Regular readers will no doubt have noticed that I have been conspicuously negligent in chronicling my TVR exploits. Don’t panic! Everything’s fine, life goes on, but at a pace that has meant that I just haven’t had the time to sit and write all this pish.
Aside from being busy, I think I might even have given up for a bit. See when I started doing this, it was partly for fun, partly to practice building web sites, but mainly to help or encourage other owners to maintain and maybe improve their cars. That was before the huge growth in social media, so people can get all the advice they want, as they go, without having to waste time looking for the answers themselves. Some of the advice they get is shit, but hey-ho...
But - I shall persevere!
So - what’s been happening? Well let’s start with a wee repair. Away back in September, I changed the exhaust manifold gaskets on the nearside of the engine, after finding a wee leak. Well, I think there’s also a wee blow from the offside, so I want to fix that before the 2019 TVR car club season opener at Burghley House near Peterborough.
So on 29 March, I set out to remove the exhaust manifold. First I disconnect the battery and then the alternator lead, then loosen the alternator adjuster and take the drive belt off. That lets me take out the big 17mm bolt at the back of the alternator bracket, and the two 13mm bolts that hold on the front, and remove the alternator and bracket as a single assembly.
While I'm doing that, I discover, very much by accident, that there's a slight "catch' in rotation of the steering joint. I feel the top u/j as I turn the wheel, and there's a slight but definite click in the u/j. I disconnect it from the column (it's only a single 13mm bolt) and it's obviously worn. I remove the pinch bolt, mark the shaft at the pinch, and take the joint of the shaft.
Then remove the spark plug leads, and disconnect the lambda sensor. Then I remove the 3 bolts in the downpipes connection, and I can then start to remove the 6 exhaust bolts, using a ring spanner (not a big breaker bar - you don’t want to be snapping those bolts in the head).
They all come out relatively easily (fiddly but easy!) and the gaskets fall apart. I go to get the 3 gaskets I have left from the set I bought in September, but can’t find them… bugger! I order another 3, and a steering joint.
When those arrive, I refit the manifold. Getting it back together is a lot fiddlier - holding the manifold and gasket in place while you get each bolt in upside-down, is a nightmare, but eventually, it’s done!
Reassemble the exhaust downpipe connection, then I fit the new steering joint, refit the alternator and the battery, and it’s sorted!
As I’m tidying up, I notice a flat box, which I realise is a set of gaskets for the cylinder heads etc, that I bought when I was repairing the vacuum leak from the plenum, years ago. Suddenly I remember where I put the spare exhaust gaskets last time… there are 9 in that box. Dear god… I need to sort out the shit in this garage.
Anyway, that’s me ready for Burghley! As usual, we decided to go down on the Saturday, 6 April. We all met up at the usual departure lounge - McDonalds at Newbridge. “We” means me, Jim, Dave and eventually, Hugh.
The weather isn’t looking promising, although it’s dry when we leave, so I decide to leave the roof off. This soon proves to be a big mistake as pretty soon, it’s bucketing down. As long as you keep moving, though, most of the rain goes over the car rather than in, so it’s not too bad, and we don’t want to stop again.
A much bigger pain in the arse is that I’m following Hugh and he has his rear fog lights on. Now I understand that rear fog lights are handy to stop people punting you up the luggage in heavy rain, but when there’s somebody following behind, switch them off! Not Hugh though...
We wend our way for 120 miles or so, before we stop for breakfast. By this time I’m ready to switch off Hugh’s fog lights with a 5lb hammer, but luckily I can’t find it because my retinas appear to have burned through...
I do raise this as a suggestion at breakfast though...
So with breakfast over and a bit of refuelling (a lot of refuelling in Dave’s case - he’s brought the Wedge), we set off on leg 2, making sure that the roof is on, and Hugh is behind me...
Onwards we trundle, towards the services at Wetherby, where we have arranged to meet Adrian. When we get there, Adrian’s TVR is nowhere to be seen. There is, however, a suspiciously familiar VW Golf parked near the entrance...
