Oct. 21, 2005 - Road Trips
Free, white and 16 1/2!
Yep, passed the test first time. Not much of a surprise there, as I had been driving for about 5 years already. Piece of cake really. What to do now? Drop the mother off at the house and see how fast the car will go. 1969 Oldsmobile Delta 88, 455 cubic inches. Yep, my Rocket 88! Actually dad's or mom's but mine for the next hour or two.
First objective, and must be done as soon as possible is to "bury the needle" as we used to say. Gotta get it right off the clock. Nice downhill straight about 15 miles away ought to do the trick. Yep. Job done. Would only pull 100 on the way back up.
Now for a road trip. My buddies Ken and Dave were a year older and had wanted to go on a road trip since getting their licences, but hadn't been able to coax a car out of their parents, so this would be their first as well. I mapped out the route: Lubec Maine, Plattsburgh New York, Quebec City, Montreal, Schenectedy NY and back.
Sleeping bags and a couple cases of beer were loaded and off we went. We took time to instal one of the cases under the back seat and put the bottles from the second under the front seat. Seemed a good idea at the time. Somewhere in East Bumfuck, Maine, Ken got stopped. I was sleeping and he woke me. "Hey Ed, there's a cop behind me" So? "He has his blue lights on" Well, might be a good idea to stop then.
There were two of them, the usual backwoods types. Spoke in that special Maine accent. Sort of a cross between New Hampshire and Alabama it seems. "Ayuh, you were doin damn neaah forty mile an hour back theyahh." We were politely asked to get out of the car. Naturally enough, we complied post haste, but I heard a tinkling noise as Dave slammed the back door. Seems the young cop had pretty good ears and he heard it as well. He shined his light in the back window and sure enough weren't there a dozen bottles laying on the floor. He promptly brought this to he attention of the older cop. "Ayuh, looks like ahm gonna have to haul you down to Skowhegan County Courthouse now. Ayuh" Oops! Really didn't like the sound of the second Ayuh.
We were relieved of our case of beer and told to pay better attention to the speed limit signs. I can just picture the two cops polishing the beer off that night. We reached Lubec, checked out some waterfront land my dad owned there, found that the huge pier had been washed away in a Nor'easter, cruised over to Campobello Island, went to Mt Desert island and generally cruised around the Maine coast. Interesting, but we were looking for action. Decided to head for NY.
Pulled over to the side of the road to sleep and woke up in the morning to find a beautiful waterfall with a fairly deep poll at the bottom of it. The water was pretty damned cold but we spent some time jumping off the cliffs into it. That was a really lucky find.
Plattsburgh had an airbase I believe and it was pretty easy for young guys to get served so we proceeded to drink a fair amount of beer in some club there. Seemed that every time a girl would show interest in one of us, a rather large guy with a crew cut would show his displeasure. We were vastly outnumbered so we made it clear to him that we there for the beer and nothing else. Yeah right...well, we did drink a good bit.
Somewhat hungover, we headed north toward our goal of Quebec. Once over the border we found that everyone drove a good bit faster that in the States. Cool! We felt a bit naughty smuggling the case of beer under the back seat, but at least we had our emergency supply. Well, it was a long time ago and none of us got laid so I really can't remember any details of either Quebec or Montreal. What I do remember was the large Mopar products that really owned the highway between Quebec and Montreal. I think they were some sort of official car, and they were always going flat out and would flash for us to let them by even when we were cruising in excess of 100. Saw quite a few of them. I think they were all black.
To be continued
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Oct. 15, 2005 - One Lap of America
Actually one and a half laps...
Back in '87 I was sitting in the office minding my own business when I got a call from Ali Lugo D'Armas, a fellow who was fielding a team of Alfa Romeos in the IMSA Firehawk Endurance Series. Ali was in a bind and looking for an experienced rally navigator/co-driver and knew I had done a bit of rallying. I made a call to my co-driver, Boyd Smith, and asked if he would be interested in doing the One Lap. The answer was in the affirmative, and arrangements were made for Boyd's adventure.
