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Wednesday, September 15, 2021

VHRA at Pendine Sands 2019

VHRA at Pendine Sands 2019 The VHRA were first contacted by Pendine Council in May 2012 to see whether they might be interested in running an event on Pendine Sands. They liked the idea of some vintage cars running at speed and the VHRA members seemed to be the type willing to give it a go. It took an immense amount of planning, panicking, and yet more planning, to work out what was going to be possible before we managed to roll onto the the hallowed sands the following year in September. 

I took the T Tourer down for a little spot of racing - 77.67mph - followed by a weeks holiday touring the west coast of Wales. Been back every year. Only once without a car to race, but even then riding shotgun in Andrew Charleton's 1929 Model A pickup.

Last year I took our little T Coupe (1927 T coupe body on a Model A chassis) along to set my slowest speed yet of 62mph, powered by a rather breathy Model B engine. Hmmm. With a few weeks to go I decided it was time to improve the performance of the Coupe which had spent most of the winter in the garage having new timber and a fresh vinyl roof fitted. The front axle was swapped out for a 1932 beam fitted with 1935 brakes. The old engine was pulled and replaced with the diamond B engine from my long suffering Fordor; built 12 years ago with a ported block, modern valves, Thomas head, reground cam and a Stromberg 97 on a Burns manifold.

With a 3.27 ratio in the back axle, the swap was made with a week to spare and we set off on our 300 mile drive across country from Norfolk, through to Buckingham, across the Cotswolds, and along the A40 from Cheltenham. Driving rain punctuated by moments of drizzle the whole way.

Pendine promised to be different for many reasons this year. Ongoing building works meant the museum and grounds weren't available for our normal meeting area, and the campsite had also disappeared. We commandeered a small carpark to use for scrutineering which worked well from 9am till 9pm Friday.

An additional scrutineering burden were the new rules from the IOPD (the sanctioning body for the racing) on the fitment of roll bars or cages on the fastest running vehicles - something that put a few people off from entering, but was made up for by more vintage engined cars including four Model T's. But the main difference this year was the very early tide which turned around 5.30am on the Saturday.

First port of call is half a mile down the beach to chose a suitable point to place the timing trap, picking a straight(ish) line back to the pit area and start line, marking and avoiding any rubbish strewn on the beach. This year an onshore breeze kept the tide in slightly longer but left a very wide strip of flat sand to choose from. Perfect.The track was set up and cleared by willing volunteers, marked out with flags, speed trap tested, and we returned to find the pit area filling up with race cars. Just before 9am and we were ready to roll.

So how was it? Well, for the past few years I've spent the racing hours out on the sands under the timing gazebo, and this year was no different. With my son staging the race cars on the software he'd written, I spent most of the day green flagging the start line once the timing traps were clear.

A quick breakdown of the roughly 120 entrants then. With all the race cars pre-1949, the majority were Model A’s and running vintage engines with only 28 cars fitted with an engine built later than 1954. For nearly half, the flathead V8 was the motive power of choice, but for those that favour an engine with no more cylinders than a cow has teats, Henry's four bangers was well represented and I’ll concentrate on the classes that ran them.

Neil Fretwell made an early doors handbrake dragging pass along the 1/2 mile at 65 in his 1929 Sports Coupe running in V4F/C (Vintage engine/four cylinder/llathead/closed car) which was followed later in the day with an even slower run when the top of his carburettor ejected some screws. My mid morning run along the still drying track, with a full height T Coupe body to slow me down managed 70.11 mph! Later in the day I managed to ease it up to 71.5 - a significant improvement on last year which left me leading the class for one day at least… 

V4F/M, ‘M’ for Modified referring to the body style, saw three Model T speedsters competing against a Model A equipped sprint car that had to be push started. They all managed to beat it on it’s first run, however whatever ailed the car was fixed as Brian Jones hit 83mph later in the day. Valiant effort for a T engine though as Joanna Kirby mustered over 50.

V4/M - Modifieds with overhead valve conversions, saw two T’s with Neil Tuckett’s beautiful Frontenac mustering high 60’s and Richard Wray’s Rajo headed speedster running over 74 against a Cragar overhead equipped sprint car that hit 93.99. An impressive first run but sadly the only one all weekend. Gary Bust sneaked his own V4BF/M record up to 67.52 running a tiny Aisin supercharger on his Model A roadster pickup running without the bed.