Now, we have been taking the piss out of Adrian for weeks (as is traditional) for not having his car ready in time (as is traditional) and having to turn up in the Golf (as is traditional). What’s the excuse this year? Well, apparently during a text drive yesterday, the brakes were binding and overheating. Now I can’t say too much about this, following my crippled calipers episode on our Scotland tour two years ago, but the others have no such qualms...
Anyway - we have a wee cake and coffee, while Jim points out that Hugh’s fog lights are blinding him now. Hugh is adamant that they are switched off, so can’t understand what all the fuss is about. A quick check before we leave, reveals that he has put the switch in the dashboard upside down, so it’s “up for on”.
After making sure that they are definitely off, we set off again - 3rd and final leg, me in the lead because I’ve got the sat nav. Fortunately, before we set off, somebody reminds me that we’re going to a different hotel from the last 3 years, so I can pretend that I remembered that all along...
We arrive at the hotel and find that it has a lovely wee underground bit of the car park that nobody wants to use - so we do! It’s right underneath my room too, so the cars are under supervision (for what that’s worth).
After a wee rest and clean up, it’s dinner time, which passes in the usual 4 hours of piss-taking banter, none of which I now remember (I’m writing this 5 weeks later, give me a break!).
We agree a time for breakfast on Sunday, before we head off to the event.
On Sunday 7 April, we are up with the lark (a lark with 5 snooze alarms…) and ready for our usual modest breakfast. There’s continental, cooked breakfast, and fruit. Or all of the above.
Then it’s out to the car to get the roof off, and draw straws to see who’s taking Adrian. Dave loses.
Again, the sat nav takes us straight to Burghley, where Dave peels off to join the timeline, while the rest of us park amongst the plebs.
Right - what’s first? We have a walk around the traders stalls and the club stall. One of the traders is a TVR specialist, who I phoned last week to ask
about chassis restoration, so I call in to speak to him.
I’ve already arranged to go and see him on the way home tomorrow, seeing as we’re more or less passing. My chassis doesn’t appear to be badly corroded, the outriggers still seem ok, although the central rails are in a hell of a state. It needs a bit of a clean up and repaint, bits of remedial work, and new shocks / springs.
After that, we have a walk around the cars as they are still arriving. The timeline is interesting - lots of lovely cars, plus Dave’s of course.
The “general TVR” show parking is also interesting - mainly to see what some owners consider to be “improvements”. There’s no accounting for taste, as they say.
This Cerbera catches my eye. It’s got a non-standard engine (can’t remember what it is) and it’s a nice colour and all - but those wheels and arches?
No. Just no.
Soon it’s lunch time, and there’s a farm food village. Excellent! I opt for a huge hot dog thing, which is delicious. So is the wee cake I have after that. And the one after that. Oooops…
After a bit more wandering about and getting bored, we draw straws again for taking Adrian back to the hotel. I lose. Bugger.
So with the satnav suitably reprogrammed, we set off again... when we get back to the hotel and park up, Adrian can’t get out - the passenger door doesn’t open from the inside. I don’t know how long it’s been like that, it’s ages since I had a passenger!
With Adrian released, we then get on to looking at Dave’s car. He thinks a wheel weight has come off on the way down the road, so his steering is vibrating
like mad. So he gets his trolley jack out of the boot, and we get to watch a Laurel and Hardy pit stop in the car park.
For added comedy effect, I manage to snap one of the roof catches off the panel, when I’m taking it out of the bag to lock the car up for the night. Adrian reminds me that I have spares. Do I? Dear God… I really must sort out the shit in that garage!
When we walk into the hotel, there’s a notice on the reception counter. The restaurant is closing at 8pm for a private function. Everybody out before then, it says... we can have our dinner, but there’s nowhere to sit afterwards - bedtime by 8pm apparently. Now, our hotel is miles from anywhere, so it’s not as if we have any other option. They make that clear, along with the fact that they don’t propose to do anything about it, or offer any help at all.
So, in true Scottish negotiating fashion, I kick up a shitstorm. The manager isn’t on site, apparently. I don’t care, they can phone him. 10 minutes later, he appears in the bar. He wasn’t at home after all. He agrees to pay for a taxi to another local hostelry, and back, after our dinner. Not great, but it’s an improvement in the “fuck all” approach they started with.
As it turns out, we get the taxi there, but once we know the way, we just walk back afterwards.