A few weeks went by and I got another call from Ali. Seems he needed a driver as well. Would I be interested? Sure, why not? An all expenses paid works entry in the One Lap sounded like a lot of fun actually.
I was getting progress reports on the car in the days leading up to departure for the start, and things sounded pretty good. Roll Cage fitted, rally computer wired up, road and track wheels and tyres sorted, support van ready. They were testing the car just to make sure all systems were go. Great. It was reassuring to know that thing were being professionally prepared. Arrive and drive...
Departure. Up at 0400 in Boston for the trek to the west of Mass to join the crew with the car and and van and head to Detroit for the start. Nice drive out the Pike in the early morning hours, no Police spotted and the 930 ate up the miles with ease at a respectable speed. Beautiful sunrise behind me. What a way to start the trip!
Arrived at my destination expecting to see a large country house with outbuildings and garages filled with historic race cars. I was looking forward to perusing Ali's collection which included a D Type and vrious other rarities. Drove right past, but out of the corner of my eye caught sight of a wrecked Alfa Romeo Firehawk car. Surely this little cottage can't be the place! Must be the gatehouse or something...
Drove around a bit, found nothing more likely, pulled in and tried the door. It was unlocked. A few guys were sleeping on the couches, and downstairs in the celler garage I could hear noises. There was Boyd, wiring up the rally computer, a job I was assured was done weeks ago. Hmmm...
Next to the car sat the roll cage. Interesting, as this had supposedly been installed weeks ago as well. Turns out the cage wasn't even for the Milano, but came from the crashed GTV in the yard. It was rather bent, and even if straight would not really fit the Milano. We had our work cut out for us now.
I noticed that Boyd was attaching the Hall sensor to take a reading off the drive shaft. That would have made for some interesting moments late on, as the Milano had a transaxle. We decided to take the pulses off the two front wheels instead.
Fitting the cage involved some serious work with the acetylene torch, sledge hammer and come along. We then had to shim it up some as it was a good six inches too low. A lot of drilling and a stack of metal plates, some threaded rod, and we had something that at least looked like a proper cage.
The clock was ticking away all the while, the start was scheduled for the following day, and we had a good ways to travel. It turned out we had three drivers: Boyd, myself and the young pretty boy dickhead retard who presented himself to us sometime during the day. This guy was special. Words just don't seem to describe him, but he informed us that he was the track driver, the job which I had be chosen for, and he would also be the model for any photo opportunities. In addition to being a profesional driver, he was a male model, a helicopter pilot and had an exceptionally high opinion of himself. Oh well...takes all kinds.
Ali himself appeared and gave us his girlfriends credit card to use for all our purchases. Interesting. He assured me that dickhead was just along for the ride and would spend his time driving the support van, and that I would be driving on the tracks. He figured the kid would throw a hissy fit if we told him now, possibly dropping out so we left for Detroit, twelve hours late, with him thinking he was the star of the show. We really needed the extra driver as Boyd had been up all night.
With pretty boy driving the van and me driving the Alfa with Boyd co-piloting after an all nighter building the car we headed north for the Mass 'pike. Pretty boy headed south for Lime Rock in the van. This was to become a recurring theme. We managed to catch him with the SB radio and get him pointed in the right direction, at least temporarily. I was starting to doubt his stories about helicopters already. When we got to the 'pike, for some reason he wanted to head east... Every time we had to turn for the next ten days or so would be a repeat.
We stopped for petrol soon after setting off, and got another little surprise, although I really was not about to be surprised by anything at this point. The card that Ali had provided to us didn't work. We are heading off for ten thousand miles with a duff card. Great. Looks like mine will be getting a workout. I'll be reimbursed so no problem...
After a few hours of driving the van, pretty boy stated whinging. He wanted to drive the Alfa to "get a feel for it". We pulled over and traded places. Of course neither of us would ride with him, Boyd was still rather sleepy and we had some distance yet to cover. I reminded pretty boy that radar detectors were illegal in Canada and that he was to grab my Passport off the windscreen if he saw a cop.