The thirteen entries in V4F/R for open cars were all Model A’s. Even the two wearing Model T roadster bodies. Ian Whittaker running a newly Bob Froch built engine started well with nearly 78mph - upping it to a best of 81.92. But Bamber Johnson with a Model A roadster pickup equipped with an H & H built engine and a quick change axle ran through at over 80 all weekend with a best of 82.59 - pipped by Peter Stevens at 82.96. Some really close speeds over the weekend with only 1mph between the top three.

V4F/S was a new class as we’d had no four cylinder streamliner entries in the past. Chris Rawllins pulled four plugs from his flathead V8 and cleverly linked the open holes with tubes for a surefire win, had Duncan Tamplin not turned up with a Model A powered belly tank complete with shark fin which eventually hit 88.12 by the end of play on Sunday. The Saturday track had to close early. The constant pounding of the same stretch of sand just in front of the timing trap drew water to the surface making it too slippery for the faster cars so the decision was made to halt the racing until the next day and hope the rains stayed away.

So - Sunday. Waiting for the tide to turn at 7.30 in the morning. A stiff onshore breeze kept the water in longer, but left a lovely, wide and smooth beach. Beach walked, track laid, pits built and we were up and running by 10am. We picked up the running order with the the cars left from Saturday before starting again, hoping that the weather would hold. And despite the doom laden skies promised by the Met Office, the rains stayed away until early afternoon by which time we were well into the second runs. Despite the strong crosswind, a number of people managed to improve on the Saturday speeds, and a few set personal bests. The inclement weather didn't deter anyone from running, or damage the track so we carried on running until everyone had completed their fourth run, and we finished with a massed run back of all the race cars.

The chance of a bed midway home saw us sneaking off early before the prize giving where Marcus Bennett was awarded king of the beach with a speed of 121.7 running a rather special Rover V8 in a Model A Sports Coupe, sans roof, that was finished on the Friday and driven to Wales. By all accounts though, Pendine 2019 was indeed another vintage year.

Tuesday, August 07, 2018

Brooks Cottage Motors

I know little of Kate's motoring habits before I met her. A Mini for sure. A Renault 5 by the name of Kevin (remember the "What's your's called?" advertising campaign? - she grew up next door to Kevin Carr...) a Citreon BX bought with her credit card fiend ex, and the yellow Metro she drove when I met her.

Which was stolen one night from outside my house...

From there began an automobile adventure for Kate based entirely on the funds of our little family beginnings. A succession of Renault 4's including a left hand drive 750cc import were an early favourite. Heavily beyond due pregnant she could still manoeuvre around, waggling the dash mounted gear "wand" in the thinking man's 2CV. A dreadful Opel that lasted a day. Borrowed Mini Clubman estate from my sister. A Mini of our own for £100, including 11 months car tax - fitted with a Metro engine and sold years later for £500. A £50 matt black Capri with heavy, heavy steering that the poor lass had to manoeuvre painfully around Norwich hospital during her radiotherapy. Feel bad about that. But - she was so proud to see it meet it's demise at Swaffham with a caravan attached...

The gearbox from the Capri resurrected the first of our fleet of dull, capable Sierra estates. White ones, grey ones, red ones. The last car she ever had was a Subaru Legacy estate. Lovely, comfy, high revving, barge. That I nearly stuffed into a ditch the winter after she died. My own motoring habits? Oh dear. Lets start a list from the age of 7... Ford 100E Ford Anglia 105E x 2 Austin Devon pickup Austin A50 pickup Vespa SS180 Honda CB175 x 3 Vespa 152L2 Mini - the first... Ford Consul Mini pickup x 3 Mini Phoenix kit-car Lambretta SX225 Lambretta Li150 Some more Lambrettas... (10-ish...?) Mini Scamp kit-car Some more Minis (20-ish... maybe many more?) Mini Minus kit-car Fiat 900E van Capri(olet...) Triumph Herald convertible VW Type 2 Camper x 2 Saab 96 x 4 Renault 4 Cortina Mk3 estate Fiat 850E camper Renault 4 van Another Capri Peugeot 405 estates x 2 Mini Trifid three wheeler Renault Trafic Ford Transit Mk2 Ford Transit Mk1 transporter Saab 99 Jincheng monkeybike Honda ST70 Mazda B2200 pickup Transit Mk 3 minibus Ford 107E Prefect Peugeot 406 estates x 3 Royal Enfield Model T Ford x 4 Model A Ford Bedford 4x4 bus and.... some others, no doubt that I can't recall.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

T-rex on the radio

T-rex on the radio. Always makes me smile.

