Worst journey home

[Station]

Been putting this off for about 2 weeks. Basically had to tow my car out of the garage as I'd handed my notice in and had to vacate the garage.

Folk's forbade me to put another car on their driveway, so the journey back doubled to about four or five miles. Only just done the brakes, there were no driveshafts in (possible wheel bearing collapse), windscreen cracked, and forgot to put wipers on, etc.

 

Got a tow off my brother's Zafira with a fragile rope that snapped only once this time, but throughout could hear the bearings whining and a wheel arch liner flew off into the central reservation thingy on the road to my house. Somehow, the car made it home where I can now fix it properly and get it on the road again. I can't believe after five years in a garage it's finally out and in a place where I can do proper work on it.

 

 

I've shared my worst drive home, how about your's!

[DCLane]

Mine was when I took up one of the "Free car" offers in Practical Classics in 1997.

 

It was for a Bond Equipe, which the donor said would be towable - although he lived overseas now.

 

Went to collect it - it was under a tarpaulin and had no fixed seats or brakes. And the floor was missing some panels.

 

I towed it the 20 miles from Sunderland to Middlesbrough with a tow rope, wife in the Bond and me in my company Rover, slowing down by letting the Bond bump into the back of the Rover Max speed was only 20mph, on the A19

 

Strangely enough she didn't say much to me for a few hours afterwards.

[Pillock]

I took the then Mrs Pillock down to Type 3 Detectives in Newmarket to pick up my Fastback that they'd had for a while. I'd spent about a grand on it and I think she thought it was going to be a beautifully shiny car.

 

No.

 

It was still in a mixture of red oxide, black primer, and blue doors. It still was horrifically noisy, thanks to a "quiet pack" exhaust and nothing at all inside apart from two seats and the dash. No carpets, no doorcards, nothing. It had a rear firewall made of sellotape to stop me being gassed on the way home - no engine cover, no back seat, you can see the carbs in the rear view mirror!

 

She didn't speak for 60 miles. Then she started crying, so I pulled into a pub carpark for a chat. Pub closed. Tried to get reverse.... nope! Linkage mullered, no reverse possible. Mrs Pillock has to push car backwards whilst I steer

 

Finally stopped somewhere, phrases such as "Waste of money", "deathtrap" and "I hate you" were used. Rest of journey was in silence.

[Station]

ha, there's no worse sight than having your missus push your worn out shed!

[Vin]

I set off from Stoke back to Scunny one November Sunday afternoon, in my old C reg Panda 750. The battery light came on, it got dark, I was gradually losing all electrics. I managed to get off the A38, into Alfreton and found a phone box (no mobiles then). Rang the AA, and my membership had expired the previous week (I certainly don't miss being skint)

 

So, only thing I could think of was to ring my Dad for assistance. Of course, he was far from happy having to drive an hour and a half to perform some kind of roadside rescue. Anyway, eventually he arrived, and found me.

 

So he towed me back behind his Saab 9000. A38, M1, M18, M180. Twenty minutes up the M1 and I'd lost all lights and hazards. Also I couldn't stop the ice cold air coming through the vents, so it was like being sat in a fridge.

 

So 2 hours being towed at 60mph on the motorways, in the dark, in basically an unlit fridge, was my worst journey.

 

Fuggin Dreadful.

[Cavcraft]

Circa 1982 my mate chopped his bike in for a bigger one and invited me along as pillion.

Set off at 9.00am for Mid Wales and it fucking absolutely lobbed it down and it was freezing cold.

Got a puncture on the A483 (and were damned lucky not to have come off) and ended walking miles with the front wheel to a tyre house.

 

Eventually got going again, got hopelessly lost in the hills by Newtown and after endless cups of tea and a sit down by a heater in a workshop we set off.

Then ran out of fucking petrol slap twat in the middle of nowhere.

Got home at 11.00 at night freezing cold, piss wet through and minus the will to live.

Spent next two days in bed trying to shake off the worse cold of ever.

[AlsoMike]

Pillock, I had a reply all lined up, and now it seems boring compared to that! My ex mrs (who accompanied me on many tat-buying missions) never once cried, she probably wanted to though....

 

My worst was going to pick up an MG Maestro that I'd won on ebay without really meaning to. Obviously I'd not viewed it, or checked exactly where it was. Turned out it was in a slightly rough bit of Nottingham, and I was picking it up quite late in the evening.

