't dithering, either, his 11.86 polishing off Gilly's 13.7, before John Peace ran 13.1 to Sandra-Lee's 14.4, a NPB for John and the blown Fox notch, though the euphoria would be short-lived.

The Angel of Death made a reappearance in this round. Andrew Errington's calm, sanguine, gentlemanly persona is merely a thin veneer hiding a sadistic scythe-waving maniac from a circle of hell that even Dante never got to find out about. Having caused his opponent to red-light in the first round, he again pushed the hidden button in the Mustang that causes the shit to hit someone ELSE's fan in his pairing against Ian Walley. While Ian was spooling up on the line, taching over 5000rpm on the transbrake, ready for one of his "Houston, we have lift-off" launches, Andrew was cruising off up the track on the way to a 14.99. At some point, he looked in his mirror and uttered the dread incantation, and as Ian released the transbrake button, his tyres gripped, he popped the welds holding his axle tubes into the diff carrier, the pinion went skywards, turned the propshaft into a question mark and bust the tail housing from the gearbox. The Dark Lord was satisfied, and the win light came on in Andrew's lane.

Yet another bitter disappointment for Ian, and another early bath for the Mad Professor and crew.

As you can see, the evil hadn't quite worn off and the car appears to have claimed another victim in the shape of Al Perkins, another soul for the Lord of Darkness.

The quarter finals began with James Murray getting fried by the rice, Doug's stunning 0.51 reaction and 11.9 covering James' 13.2. He claimed a nitrous solenoid failure and returned to the pits, opened the bonnet and pulled out a loose length of broken wire saying "I've found the problem!"

Russ was, prudently, taking it a little easier, his 11.0 still being enough for Biff's 14.5. Rounding out the quarters was another battle of the Mustangs, Andy's SN95 versus John's blown Fox. This time, John won fair and square, 13.4 to 14.9, but the dark prince of the underworld would have his revenge... upon returning to the pits, John's engine was rattling in a rather potentially-terminal fashion. This was a double blow for John as his quarter-final win would have given him a semi-final bye into the final, but rather than risk any part of his rotating assembly getting scared of the dark and doing a runner, he prudently hung up his keys.

The semi finals were a brief affair, with only Doug and Russ showing. Doug again left with a 0.51 reaction, and seemed to have the race in the bag right up until the last few hundred feet when it seemed Russ just nudged the nitrous switch and took the win 11.0 to 11.75. And so, after a big field and a tremendous day's racing, the final would be something of an anti-climax. However, Russ wouldn't let the day end with a whimper, and finished the day with a solo run of 9.45 at 138mph.

Some early-exits from the eliminations elected to make an equally early exit for the evening cruise in order to be back in time for the on-track Cackle for KC, while the rest of us went for a damn fine nosebag at the Barnes Wallis. Upon our return, beers were opened, the bar was opened and the Dixon-Granger family barbecue was in full swing for everyone except James, who had borrowed Gary Leece's van and Derek Beck's trailer off Biff (eh?) to take John and his Mustang home.
It was a real blow to poor John but, as it happened, he missed absolutely sweet FA. Late Sunday night, a few raindrops began falling. By 3am it was raining good and proper, and barely let up for most of Monday. The weather forecast predicted that the rain would be coming down all damn day until teatime, so for the sake of safety, Mr Murty called the day off, refunded everyone their money and let them make a nice early start to dry off at home.
I'm joking, of course. Almost everyone - including everyone on slicks - had packed up and gone way before noon, but there was no official rain-off call. In fact, at 1pm, said Murt got on the Tannoy announcing that "In case you haven't noticed, it's stopped raining and timed runs will begin at 2pm." This was news to all the remaining people, who were left wondering just what this wet stuff still falling out of the sky was if it wasn't rain. But, true to his word, he found half a dozen RWYBers daft enough to run in the pissing rain and sent them off up the track with sidelights and wipers on. It's amazing that the previous evening, dozens of racers had gathered on the track under a glorious sunset to remember one of their own who had died in a tragic racing accident, and here, the following day under leaden skies with a constant rain falling, the track owner was sending cars out to race. It was an insult.
Still, after the half-dozen dimwits (who were doing burnouts before running on a track with standing water on it - what's that all about?) had got tired of running laps, the day was finally called at around 3pm and the remaining hangers-on hit the road homeward.
It seems Uncle Ben has got the 2015 championship all sorted, but there's still a chance Nigel could steal it in the last furlong. With only a couple of cruises and the Hot Rod Drags left for last minute qualifying and points-grabbing before the finals, it's still all to play for in the National Street Car Challenge!

