I've never really got into the London thing, so in my naivety I try and be nice to my neighbours. Living in a sort of housing development you'd expect it to be quite close-knit, but apparently not.
Our closest neighbours seem to spend their entire weekends washing their cars. Unusually, yesterday I decided to do the same, but seems we have no downstairs water supply, and in an attempt to strike up a bit of a conversation, I went over to see if I could maybe fill a bucket up from the hose he had.
The guy looked at me like I'd asked to deflower his firstborn daughter. 'Ok...' I thought.
After lugging bucket after bucket down the stairs I set to washing the TVR, quitely minding my own business. I caught bits of the conversation between my dear neighbour and his Audi-washing mate where one was saying to the other, "I think we're supposed to be jealous that he has a sports car".
How twisted to you have to be to assume someone washing their car is intended to provoke a reaction? It was the first time I'd washed it in about three months and there was no attempt to parade it around - I just parked up after my morning hoon and set to it.
So, I've learnt my lesson now. Don't try and be nice to the natives, they don't appreciate it.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Last Thursday began with a chance encounter as I cruised down the A286 on the way to the Goodwood. I noticed a blood red vintage sports car waiting to join the road ahead, slowed down to let him out, flashed the headlights. We then had one of those ‘no you go... no you go’ moments as we both hesitated, then decided to go simultaneously. Slightly red faced, but fortunately intact, I sheepishly my way past the beautiful car and its (presumably now somewhat confused) driver and continued on my way.
Once at Goodwood things took an altogether more surreal turn. The characteristic sound of rotor blades echoed off the front of the house as an Army Air Corps Lynx appeared over the tree tops and began a jaw dropping low-altitude display, looping and rolling its way across the horizon. As a climax it accelerated towards us across the lawn, pulled the nose up in a dramatic stop and then came to a rest, hovering about 20 feet above the ground. Then – and I swear I’m not making this up – Amanda Stretton fast roped out of the helicopter, ran over the lawns to the front of the house and interviewied Lord March for the beginning of the day. You can’t deny that’s quite an entrance.
Next, after a brief introduction, it was time to hit the hill. All manner of mouth-watering machinery from the 1920s to the present day was lining up at the start line, including no less than three priceless ‘silver arrow’ racers. Many of the cars there I’d never even seen in a museum before, let alone witnessed performing a full-bore standing start a matter of feet away. Group C Le Mans racers and Group B rally cars became virtually de rigeur in a field that also included a very enthusiastically driven Aston Martin DB3S, a Bugatti Atlantique and a unique Ferrari 250GT ‘Breadvan’. The modern era was well represented too with a brand spanking new Nissan 370Z there, along with its bigger brother the GT-R , a Ferrari 599GTB and a Maserati Granturismo driven by none other than Jodie Kidd.
My trip up the hill finally came in a Morgan Aeromax. Now let me make one thing clear: it’s a spectacularly desirable car - fast, apparently progressive at the limit, atmospheric and beautifully crafted. In any other setting I would be overjoyed to get a ride in such a fabulous machine, but with automotive royalty like the actual Le Mans winning McLaren F1 GTR offering passenger rides it seemed, well, a tad underwhelming. Even so it was a magical experience and It’s testament to the breathtaking scale of Goodwood that I can take such a spoilt attitude.
The BMW-sourced V8 catapulted us away from the start line with surprising vigour and a thunderous soundtrack. Even in one of the more road-orientated cars, the hay bales were flying past at a considerable rate by the time we reached the first corner. As the Morgan’s auto box found its footing on the exit, the front end gently tucked in, with only the slightest touch required from the driver, chief designer Matthew Humphries to reign in the slide. The whole experience was remarkably relaxed, illustrating just what a superbly executed GT the Aeromax is.