 

When I got there the seller wasn't home (cue lots of "youths" standing near the car watching us for 45 mins), but when he did get there he was a very nice chap. He certainly apologised a lot when the car wouldn't start for quite a while... (adrenalin starts to increase...)

 

Anyway, it started, money was exchanged, and we set off. And promptly got lost in aforementioned rough area. Then it broke down. Cough, splutter, stink of petrol, dies. After cranking it over a few times I popped the bonnet and got out to have a gander, and noticed just how many gangsta wannabies were watching me, all huddled around a burnt out car 100 yards away. Fuck. Whilst they probably couldn't have given two shits that some dumbass couldn't get his car to start, I thought I was going to get stabbed so I was proper bricking it. Luckily it was just the lead to the coil had popped off where the seller had been jiggling it earlier, put it back on and it started. Sped off in the opposite direction and luckily managed to end up in the right direction. Took me ages to calm down, that car was ace to drive though.

 

Probably quite tame really, but my other car buying experiences were all straightforward, and that includes buying a car from Mr P.G. Weasel esq.

[Pillock]

  AlsoMike said:

slightly rough bit of Nottingham

 

lots of "youths"

 

many gangsta wannabies

 

burnt out car

 

going to get stabbed

Do you work for the Nottingham Tourist board?

Oh, and we don't use knives any more. Guns, innit.

[garethj]

Years ago I was looking for a Tatra 603, this was back when there were only half a dozen in the country so I got a tip-off about one in Germany. I took a German & French speaking mate with me and we flew over to Frankfurt, met up with the owner and looked at the car.

 

Which hadn't moved in a year

 

He got his local garage on the case and they changed the oil, put a new battery on and pumped up the tyres. The owner took me to the local registration office where I got some red export plates and insurance, then we set off for home, some 800ish miles in a 1964 car that really likes being maintained every day without questions of cost or time.

 

After 2 miles we joined the autobahn and the indicators packed up, I pulled in and wiggled the fuses around and all was well again so we drove through to the Belgian border at about 9pm. There we were stopped by the most jobsworth bloke I've ever had the displeasure to meet - he insisted that we couldn't cross, we had the wrong plates. My bilingual mate explained that the rules had changed recently and the export plates were valid for 7 days but this cut no ice.

 

I must have been about 23 at the time, and hadn't yet developed the confidence, arrogance or violence I'd use on the guard today, we were still 600ish miles from home on a dark December night and this shit was keeping us there, after taking our passports, for a loooong time.

 

After an hour or more he gave us our passports back and we headed back into Germany, phoned the bloke who sold me the car and asked if we could come back and kip on his floor again while we had a think. We had half an alternative plan about going across Germany and over the French border, but it was all a bit WWII for my liking....

 

If I remember right it was a Saturday so we had to wait until Monday for the registration office to open again where I bought some plates that were valid for a month. We hit the road again and this time approached Belgium at around midday where there was nobody on duty at the border, we didn't even slow down from 60mph. It's a strange feeling of being relieved, pissed off, knowing we were wronged and hoping nothing else happened. Too may feelings to fit in my head at the same time.

 

We drove through to Calais, got the next available ferry and then drove the almost 300 miles home, I think we arrived at about 2am. Journey from hell, but it could have been worse.

 

I was driving the Tatra to work at 6am the same day

[Pete-M]

  Station said:

ha, there's no worse sight than having your missus push your worn out shed!

Oh, there is. Many moons ago I had a 2.8 injection Capri with a sticky starter motor. I was trying the 'one man push-start' technique when my mum (who was over 60 at the time) offered to help. As the road is on a slight hill in the middle, it was easier to bump it in reverse. So I pushed it to get it moving whilst good old mum gave it a light shove at the front, I jumped in, engaged reverse, released the clutch and it fired up.

 

The sight of my old mum, arms out in front of her with a surprised expression, doing about 15 mph down the street with nothing to stop her was one I'll never forget. Neither was the sight of mum nosediving at pretty much the same speed. The sight of a pair of sandals coming into view at the end of the bonnet meant I knew I was in shit. One of those no-win situations. If I'd braked, she'd have clattered into the car. If I didn't, well, she might have been able to slow down. Maybe.

 

I admit I've been laughing as I've typed this, but I still feel a bit guilty about it. I didn't want the paint scratched...

[Tayne]

.