Tour De Farce & NSCC Round 7

Last weekend marked the V8 UK Power Tour. This is the second year for the Power Tour, but for one reason and another, this year's was a two-day, two-venue event – Saturday at Santa Pod; Sunday at York, which also happened to coincide with Round 7 of the NSCC.

I told James that plan A was to arrive in daylight on Friday evening; plan B was to arrive before the rain that was forecast to show up around midnight. It started well when I arrived at James's around 7.30pm to find him spray painting his car. At 10.30 we'd just finished refitting the windscreen, so that was plan A well and truly buggered. We set off for Santa Pod, driving along the A45 watching the lightning in the distance, and arriving shortly after midnight to find the gates locked. A security chap walked over, and we told him we were with the Power Tour. He asked a trick question, “OK, where are you going tomorrow?” This completely fooled me, as all I could think was that I was hoping to be at Santa Pod tomorrow but fortunately James was much quicker on the uptake than me, and gave the code that unlocked the gate - “York”. We headed down to the far end of the pits where the Power Tour crew were camped, opened a beer, and literally the second I'd hammered my last tent peg in, the heavens opened. We'd accomplished plan B with less than a minute to spare.

Jesus Christ almighty, the storm that followed was biblical. Howling winds, thunder, lightning flashing every four or five seconds, and torrential rain. I grabbed my beer and ran for the V8UK guys' gazebo which, given the weather, they had sensibly shut up fairly tight. It was about three metres by two metres, and I walked around it twice looking for the door before knocking (on canvas, yes, really) and pleading with them to let me in. In those 20-30 seconds, I was drenched from head to foot. It was at this point that everyone else thought “Bugger this, I'm going to bed” so I then had to run back again. The storm, which had then been joined by a plague of frogs and four blokes on horses, continued for another two hours before finally heading north.

This meant that it was fairly late when we got to sleep, and when I finally got up in the morning, not only was the track dry and open for business, but about four Power Tour cars had already broken! John Sleath and Moose had arrived, and John had already broken too. Steve Neimantas had brought the Charger out on the Power Tour, done his runs and headed off already, but it turned out he'd broken down on the way back.

There was some interesting stuff about, like this Escort picking its wheels up.

The Taz Racing 126s are always good value for money, too.

Deb Laugher was out testing her Super Pro ET Corvette, which looked gorgeous, but was showing an alarming tendency to turn right at about 60ft

This thing puzzled me no end - a wheelie bar on a French FWD Civic? Then I realised it's tied into the roll cage, and is set very low to prevent the front end getting light and unloading when the power comes in.

I queued up to get a run in, and the queues were already Mopar Euronats long. First run into a fair headwind with a very gluey track was a 16.6, with the transmission in D. There's a switch next to the shifter that alters the shift points and such, so I switched it from Normal to Power, queued up for another hour or so, and ran a 16.8. Hmm. One look at the queue told me I wasn't going to bother waiting for another run, and, try as I might, I can't get a feel for Hondas and such, so I began decamping. James had made a balls-up of his first two runs, so queued up for a third, ran a 12, decided that was as good as it was going to get and packed up himself. Most of the other Power Tourers had already buggered off, apart from a few other stragglers, so I flung everything in the boot, poured the rainwater out of my tent and threw that in on top, and we set off.