Of course the next thing you know he was stopped by the RCMP and the cop simply grabbed my Passport and thanked him for it.
We arrived at Windsor and drove through the tunnel to Detroit. Pretty boy had managed to get lost. He was tailgating us as we entered the tunnel but somehow manged to miss it and proceeded to the water's edge. We had to talk him through a couple approaches and he finally managed to enter the tunnel. I'm not sure how he managed to do it, but he came out the other end as well!
We arrived at the hotel to meet Richard Hughes, who was a one lap veteran, having competed the previous year with John Buffum and Grimshaw in an Audi. Richard has an aversion to clothes and was in his usual attire, or lack thereof when we met him in the hotel room. He then told us that things wer even more complex than we thought. For complex, read FUBAR. Seems that Ali had entered into an agreement with this Massimo fellow from Italy, an older gentleman with some racing experience.
Massimo had sponsorship from West cigarettes and a pile of decals to go on the car. He had been sold the bonnet, and virtually the entire car. Seems the bonnet had been sold twice, as Richard had a monstrous decal for it as well... Between the One Lap official decals and the West Decals, we needed at least one more car.
Oh, and by the way, Massimo was going to drive the car on the tracks.
One more twist: Massimo spoke not a word of English. I rang an Italian friend in Detroit and asked him if he wanted to come along as interpreter. He jumped at the chance so problem solved.
There was some serious to-ing and fro-ing with regard to the decals, who had paid for what, and threats of pulling the entry etc. I decided to grab a little shut-eye and let things solve themselves. At this point I couldn't be bothered. I don't think that Brock Yates was overly impressed with the carry-on.
The car was stickered up, teched, and we took the start. Not an auspicious start at that. Boyd, Richard and I were in the Alfa, Pretty Boy, Massimo and Interpreter in the van....
To be continued
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Oct. 14, 2005 - Caveat Emptor: The M3 GT
Well, as the saying goes, if the deal sounds to good to be true...
But this is Germany where most of the people tend to be honest to a fault. Yeah, my guard was down a bit, but the car was advertised as "unfallfrei" which means it has no had any accidents. Most Germans I've dealt have gone to great lengths to show exactly where the car they were selling had been damaged, so I had been lulled into a false sense of security.
I set off with the cash in my pocket to pick up yeat another BMW rarity. Seems there were only 300 of these babies built. Alarm bells should ahve gone of when I met the owner. Bit dodgey looking to put it mildly. Then we went to look at the car, sitting on its own in a dimly lit parking garage. No plates, so a test drive on the road was out of the question. Great! Car started up nicely and I gave it as good a test as possible within the confines of the garage. Paperwork looked OK so what the hell, roll the dice...
I knocked a good bit off the already low asking price to cover some obvious shortcomings, and possibly insure me against any surprises. After all the car was going to live on the Nordschleife so I wasn't too worried about cosmetics, tyres brakes or the like. We went and purchased the short term plates and insurance and I drove the car home to Luxembourg.
I got about a km down the road when it became obvious that the right front damper was shot. Oh well, I had budgeted a replacement suspension anyway. On the Autobahn I refrained from testing top speed as the car was fitted with winter tyres, although it felt good to about 240 or so.
The bird was going riding about an hour away in France, so I let her take it with her just for kicks, and when she came home she mentioned that it ran a bit hot in slow traffic. Other than that she liked it.
Next day I figured I'd have a look at the overheating problem. I didn't have to look too far. The fan clutch had be welded. The welds had broken and the fan was just freewheeling. Hmmm...
Further inspection showed that not all the good bits were where they should be and that the car had been involved in more than a little fender bender. I promptly readvertised the car on mobile.de where I had found it in the first place. I was honest in my description and described it a a total mess. My ad appeared right above the ad that the original seller had posted, and the contrast was amazing.
Although the seller had lied to me about virtually everything, he did tell me the truth about another buyer who was looking for the car. He said the fellow was from Sweden, and sure enough that night I got a call from him. I gave him the lowdown on the car and he bought it. Saved himself some money in the process and got me out of the deal whole. Phew!