[MrDuke]

Definitely the journey home from the Ace Cafe in December a couple of years back, driving a friend's Hillman Hunter estate, freshly obtained from the previous owner. Started at around 10ish at night, so I wasn't expecting it to be much fun - even less so when it started pissing with rain & I couldn't find the DIY Heath-Robinson wiper switch.

It didn't help when the steering turned out to be incredibly loose, and getting looser all the time - how I didn't shit myself when the car suddenly veered in front of an artic truck with no warning, I don't know. Oh yes, and the air vents were all jammed open, with no heater, resulting in almost-but-not-quite-numb face, hands and feet. I'd lost said friend quite early on in the journey, but happened across him, asleep in his warm, cosy van in a services' car park at around 2am. I banged on the door, demanded that he give me his thermal gloves, then swerved off erratically into the night, getting home at around 4:30am with only my face and feet in immense pain.

He got rid of the Hunter shortly afterwards, so luckily I never had to clap eyes on the shitter again.

[Station]

That mum story had me 'rofl'ing!

 

I can't believe I missed this one, only for one reason.

I picked a car up in Stevenage, which is just north of London. I withdrew £1000 for the car, and bought a train ticket. I had a pleasant journey down, two trains, sweating a bit waiting for some wannabe-gangsters to get on the train with a grand in my pants (none did!). Got picked up at the station, saw car, bought the car. Dash was saying there were 16 miles left in fuel, so I went to petrol station. Went to get card out - I suddenly pictured my bank card on my desk at home. I had £2 in cash to get me home. I sat outside the bank thinking what I was going to do.

I saw some student girl who was absolutely bladdered stumbling along the pavement - she asked me to help her down the steps, so I took her arm, and guided her down - thinking 'I could mug her and then I'd get home'.

I found a credit card which was £2 away from the maximum limit, so chanced it and the cash machine gave me £60. Phew.

 

Unfortunately, the credit card charges for going over the limit totally raped me for the next year and ended up paying about 300 quid at least for £60. At least I got home!

[meggersdog]

Towing an idiot you say...

A friend of a friend went out to jump start my friend's car just as his ecu packed up.My friend phoned me for help.I got him going then attached my straight-bar to his mate's Renault Clio.After telling him to let the bar do the work and just follow me we set off on the 25 mile journey back to his home.

Now the Clio only has a towing eye spot welded to the near side chassis rail and every time I slowed down this idiot moved into the middle of the road to see what was happening.Sometimes he was so far across it caused the straight bar to push upwards on his bumper due to the severe angle.The bumper eventually pushed up hard enough to flick his headlight glass off.Undeterred twat head continued to slalom back and forth until eventually the spot welds gave way.So we are still four miles from his house and my straight bar is now useless due to his twattish behaviour.Luckily I knew someone nearby and borrowed a rope for the rest of the journey.

[nigel bickle]

I've many,many tales- but my favourite involves the wife (now-not then), a barn move and the end of 2 person towing in this household.

 

I had bought a bigger barn -much nearer to me, & was anxious to move out of the rented shed -about 30miles away.

 

Ann agreed to help. We'd moved several, broadly without issue,and were getting it down to a fine art.

 

Until the second Pennant. The one that had sat right at the back -unloved for some considerable time....

 

Light was fading -we were going to need to get a move on if we were to get it back before dark (given upon batteries -too much time involved fitting,checking etc) Likewise trailer boards. Just too much 'faff'..

 

I reversed the Scimitar up to the car, jumped out - hitched the rope and signalled the off.

 

Accelerating away smartly I began the ''what works'' routine I'd undertaken several times previously.

 

Frozen brake pedal -not unusual with these old Girlings I mused -can always use the handbrake & gears.

Seized handbrake - despite much tugging it wouldnt move a jot. Bugger.

 

And a seized solid clutch pedal - despite substantive 2 foot action on both pedals.

 

(First/last time I've ever had BOTH pedals seized totally solid).

 

By now 5 mins had passed, we had accelerated past 50mph - with a large roundabout looming in around 2 miles time.

 

Tried weaving -but she just waved, no lights to signal, absolutely no way to inhibit progress.

 

No seatbelt. Window winder (was in the passenger footwell) so I couldn't wind down the glass to gesture furiously.

 

Depression gathered as I realised that SWMBO isn't happy unless she's pushing a pedal hard (- doesnt matter which one).

 

Still accelerating towards the roundabout confirmed that prognosis- with the realisation that she'd heavy brake, or skip through a gap.

 

There was no gap; so she braked-heavily.

