Collection Roadtrip ending at RRG, with terrible pictures

[surprisingskoda]

You know at the start of that film "50 Days of Summer" (which should have been renamed '5 Days of Summer' for the UK release if it wanted to gain any relevance), the narrator tells you that it's a story of boy meets girl, but it's not a love story? And you look at the boyish charm of Joseph Gordon-Levitt and the bohemian offbeat wildflower Zooey Deschanel and think, "yeah it is. Of course something will come of it". And it doesn't. And it ends off leaving you feeling stupid for not listening at the start when they warned you. Well, these pictures are terrible, and to many people, so is the car I was collecting over the weekend.

I set off on Thursday morning. No, Wednesday night. My dad was a trifling 2 hours late to pick me up, and dropped me off at a friends house who lives near the airport so that I wouldn't miss a desperately early morning 10:25am flight. Slept on a two seater couch after watching Fast'n'Loud until 3am or so.

Of course at the airport I had to tip out all my carefully packed clothes and money and all the paraphernalia a modern man needs to endure a long weekend picking up an unknown car and taking it camping straight away.

On the cheapskate Flybe turbojet propelled flight to Manchester I contemplated the series of events that had led me here.
Somewhere in the distant fog of my memory, I remember a car my parents had (among many other terrible cars we endured when I were wee). I don't remember going anywhere in it, or anything about it at all other than it was silver. My dad didn't even remember it, only figuring out what it was on the way to drop me off in Belfast, which shows how truly forgettable it must have been. He did tell me we used it to go exploring a few far off towns when I did a GCSE piece on Gothic Architecture (which contributed to a healthy B grade in GCSE Art&Design after my tutor predicted me with a complete fail - thanks very much). So obviously it was forgettable even to me!
Earlier this year, one of these now very rare cars (due to rust, not desirability!) popped up on Retro Rides for sale. I pondered, considered finances which were not conducive at the time, nearly went for it anyway, and missed it by a day due to my indecision.
I had bookmarked the thread while I revisited the sales ad, and a few months later someone asked if it was for sale still, obviously not, but someone else then posted a link to Autoshite where it was back on the market. Moving swiftly, this time determined to reach it, I waited impatiently for my account to be approved, and set about the PMs only to find the car was now involved in a deal and I'd missed it by hours.
Having rediscovered my love of old crud, I stuck around, revelling in memories of past atrocities I had forgotten since daily-ing the several 200bhp 6 cyl cars I've been using these few years now.
And lo! a happenchance across a for sale ad that once again contains this same almost mythical beast. Swoop! Send PM, send bank transfer deposit, mine!

The vendor needed it moved, away from whatever north-midlands town it resided in, so I made employ of my local-est friend and he went and picked it up for me, after I stuck it on my trade policy out of legal responsibility and so on.

And there we were. Ten days later I was flying over, departing the sunny Norlin Irelin and skimming the cloudtops, skimming the awful in-flight magazine, and brimming with the kind of anticipation I've lost when picking up modern classic beemers from the mainland.

And, err, I land in the airport, go to train station, which is grim. The train is grim too. The rain is bucketing, the sky is grey, the country is bleak and it does not improve as I pay over £27 (£27!) to travel 32 miles by train taking over two hours to do so and not even on just the one train! I did at least have an enjoyable conversation with a nice lady from Liverpool who now lives in North Wales - and understood most of it.


And so I alight the rail carriage at the Costa-del-upNorth and it's still grim.


My friend Ronnie arrives promptly almost on time and off we scoot. I would tell you what Chesterfield is like, but I didn't get much chance to see any of it


True to form, not having seen him for several months, literally inside two minutes we were discussing socio-psychological traits and the benefits of empowerment versus a state welfare system. Two minutes after that, we were broadside on a roundabout.

And then we rolled up, and I got the first view of my new steed!


Ronnie was building a petrol go-kart and the very capable engineer that he is ensured it had independent MacPherson strut front suspension and semi independent rear with dampers and castor adjustment, made out of bits of scrap lying around, as you do, so we set to tackling a few jobs still remaining on that.


A bit of fish'n'chips was consumed that evening and I totally forgot to go look at my new car.
They're totally renovating their house from ground up so I was designated the kitchen, and the use of their airbed. So I had this view to help me nod over...


And woke up at half 5 in the morning when the airbed ran out of steam and lowered me gently onto the tiled floor. I tried to roll over and ignore it but it was no good and a while later I got up with a creaky back and groggy head.