Kate was never a fan of Marc Bolan - as a teen she was disdainful of the prince of pop rock excess.

With a loving tease I'd turn up the sound. Ride a white swan, ricky ticky licky, bleurgh...
Can see and hear her now. Bless.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Since I turned 27...

Since I turned 27 I have...

Met the mother of my children.
Fell in love.
Became a father.
Scrimped, saved, and scavenged the hedgerows to feed and warm my family.
Travelled around playing double bass in a band.
Recorded albums.
Written songs.
Made some friends.
Lost some friends.
Built some cars.
Raced a car I built.
Appeared on television.
Performed live at festivals and on the radio.
Lost the mother of my children.
Cried.
Worked out that laying in the bath with cheap gin fixes nothing.
Been in therapy and on tranquillisers.
Rediscovered friendships that will last for all time.
Discovered that I can love again.
Laughed.
Changed from father to embarrassing dad.
Made chutney and copious quantities of cider.

Remained humble; thankful for everything good that life cares to share with me.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Inevitable news

Success. Excess. Senseless. Lifeless. Pointless.
Another tarnished silver spoon rebel without a clue.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Dew between the toes.

And it's an early, early morning flit across the back yard grass to raid the greenhouse for just turned red tomatoes, and a healthy clump of basil leaves. Bare foot and dew between the toes. Them peppers, them's next; for the feel fine lunchtime dine.
Been to the Fat Cat Tap with Them Harvey Boys for a fight the noise battle. We unplugged and won. Too pooped to climb the one to eleven steps, bed beckons but the sofa's nearer...

Monday, July 18, 2011

Let it rain.

Brilliant weekend.
Gig, village fete, gig, steam rally.



Rain. Glimmer. Torrential rain. Evening sun. Rain, shine, rain.
French beans, peas, broad beans.
Beetroot for roasting with honey.
Digging my potatoes in a thunderstorm.
Friends for tea, blackberry whisky, sofa sleeping.

Perfect weekend. No gaps.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Nostalgia Nationals 2011

I'm a charlatan.
Drive my '24T Modified around pretty much as I built it, bar a stock 24 stud flathead replacing the tired 21 stud and a 3.54 axle change. Twenty years of glacial progress.

I'm at the Nostalgia Nationals surrounded by people tinkering. Checking. Adjusting. Changing something. Looking for a way to gain some precious tenths. With time to kill, the charlatan takes off the screen, silencers and mechanical fan belt. Three tenths difference that may have been the late afternoon air, a better dogleg first to second change, or just luck. Not even an oil light to keep the ammeter company - the dashboard tells me nothing.


We're here to remember Tony Cardy. Fellow member of the East Coast Sidewinders. Twenty five entries in the Flathead Meltdown to celebrate the passing of man who whittled and filed his way down through those precious seconds until he ultimately put his '27T modified way down into the 12's. Pump fuel through two carbs, fragile three speed, banjo axle, wire wheels and crossplies. And driven there and back.

Tony sweated the details. Who knows exactly what tricks he performed inside the engine, but weight was his obvious enemy. Every component skimmed, shaved, drilled and subjected to the hole saw in a bid to cheat gravity. Every superfluous part that wasn't required for that quarter mile trip, removed. Screen, headlights, radiator on a pile in the pits. Belt and zippo lighter too...

Quiet and cantankerous. Wicked humour and nervously serious. Our straightline featherweight. We celebrate your dedication and brilliance in making anchors fly.
Think it's time procrastination ceased and this charlatan started stressing the iron.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Shelsley Walsh

Last year I missed the first run with the flat-8 boys at Shelsley.  Mirror. Check. More grey hairs. Right - not going to miss out again!

Poor old flivver spent the winter outside under a tarpaulin barely turning a wheel since Prescott until about a month ago when it was popped into a nice dry barn. Excellent then - shouldn't need a thing.  Wrong. With a week to go, I dragged home a spitting, coughing, clutch slipping wreck. Engine out. Threw in another old cover and new plate, blew the dust out of an old Holley 94, popped it on, and we're back to normal (torque tube clunks, squeaking pumps, slapping pistons...).  Even found time to wipe a rag over the dirt and varnish the string bound steering wheel.

Had the chance to send on a set of Blockleys in the Buckland Automotive shop truck, so, on a gloriously sunny Friday, with scant camping gear tied on, I set off after work, met up with Sue & Adrian, popped in to see the progress of the Ben Nevis Centennial project at Tuckett Brothers - mad - and arrived just in time to pitch tent before the rain, walk up the track in fading daylight, get trapped at the top by a thunderstorm, and retire to the bar...