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Oct. 14, 2005 - M3 Sport Evolution: For the purist...
The 1990 E30 M3 Sport Evolution was the pinnacle of E30 M3 development and was produced to satisfy the FIA's demand that 500 example of an evolution had to be produced to satisfy the homologation requirements of Group A. BMW went a step better and produced 600, and I was lucky enough to own one for just over a year.
My particular example was pretty basic, it had no sunroof or air conditioning, and muscle power was required to raise and lower the windows. Just the way it should be! The most obvious differences between the standard M3 and the Sport Evo were the 2.5 litre engine and the aero package which featured adjustable splitter in the front and at the rear the wing had an adjustable flap. The high drag, high downforce setting was referred to, in the owner's manual, as "Nürburgring" and the low drag, low downforce setting, as the "Monza". I forget what they called the intermediate setting.
By today's standards, 238HP seems a bit feeble, but the car was light and it felt like a lot more, just so long as the revs were kept up. Below about 5000rpm it felt absolutely gutless, and on a few occasions, when my concentration lapsed, I found myself getting blown away by rather pedestrian diesels. Whoever specced this car didn't check the torque box! In fact the peak HP was reached at 7000rpm, which meant one really had to keep on top of things.
To be continued...
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Oct. 7, 2005 - An Irish E34 525i
I picked up a 1990 525i in Ireland for a song. The market for used cars with big engines was quite limited due to the fact that younger drivers generally could not afford to insure them or they would be refused cover at any price. As a result, I paid less for the 525i than I would have had to for a crappy little banger of the same vintage.
Cars over 2 litres were generally looked upon as company directors' cars and the typical insurance clerk would not have much experience with insuring them. I went in to my local insurance broker to insure the car and the girl was aghast when I told her the size of the engine. She actually got on the phone to someone to ask what she should do, once she got over her initial shock. It seems there weren't any cars in town over 1.6 litres with the exception of her boss's Mercedes C200.
Well, all sorts of phone calls were made and I finally got the car insured.
Next step was to get some decent tyres and dampers fitted. In Ireland with their somewhat third world roads, tyres are frequently popped in potholes, and dampers are worn out quite quickly. The typical Irish car ends up with two, three or even four different brands of tyres on it. This one, despite having spent some time in the UK, where cars lead a far more pampered life, had the maximum, and even the spare didn't match.
Off to the local garage to order some new tyres and dampers. I insisted on Bilstein or Koni and asked for either Pirelli or Michelin of some decent specification as I was planning on spending a fair bit of time on the continent. They kept isisting that their off brand was every bit as good, and "sure won't those expensive tyres pop just like the cheap ones". I don't rememb the size off hand, but the tyres ended up being Pirellis and they ahd to be special ordered from the UK! When I stopped in to see how things were progressing they showed me these wonderful Japanese dampers they wanted to fit. I put my foot down and again insisted that I had told them what kind I wanted. They explained that they were trying to save me money. I expalined to them that I was the customer, and I was tyring desperately to make them money. That seemed to shock them to their senses. Of course they would have spent their entire lives dealing with farmers looking for the absolutely cheapest fix.
Once the car was fully sorted and brought back to UK standard wouldn't you know we found ourselves moving to the continent. We packed up and took the Ferry from Rosslare to France, and then drove to Luxembourg, our new home. Cruising for hours on end at speeds in excess of 100MPH I was gald that I had insisted on the premium tyres and dampers. Once settled in, I quickly relaised that living with a RHD car was not going to be all that much fun. Parking garages and tolls were fine if there was a co-driver in the left hand seat, but otherwise a hike around the car was called for.
This could be amusing at times, one in particular when the bird jumped out fo the car at the creche to pick up the kids. A number of the EC big shots' wives used to just hop out and leave their car in the queue causing all sorts of problems. Luckily the security guards had clamped down on this quite harshly.