We had to stop at Tesco on the way, but as our combined shopping list was sticking plasters, milk, a bag of ice and some clean pants, we decided we'd each get our own to prevent Wellingborough thinking we were a couple with some 50 Shades thing going on. The cruise up the M1 was uneventful, though as about half of it is limited to 50mph we were more in danger of nodding off than anything else. The only highlight came on the slip road onto the M18 where the driver of a white van on the hard shoulder was frantically flagging down passing traffic. We stopped to help, but it turned out that he was Hungarian, spoke no English, and thought he was lost although (using my “speaking English slowly and loudly to foreigners” technique) it turned out he actually wasn't and was on the right road. Tit.

We stopped at the Chinese takeaway in Howden on the way, and my accomplishment of the weekend was being able to eat a whole Yung Chow Fried Rice, with a fork, whilst keeping up with James on the 12 miles of B-road from Howden to York Raceway. I didn't even spill any! Tent up, beer out, job's good. That's when we found out that York had decided to run a round of NSCC that day, so we had to go round telling all those who'd taken part that they hadn't earned any points from it.

The evening passed rather rapidly. It was one of those cases where you're standing around talking and suddenly realise that almost everyone else has gone to bed, so I did likewise. Sunday was a rather cool, overcast and breezy day, but it did make for some good racing. After two qualifying sessions, Ian Walley was out on top with a 10.28 at 129mph after some stellar tyre-changing services from Jamie Hughes the previous evening. Russ was next on 10.93, follower by Power Tourer Doug Hague in the Skyline on 11.71. He was followed by James murray getting back towards form with a 12.5, and John Peace not even close to the potential of that Mustang on 14.0. Both of those guys were also Power Tourers. Sandra-Lee Hughes was next with 14.3 from the diesel Land Rover, then Steve Gilmour on 14.55 and a NPB from Andy Errington, 14.83 from the Mustang. Andy Frear with another diesel topped the lower half of the ladder with 15.2, then Terry Morgan's Morris on 15.9, then me on 16.0, having suddenly lost 0.6 of a second from the previous day. Nigel Henderson's Anglia was next on 16.1, then Scott Presland in the fresh-back-out Pop on 16.9. Final Power-Tourer Ryan Chatburn was on 17.2, slightly ahead of Mark Butterworth in the Porsche 944 on 17.5, with Rick Swaine at the wheel of Mark's 100E on 19.4 at the bottom of the ladder.

Round one began with the top and tailers, Ian and Rick, Ian taking the win by a handy nine seconds. The two Andys were next, Andy E's Mustang getting a mighty drop on Andy F's Bronco at the lights and taking the win 14.8 to 15.3, then James ran a no-gas 13.6 to finish Scott's day. John pulled a 13.8 at 106mph out of the hat against Nigel, before Russ showed the Dunkirk spirit, his home-brewed British kit car defeating Mark's mighty German meister-machine 10.9 to 17.9. Steve's 14.4 was enough to head off Terry's rod, and Doug's Jap machine Pearl Harboured Ryan's pseudo-Yank Probe. After the aforementioned stellar tyre changing technique the previous evening, it was slightly ironic that the Hughes dynasty's Land Rover was a no-show with a puncture, leaving me to solo through to the quarter finals.

Round two began with Ian Walley ripping off another 10.5 like it ain't no thang against Andy's 15.1, then James turned the wick back up with a 12.5 against John's NPB 13.6. Russ hammered home his advantage with an 11.0 against Steve's 14.5, then my brief good fortune wilted embarrassingly in the face of Doug's 11.9 to set up the semis.

In the semis, James turned the wick up again to record a sharp light and a 12.4 at 111mph, but Ian was conserving gas with a gentle 11.2 to take the win. Then, once again, the Allied forces of British kit car and American engine conquered the inscrutable cunning of the far East, Russ's 11.1 seeing off Doug's 12.4. This should have been Victory for Dutton Day, but who wants to see a flag saying “Happy VD Day!”?

