Tracks and tribulations

On a whim I decided to make a late booking for Evo's track evening at Bedford Autodrome last week. Little did I know driving round the track was only going to be half the experience.


Prepare to be shocked: I’m going to start with my verdict from the first significant trip out in the Caterham and it may come as something of a surprise. You see, it appears that the car’s natural habitat is not in fact the city, nor indeed the motorway.

In the first instance the clutch pedal – unlike its two perfectly spaced neighbours – seems like an unobtainable luxury, placed at the very edge of reach for your left foot. This is only part of the problem of course, because the effort required to actually engage it when you get there is enough to wear your leg muscles down to a quivering pulp over the course of 6 miles of roadworks. And should you escape the gridlock onto a faster stretch the buffeting from above and beside the screen causes any passing dust particles or insects to make an instant beeline for your cornea. Of course, your other senses are dulled already because ears have long since started to bleed on account of the 5,000rpm motorway cruise and your body is aching from the stiff suspension and the unpadded race seat.

In a perversely masochistic way it all sounds slightly romantic - being in a racing car for the road - and on an engaging B-road it undoubtedly would be. However, going up the M1 and then negotiating the longest, slowest stretch of road works I’ve ever seen towards Bedford and out the other side, almost forced me out of love with the new toy. But not quite.

The first foray on track came somewhat unexpectedly. Instead of running a couple of safety car laps after the session starts, like most venues do, at Bedford Autodrome the procession from the formation area (outside the actual circuit) to the pits takes the form of the sighting laps. Somehow I’d missed that part of the briefing and so I trundled off behind the other cars expecting a sedate trip, only to find myself doing what would have been a distinctly enthusiastic road pace around the circuit; seatbelt unbuckled, helmet lying on the passenger seat. As always seems to happen the first time you visit a particular track – especially in an unfamiliar car – even that felt rapid. How much quicker would I actually go during the session?

The answer turned out to be quite a lot, but not to start with. The South West circuit at Bedford Autodrome follows a fantastic course, with varied corners and a great range of straights. It is, however, almost completely featureless with no gradient change and few landmarks to position yourself, so the first few laps can be a bit shaky. Once I’d got a vague idea of where I was going it was time to up the pace a little and explore a bit more of the car’s capabilities.

At road speeds deliberate provocation is needed to make the Seven’s stubby rump step out of line and then it does so slowly and progressively. As you approach the limit of steady state cornering however, as opposed to simply practicing abject hooliganism, things start to happen a lot more quickly. It’s still easy to correct with the proverbial dab of oppo and there’s plenty of feedback, but it doesn’t offer a verbal warning, then a letter, and then finally a lazy, half-hearted transition to oversteer like the TVR did.

Still trying to find my bearings, I enlisted the help of one of MSV’s instructors. What followed was pleasingly unpatronising and enthusiastic tuition that largely consisted of him yelling what appeared to be “keep going, keep going, don’t brake yet!” over the wind noise. In between encouraging me to stop being such a big girl he showed me the correct lines, which weren’t always obvious. One such example came at the complex after the back straight where the technique was to take a lot of curb, putting two wheels clear off the tarmac and onto the surrounding concrete in places. It was rather brutal on the car and required careful positioning to avoid unsettling the balance, but boy did it work.



After that I headed back on track with a lot more confidence and rather better lines. Things were definitely starting to come together and I was also tuning in to the Caterham’s responses. Reigning in my entry speeds solved the turn-in oversteer and mid-corner understeer I’d previously experienced, replacing them with a delicate neutrality that would give way to a hint of slip on the exit. It all felt a lot more fluid and controlled, and it seemed to be paying off. In all honesty it appeared the only things that could keep up round the corners were other Sevens; even the 996 GT3 and KTM X-Bow on track seemed marginally slower in the tighter bends. It was a different matter on the straights where the Caterham’s brick-like aerodynamics took over, but it was still indicating a none-too-shabby 130mph on the back straight.

Alas, as is all too often the case things were coming to a halt just as I got the hang of it. The chequered flag fell just before 8pm and it was time to head for home. This turned out to be easier said than done as the ‘Caterham click’ starter motor issue had reared it’s ugly head again earlier on in the day and I’d been dependant on other people for push starts. Between the Evo crowd and a few other familiar faces I’d gained a pretty distinguished pit crew, but it appeared some of them actually had homes to go to. As a result I had to head off red faced and co-opt yet more unfortunate individuals to start it for the journey home, and that wasn’t the last of my troubles.

The bag tank on the Roadsport A doesn’t come with the luxury of a fuel sender, so I’d been relying on other people’s reported tank range all day. With the starter motor issue I didn’t want to head off to a fuel station and risk being stranded, but fortunately my sums said I should just get back. They were wrong. After another 45 minutes of utter misery on the A421 and A6 roadworks I headed onto the M1 only to come to a spluttering halt about 10 miles later. Bugger.

