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 11^th with 14.4 – a long way off his recent best – then a big jump to Rick in 12^th 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

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

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!

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!