Talking of victory for Dutton, there was a real upset about to happen in the final. Russ had already been told that he couldn't take part in the annual Street Racer Championship because his car couldn't be street legal, on account of the rear tyres sticking an inch or two out of the arches. Hmmm. This is in spite of the fact that the car used on the flyers and adverts for the Street Racer Championship was... Russ's Dutton, complete with sticky-out tyres.When we were told this, we all wrinkled out noses at the sudden stench of bullshit, but it wasn't over for Russ. He and Ian staged for the final and Russ got a blinding launch, charging up the track to a 9.972 at 137mph against Ian's slowing 10.7 to take the win. However, the second the scores flashed up on the scoreboard, the voice of the Metatron* came over the radios saying that this run doesn't count, and Russ is hereby disqualified from this round of racing. Ooo-er. Apparently, Russ had already been told that his car doesn't have enough cage to run under 9.99, but he's been careful enough to sandbag it for the past year or so. Today, he slipped up, and The Metatron was waiting to spring the trap. This added something of an EastEnders-style drama-laden cliffhanger ending to the NSCC, but the drama was far from over.

Ian Walley had also been contesting the Street Racer championship, and made it to the final alongside Power Tourer Owen Forrest, all the way up from Kent in a big-block Ford-powered Fox Mustang notch (ex-Nick Gunby). The last race of the day, they lined up, blasted off and ran side-by-side tens, with Ian's turbo power just managing to overcome the massive cubes of Owen's Mustang. As they returned down the track to claim their prizes, the fact that two Fords, each also powered by Ford engines, had made it to the final of Street Racer had caused a massive rip in the fabric of space/time. The Metatron was standing atop the shithouse portacabin, brandishing his mop like Gandalf's staff in an attempt to keep the beasts of the netherworld in their own dimension, while, with lightning flashing to the south, the prizegiving was a somewhat hurried affair. “Here's your trophy, here's your money, now smile at the camera, good, now RUN!” I just about made it to my tent before the rain hit, with hail, gales, cosmic anomalies in the nature of reality and all-sorts hit. Once again, the tent was thrown into the boot but, within 20 seconds, I was piss-wet-through. Again.

Hey-ho, it was a fitting ending to a really good weekend. Some excellent racing, a lot of fun, and Owen picked up the All-Motor trophy for the Power Tour so it was far from a wasted journey. A chap called Martyn with a high-tech Nissan GTR picked up the Power-Adder trophy with a combined average of 9.96... bloody hell, that Yellow Peril is never far away. A top weekend.

Eugene

* - The highest of the angels, the celestial scribe and chancellor of heaven. Or Steve Murty, as we know him.

Flaming June

June's been a busy month for most of us, it seems. It started badly for me when, right at the beginning, James and I made a trip down to the Smoke, gaw blimey, apples, pears etc. It lived up to expectations, in as much as James and I felt like foreigners and a pint cost in excess of £4 though, to be fair, it wasn't a bad pint. We'd gone to be in the studio audience for QI, but despite being early (I know! Me! James! Early!) we failed to make the cut along with 100 or so other people in the queue behind us. Still, it wasn't a wasted train trip. I'd been looking out for an old Lexus with the 4.0 1-UZ V8 to use as a donor car, and I'd found one out near Harrow. It was cheap, and I wasn't expecting much, but we went to take a look.

Long story short, I bought it for a song and drove it home. I told the missus on the way back that I'd bought the Lexus I mentioned, and she replied "There was never any doubt in my mind that you would." Bah, she's rumbled me.
The subsequent Saturday, I gave it a wash and brush up, and it came up pretty nice.