As the bird got out of the car and started off toward the building one of them alertly intercepted her and started chewing her out for leaving her car in the queue. I was enjoying the spectacle as she was tyring to explain that it was right hand drive. As right had a couple meanings in English, "droit" has the same meaning in French and and apparently the guard thought she was teling him that she a right to leave the car there. Naturally this annoyed him further and he was getting rather agitated about the situation.
The traffic in the carpark started moving at this point and I drove off to find a parking slot. Suddenly realising his mistake, the guard was quite apologetic, and from then on would greet either of us with "Ah, the car that drives itself!"
Next up has to be the St. Moritz adventure. I got a call to assist the Irish Bobsleigh team at the World Championships and set off for St. Moritz. I hadn't bothered purchasing winter tyres as there had been vry little snow in Europe and I was planning on sending the car back to Ireland as living with RHD on the continent was proving tedious. There was absolutely no snow to be seen from Luxembourg to Zurich and beyond and progress was brisk, or at least as brisk as a 525i an make it.
As I approache the Julier Pass , (elevation 2284m) snow began to appear on the tops of the mountains. Soon enough the snow was right to the edge of the road, but no worries as the tarmac was dry. Entering the pass proper, the snobanks were about 2 to 3 metres high at the vrey edge of the road, but still the surface was dry. Traffic was light and I was making great progress, worried only by the fact that the petrol gauge was well into the red without a station in sight.
I soon found a new worry as the wind picke up and snow was starting to drift across the road. In spots and soone the entire surface was covered in white. I was able to keep up momentum just the same and thought that I'd make it over the top. No such luck as the gradient got steeper and the switchbacks tigher and closer togethe there was no way to keep up the forward motion. Further complicating matters was traffic, with some really slow lorries heading uphill and a steady stream heading down as well on what was rapidly becoming a very narrow stretch with very limited sightlines.
I made one attempt to spin the car around and head back down, but was thwarted by a lorrie that appeared from around the next bent, and was now sitting motionless with no chance of restarting my ascent. Time for a quick J-turn once a break appeared in the traffic. Easier said than done with ABS, but accomplished nevertheless. Back downhill to find chains and petrol.
It was well after closing on a Friday, but I found a tiny Toyota dealership in an equally tiny village and enquired about chains. As Irish luck would have it, sure enough they had one set of chains on the shelf, an they were the correct size for the car. I tried to give the fellow the money and get back on the road, but he was ahving none of that. The Swiss are very methodical and thorough people, and nowhere on the label was a 525i listed. Sure theere was every other 5er, but not mine. He had to make a couple phone calls, much like my insurance broker in Ireland to figure out how to cope with the problem at hand.
After getting some sort of positive reply, or at least a maybe, from the other end, he decided that the only way to tell for sure would be to fit the chains on the car and check the clearances. Wonderful, except that we would also have to remove them again as we were well away form the snowy bit of road. With the chains safely stowed I headed further downhill to find petrol. Aure enough, after a few villages I came across one with a vending machine type of pump. I had used most of my Swiss Francs for the Autobahn vignette and of course the chains and now had but 10 to my name. I fed the note into the machine but it took no notice. The garage looked deserted, but again luck played a role and it turned out theat the lads were hanging about having some sort of Friday evening libation. One of them came out to the pump with me, opened it up and found my note jammed in the machinery. He fed it through again and I was tanked up and on my way.
There was a ski area just before the snowy bit of road with a bit of a car park where I had planned to mount the chains. I pulled in and started about my business when an old Toyota Land Cruiser appeared and a kindly old gentleman appeard with a floor jack and started helping. I was rather impressed with his kindness! When we finished I was trying to think of some way to reward this Good Samaritan, remembering that the last of my Swiss Francs had disappeared into the petrol pump. As I reach for my wallet he immediately informed me that I owed him 40 Swiss Francs. Clearly a rip-off artist, and not the kindly gentleman I took him for initially! The chains themselves had cost only about 24 Swiss Francs! I explained that I had no Swiss Francs on my person and he said Deutschmarks would do. I had none of them at all but had a good supply of Luxembourgisch and Belgian Francs which would have to do.