At this point it could be argued karma was about to intervene. I had a slight rant about the AA in my last post and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d grossly underestimated the readership of this blog as I sat on the side of the road waiting for over an hour in the darkness. To make matters worse, once the guy arrived with some fuel, he announced that their union had forbidden them to push start vehicles. After a certain amount of persuasion he agreed to tow start the car with a rope instead, and I was on my way.

As the cold night air tumbled over the windscreen and the engine screamed away (despite a relatively law abiding pace) the car’s touring limitations once again became apparent. However, as a track tool and a B-road toy the Seven offers performance and exhilaration to humble all but the most extreme sports cars. And, to be honest, I think I'm even starting to enjoy the masochism that dominates the rest of the proceedings.

Lead photo:Chris Rutter/Evo magazine

Hung out to dry

I had something akin to a religious experience last Thursday. You see, ever since the TVR’s rather sobering performance at North Weald I’ve been slightly concerned about its wet weather handling. The new setup certainly works well in the dry, but there was no way of knowing if it had cured the vicious snap oversteer which presented itself on that soaking airfield. And so, as torrents of rain lashed against my office window in the morning, I couldn’t help feeling more than a little bit apprehensive about my track session that evening.

Things didn’t improve in the afternoon either as I trundled along the M25 in a dense cloud of spray while the heavens continued to open. Memories of Brands Hatch’s unsettling gradient changes and cambers remained lodged in the back of my mind, along with the notions of minimal run off area and solid-looking barriers. ‘Oh dear’ I thought, ‘what have I let myself in for?’ Yet, as I turned off the A20 and into the circuit’s familiar gates, something very strange happened - the downpour eased off. Then, despite 24 hours of incessant deluge, forecast to continue for the rest of the day, the rain stopped completely, the clouds parted and miraculously even a hint of golden sunshine appeared.

There was plenty of time to meet the other attendees as the organisers first delayed our start time, then announced they were shortening the session by half an hour. Next came the noise test – often an issue for TVR’s more vocal offerings, but I was quietly confident, having carried out a DIY test at well below the session’s advertised 105dB limit. Except, as the marshal explained when my car registered a slightly suspect 104.9 dB, that was no longer the limit - they’d dropped it to 102. Great.



As the better prepared TVR owners started bolting on additional silencers I had no choice but to opt for a slightly more devious approach. I apologetically explained to the tester that actually I’d made a mistake and the test had been more like 90% of maximum revs, not the stated three quarters. Just to be on the safe side I went for a slightly economical 3,500rpm next time round and got the coveted ‘noise test passed’ sticker. “Just don’t floor it going out the pits,” commented the marshal, who clearly believed the story about as much as I did. Still, I was ready to go.

With the tarmac now bone dry I took one last glance up at the sky and elected to stow the hood before venturing out. Taking it easy at first, initial impressions were good. You sit fractionally higher in the TVR than in the Caterham I previously drove at Brands and it made even the blind crest and steep, off-camber plunge of Paddock Hill Bend seem less ominous. It was more than just a case of eye level though – the car was handling superbly. The new, firmer damper settings had sharpened up the turn in somewhat and the car felt more nimble, despite retaining a fundamentally neutral balance. When provoked by a sharp lift or a determined burst of throttle the back end could be coaxed out somewhat faster than it had before, but it remained a progressive, well-telegraphed event to savour rather than anything to fear.

As the session progressed it became obvious that the TVR had the measure of most of the naturally aspirated MX5s which made up the bulk of this Mazda on Track event. However a somewhat-modified turbocharged example proved the exception, pulling away easily along the main straight. I’d spoken to the owner beforehand and meant to find him at some point for a passenger ride, but sadly never did. One car I did get out in was the 4.5-litre TVR Cerbera of a man known simply as Mad Graham. Far from being insane he proved to be a very smooth, competent driver and demonstrated that the much-maligned Cerbera, despite having a massive 250bhp increase over the S3, needn’t be a monster either.



Suitably impressed I returned to my somewhat humble machine and lapped on and off until the chequered flag came out. As the session drew to a close and the light began to fade everyone agreed it had been an evening well spent. In fact, the track time proved so much fun I now find myself contemplating a dedicated track day toy. What’s more the TVR continued to impress with another superb performance, keeping up with some much more powerful machinery and putting a broad grin on my face in the process. There was just one thing however. Travelling back with the roof down and the stars beginning to appear above it suddenly occurred to me; I still hadn’t had a chance to find out how the it handles in the wet.

Run to the hills

Day One
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
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.

Day Three
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.