Friday I had another mission so I needed an early start. So around 11am or so, after a bit of breakfast and some more go-kart tinkering, I decided I needed to check I had emergency supplies in my chariot. After all I had a mere trifling 450 miles to do in it in order to get home.

Well, it has a spare tyre and a jack. Couldn't be bothered looking for a brace so I shoved my bag in along with my tent (that I'd sent to Ronnies house via UPS earlier) and shut the bootlid. Should be fine.
It appeared to also have a full toolkit in the glovebox.


Right, off we go. Shades on. Check the in-car clock, and it's showing 20 to 1. Need to get a move on! No music because the speakers are blown and MW doesn't work for me.

I tootle downhill on the M1 and arrive 90 minutes later at my next other mates work to poke around a couple of my cars he has in storage there and get them ready to bring back to Ir'n. One of them, the one that doesn't run, is conveniently stuck on full lock and the keys gone missing.

I have no idea what this picture was in aid of.


He gives me a BMW steering wheel, so this is a business trip now, right? I can claim it all on expenses. Cool.


Off to the shops with the business debit card then!

The massive boot swallows all the shopping in beside the camping gear and clothes, with surprising ease.
Check the car clock again and it's now only 1:40pm, so seem to have plenty of time.

Having worked this all out to perfection, now it was the due moment to set off for the Retro Rides Gathering, the reason the collection took place exactly conveniently when it did.
The drive there was very pleasant, with no hiccups to report. Somewhere a long way ago I stopped for petrol. The car was running on permanent full advance, so it pinked badly under load and hills were unpleasant, which really only reared its head once we started getting towards Worcestershire. It made the engine heat up a bit doing that, but on the flats I opened the choke out a bit to run it rich and that helped it cool down when needed, so it never really got anywhere near hot enough to worry about.

Got to the campsite and had an hours light to throw the tent up, which was just enough time to unfurl the sleeping bag as the light went.

An early night was required and at half ten I was in my plastic sheeting house-for-the-weekend. An hour later I was waking up freezing. Extra clothes went on but it was no good, and every 90 minutes or so I was waking up with the cold, with only exhaustion keeping me dropping off again. I'd brought a blanket for under the sleeping bag for comfort, but that was around my shoulders, so I was basically one groundsheet away from sleeping on the grass, so my back was loving me come 7.30am when it could take no more and up I arose.

Ronnie had got there before me on Friday with his missus and toddler, so on Saturday morning, this view


The 126 club beside us had managed to pitch up in this great Riva so there was a nice Iron Curtain feel around here


It looked reasonably promising on Saturday morning. We made some tea and some breakfast, and went a little walk. About 150 yards. And then it bucketed. We scarpered back and took shelter, where we avoided some of the rain for most of the afternoon. Torrents fell.


My awning had a curious desire to pool water directly above my head. I can sit under it on a chair quite comfortably. This got down as far as level with my chin before I braved the thunder and lightning and tipped it out.

And then it filled up again in under 5 minutes so I canted the whole thing so the water would run off, but then it wasn't fit for sitting under.

In between downpours we managed (well, Ron managed) to get the kart operating correctly, so we got a couple of spins around the place in it. The suspension really worked well and followed the bumps in the ground rather than hammering off them and bumpsteering everywhere. Brill.

Eventually the drenchings stopped, and there were rumours of hot food and a auction of tat.
There was a great crowd for it. This photo handily shows you where it took place, only two hours prior. The chips were great though.


Ronnie and I took a wander around the campsite in the dark, through the ankle deep mud of the tyre tracks, and chatted some people, eventually reaching base camp about 1am.
Went in and unzipped my little hovel, and felt a certain squelchiness I wasn't entirely confident about.


Still not sure, so flash on...


Oh. That'll be my sleeping bag then, soaked through. The rain was so heavy it came right through the downwards facing vents, pooled in the bottom corner and attacked my nocturnal warmth provision with aplomb.

At this time of night, with soaked jeans, and soaked socks, I found whatever I had left that was dry, opened the bag up, put yesterdays T shirt under my feet, and slept across the top half, using that thin blanket that was supposed to go underneath, to go round my top 'alf. Thankfully it wasn't as cold as previous night due to a bit more cloud cover, but still. Halfway through the night, I had to wake up and replace the T-shirt under my feet as it had soaked too. Saved my feet though, and wet cold feet is one sure way to get yourself very ill very quickly so I was willing to pay the price in T-shirts.