Luckily he hadn't a clue as to the exchange rate and when I gave him a BEF/LUF100 note he wanted to give me some change. I couldn't possibly screw him that badly as I would have meant he was paying me to help mount my chains, but is was sorely tempted. I'm sure he got a shock when he presented my note at the bank!
The trip throught he pass and sown into St Moritz was a dawdle with my new-found traction, and I must say the pale is a winter wonderland. Sort of Monte Carlo in the Alps with Porsche 996 turbos jammed into snowbanks next to Rolls Royces and Bentleys as well as half of the worlds' supply of RS2s, RS4s (the "in" alpine car at the time), and all the premium SUVs.
I parked the car at our hotel and didn't touch it for almos a week. It there was quite a cold snap and it suddenly dawned on me that although I had added some anti-freeze, I had never actually checked what level of protection I had. Oops, too late now! When it came time for the drive home, I cleared the accumulated snow off the car and opened the bonnet. I checked the coolant and sure enough there was ice in it, but not really solid ice. I got behind the wheel, pushed in the clutch, which incidentally returned very slowly due to the cold, held my breath and turned the key. Phew!
On the return, I made sure to remove the chains before I got to the carpark of the "Good Samaritan".
Living with a RHD car on the continent was getting to be a pain in the arse, especially in Luxembourg with the parking garages. The walk around the car to get the ticket was a bother, and the humourless Luxembourgisch drivers didn't enjoy being held up for the extra few seconds. We gave the car to a brother in law and it made the trip back to Ireland heavily laden with wines.
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Oct. 7, 2005 - Forbidden Fruit
Forbidden fruit. For me the title refers to those cars that the DOT and EPA have decided are not to be available in the USA fo whatever reason. Surely with only our best interests in mind, they have determined these cars to be hazardous to our health. The really special ones will kill us outright due to the lack of 5MPH bumpers and the like, whilst the others will no doubt kill us slowly by polluting the American air to a level of toxicity that they obviously don't do elsewhere.
Of course most of this is absolute horseshit. I bought a few grey market cars back in the early 80s when the $/DM exchange rate was favourable and enjoyed them immensely although they were just slightly better and cheaper than the officially imported versions. This was back in the good old days when one could cheat a bit on the compliance without too much risk. Things have tightened up a bit since.
On moving to Europe, I was determined to have a go in some of the cars that were either never available in the USA or were no longer imported.
Ireland of 15 years ago was nothing like the boomtown it is now. I can honestly say that I had never seen a car still being driven that sported moss until moving there. The Irish for some reason never washed their cars. Green moss would grow on the rubber bits around the windows and along the seams in the coachwork. They would never renew their windscreen wipers. Most windscreens would have the telltale arcs scratched into them which cried out that the owner was indeed a miser. Tyres would be replaced when they wore out. Through the cords. There was no motor vehicle inspection.
Add to the general lack of maintenance the fact that the roads were very bumpy and potholed you can appreciate the that fleet of English, Japanese and Italian bangers was in a sorry and generally unsafe state.
Well as the saying goes: "When in Rome...". This was too good to be true. I decided to become completely Irish and set about looking for a Mini, one of the forbidden fruit in the USA. I noted a rather forelorn example on the side of a street near a shop I frequented, and noticed it hadn't moved for weeks. I asked the shop owner about it and he put me in touch with the owner, who had found running it a bit too much for her meagre finances.
Over a cup or two of tea we haggled and I ended up parting with IR£180 for a 12 year old Mini 1000. Someone had helped themselves to the alternator so I had to find one and instal it before driving away. The car had 54,000 miles on it and drove literally like new. I can honestly say that it was as much fun to drive as any car I've driven.
