Molto testicoli

Somewhat further up the Seven ladder than my Roadsport-A comes this video from Caterham Italy, showing Dario Margutti hustling an R500 around the Nordschleife. There are some supreme displays of commitment, but it also shows fundamental physics at work as the comparatively modest 263bhp Seven monsters a Porsche 996 GT2 in the twisties. Scary stuff.

A Seven for all seasons

Simple pleasures. That’s how you could describe my glee at starting the Caterham this morning – not from a length of brown wire touched to the battery terminal, but from an actual key. The same could be said for my chuckle as it burst into life; this time with the usual satisfying rasp, but not the unpleasant screech from the alternator belt, which had come to accompany it. Actually, the last point is probably something of a relief to my neighbours as well…

All are the result of a small but significant series of tweaks and repairs to the car since I last wrote. The detail changes have included wiring in a new starter motor relay to bypass the current unit and solve the dreaded ‘Caterham click’; re-tensioning the alternator belt to silence the screech; and replacing the universal joint at the end of the steering column. On a more major note, I’ve also swapped the rock hard racing suspension for Caterham’s own road spec springs and dampers, and fitted a Half Hood from Soft Bits For Sevens.

In fact the new suspension has been proving its worth for over a month now. It’s still far from soggy, with the Seven’s trademark fidgety ride and pin sharp turn-in firmly retained, but the extra compliance is a massive plus. Not only do all four wheels stay on the ground a majority of the time now, but the car has also become much more forgiving at the limit. It even seems to have improved the steering feedback – presumably thanks to the new setup working the tyres more effectively.

Spin forward to last night and it was time for the rest of the work. Thanks to the invaluable help of another local Seven owner, fitting the new parts was a relatively straightforward procedure. We treated the car to its first oil change in my ownership while we were there (at a very conservative 1,750 miles) and then it was time to head back.


It was well towards midnight by that point, but the night air was still unseasonably warm so I headed off with the roof firmly stowed in the boot. But not for long. A few miles later I felt the first soft drips land on my forehead, then spots started to appear on the windscreen, then finally the deluge began.

I darted into a petrol station forecourt and set to work. The whole procedure took all of thirty seconds, thanks to a beautifully thought out design. The canopy unrolls from its bag in the boot with the rear already anchored to the back of the car via a pair of straps. It drapes over the roll bar and picks up on the poppers on the windscreen surround. Meanwhile a couple of additional straps at the side, tensioned with buckles like the rears, pull the cover taut.

At the back the Half Hood is open to the elements (hence the name), so it’s not completely watertight. It is surprisingly close, however, not to mention dramatically quicker and easier to erect than a full hood. What’s more the airflow through the cockpit greatly reduces the chance of misting up, particularly when combined with the car’s heated windscreen.

Back on the road, another simple adjustment began to pay dividends. We’d re-aligned the headlights while working on the car and not surprisingly this made night driving a lot more pleasant. I even finally discovered which of the dashboard switches controls the screen washer. Given it turned out to be the fan override switch I don’t feel quite so sheepish admitting that it’s taken me three months to locate!

With all this complete – despite the darkness and the rain – I couldn’t resist taking the long way home. It revealed the Caterham’s setup to be distinctly entertaining in the wet. The new universal joint has removed a lot of friction from the steering, as well as some play, giving it much a smoother action. This is particularly useful when indulging in low speed oversteer antics, although to be honest the ease with which these could be provoked in the damp suggests I might need to check the tyre pressures.

There’s plenty of time to do that another day though, not least because the car is now likely to come out much more often. Being able to stop at a petrol station and refuel without fear of ‘the click’ leaving you stranded is a major plus. Likewise, having basic weather gear means you can still venture out when the weather looks debatable, and no screech means early morning hoons are no longer such an anti-social undertaking. In short, a few brief (much overdue) changes have opened up the Caterham’s fun factor for virtually any occasion. Roll on winter.

Tracks and tribulations

On a whim I decided to make a late booking for Evo's track evening at Bedford Autodrome last week. Little did I know driving round the track was only going to be half the experience.


Prepare to be shocked: I’m going to start with my verdict from the first significant trip out in the Caterham and it may come as something of a surprise. You see, it appears that the car’s natural habitat is not in fact the city, nor indeed the motorway.

In the first instance the clutch pedal – unlike its two perfectly spaced neighbours – seems like an unobtainable luxury, placed at the very edge of reach for your left foot. This is only part of the problem of course, because the effort required to actually engage it when you get there is enough to wear your leg muscles down to a quivering pulp over the course of 6 miles of roadworks. And should you escape the gridlock onto a faster stretch the buffeting from above and beside the screen causes any passing dust particles or insects to make an instant beeline for your cornea. Of course, your other senses are dulled already because ears have long since started to bleed on account of the 5,000rpm motorway cruise and your body is aching from the stiff suspension and the unpadded race seat.