At least this hotel doesn’t have a wedding going on half-way through the night, so we get a half-decent sleep, ready for the long trip home. First stop is Wetherby, where Jim and I peel off to go and visit the TVR repairer, while the others wait in the services.
The car goes on the ramp, while he has a good look underneath. We also talk about other jobs he has on the go, like this Chimaera. The work is likely to
cost nearly as much as I paid for the car in the first place, so any sensible financial evaluation would say that it wasn’t worth it, it would be cheaper to
sell it and buy one in better condition. That’s not the point though, is it? Or is it?
Anyway, we head back to meet up for the next part of our journey, and to say cheerio to Adrian, who obviously can’t wait to get home and ignore his TVR for 3 months until it’s too late to get it sorted, ready for next time.
The rest of the journey home passes without event, as we hook up the east coast, stopping only at Berwick for food and fuel. Another fantastic weekend completed!
Next - the garage. I’ve got Porsche parts, TVR parts, Cerbera bits and Chevrolet bits, spread all over the place, along with general stuff like seals, trims etc. I’m getting pissed off at not being able to find things, so I decide to have a good tidy.
I buy 4 big plastic storage boxes from Poundstretcher, and sort out the shelves of parts. In the process, I do indeed find 4 TVR roof catches… so I replace the broken one, which leaves me with 3.
It also leaves me with a reasonable prospect of being able to find parts when I need them. The next step should be to sort out nuts and bolts into metric and UNF threads (the TVR has both, and the Chevy is entirely UNF, obviously). That’s for another day, though.
At the end of all this, I list a Cerbera alternator, a Cerbera starter motor, and a Range Rover boot liner on ebay, and wait for the cash to come rolling in.
So that brings us into May and the monthly TVR car club meeting. Jim and I meet up at Dave’s house, but by the time we have completed our normal friendly greetings, it’s too late for a run, so we head straight there. The car is running like a sweetie once it’s warmed up. When it’s cold though, it’s an absolute bastard - it has been like that for ages, I must get round to looking at that.
The day is as enjoyable as always - lots of banter and advice, not all about cars.
Hugh mentions that he has broken a roof catch. I state confidently that I have 3, and more importantly, I actually know where they are! When I get home, I dig one out and put it in a Jiffy bag to post to him.
The next hurdle for me is the MOT, which is due on 13 June, just after we get back from our Scottish Tour weekend. If I was Adrian, I would obviously leave it until the 12th, but I’m not, so I book it in for 17 May (just within the calendar month so I’ll get 13 months MOT if it passes).
Except it doesn’t. It fails because the offside upper ball joint has too much wear. He shows me, and you certainly can’t argue... so while he’s finishing the rest of the test, I order a new one online, making sure it includes the mounting bolts - I strongly suspect that the old bolts aren’t going to be re-usable by the time I’ve got them out!
When I get home, I jack the front of the car up and support it on axle stands, then take the offside wheel off. The ballpoint is held into the wishbone with two 3 inch bolts (7/16ths UNF) which appear to be rusted solid. I scrape off the paint, and apply a bit of blow lamp to the first nut, just to heat everything free. Then I spray it liberally with penetrating oil, find the best-fitting socket, and it comes free! So far so good,
But that’s as good as it gets. The bolt is seized solid through the wishbone and the joint, it’s not budging.
It’s hammer time! After I have clobbered the end of the boot a million times, it has moved around 1/8th of an inch. Apply more penetrating oil, batter an old socket onto the end of the bolt, twist and repeat, with assorted hammer blows thrown in, along with some levering with a pinch bar.
Just as my arms start to feel like I have done 100 rounds against Muhammad Ali, the first bolt is out!
Repeat for second bolt... which is easier (now that I’ve practiced the technique, and passed through the pain barrier).
That lets me get a long socket up inside the back of the hub to remove the joint taper bolt. A few more hammer swings on a taper splitter fork, and it’s off! It’s as loose as anything, so no arguments about the MOT failure.
That has taken me 3 fecking hours, nearly every tool in the garage, and a gazzilion calories. All for 3 bolts...
Obviously, I can’t go any further until I get the new joint, so I stagger away to the recovery room.