Sat in the paddock at the top of the hill Matthew showed me around the features of his car like a proud father. The detailing is indeed sublime, and unlike some limited-production supercars it really does feel like a £100,000 product – part comic book racer, part gentleman’s club on wheels. Unfortunately as we sat around discussing its finer points I was oblivious to the fact the final passenger rides were coming to a close on the rally stage. I had to blank this from my mind later in the day as my fellow guests recounted stories of airborne Quattros and sideways Integrales and I swore to be quicker on the uptake next time round.
One area which I did manage to capitalise on was lunch. Although the atmosphere was wonderfully informal (in fact I felt a bit out of place in my suit) the food was very much what you would expect from a society event at one of England’s great country houses. Then came the champagne, which if anything surpassed the cuisine, causing me to curse the decision to drive down. Once again I made a mental note for next year’s event.
Much like the opening, lunch time had a somewhat quirky feel as no less than 12 mini-skirted girls posted themselves into a mini, in a scene straight from Austin Powers’ wildest fantasy. Add to that the occasional passing supermodel or famous racing driver and the other-worldly feel was complete. In fact, surveying the crowd of familiar faces I made a discovery: Stood on the lawn was TV presenter and gentleman racer Alain de Cadenet and next to him was his car. It just happens to be a priceless 1930s Alfa Romeo 8C. In blood red. Suddenly I was particularly glad I hadn’t T-boned that car on the A286...
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Following on from Le Mans (watched last month) I decided to maintain the theme with a similar slice of retro motor racing. And I suspect that’s pretty much what the film’s producer Michael Keyser must have been aiming to do as well. It’s setting, the 1972 World Sports Car Championship, has more than a hint of the iconic Steve McQueen movie about it, but this time the action is real.
It principally focuses on Mario Andretti at Ferrari and Vic Elford at for Alfa Romeo, but Brian Redman, Helmut Marko and Jacky Ickx all make significant supporting appearances, as do a mouth-watering array of sports racing cars. However, despite its abundant car-porn, the film’s main success is intimately portraying the emotional toll of racing, back in the days when fatal or career-ending accidents were all too common and the money raised from racing could barely support a family.
The obviously scripted commentary from the two main drivers, complete with some hilariously wooden tagged-on comments strangely adds to the appeal. Far from seeming ‘put up’, The Speed Merchants comes over as both authentic and deeply atmospheric. The impressive level of access to all the major teams helps no end, but it’s the striking cinéma vérité visuals, combined with Paul Harris’ genuinely haunting piano score which really bring this film to life. As the final frame freezes with Andretti’s Ferrari 312PB streaking along the main straight at Watkins Glen there’s a feeling that they genuinely have frozen a moment in time.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
This morning the UK government announced plans to reduce the national speed limit from 60mph to 50mph. What’s more a new wave of average speed cameras is planned to enforce the reduction. The official justification for this is of course road safety, with some conveniently obliging government statistics to back the message.
“We are killing 3,000 people a year on our roads,” said roads minister Jim Fitzpatrick. “It would be irresponsible not to do something about it and I’m sure that the vast majority of motorists would support the proposals.”
Well, here comes the science bit: According to the government 69% of fatal car crashes on UK roads in 2007 occurred in rural areas. Que a recent study by the Department of Transport, which claims that a 10mph reduction in the speed limit would save around 200 lives a year. However, even the highest estimate only puts a third of these down to excessive speed - an almost equally large proportion is attributed to drivers under the influence of drugs.
UK roads were for many years – when the national speed limit was 60mph and 70mph before that – rated as the safest in the world. Nonetheless, accidents still have to occur somewhere, and if you look at the options it’s no wonder that they will be on rural roads. The conditions in town means that a reasonably sensible driver never really goes fast enough to kill another motorist – even pedestrians are relatively safe at 20 or 30mph down the high street. Take our other major road category, motorways, and although the speeds are much higher there are no junctions or oncoming cars to worry about. Logically you’d expect nearly 100% of our road accidents to be on rural NSL roads, not 69.