I drove it down to Brands Hatch on the Sunday, and it proved to be a silent, comfortable and capable car that averaged 28mpg. Bugger breaking it for its engine; it's the new daily driver.
The following weekend, everyone else was at Hot Rods & Hills but I'd jizzed all my money on a shonky Lexus so I wasn't going. The following Thursday, though, I'd managed to blag a ride for a few days. I drove down to Luton, parked the Lexus up, and drove out in this...

It's a Vauxhall VXR8, basically a Holden Commodore HSV with the supercharged LSA motor and six-speed manual. You know it's going to be good when the massive tank is brimmed full and the computer reckons you can expect 200 miles from it. I'm guessing that everyone who has taken it out before me has ragged it like a cheap whore when the fleet's in, leading to low expectations of fuel economy from the on-board computer.

While I was there I did get to have a quick gander around Vauxhall's Heritage Centre, and boy do they have some cool stuff in there. All nicely restored, from pre-war stuff to the last Monaro, a Lotus Carlton, a Bedford CA and CF, and something I could really go for, a droop-snoot Firenza. Yum.

Still, the road was calling, and I took the 570-odd bhp VXR8 out of the gates, onto the M1... and straight into rush-hour traffic. For two hours. And that clutch is heavy. As soon as I came off the motorway, I had a BMW pull up next to me at the lights giving it big licks. Right, I thought, I'll show him. Green went the lights, down went the boot, and paaaaarp went my arse. The thing took off so hard it snapped my neck back, then forwards again when it hit the rev limiter. I grabbed second and repeated the process, all the while shrieking like the prettiest boy in the cell block. I'd covered half a mile, using both lanes of the carriageway, ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers and left the BMW sitting there as if someone had stolen his throttle pedal. Which is just as well, otherwise he'd have seen me being thrown around inside the car like a big lass's tit on a bouncy castle and laughed himself into a lamppost.
That weekend saw us all at Shakey County for the Nostalgia Nats. What a terrific weekend. There was a real buzz about the place, some real enthusiasm floating around. And talking of floating around, here's a picture of two reprobates mugging a child for his bicycle.

And here's one of them riding it around the pits and trying to pull wheelies before falling flat on his mudflaps.

Honestly, you'd think driving a seven-second street car would be enough of a thrill, but no, riding a bicycle designed for someone roughly the size and weight of one of his morning bowel movements was more exciting. The Saturday was a bit of a dead loss due to rain showers, but Sunday was a great day with plenty of NPBs for NSCCers including Andy's 7.77 at 178mph, Keith Freeman well inside the 10s, and Sandra Lee taking the coal-chucking Land Rover down to a 14.4. Good fun all round.
Andy even managed to continue his efforts at infanticide by proxy. Not content with setting fire to the poor little bugger at York, this time, when the nitrous bottle he was heating up in a bucket of boiling water blew its burst disc, the same child was standing next to it. He laughed about it. Well, we all did - we'd just inhaled 10lbs of nitrous oxide. So either Andy's a psychopath or the kid's a jinx. And that's another perfectly good pair of my trousers ruined. I'd only just chipped the solids off them after the VXR8 incident. Mind you, if a 1200psi blast of nitrous and boiling water didn't shift the stains, nothing would.
And I even got a chocolate race car for father's day!

Yes, it's likely to be more structurally sound than most of my race cars, though it won't pass scrutineering now as ... well, I've eaten it. So, by tomorrow, it'll be an EXACT replica of most of my race cars...

Eugene

Sunny For Sale!

For Sale: 1987 Nissan Sunny 1.3LX. MoT until end of September, < 66k miles. Body & interior in really good shape, polishes up beautifully (yes, I've actually polished it!). Everything seems to work, and I'm averaging 43-46mpg. Problems: sills will need doing for MoT, and there's a rust hole about 1" across in boot floor. Radio wiring and dash around it has been butchered. And on a long journey, it can overheat after 50 miles or so. I drove down to London last week, 300+ miles round trip, overheated twice on the way there, not at all on the way back. It'd make a nice little retro for someone, cheap to insure for younger driver. Let's start at £325... you know how to get hold of me.