The Crazy things they do!

Number 3 Son is learning to be a motor mechanic, specialising in Land Rovers, and is doing rather well, showing an aptitude for the trade. Not only is he gaining skills and knowledge in the workings of these wonderful workhorses, but he is gaining experience of normal cars too.

At the age of 17 years, he's making a very good start and accepts that he ain't going to pull up any trees yet, he has a lot to learn, but he's made a very good start. Not only is he learning a trade, but he is learning to integrate into life proper, in that he is socialising with people that he probably would never have met had he not entered this business.

He's a likeable lad, a good mixer, and now that he's left his youthful troubles behind, he's becoming a credit to his Mam and Dad - us. His Boss is a member of a club which consists of 'crazy people' (their words, not mine) who take their vehicles away from the safety and comfort of streets and roads in order to scare themselves to death racing round the countryside in them.

He, No.3, that is, was invited by these people to come along with them and to navigate for one of the members. Naturally, he was delighted. We, his Mum and Me, were delighted that he'd been invited, but were full of trepidation for his safety.

We needn't have worried - they only rolled over once! Both he and the driver were properly strapped in, so that when they left the track at speed and rolled over, they were both left hanging upside down in their harnesses, protected from harm by the roll cage. The car was put back onto its wheels and off they went, to complete their lap. Did this put him off from doing it again? Not on your Nelly - he was adamant that he'd never before had so much fun!

That is when I began to fear for his mental health.

Both his Mum and I had seen these vehicles at the workshop and to be honest, I was impressed. I gained the impression that the owners had a sort of love/hate relationship with their vehicles, which were not standard - they were specially built or modified.

Only yesterday did I overhear a comment which probably encapsulates it all - when asked if he would be appearing at a forthcoming event, one man replied "Maybe - money permitting!" - note, not time, not weather, not inclination - money. Another man told me that the sport consisted of "Ten minutes driving - hours mending!"

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

A quiet weekend at Manby

On May Bank Holiday weekend, they met at Manby in Lincolnshire, the site of an RAF flying instructor college, converted into an off road events area, where they race motor bikes, 4x4, motocross - all the disciplines of crazy motorsport. We were invited along to watch, an invitation gladly taken up by Herself, and it goes without saying that I was invited too.

This is the track layout with the spaghetti bundle that is the playground, where the various clubs set out their track of choice for their event.

Now, as I said, the cars are either modified off-roaders (Landys, Toyotas, Mitzies, Subaru etc) and their owners spend a great amount of cash on them. Good luck to them, I say, but to be honest, I can think of better ways of casting money to the wind (sailing for example).

When we arrived on the Sunday morning, one of the team, Dean, had his car on his lorry, all nicely strapped down for travelling. It was a modified Range Rover and he was sick as a sea going parrot - he was out of it! The routine is that each car goes out on the track and covers the 5.1 mile course, racing against the clock, all times aggregated to produce winners and losers. Today, this fella came into the latter group.

He went out just the once, rolled it and broke it, without even completing the first lap! Apparently, he decided to go out alone after being told to take The Lad with him to show him the route, but he went solo and paid for his decision -after all his preparation and the expense of getting there, he broke it on his first time out. The roll cage got bent, and the Organisers, being very strict, would not allow him back on the track as his safety was compromised. Very wise. I wouldn't like to think of a two ton vehicle rolling on me without some form of protection!

This is the vehicle, the tail end of which you see on the truck. The other one right next to it on the ground, a very special motor, is worth a mention.

This one, is specially built by Steve, the owner/driver, fitted with a rather large BMW engine and is fast, very fast. When I asked about the engine sizes in these things (simply because they mentioned Class of Vehicle) I was told that the sizes were big, bigger and "watch that ffff -fuel gauge go beserk!).

As we arrived, Steve came back into the paddock with No.3 Son seated alongside him, a huge grin on his face. This time, they'd only damaged the exhaust which was soon mended by the simple proceedure of wrapping a baked bean tin around the tear in the pipe.

Next time around was much worse. The clutch stripped and had shattered the thrust bearing, throwing bits of metal around the bell housing. A small piece had got between the flywheel and the engine casing, destrying an electronic sensor, which the good people at BMW decided was necessary to control the engine function. It seems that, if the engine doesn't get a message from this sensor to say that all is well with the flywheel, it stops dead - which is what it did out on the track, requiring them to be towed in.

Unfortunately, Steve did not have a replacement thrust bearing, but he did have a sensor so it looked as if that had put the kybosh on his racing when he had only a few more rounds to do to qualify. Having taken a full time penalty for the breakdown, it was either reire or repair - but how?

By the time they had stripped the gearbox and clutch and had decided to repair it, it looked to be too late, it was Sunday after all. Come evening, they hopped into a car and went looking for a garage in the hopes of finding a garage open that had spares, but no luck, but, in Louth, they did come across an industrial estate and a skip full of engine scrap. A spell of skip diving produced a complete clutch that might fit the bill, if only to present them with a thrust bearing. It was not of the correct size, so they set to and reamed out the inner bore with the tools that they had, and made it fit! The new sensor was fitted, the assembly reassembled and next morning a joyful Steve went out, completed his runs and finished 3rd in Class!

Now, Colin, in his modified hill racer, had much more fun (his words, not mine), when he broke his propshaft and had to mend it, his steering rack and had to mend it and then his swinging arm went up the Swannee. When he returned to the paddock, one his competitors immediately offered the use of his welding tackle and portable workshop, where, together, they fixed it. Colin went on to come 4th in his class.

This is Colin's motor, and my Dear Lady Wife wants one!


The chap who helped Colin with the welding on his motor was another who's parrot was sick more than a little. His machine, I understand, is valued at £30000 ($60000) and he'd broken it. Actually, he hadn't - the track had, but the effect was the same, he was going nowhere except home.

It seems that the rear differential had broken in spectacular fashion. He'd worked on the car, replacing bits here and there, seeking mechanical perfection, and had purchased a specially made set of gears from America - 'indestructible', it was claimed. Sure they were - if you believe the advertisements!

They opened up the diff box and were showered by the gear teeth which had sheered off. So, now they have the small problem of getting replacements and may face some sort of argument as this was the first time they had been fitted and put to work.

Oh, did I mention that these gears cost the modest amount of six thousand pounds?



Oh, I understand Man's obsession with Big Boys' Toys and all that, but wow - obsession is the word!

But they do have fun, they all assured me, much more fun than going to Blackpool on a wet weekend, but to me, there are limits!





Oh, as a last thing, just to show how much fun there is, here's a sign that sits in Colin's motor for the benefit of passengers.




Nuff Said!