The government’s target optimistically equates to a 6% reduction in road casualties, or a total reduction in the number of people dying each year in Britain by 0.04%. Surely if the aim is to save lives the money could be better spent elsewhere? Last time the politicians played Risk in the Middle East hundreds, if not thousands, of times that number were killed. If you want to make the world a safer place there are more cost effective solutions.
Indeed, there are more cost effective ways of making the UK roads a safer place. How about better standards of driving tuition? Zero tolerance on drugs, and more human police officers rather than R2D2 spying on you from a yellow box? Sadly you have to concede the answer is money. Average speed cameras are notoriously effective at catching drivers unaware as they do not monitor one particular black spot, but rather a wider stretch with potentially no other hazards. Add to that the fact that it neatly paves the way for ‘pay as you drive’ road charging schemes and makes up for the loss in tax revenue from greener vehicles, and it suddenly sounds disturbingly real.
I’d love to think this will disapear like so many crackpot vote winners before it, but sadly apathy looks set to take over. Most people live in suburban connobations. And, when they do venture into the countryside, they sit at precisely 43mph until their gormless, commatosed state causes an accident, still well within the confines of the proposed laws. It won’t affect them and many, no doubt, will support it. I’d love to end on a cheery note about heading to the burgeoning track day scene, but with councils across the country clamping down on noise regulations, even that looks under threat. Sadly it seems whatever the greater bulk of voters don’t want or can’t afford will always be a target. I would say that’s just democracy, but with us sliding apathetically towards a police state, even that doesn’t seem to justify it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
It’s 7:15pm, on an unseasonably mild February evening at Reading Services on the M4, and I’m sitting outside on the grass bank that lines one side of the car park. I’m waiting for my best mate and fellow car nut Ian Robinson. A few feet away on the tarmac the TVR sits gleaming under the spot lights, and somewhere on the M25 Ian is nearing the rendezvous in his Fiat Panda 100HP.
The aim of the next couple of days is twofold. Firstly, we’re travelling down to Llandow race circuit near Cardiff, ostensibly to write a story on the Adrenaline Motorsport’s Murtaya Britcar entry for Race Tech, but also to take the TVR on track. Secondly, it seems a shame not to pay a visit to the Brecon Beacons – said to be the home of some of Britain’s best driving roads – while we’re there.
A phone call signals the arrival of the mighty Panda and within minutes we’re heading out onto the motorway. Having had various tip offs about good roads I’ve loaded a mind bogglingly complex route into the sat nav and so all that remains is to press go. At least in theory.
Day two dawns early as we scoff an unusual breakfast of Y-Fenni cheese on toast and set off towards the circuit. I can’t deny I’m feeling slightly apprehensive about taking the TVR on track, after my last, (somewhat sobering) attempt was plagued by unpredictable bouts of snap oversteer. It wasn’t really a problem then, but Llandow, unlike North Weald airfield, has very little run off area. What’s more I know from past experience just how quick the Murtayas and the tuned Imprezas due to turn up can be. I fully expect to be scared witless as banzai 600bhp monsters fly by left right and centre.
I do have a couple of tricks up my sleeve though. Since last time I’ve had the front ride height raised to the correct level and, after we park up at the track, I set to work adjusting the dampers. The first few laps are taken cautiously, and then it hits me: The car is handling well. Really, really well. It feels far more planted at high speeds, with a fundamentally neutral balance that can be coaxed into oversteer using the throttle at low speeds, or a slight lift to tuck the nose in at higher speeds. The change is simply unbelievable and the new package is nothing short of sublime.
However, as I start to get carried away, it feels like the rear tyres are suffering somewhat so I head back to the pits. After a few minutes for them to cool down, Ian and I head back out, but something appears to have gone very badly wrong. There’s a massive vibration coming from the rear of the car and we nurse it round to the pits. Trying not to think of wheel bearing failures or broken suspension arms, the only other option seems to be a loose wheel, so I head straight for the rear left. It’s the only wheel that renowned specialists The TVR Centre needed to remove for the recent fuel sender change and sure enough it’s loose. I let off a stream of expletives and settle into a daze – minutes before we were doing 100mph towards a very solid looking crash barrier, dependant on that wheel for safety.
