The Perfect Tonic

After a tough week at work, I can tell you one thing. The prospect of getting into a Caterham definitely cheers you up. I'm racing in the Endurance Life Coastal Trail Series in Exmoor this weekend. This means a five thirty start and a blast down to the north coast of Devon  in order to enjoy running (or possibly walking) up some stupidly steep hills. Apparently there is downhill, but I doubt I'll see it that way come the end. I would imagine my knees will have some sort of sense of humour failure too.



At any rate, this alone is enough to excite me, largely as the Subaru has now been re-homed in the wild northern lands and so there is zero get-out clause. If it's pouring with rain, tough. If it's cold that early, tough. I'm sure of one thing though. Whether you're in a zombie state after a hard day, or crawling out of bed at some ridiculous hour, getting into the Caterham will soon clear the head, engage the senses and wake you right up. I can't wait for the B-roads home either...though getting my stiff legs out of the car at the other end will be a different story.

How to get in with the roof up...

After a week of mixed weather and a bit of practice, this is what I've come up with. This assumes you’re getting into the right hand seat.

• Open the door. Be aware if it’s windy, it can swing back and smack you on the head/arm/arse depending at what stage of this comical procedure you're at.
• Stick your left leg in.
• Facing away from the car, reverse in bum first, bending at the middle. Remember, you shouldn’t be leaning on the wheel arch – it won’t take the weight.
• Once mostly in (your right leg is now hanging out of the door) lean as far left as is comfy, minding the rearview mirror.
• You should now be partially draped over the transmission tunnel, but have given yourself enough room to tug your right leg in.
• Once both legs are in, wriggle down into the seat and carry on as normal.

This video highlights the difficulty/ease/stupidity/comedy, but note the driver uses the wheel arch and gets away with it as he's clearly mega-skinny. I'm a bit tubby, so would like as not snap off half the rivets.

The end of an era...

I fell in love with Subaru Imprezas watching the WRC and playing Gran Turismo in stolen lunchtimes during my sixth form. The purposeful look and the most amazing sound had me instantly sold.

Fast forward a few years and via a rare black non-turbo, I think one of 200 released, though estimates go up to 1000 (are you reading this Timothy?), I ended up with an excellent 1999 V plate Turbo 2000. Never in the history of motoring have you been able to go so fast, handle so well and carry so much crap for so little cash. My excellent workhorse was a triumph, getting me to and from work with ease, comfortable cruising up to Aberdeen and down to Bergerac, rescuing friends who were stuck in the snow and most notably, getting three (arguably) grown men, three mountain bikes and all their camping gear to the 2010 Nurburgring 24 hour race. With everything inside the car. It was epic. Even the parking was epic.

That is very, very wet grass

I shall be sad to see it go, but then times do change.







Buy a car that definitely hasn't been in the air like the one above, by clicking here.

Things I have learnt very quickly...

•  Four point harness lap belts are better adjusted with you out of the seat.
•  Reversing is much easier with the belts undone, unless you have the head of an owl.
•  I do not have the head of an owl.
• A removable steering wheel makes getting in easier, but does remove one useful and strong point of support when the manoeuvre in underway.
•  If your rearview mirror is glued to your windscreen, use two hands to adjust it. One to hold the base to the glass and the other to move the mirror. If it’s a bit stiff on its stalk, trying one handed and/or while in motion and you will like as not rip it off. Well, you will if you have fists of ham like mine.
• With an under-dash handbrake, hill starts are a bastard.
• My sump is around 65mm off the ground. My office speed-bump is >65mm in height.
• A standard UK housebrick is about 8½ × 4 × 2½ inches. The mathematically inclined of you will note that only one of these dimensions is less than 65mm.
• Driving with your lights on all the time makes a small car more visible.
• Remembering to turn lights off is difficult after Subaru’s revolutionary idea of “key out = lights off”.

I really am constantly surprised at the lengths manufacturers go to to let you know you've left your lights on. In the old days (all right, my old days) of motoring - aka the reign of the mark 2 Fiesta van and the Fiat Panda 4x4, they left it up to you. You leave them on, you must have meant to. Then, technology came along and gave you bongs, beeps and other bells and whistles to let you know you've left your lights on, just in case you're absent minded. It was at this point a man at Subaru (to whom I bow to in term of logical analysis) came up with an extraordinary idea: What if, when you turn the ignition off, turn the car off and take they key out, everything goes off? I like to think at this point in the room there was a stunned silence, swiftly followed by spontaneous applause. Imagine that? Turn car off, turn all the car off. Amazing.

Anyway, until I get used to it, I'm in constant danger of running my battery flat because I'm so indoctrinated in the Subaru way. I'll learn. And carry jumpleads.

And, actually, on reflection, I think the Panda also turned everything off when you took the key out, but I was young and carefree and took no notice of these little things back then.

First thoughts of commuting

Despite still owning the Subaru, I've commuted to work in the last few days using the Caterham. Fine, it's only five miles, but I've discovered a few things.

1) Putting the hood up the night before is a great idea if you tend to rush in the mornings.

2) Getting in with the hood up requires practice in a quiet place before you unleash your technique on the public.

3) Even at 70mph, it really is pretty civilised with the roof up. Much less wind noise and no buffetting.

4) Having a hood that has a sun roof - a clear panel above your head - makes it lots less claustrophobic.

5) I've been tempted to drive much further on the way home.

The trials of new ownership (for others)

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I'm keen to relate Caterham tales more regularly than "normal" people (I shall call you Muggles) are prepared to endure. I imagine this is a process all friends and relatives of new owners have to go through, whilst all secretly wishing they could chew their own ears off instead of hearing another anecdote about steering feel or more justification that it really is practical. Sort of.

Anyway, I know my wife has gone up to and beyond that point - she's had years of motorsport anyway. What normal human being gets up, on the day the clocks go forward, to watch the Australian GP, not only securing a very early start, but losing that extra hour? Me, that's who. And I do it because I have friends who do it too, so if I didn't, I'd have to ignore every text on my phone until I'd seen the conclusion of the race.

I digress. The poor lady is not only enduring a mind-numbingly tedious torrent of Caterham this/driving that, but she's had it for the two weeks leading up to the purchase too. I told her if she got in and immediately hated it, then I wouldn't buy it. I was very nervous she might do just that, though I think she was equally nervous I would throw myself to the floor in a full on public tantrum. One of the most important aspects of purchasing the car was making sure I can live with it every day, but also striving to make it liveable for my wife too. Writing things on here, which is ultimately just a convenient place for me to record thoughts, wrapped up in a little more words and detail just in case a few other people find it useful, is one of the ways I'm safeguarding my wife from the full onslaught of keenness. That way when she sees the car she'll hopefully look forward to the journey, instead of having a subconscious urge to rip my arm off, and beat the car and I to a bloody, but mercifully silent pulp.