A night sans mattress, more rainstorms, and random wildlife prompted an early start - sticking numbers on a damp car, stripping off the cycle guards, carrying wheels up from the camp site... proper knackered when I noticed a queue forming at the signing on shed. Half hour lining up chatting to some lovely people and I have a prized'first thirty' yellow ticket which, time allowing, will let me get one more practice run. One more chance to break my car. Gulp. Not helped by the incredulous looks from those that realised I'd driven there? In that?  Luckily I'm used to having my sanity questioned early in the morning.

Scrutineering over and, after realising I had to hand my ticket back in to book my practice runs, I had my first run up t'hill. And the rains came down. Visor steams up. Glasses steam up. First gear useless as the car stands still on the slippery start line, a tentative dribble up the hill, no braking and lifting far too early for the Esses, long uphill sprint to the finish, bogged down with a change into top... 54 seconds.

Another run, bravery increasing, slowing later into the bends, 51.8 seconds.  Third practice, still very wet - forgot to close my visor, flicked it down on the climb for a perfectly vision free assault of 51.7...

Finally the skies clear and on a drying track we're into the forties with a 48 second climb. Excellent! Still lifting where I needn't, far too early for the Esses, and still not braking. I'm beginning to question my delusions of adequacy.

Our high spirited entourage were treated admirably well by the cheery restaurant staff and, ignoring the weather, we took advantage of the open fronted bar. For some reason I thought now would be a good time to have another walk up the hill. Yup, it was still steep, dark, wet - and my only useful strategy decision was not to slide off at the Crossing corner into the hawthorn and not to brakes for the bottom 'S' until I smelt the wild garlic, or saw the bat fly over...



Sunday. Rain stopped at 5.30 but started up again in time for the first runs of the day. Luckily however, by the time the 12-strong ASBO's rumbled to the line there was enough grip to completely bog down pulling away in second. Kept it in second for a greasy bend run of 48.6.  After lunch we had one more run on a pretty dry track. Queuing in the sunshine - it was lovely to have people come over asking questions, genuinely entertained to see us there.  Pulled off the line with a tad of wheelspin in first, smiling as the announcer said "we were chatting to the flathead boys last night and they're all quite insane" lift a little for Kennel bend, again at the reverse camber of Crossing, out of revs and a late lift at the bottom S - but still too early! - hint of tyre squeal between the Esses, and a final breathless out of revs in second sprint to the line. 46.27 seconds. Waving to the marshals all the way back down.  Lovely.

Back to pits, pop the wings back on, tie on the camping gear and charge for home. Four and a half hours burbling across the country with a tray of tomato plants for company and a friend's A roadster silhouetted against a never ending sunset in the mirror. Brilliant.

Only a few more grey hairs till next time...

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Suicide Masters no more.

Sunshine! Spurr-rring!
Past few months I've been in survival mode. The Skylark - trusty, crusty, rusty Transit has been put put out to pasture. Ice, fog, rain and darkness my grey freezing companions on the daily commute. No such thing as bad weather, jut inappropriate clothing. More so on a motorcycle...

Ah, but this morning! Warmness. And not from stopping and putting my gloves as close as I dare to the engine or accidentally leaning against the silencer in my leggings.

Smarted a little spending what I've saved on fuel recently to buy some tyres for the Enfield. Way back when I first ventured out on a motorbike, tyres were round things filled with air. One each end and made from something jurassic period black. Normally ribbed Speed Master front and zigzag Safety Mileage rear courtesy of Avon with a propensity to throw you down the road without a moment's caution. SM. Fondly dubbed Suicide Masters and always blamed without any consideration for the handling foibles of the worn out bikes they were fitted to. Never remember wearing any out, never remember buying any new either - but if they looked too perished there was always another set lurking on a scrap bike somewhere.

Big revelation! New tyres are are made of honest to goodness rubber. And grip! Even though they look the same as the Suicide Masters of (very) Olde I feel confident enough to go round corners and everything! Obviously this post is tempting fate like it's going out of fashion, but hey that's what it's there for. No matter how sad, I just wanted to share how loop-de-loop I am with my new rubber hoops...

Friday, December 03, 2010

Last Rod Run

On the first day of the last month of twenty ten, we said farewell to a friend who stopped getting older.
He finished the race that none of us want to win. Nor finish last.
Life is short. Make every beat count. Give every tear it's moment, but let each memory bring a smile.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Hair today, goon tomorrow.