 

I didnt - although believe me I DID try.

 

At that moment I didnt really fancy her rear end -as a finale; so took the only option I could see - the pavement.

 

The disbelief on her face as I sailed past, at speed, was a picture.

 

Then the rope taughtened & she started to spin -as I pulled her round & dragged her backwards -before I eventuallly stopped, 200+yards down the pavement.

 

Thank God for strong ropes.

 

Realising that if we stayed, an explanation was difficult/ a tug inevitable-we rapidly reassembled and did a (slow) shaky runner.

 

And made it home - undamaged.

 

Whereapon I received the biggest bollocking ever - and she has never,ever towed a car since.

 

And there have been a few..

[Alexg]

great story Nigel.

[Rusty Pelican]

A 5 hour journey from Yeovil to Lyme regis to collect a mirror , its only 60 miles tops both ways

Only got about 3 miles from home when the car ( An 87 Uno 60s ) started to missfire badly , pulled into a layby , poked at stuff randomly tried again and it fired up , this carried on throughout the whole trip , it would drive maybe 3 or 4 miles then conk out , leave it a while and it would fire up , As the journey continued it just got worst and we kangarooed right through Birdport like a shitty learner driver , tickover vanished so this meant revving the bollocks off it at traffic lights much to peoples amusment

Got to Lyme and collected the mirror . Journey home was terrible as we hopped from one stalling to another , worst part was going up a fairly steep hill with loads of traffic behind us when it died completely right on a blind bend , sat there getting honked at and filthy looks

Eventually it did start and we kangarooed all the way home

5 Hours to do 60 miles , fucking thing

[dieselnutjob]

my 305 diesel had a dodgy starter motor which sometimes wouldn't do anything

anyway I filled up with fuel as a petrol station near Walthamstow which happened to be on a slight slope.

Afterwards it wouldn't start so I rolled it down the slope and as I took my foot off the clutch the engine started, but there was also a bang and a smell of transmission oil....

 

The rod that goes through the planet gear of the diff had tried (and partially succeeded) to escape and punched a huge hole in the side of the transmission casing.

 

I never bump start diesels anymore

 

I don't even remember how I got home that night.

 

Another night in another 305, a copper followed my into the same garage (I think) to have a go at me. As I got out of the car to talk to him the car rolled away because I forgot to put the handbrake on. I was that knackered that night it must have been as bead as being drunk.

 

That was quite embarrassing

[cms206]

I may have the mother of all really not ideal trips...

 

Picture this - February 2009 in the Czech Republic. Leaving of an evening for IJmuiden, in an 1976 Wartburg 353 Tourist in a fetching shade of shed green, across Germany in the dark. Nice steady 100kmh anticipated for the journey, and all would be good.

 

It wasn't.

 

Hit the border with Germany and it started to snow. Fair enough says I, we have wipers and 80kmh'll do. First services and the snow is getting heavier, and by the second services the main carriageway itself was shut for use as a snow clearance base - diversions through the services. Hmm. carry on anyway... third services and it's becoming more and more ill, so I stop to take a look, when it cuts out and coasts to a halt half way through the services.

 

That, I should have surmised, was going to be the start of a bad night. I didn't.

 

Half an hour of fucking about got it running, so hit the highway again, and about fifteen kilometres later I have a puncture. Hard shoulder of the autobahn, jack the car up, all the lights on... and it cut out again. Completely. No electrics whatsoever. Fuck. Another half hour ensues, by which time it is now well below zero, blowing a gale and I'm up to my arse in snow when the car comes back to life. All sorted, pull away... and promptly come to a halt again. No electrics once more. Give up due to the cold, and go in search of a rescue telephone, where I speak to a nice German man who advises that rescue is coming. It's now 4am, I'm soaked through, with thermal socks on my hands. It is not going well. The Police arrive. It gets worse. Documents are exchanged, all cleared, and they disappear.

 

Another nice German who doesn't speak English arrived an hour later in a decrepit VW LT tilt/slide, who takes me and the decrepit 'Burg to a nearby VW dealer who kindly manage to get it going again. I decide "fuck this" and head back to CZ to my mate's house, in the little known hamlet of Buttfuck Nowhere, Nowheresville. I crash on his settee, and wonder what to do next.

 

I awaken about 7pm after some sleep. I'm tired, filthy, hungry, and pissed off at the little Wartburg which clearly doesn't like me, when the words "I might have something which'll get you home... " are spoken.