After torqueing the wheel nuts up – something that one of North London’s most expensive garages is seemingly incapable of doing – we head back onto the circuit. Fortunately the car is once again handling fantastically and, confident it’s no longer likely to kill either of us, I come in to swap seats with Ian. “Have fun,” I explain. “But just remember: if you break it, you pay for it!”
Even from the passenger seat the S3 makes for a fantastic ride. Ian has always been quicker to adapt to things than I am and we’re doing a very respectable pace right from the first lap. On about the fourth attempt we come into the bus stop chicane just after the start/finish straight. As he goes for the power on the second left-hander the back end starts to come round and Ian steers into it but overcorrects and sends us into a tank-slapper. The final rotation sees the car pirouetting back to the left, where we finish on a mercifully clear stretch of tarmac some yards away from the nearest barrier.
“That was fun!” I exclaim, but Ian isn’t quite so sure, so we return to the pits for another driver swap. It later transpires that he managed to dislocate his thumb during the first part of the drama and this may well have been the reason we ended up spinning. Sadly it marks the end of his circuit driving for the day. For me, however, the next outing proves to be a rather special one. The Murtaya demonstrator is out of action but, explains Neil Yates of Adrenaline, I can do a few laps in the racer if I like.
Minutes later I’m struggling to post my less-than-athletic form through the roll cage of the enclosed GT racer. Ingress is a mild challenge, but the real problem comes from trying to fit my crash helmet once I’m inside. The boxer engine’s staccato note fires up and then settles to a bassy idle as works driver James Harrison gives me a few last points: “Try and be smooth, only use 2nd, 3rd and 4th and make sure you short shift coming out of the bus stop.” My apprehension builds as we head out onto the circuit. Pulling out onto the track I take the first trip through the chicane very gently and short shift into third as requested. As I feed the power in towards the first straight it dawns on me that actually this production class racer has significantly less power than the wild road-going demonstrator I sampled last summer.
Nonetheless it feels very much a race car, with the stripped out dash, integral roll cage and plumbed-in fire extinguisher. The characteristic wave of turbocharged torque remains, as does the chirp from the waste gates when you lift off. Beside me, James is proving to be an excellent instructor. He points out a few new lines – particularly through the tricky high speed chicane towards the end of the lap – and provides plenty of encouragement. “Ok, this time go into 5th,” he says. “Good now keep the throttle pinned – pin it – don’t touch the brakes – now brake!” We fly around the long final corner, with the front tyres just starting to give way to mild understeer before slingshotting past one of the road going Scoobys like it’s stuck in reverse. One lap later we return to the pits and I pause to catch my breath before beginning the predictably tortuous extraction process.
In the afternoon I return to the track in the TVR and put some of James’ advice into practice. With the rear dampers turned up another notch and a bit more familiarity with the track I’m starting to make quite respectable process. To my astonishment ‘the baby TVR’ makes its way past several Imprezas, a track prepared Clio 182 and even the odd Murtaya over the next couple of hours. I still can’t believe the change – it simply wouldn’t have been possible one week previously even though they were obviously driving more gently than I was. As it is, my final trip onto the circuit at around 5pm sees the chequered flag hung out from the control tower. I never expected as much track time, nor for the TVR to be so entertaining. I return unbelievably chuffed to the car park and, after saying our goodbyes to the other drivers, Ian and I set off in convoy back to the B&B.
It’s another early start on Sunday and another fine breakfast at Rectory Cottage. Today, in theory, is the big one, with a full itinerary planned out taking us over some of the most spectacular roads in Wales. We head out with the Tom Tom in control – me in front in the TVR and Ian following behind in the Panda. From the start it’s obvious that yesterday’s track setup greatly enhances things on the road too. What it loses in ride comfort over the broken tarmac, it more than makes up for with improved body control and greater composure.