In a perversely masochistic way it all sounds slightly romantic - being in a racing car for the road - and on an engaging B-road it undoubtedly would be. However, going up the M1 and then negotiating the longest, slowest stretch of road works I’ve ever seen towards Bedford and out the other side, almost forced me out of love with the new toy. But not quite.

The first foray on track came somewhat unexpectedly. Instead of running a couple of safety car laps after the session starts, like most venues do, at Bedford Autodrome the procession from the formation area (outside the actual circuit) to the pits takes the form of the sighting laps. Somehow I’d missed that part of the briefing and so I trundled off behind the other cars expecting a sedate trip, only to find myself doing what would have been a distinctly enthusiastic road pace around the circuit; seatbelt unbuckled, helmet lying on the passenger seat. As always seems to happen the first time you visit a particular track – especially in an unfamiliar car – even that felt rapid. How much quicker would I actually go during the session?

The answer turned out to be quite a lot, but not to start with. The South West circuit at Bedford Autodrome follows a fantastic course, with varied corners and a great range of straights. It is, however, almost completely featureless with no gradient change and few landmarks to position yourself, so the first few laps can be a bit shaky. Once I’d got a vague idea of where I was going it was time to up the pace a little and explore a bit more of the car’s capabilities.

At road speeds deliberate provocation is needed to make the Seven’s stubby rump step out of line and then it does so slowly and progressively. As you approach the limit of steady state cornering however, as opposed to simply practicing abject hooliganism, things start to happen a lot more quickly. It’s still easy to correct with the proverbial dab of oppo and there’s plenty of feedback, but it doesn’t offer a verbal warning, then a letter, and then finally a lazy, half-hearted transition to oversteer like the TVR did.

Still trying to find my bearings, I enlisted the help of one of MSV’s instructors. What followed was pleasingly unpatronising and enthusiastic tuition that largely consisted of him yelling what appeared to be “keep going, keep going, don’t brake yet!” over the wind noise. In between encouraging me to stop being such a big girl he showed me the correct lines, which weren’t always obvious. One such example came at the complex after the back straight where the technique was to take a lot of curb, putting two wheels clear off the tarmac and onto the surrounding concrete in places. It was rather brutal on the car and required careful positioning to avoid unsettling the balance, but boy did it work.



After that I headed back on track with a lot more confidence and rather better lines. Things were definitely starting to come together and I was also tuning in to the Caterham’s responses. Reigning in my entry speeds solved the turn-in oversteer and mid-corner understeer I’d previously experienced, replacing them with a delicate neutrality that would give way to a hint of slip on the exit. It all felt a lot more fluid and controlled, and it seemed to be paying off. In all honesty it appeared the only things that could keep up round the corners were other Sevens; even the 996 GT3 and KTM X-Bow on track seemed marginally slower in the tighter bends. It was a different matter on the straights where the Caterham’s brick-like aerodynamics took over, but it was still indicating a none-too-shabby 130mph on the back straight.

Alas, as is all too often the case things were coming to a halt just as I got the hang of it. The chequered flag fell just before 8pm and it was time to head for home. This turned out to be easier said than done as the ‘Caterham click’ starter motor issue had reared it’s ugly head again earlier on in the day and I’d been dependant on other people for push starts. Between the Evo crowd and a few other familiar faces I’d gained a pretty distinguished pit crew, but it appeared some of them actually had homes to go to. As a result I had to head off red faced and co-opt yet more unfortunate individuals to start it for the journey home, and that wasn’t the last of my troubles.

The bag tank on the Roadsport A doesn’t come with the luxury of a fuel sender, so I’d been relying on other people’s reported tank range all day. With the starter motor issue I didn’t want to head off to a fuel station and risk being stranded, but fortunately my sums said I should just get back. They were wrong. After another 45 minutes of utter misery on the A421 and A6 roadworks I headed onto the M1 only to come to a spluttering halt about 10 miles later. Bugger.

At this point it could be argued karma was about to intervene. I had a slight rant about the AA in my last post and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d grossly underestimated the readership of this blog as I sat on the side of the road waiting for over an hour in the darkness. To make matters worse, once the guy arrived with some fuel, he announced that their union had forbidden them to push start vehicles. After a certain amount of persuasion he agreed to tow start the car with a rope instead, and I was on my way.

As the cold night air tumbled over the windscreen and the engine screamed away (despite a relatively law abiding pace) the car’s touring limitations once again became apparent. However, as a track tool and a B-road toy the Seven offers performance and exhilaration to humble all but the most extreme sports cars. And, to be honest, I think I'm even starting to enjoy the masochism that dominates the rest of the proceedings.