Eventually this cold, wet, cramped, uncomfortable night was over, and again it was an early start, cooking breakfast for the others as they packed away all their gear and disassembled the kart. Their tent had decided to start leaking on Friday night and was only saved by putting the awning over the top of it. So not much better over there then. They chucked the whole tent in the skip. I just rolled mine up and threw it in the boot.
It did look slightly promising though...


We drove round to the show field, where we walked around a lot, looked at things, talked to people and I took a lot of photos, which are here: http://retrorides.proboards.com/thread/191994/rrg-weekend-photos

Here's a particularly high quality shot I managed to grab


After the show started to peter off in the afternoon, I decided to make a break for it, and see if I could cover the 170 miles to the ferry in less than 11 hours. Well.
The last time I tried that was in a four speed 1.2 1979 Skoda that really didn't like cruising at anything more than 45mph, and needed petrol every 100 miles, and water every 25. But this time, I was in an ultra reliable, high speed cruiser, so again with 4 gears, and a happy bimbling speed of something between 40 and 60, I was all set.
Of course I checked all my fluids and tyre pressures first. Yeah right.
After a hour or two I met a couple of other chaps on their way home with a broken down pickup. Stopped but couldn't help, so had a welcome cup of brew with them, and motored on, at a blistering pace, so much so that I stopped a few times at picnic spots for no real reason other than to kill some time. Oh, and to see if I could find a church in east Wales that had something on in the evenings, such was the confidence levels. Unfortunately not, that cup of tea had lasted half an hour and so anything that was on was well underway by that margin. Oh well, onwards to Wrecsam and the A55.
Halfway along that I stopped for a coffee (until I saw caramel hot chocolate on the menu and opted for that instead) and once outside, leaning against my puke green stallion I had a lengthy chat with a Goldwing rider who was also killing time on his way to the ferry - coming back from a camping weekend as well, aiming for his Wicklow residence.

Anyway now came my first real chance to see if all the lights worked, and... they do! The dash clocks are fairly low level light but are perfectly clear when its proper dark, just not too great at dusk.
Kept driving until Holyhead was reached. Not sure what speed was going on down some of those long Welsh hills, no rev counter in this motor and the speedo is fairly intermittent. It has a permanent minimum of 19mph and only works above 30 or 40, or not at all, taking the odd siesta then coming back to life for a bit.

Anyway reached the port, first there, and the dash clock said it was only forty minutes after one am so time enough for a quick nap.


I got my usual spot on the Stena seating plan, floor 7, starboard, amidships end curved seat middle position, and almost instantly was asleep for actually the best nights - I say night, I mean four hours - sleep in four or five days.
And awoke to Dublin at 6.15am, one of the first off, so sped through the city avoiding all the errant clapped out Octavias. Isn't it pretty in the morning?  


And arrived home in mid-ulster early enough in the morning to get some breakfast. Only 20 to 2 according to the clock.
Some 450 or so miles covered, dodgy speedo means I've increased the mileage from around 65,560 to approx 65, 730. Low mileage cars are great!

£70 petrol at 113p average means I got 33mpg. Cool.
 

[Shep Shepherd]

But what car is it exactly? Going by the evidence in the photos, I reckon it's a Regata

[pshome]

Lovely O.Z wheel, i hope its not only the spare.

X1/9 ?

[brownnova]

Top write up... 57.5/10

Would read again. A++++

[Dave_Q]

Nice story, needs some pics of actual car.

[Twiggy]

Excellent ! Thank you.

[dollywobbler]

Ha! THAT'S who bought it! You were queuing to get into the display field when I drove past in the RAV4. 

[Skizzer]

Great story, and (ahem) exceptional photography

 

Some engineer your mate is though, filling the air mattress with steam.

 

 

Oh, and congrats on the Regata purchase.

[Ghosty]

It's definitely the Regata, based on the Bertone badged X1/9 spare and colour of the boot.

[mk1_4dr]

Nice to see you again over the weekend Will! Top tat-age with the Regata purchase, it looked beautifully shonky parked across from us all weekend.
I need to get on with processing yet another superb weekend.

[hairnet]

nut case

[surprisingskoda]

All the clues are there folks! There are subtle clues and obvious clues, and the car features heavily in some of the pics lol.

Anyway there has been a few correct guesses - a lot actually, between the three forums I posted this on, and so I can reveal that a 1985 Fiat Regata has found its way to Tyrone to "adorn" my drive and provide insurmountable joy.

I would ruin the thread if I broke out the Canon to provide pictorial evidence, so here's a phone snap I grabbed last night.