 

We head out to the orchard, where, halfway down a ditch and up to it's bumpers in snow, lies a 1998 Ford Courier Combi. My mate advises that it doesn't get used during the winter because it's a bastard to start, but I'm welcome to take it if I can get it going.

 

An hour to dig it out and remove it from the ditch using a Renault Megane as a towing impliment, plus another half hour to get the bastard thing to start, and we're ready for the off again. I set off once more for IJmuiden after changing the registration of the vehicle booked on the ferry. Other than the smell of death, worrying knocks from under the passenger seat, a cracked windscreen and CV joints which are well on their way out it seems not too bad.

 

Of all the vehicles I've owned, that Courier is the one vehicle I've got the most faith in. It didn't get switched off until reaching IJmuiden including for refuelling and food stops, I didn't get a sore back at all making it easily the most comfortable - if bizzare - long distance cruiser I've ever driven and I even managed to get the radio working on the Autobahn at 130kmh without too much effort. Blizzard conditions prevaled again for this attempt, but no problems were encountered.

 

To this day, the Wartburg still lies in CZ awaiting another attempt and the Courier still lies in storage awaiting a fuel pump, valeted and a bloody good service. I maintain regularly that I will get the little van back on the road, but I've not yet done it...

[michiel]

Great stories!

Hope to add one of my own one day - must buy/swap more shite!

 

Worst was the Simca 1100 with leaky clutch cylinder I guess, switch of at the lights, start in gear, then change gear sans clutch... but never for long drives.

[wuvvum]

I haven't had anything like the epic problems some of you have had. A few memorable journeys spring to mind though - a driveshaft let go on a Fiat Ducato van (towing a tilt-bed car transporter) near Scotch Corner on my way to collect a Saab 900 from oop north - AA came out but couldn't fix it (I didn't have relay membership then - a situation that changed as soon as I got home) and it was Sunday so nowhere was open. AA man quoted me £350 to tow me home, so I decided to turn south (even though I was only about 20 miles from my destination ) and see how far I got, as the further I got under my own steam the less it would cost to get towed the rest of the way. In the event the van got all the way back to Norwich, but I couldn't go over 35 or the thing would start vibrating itself to pieces, and Scotch Corner to Norwich at 35mph is a fucking long way. I also got thrown off the A1M by the old bill somewhere in Lincolnshire for going too slowly - had no idea where I was, no satnav in those days, but eventually found my way back to the A1 (not before a couple of three-point turns in narrow back roads - not fun with a chuffing great trailer).

 

The other one was picking up a 1974 Hiace camper from Bicester - it hadn't moved off the bloke's driveway for two years but with it being a Toyota and me being younger and more foolish back then, I reckoned it would run fine. To be fair, the engine did run absolutely spot on. Shame nothing else did. The clutch was slipping badly, and got worse and worse - coming through Luton it got to the point where I could let my foot off the throttle in second gear and the revs would drop to idle. Pulling out onto a roundabout involved sitting with the engine at about 7,000 revs for 30 seconds while the van slowly inched forward. Then it started to sling it down with rain, and the nut holding the driver's side wiper arm on came loose, so the wiper just sagged uselessly and I had to lean over and look out of the passenger side to see where I was going. Then the indicators packed up, and then it got dark and I found the headlights didn't work (although the sidelights did). A bit of fiddling with the fuses and the main beams came to life, but couldn't get dipped, so drove the rest of the way home with oncoming motorists flashing at me. The clutch actually settled down a bit once I got to the A11, and I was able to wind the van up to about 55, which was a lot more than it had been managing on the A418-A505 stretch. And it did get me home.

 

One which didn't get me home was the BMC ambulance I bought from Derby. It'd had a Perkins Prima from a Sherpa fitted - the engine had supposedly been rebuilt but I had to drive with all the windows open to get rid of the fumes it was pouring into the cab. The indicators and brake lights didn't work, which was something of a pain, but not the end of the world as I had a mate following me back in the Trooper I owned at the time. About five miles down the road, though, things went badly wrong - the spare wheel carrier (underneath the van) had obviously been badly secured and dropped down, depositing the (very heavy) spare wheel directly onto the propshaft. I was doing about 50 at the time, and the prop didn't take too kindly to this turn of events, and manifested its displeasure by snapping, managing to crack the bellhousing in the process. It also locked the rear wheels, which was one of the scariest things that's ever happened to me on the road - a '60s ambulance with vague (and extremely heavy) steering and no seatbelts is not a good vehicle to be out of control in at 50mph on a busy dual carriageway. The prop had also taken out both the front to rear brake pipes and the handbrake cable, so I had no means of stopping the thing any quicker, and I just had to try and steer onto the hard shoulder and wait for the thing to skid to a halt. It did leave an impressive set of skid marks, to be fair - almost as impressive as the ones in my pants. Fortunately the Trooper was able, with the aid of an incongruously strong Poundland tow rope, to drag the stricken ambulance off the dual carriageway to await the AA, who towed me home.