After skirting the Beacons on the Head of the Valleys Road for some miles we wind our way through the ominously grey streets of one last Valleys town, before suddenly the road opens out over a cattle grid and we’re thrust onto the moor. There’s little here other than the occasional sheep and mile after mile of windswept heathland. It’s a truly breathtaking location and, as promised, a fine road. Unfortunately the local topography lends itself to repeated blind crests which slow the progress somewhat in a low slung car on an unfamiliar road, but the views are every bit as epic as anticipated. Apart from a few lost tourists acting as mobile chicanes we’re alone until a pair of Porsches streak past in the opposite direction as we descend into Langynidr.
There we once again place our trust in the sat nav, which takes us up to Brecon on the B4588 as planned. It makes for a very picturesque route, but with a narrow road, tall hedges and a dawdling Vauxhall ahead, not one for hooning. However, after a short trip along the A470 we find something altogether more satisfying.
The A4059 starts off inconspicuously, sweeping through a patch of conifers, before emerging onto the open moorland. Pausing for photographs, we spot patches of snow remaining on the opposite side of the valley and a cool wind whistles past the camera. Nonetheless, it’s time to take the hood panels off and, once safely stowed in the back of the Panda, we make our way back onto the road. And what a road... it snakes over the Beacons with reasonable visibility and a good surface all the way. The fast sweeping corners flow into each other with short straights between them and the occasional tighter bend thrown in for good measure. It’s my first chance to really exercise the TVR today and the long gearing, hairy-chested torque and new-found high speed stability suddenly come into their own. With the roof down every last blipped down change is heard in glorious stereo and the pace starts to rise. Life is good.
After a brief spell back on the dual carriageway, we pick up the A4109. It’s only supposed to be a connecting route, but it proves quite an entertaining drive in itself. The slow trundle through the streets of Brynamman that follows may not be quite so exciting, but what is to come more than makes up for it.
Once again civilisation rolls back to plunge us into the wilderness. But this isn’t just any patch of wilderness; it marks the start of the A4069, the infamous Black Mountain Road. After briefly lulling us into a false sense of security it starts to live up to its reputation. The sides of the road close in, with an unremitting stream of jagged rocks marking out its boundaries and a series of adverse cambers. What’s more the surface changes to a dark tarmac with curiously shiny flakes imbedded in it that the TVR’s Bridgestones don’t like one bit. We slither cautiously around the corners until the surface changes and the road widens somewhat just uphill of the old quarry that sits by the summit of the Black Mountain. Back on the gas, we slingshot down the next half a mile or so until we reach what is possibly the most famous photo location in UK motoring journalism.
The ‘Evo Hairpin’ as it’s often dubbed perches high up on the side of the valley, offering incredible views over the northern tip of the Brecon Beacons. For this very reason we slow down looking for somewhere to take a few photos and pull up on the outside of the bend next to a beautifully prepared TVR Griffith. There’s a tremendous camaraderie between TVR drivers and they always seem to be up for a chat with like-minded enthusiasts. Wyn Davies is no exception - it turns out he owned a string of V8 TVR ‘Wedges’ before adopting the immaculate black Griffith you see in the picture. He gives us the benefit of some local knowledge regarding the Mid Wales roads, before heading off in a thunderous symphony of V8 revs and protesting tyres.
As we make our way back down the valley the narrow mountain road jinks left and right clinging to the side of the hill, with regular bumps and camber changes to keep us on our toes. Aided by the new setup the TVR is digging in out of the slow corners and catapulting itself down the road with impressive force. The tenacious little Panda isn’t losing any significant amount of ground either though, as we bang and pop our way off the moor.