Highpoints included taking the Irish approach to tyre wear to an extreme. I noticed after a while that the right front tyre was quite bald. A few weeks later it was showing cords. I proceeded to find out just how many layers of cords it possessed, until one day I noted that I had worn clear through the tyre at one spot and exposed a dime sized portion of the innertube. It was bulging out a bit, but seemed to be holding up quite well condsidering, so just for kicks I thought I'd see how long it would last. The next day there was a muffled pop, much like a bubble gum bubble bursting and I had my answer: not very long.
The speedo in the old mini resided in the middle of the dash. A really stupid place to put it in my book and I find it incredible that the MINI has this absurdly retro "feature", especially since it is the only thing on the new one that remotely resembles the original. Well, the speedo on mine gave up on me one day and I duly replaced the cable. Shortly thereafter, the speedo began to operate erratically. It would work normally until about 60MPH at which point the needle would start bouncing off the stop at the end of the scale. Strange.
This went on for some time until the peg gave out from the repeated hammering, allowing the needle to make full revolutions. I like this feature. It was quite amusing to see the needle acting like a propellor, lapping the dial at a rate commensurate with speed. It would remain visible to about 50 as a blur but would then seemingly disappear. The most entertaining feature was the fact that whilst reversing, the needle would move in the opposite direction, going around the dial in an anti-clockwise direction.
At some point the brakes started acting up and wee clearly in need of some attention. These brakes were absolutely tiny drums on all four corners. As the wheels were only 10 inchers, you can imagine the dimensions for the drums. Well, the pedal was getting a bit long and quickly graduate to being a one pumper. One pump to the floor, release and once to stop. Not too bad considering. Well, the progression from a one to a two pumper was altogether too rapid, and every now and again it would demad three pumps.
Traffic lights in Dublin are never set to blink, and never shut off either, even in the middle of the night. Hell, they even have what they call ghost pedestrian lights which switch to red randomly just to "calm" traffic, but which really serve to anger drivers who spent seeminly hours at un-coordinated lights across town. Dublin got its first traffic lights not all that long ago, but the traffic engineers took to them with enthusiansm. EU money to spend, must be sure to spend it all you know.
With two or three pump brakes, and the general disregard for late night traffic signals, I would have to debate whether or not to start pumping or just cruise through the yellow. One particualr night on the way home at about 0200 the lights changed on me. I calculated hat I could ignore them and sure enough drove through just a tiny bit of a red light. I remarked to my passenger that I had surely run a slightly red light, but the van behind me really ran that one. Not an unusual occurance, but one worth noting. At the next light the van drew level with me and I noticed the Garda Síochána shield on the door. Oops! The Garda driving motioned me over, and I complied.
Nothing at all was mentioned about the fact that I had driven through an obviously red light, but he had noticed that my brake lights didn't function at the next one. He also was not impressed with the note of my exhaust which was rather loud as the downpipe had parted from the exhaust manifold, as they are prone to do, earlier that evening. He took my details, name and address had to be given to a Garda on request, but licence needn't be carried at the time. He advised me that I would be getting a summons to appear in court that I could ignore. Apparently the lads got overtime work delivering summonses and they were issued all the time just to augment the income of the Gardai. I did have to appear at the Garda station with the repairs done, my licence and the car's insurance documents for a Garda to inspect. A deadline of ten days seems to be the norm for this sort of thing.
Well, I repaired the car and was ready to set off to the station, ringing ahead just to be sure that someone would be able to see me. Went outside and aked the bird to make one last check on the brake lights. tail lights and indicators. Of course, a few of them decided not to work. As I had an appointment a the station I figured I'd take a chance and we drove in in her car and I presented myself at the desk. I brought the old clamp from the manifold/downpipe join and a few burnt out fuses to show, along with the required documents. As luck would have it, the Garda at the desk couldn't be bothered to come outside to inspect the car so I was off free.
I worked in the Japanese import trade for a while and sampled some rather interesting cars, my favourites being the Evos and WRX STis. They were perfectly suited for the Irish roads, and could be enjoyed to thier fullest on the secondary roads, where the speed limit was 60MPH but one had to woke very hard to average anywhere near.
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About Me
Motoring from a German/European perspective, seen through the eyes of a American Irish transplant.
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