 

Then there was the MX3 which I picked up from Maidstone one evening and which completely emptied its cooling system every 15 miles - I eventually got home at 4am the next morning, after a terrifying 80mph ride up the M11 in a Renault Midlum owned by an AA subcontractor and driven by someone who looked and drove like he hadn't slept in a week.

 

All good fun.

[Pete-M]

  cms206 said:

To this day, the Wartburg still lies in CZ awaiting another attempt and the Courier still lies in storage awaiting a fuel pump, valeted and a bloody good service. I maintain regularly that I will get the little van back on the road, but I've not yet done it...

I'm driving to Czech the end of next week...

[catsinthewelder]

My worst trip involved Renaults and a tow pole.

 

I had a 2001 Megane until recently which was given to me by my dad not long after I'd passed my test (under some duress from me). It'd never quite fitted in with me as I generally prefer old stuff but was fast and reliable for the first 18 months or so. Anyhow I ended up blowing the engine but as I'd got quite attatched to it by this point, I decided to replace it myself.

 

We'd bought an absolute shitter of an Espace on Ebay earlier that day to use as a tempory vehicle, so decided to use this to tow the Megane to my work carpark. This was in order to use the engine crane on level ground. Work was 8 miles away on narrow country lanes and the Espace had no MOT but was booked in for a test on the Monday. I can't remember why we even attempted this, I can only assume that we must have been mad as I would have to have swapped the engine in a day not to have got in trouble at work.

 

Anyhow we wern't ready until after dark so left the kids with a babysitter. The battery went flat on the Megane fairly quickly meaning no lights, we wanted to avoid getting pulled over so stopped about half a mile outside town, unhitched the Megane and went to search for a light board.

 

With the search unsuccesfull we finally realised what a stuipid plan it had been and decided to head for home. But when we hitched the Megane back onto the tow-pole the battery died on the Espace. We now had 2 dead cars stuck on the wrong side of the road on an unlit corner so I decided to act fast to bump start the Espace in reverse and managed to crash it into the shiney Megane. Fortunately we flagged down the next few passing motorists before we caused a pile up and they helped us to push start the Espace. We left the Megane more or less where it was for a few days before getting it towed to a garage by the RAC. We drove home in silence in the Espace.

 

The Espace spectaculaly failed its MOT on the monday and was scrapped.

 

The Megane blew 2 more engines in the next 1500 miles before I got fed up and gave it to a mate.

After pulling the towing eye and back bumper off my 205 trying to tow start the wretched thing he got it going with a new battery and loved it for about a month before he rolled it.

 

I've given up on Renaults and moved onto Peugeots and Citroens

[cobblers]

I got a big pile of cash from selling the Lupo, and promptly boarded an (£80!!) train from Sheffield to Worcester to pick up a mini, with a nice fat wallet that wouldn't even nearly close.

A few changes, a few close encounters with yobbos around Brum station and I finally arrive in worcester - The seller had said to ring him when I was a station away and he'd come pick me up.

 

I'd tried ringing four or five times, with no answer. Got off the train, tried ringing again - No answer. Half an hour later he rings me up, says "Oh sorry forgot you were coming" and sends his lass over to pick me up.

 

Money changes hands, documents are signed and I set off on the 130 ish mile journey home in what must be the noisiest mini ever (Solid subframe and engine mounts, gaz adjustable dampers turned to maximum hardness etc) Quick stop for fuel (well, not so quick - had to work out which of the half a dozen keys was for the fuel cap) and I got on the motorway and aimed for home. Had some in-ear headphones in to block out the noise.

 

He'd mentioned it needed a "better radiator" on because it was heavily tuned (1330 cc, big cam, electronic igntion blah blah) and it had an extra electric fan fitted. I'm watching the temp guage (proper digital one) rise steadily to about 105 degrees as I'm doing around 60mph. I hit the switch for the fan and it slowly drops to about 99, which I can live with.