What the next stretch of the A4069 lacks in visual impact compared to its high mountain section, it makes up for with better visibility and a wider, more reliable road surface. We swoop down under the trees, apex to apex with barely a dab of the brakes as the road flows towards its northern tip at Llangadog. It’s so good that we turn around as the road flattens out and make a return trip up to the quarry. On the ascent, with the road now more familiar, we up the pace a little. The TVR’s torque becomes a clear advantage on the uphill stretch, but the diminutive Fiat is doing a good job of staying in touch. I’m learning that it pays to dip down into second gear – if nothing else it gives the excuse for a self indulgent down change – but it makes for quite an interesting ride as the wheels spin up and S3’s rear skips nervously over one of the more pronounced bumps. This is not a road to be taken lightly, but it certainly rewards when you get it right, particularly in the southerly direction. At the top we turn around and head back down with ever increasing grins.
This descent fundamentally marks the end of our Brecon Beacons route, but after lunch and an hour or so burbling along behind tourist traffic on the A40 we found an unexpected highlight. The B4235 starts off as a pleasant, but fairly unassuming country road. It gets progressively twistier as you head towards Chepstow, culminating in an almost alpine series of Armco-lined switchbacks under the trees. Once again a repeat is in order and we go back to a point about half way up before turning around. Setting off we encounter two bikers who approach from behind. After a brief spell it’s clear that lead rider is able to make more progress than us on the more open stretch, so I signal to let him past.
Tagging on behind I can get a much better idea of where the roads goes and I keep up for a time before the bike edges out of view. Then something happens. It all starts to come together and the TVR and I start covering ground a lot more rapidly. Coming back into the tighter section, the improved body control offered by the new setup and superb feedback from the front wheels allows me to exploit the excellent road surface. The bike comes back into view and soon, along the tightest stretch, I find myself gaining on him. For a couple of hundred yards we go along in unison until a slower car spoils my fun and he disappears into the distance. It doesn’t matter though, because I’m grinning like an idiot after one of the defining driving experiences of my life. I’m still in this state of delirium as the Panda comes back into view behind, with the second biker still tucked in behind it. It seems a good drive was had by all!
Shortly afterwards we pull into a service station, buzzing with adrenaline, before commencing the long slog back to London. It’s been a superb weekend, one with some unexpected bonuses, yet - perhaps more impressively - absolutely no disappointments. It seems a repeat is definitely called for – but one thing’s for sure – we won’t forget this trip in a hurry.
Monday, March 2, 2009
The experience of driving a well setup Caterham Superlight on track has somewhat redefined just how good a car can be. With its impeccably damped suspension delivering virtually zero body roll, its beautifully stiff chassis responding to every action, and its telepathically accurate steering delivering superb turn in and feedback, the Caterham was a revelation. It forms the perfect track day tool in the same way that the Lotus Elise comes together so beautifully on a B-road.
The real reason, however, that I found myself at the Brands Hatch Indy circuit last week to sample Quaife’s 60G sequential gearbox. It’s a race-spec unit intended to replace the ageing Ford Type 9 gearbox found in many kit and race cars, including various Caterhams, Westfields and Ginettas. What’s more in the case of this unit it features a Geartronics pneumatic paddle-shift system, which enables you to change gear at the touch of a button.
The system comes with its own ECU that provides an automatic ignition cut on upshifts and a throttle blip on the way down, meaning the car can be driven clutchless on the move. It renders heel and toeing redundant (which is useful if, like me, you can’t do it) and cuts gearchange times to as little as 30ms on the way up and 100ms on the way down.
It proved hugely effective and very straightforward to use when driving hard. A switchable auto upshift system prevents over-revving if you fail to change up, although on this occasion I suspect it had been set somewhat low to prevent careless journos destroying the test car. Meanwhile, the downshifts were very rapid and reasonably smooth at higher engine speeds. Meandering out of the pits and when on the road the system is a little more intrusive, but a simple dip of the clutch smoothes over the changes.
The paddle-shift system proved very impressive and would no doubt be a useful addition to the club racer’s armoury. It also made for an incredible track day accessory and perfectly complemented the Caterham’s racy persona. The chance to sample it in such an evocative setting was fantastic and many thanks to Race Tech magazine and Quaife for the opportunity.