Our trek to the vintage races at Grattan... my 10 year old son and I started out on a grey Sunday morning to venture nearly 100 miles from our home to watch a friend race his S2 Super Seven. The rain started about 20 miles from the track. We had the top up already, but I didn't own 'doors' at the time! The well traveled country roads had 'ruts' worn into the lane, so I had to travel with either left or right wheels in the river of water collecting there.

Whenever we hit a particularly deep puddle, there was this sploosh, smack sound. Through each puddle - sploosh, smack, sploosh, smack. Before too long I realized it was the sound of the water being thrown up from the front wheel, then smacking against the front of the rear wings. Of course the smacking of water on the rear wings was half deflected right into the cockpit...

Eventually we arrived, pretty much soaked to the skin, with no sign of refuge. The rain kept up as we idled around the paddock and found Rick in whose trailer we finally took cover.

When 'track touring' time came around, the rain continued, but we were determined to go out. We were directed back to the front gate (outside the track) to get a pass for touring. The front gate had closed early due to rain(!) so we dejectedly turned around to drive back to the infield to hide in the trailer once again. When we got to the track crossing however, it was closed off because track touring had commenced! So we sat grumbling at the gate watching 4 or five modern cars circulating in the rain.

Luckily, they paused the track touring and opened the gate after about 15 minutes. So we drove back in and then I decided to cruise around looking to see if I could get a touring pass on the infield. Somehow (honest!) we ended up on the pit lane where one of the stewards was eagerly waving us onto the track -- so I says to myself, who am I to blow against the wind? Onto the track we went, grinning ear to ear, rain splashing, wipers twiddling! We had gotten on late, so the 'pack' was coming up behind at a fair clip - faster than I wanted to go on my first tour of the course in heavy rain, so I took the outside line and waved a half dozen cars on by. Took the rest of that lap slowly and then picked up speed for the next few, enough that I was drifting through the turns and eventually reeled in the pack once again.

After track touring, we watched the clouds lighten up and pondered with Rick whether he'd switch to dry or stick with rain tires. 5 minutes before line-up, he decided the track was drying and swapped over to dry tires. Good choice too - he out ran the Porsche for 1st place!

So now we put the top down, letting the interior dry a little and begin to make our way home. Stopped in Ionia to fill the tank and we're on our way. We're traveling east now, on the heels of serious dark clouds, but the sun is beaming behind us brightly lighting the farm fields and barns of the country landscape, which is all still dripping from the recent deluge. Austin (my son) is dozing in the passenger seat when about 50 miles out from home, the engine starts to sputter and lose power. I pull onto a very narrow shoulder, pull the bonnet, but don't see anything obvious. Back in , turn it on, and pull away gingerly, but the power is back. About 3 minutes later, down on power again... I really hate the feeling of being stranded (like anyone I'm sure) so am using all the positive will power I have to keep us going. After and hour and a half of intermittent sputtering and smooth running, we finally make it home, to glorious sunshine and the smell of wet grass.

Later in the evening, I took the car out and around the country block, and it seems fine. I determine to drive it to work in the morning so I can look it over during my lunch hour.

Of course it sputters on the way to work, but I get there okay, and come lunch time I'm ready to run up to the local NAPA and get some dry gas to try in the tank. As I try to calculate how much to put into a 7 gallon tank, I catch the fuel filter out of the corner of my eye, and begin head scratching. Pulling the bitty K&N fuel filter (with the 'Swisstec' multitool my wife gave me for the key ring) reveals that it unscrews into two halves. Once apart, the inside displays what is certainly the problem - brown sludge nearly blocking the .05 micron (or whatever!) filter screen. So I swap the dry gas for carb cleaner, spray it all out good, put it together and fire it up. Tooling back up to my office it's running fine, then I notice over slightest bumps in the road a horrendous mechanical grinding - is it a loose wheel? Did the clutch pack up? Everything seems to be functioning fine, there's just this noise! And I'm thinking 'here we go, this is a 40 year old Lotus and it's just going to be one thing after another from now on! I finally get on my belly (hands and knees doesn't quite do it) and look under the tail of the car. What I almost immediately notice is that the hand brake cable (held by the same clamp as the fuel line with which I'd just been fiddling) is hanging precariously close to the drive shaft flange at the front of the diff. So by deftly extending my arms a good six inches longer than they normally are, I reach into the back of the tunnel and secure the cable. Back in the car, case closed, and only a half hour late back from lunch.

Of course now I've about used today's lunch hour as well, so I'll say ciao for now!

Cheers,
John Donohoe
www.simplesevens.com