After a brief patch of "near death" on the concrete "variable speed" bit of the M42? where the resonance of the road exactly matched the resonance of the tyres (dampers were almost solid) and the entire car bounced so hard for about 300 yards that I was slammed between the roof and my seat, barely able to even see. I just about kept it in my lane as the rest of the people on the road laughed at me.

 

The miles pass and I settle in, keeping an eye on the oil pressure guage now and again. I get to nottingham and look at the guage and it seemed to have dropped about 1 bar in the last minute - I pass it off as a mistake reading it and plod on (there was still plenty of pressure)

 

Finally the M18 comes up, which means "home" - I exit J1 of the m18 and stop at the traffic lights. Engine cuts out. I turn the key and it slowly turns over, but doesnt catch. By now all the traffic has finished beeping their horn at me and just gone by, so I roll back onto the hard shoulder at the top, wait a minute and try again. It fires up and I'm off again. I keep the revs up and manage another 200 yards before it cuts out again, this time I have to get out and push it out of the road. In doing this, I manage to push the back wheel over both my feet, breaking my big toe.

 

Again after about 5 minutes it starts up again, but this time I don't have my headphones in. And it sounds BAD. Knocking like mad, from what turned out to be a spun big end bearing, that had so much slop that the piston was clouting the head. I nursed it home and arrive to find the shed roof has blown off in the wind, and water is leaking on my computer (Shed = home office) so limp up some step ladders to fix it and end up falling into the pond.

 

Turned out that the reason the engine kept cutting out was that the alternator charge light wasn't wired up, so the alternator wasn't charging and the ECU couldn't pick up a signal at low RPMS. Lost about £1500 on that car in the end, and I still have an occasional limp from the broken toe which hasn't healed properly.

 

 

 

Another one, not technically a "drive home" but still terrified me.

 

Going down to Dubfreeze a few months ago with a mate - He drives a VW t5 and was A framing (NOT GR8 4 SNOWY CONDITIONZ) a bay window camper down to sell.

 

This is usually all well and good, but between setting off at 6am and finished our macdonalds breakfasts before joining the m18, about 2 inches of snow had fallen, and it covered the m18. We soldiered on, hoping that the M1 would be better. It wasn't, and the snow was still coming down hard.

 

So I'm sat in a van A framing a VW bus that had a binding handbrake, in 3 inches of snow on the M1 at 65mph. My mate wouldn't slow down as in his words "AAh, we're alrate". My arse was going like a rabbits nose, and he was taking the piss out of me for being "a fucking girl".

 

A BMW 3 series passes at about 90mph, bearing in mind the whole motorway was 3 inches thick in snow. Various obscenities are exchanged, and we both wish him misfortune, which briefly took my mind off things.

Again, about a mile later my mind was taken off things as we laughed at this very same BMW, backwards in the ditch with the owner stood at the side of the motorway scratching his head.

 

Around this time was when then brake shoes must have got hot enough, and they really started binding (we didn't know at the time). A lane change (coming out of the ruts in the snow) sends the back van squirming, and we're all over the road. He manages to catch it, and this was enough to get him to slow to 50mph at least.

 

Same thing happens a couple of times and I'm convinced that we're going to end up being piledrived into the ditch by the van on the back, and eventually all 4 passengers of the van convince my mate to pull over and unhook the back van. In it's defence, a t2 VW that hadn't been driven more than a mile in 10 years managed the 80 miles or so we had left with no problems (or road tax ) apart from the usual "no heaters" issue. By the time we got there the poor sod who drew the short straw of having to drive it (he was the only person insured on anything) had pulled the curtains off the back window and was wrapped in them trying to keep warm! the blower motor had also popped a fuse so he had both front windows down to stop the thing steaming up.

[Station]

I've pushed a car over my foot once, it's very unpleasant, you can't actually pull your foot out, and have push it further over to free it. I joined the AA full protection thing which cost about 300 quid and 30 quid a month, they'll tow your car from anywhere and repair your car if you pay some 100 quid excess. I think it's called K-series Cover or something, it's very handy, but I've only used it once (no repairs though).

[MrDuke]

  Station said:

the AA full protection thing which cost about 300 quid and 30 quid a month, they'll tow your car from anywhere and repair your car ... I think it's called K-series Cover

 

Please, please tell me that's not actually true??!!!