Steppin' out all glow and glitter,
Curtains twitch and eyelids flicker.
Low, low buzz of tongues a-twitter,
Red hair. No knickers.

I see a story in the world, and it's friends that set it to music.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Stopped counting

The years creak by, one more missed birthday. Sister cooked us tea and made it special. I sat by the fire till midnight clicked through.

Been clearing my inbox today and found some old matter of fact messages - shopping lists, 'spag bol' for tea? And this one.

"As the bright light from the sun shone onto the patterned floor in the
sitting room, there 'dead centre' of the room appeared two nasty
looking patches. Was it a trick of the light, a shadow or something
worse? No, it was nasty smelling OIL - we may have to do something
about replacing the carpet if the marks won't come out - Robert and I
have done our best, we'll just have to wait and see.

PS could you also get some cooked ham for the kids sandwiches."

Message received, understood - and kept. Glass raised.

Wanderlust

Wanderlust. Hmmm. The lust I've always suffered.
As for wandering? Well in the words of Ted Chippington - I'm not the wanderer.
As for the king of wanderlust? Me and the long haired ginger freak went to see Gogol Bordello a few months ago.
Superb.
Formed a queue outside, picked a spot down front, and watched the world roll in to the point of heaving. Wasn't the oldest one in the room either. Excellent!

Out again last week to the talent show at my daughter's High School. No longer the stomping ground of the boy - he's moved on to pastures new but couldn't resist coming along to catch up with all his old buddies. Some of who came along on Friday to the Shed for a spot of Them Harvey Boys. For what was a rollicking good evening!

Cheers Eugene, but I'm alright lusting and wandering around my own backyard...

Friday, October 29, 2010

Click. Brrrrrrr.....

Chatting to the ether. Less than white noise in return.
Not to be disturbed, no keyboard sparring with the wicker teapot.
Click. Brrrrr.....

Monday, October 18, 2010

Productivity

Harvest time. There's a hundred and one things I should be doing. Instead the dining table is now covered in jars of beetroot chutney, pickled onions, garlic cloves bobbing in spiced oil, apple chutney and for good measure there's a goodly five gallons of dark yuletide ale bubbling into life.

And beside it all last night's Scrabble score of 250-odd to 475. Against. Beautifully beaten to bed...

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

New phone

No trumpets.
No fanfare.
No Android.
No iPhone.
No smarty pants phone at all, just the cheapest cheapie phone that I could buy to replace my ancient dying Nokia that I swapped for a 99p penknife.
No it's not turned on.
No you can't have the number.
Know me too well.

People with Flat Heads at Prescott.

I first went to Prescott to watch a damp VSCC meet about 14 years ago. Tripped down in the band van, parked in a field on the hill. Discussed three-wheelers with Dick Buckland. It took me till last year to make it back as a spectator when I parked my scruffy A Fordor in the Orchard. The only set of whitewalls amongst the VSCC set...

Summer was a washout this year with no time nor money to enjoy but when I was badgered into entering for October the 2nd I knew I had to do it. Had to! Driving there and back in sheet rain and sleeping on nothing but a blanket in a ridiculously small tent? Didn't notice. Had a tense couple of weeks sorting out my very own barn-find roadster - it'd been standing up for 2 years. Squeaked it down for an MOT with a few days to spare, fitted the tyres up last week, ignored the slapping piston and clunking back axle and thrashed it a couple of hundred miles across the country.What could possibly go wrong?!
Fun? Oh yes...
Brilliant.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Bizarre shopping list

So I went to town the other day. Little spin out in the resurrected roadster. Just to see how it went you understand. Not to hoon it round the back roads or play squeally tyre noises in the market place.

That bit just happened.

And whilst in town I purchased a few items. Wax cotton long rider stalking betwixt shops for:

Two yards of white fablon
One blowtorch gas cylinder
Talcum powder

Apologies to our local Big Issue seller for having no change left. The list? Talc for tyre fitting, blow torch for soldering, sticky backed plastic for making some racing letters for next weekend. If the car survives from my heavy feet until then...

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Wedding of a lifetime.

When I heard about it I thought - lovely. When the invite was pegged to the kitchen wall I thought - this is the don't miss event of the year. Probably decade...

A rodeo weekend of camping, eating, drinking, dancing, and all round superbly faultless loveliness.

I'll sum it up in two photos.
Happy couple leaving the wedding...

Just married

The groom being greeted by one of the guests...

Pleased to meet you