Lead photo:Chris Rutter/Evo magazine

A mildly industrious weekend

It was a weekend of quiet productivity for the Caterham, with a couple of teething problems now sorted out. First off I decided to engineer a proper repair for the exhaust mount. This involved me putting a call through to fellow Seven owner Mark about thread sizes and so on, who kindly invited me over to his workshop.

The exhaust repair – touch wood – was an unexpectedly simple operation, which just involved cleaning up the thread with a tap and replacing the bolt. Next Mark – an experienced Caterham racer who just happens to have a whole load of setup equipment in his garage – suggested checking the geometry.

The ride heights and tow angles were spot on, and a rather vicious-looking procedure to remove the front ball joints with a hammer soon corrected a small camber defficiency. Last came the tyre pressures (technically an oversight on our part that should have been done first) and the corner weights. With half a tank of fuel and various odds and sods in the boot, the car came to a featherweight 528kg, in full road trim, complete with a full height screen, doors and weather gear.

That said, there was one thing missing. During my initial investigation of the exhaust I’d mistakenly taken the passenger seat out (forgetting the sides were double-skined and the fixing was inside). This potentially thrust me into a whole world of pain and anguish, as I attempted to align the bolts and spacers dangling from two independently movable runners with four tiny holes on the floor, all the while obscured by the seat. Fortunately moving the runners to the extreme end of their travel, so that the front bolt on each side was accessible solved this, meanwhile taping the spacers down ensured they remained on the bolts during the installation.

After the geometry check I asked racer Mark if he’d take the car out to check it was handling as it should. He didn’t take much persuading and soon came back with a grin on his face and a glowing endorsement of the Seven’s setup and mechanical condition. To cap it all, during my drive back I decided to have a go at heel and toe; one of those things I’ve occasionally tried to do, but never been able to perfect. In the Caterham, however, the pedal spacing lends itself to this technique perfectly and it’s become almost second nature. It may be a small thing – like the other work over the weekend – but it formed the cherry on top of the cake, finalising a rewarding introduction to Caterham ownership.

New arrival

It’s said the best things in life are worth waiting for. Yet, a month after the TVR had gone I was about to starting to dispute that. Mid-summer had come and gone during one of the hottest and sunniest periods of recent years, and all the while the B-roads were sat quiet, empty and inviting, yet I had nothing to play with.

Finally, yesterday, that was put right. After a bumpy ride which had seen me looking at the best part of a dozen cars and nearly buying two I eventually struck gold, or rather metallic blue, in the form of an ex-competition car from Scotland. It was built to contest Roadsport A – at the time the fastest class in the Caterham Cup – and features a very healthy spec including a close ratio 6-speed gearbox, limited slip differential and Minister-built 1.6 Supersport powerplant.

Waiting for it to arrive on Thursday morning I sat with some trepidation. The car was coming all the way from Argyll and I’d never seen it in the flesh before. I’d spoken with Mike, the seller, at some length and poured over endless photos, but there was still a slight anxiety about how it would appear in the flesh.

I needn’t have worried. Yes, it bears a few battle scars up close, but it’s actually in remarkably good condition for a retired racing car. Its bodywork glinted in the morning sun as we offloaded it from the trailer and the engine burst into life with an enthusiastic rasp as I headed off for the maiden voyage. In my haste I’d elected to leave the sidescreens in the garage, along with all my tools; both of which turned out to be a mistake.


First impressions were of a very rapid little car. In theory the engine produces the same power output as the factory Supersport, but in reality the Minister unit felt distinctly more athletic. That said, the impression of speed was greatly exaggerated by the lack of sidescreens, which I rapidly learned was a big mistake. Above about 50mph I had to squint to try and maintain my vision and as the national limit approached there was a very real chance of my glasses taking off.

That, however, was the least of my worries as, a few miles later, the rear bracket of the exhaust decided to detach itself, leaving the tailpipe skimming the road. A couple of superficial burns to my hand and a makeshift bracket constructed out of an old shoelace later I was ready to go. Unfortunately, the car was not. The dreaded ‘Caterham click’ issue had struck, ceasing the starter motor and leaving me stranded.

My first reaction was to try and overcome it with some more volts and it just so happened a van had recently pulled up at a nearby house. I went over to ask if the driver had any jump leads and it turned out not only that he did, but also that he was a former Caterham racer and member of the local motor club. My luck seemed to be improving. A simple jump start got the car running again and the improvised exhaust mounting saw me home without incident.

I probably should have left it there until the exhaust was fixed, but temptation got the better of me, and that evening I headed out for a quick blast. It turned out to be a truly phenomenal drive - one of those really gratuitous occasions where you don't even kid yourself you're going out for a pint of milk, you just hoon around childishly. I didn’t go off to anywhere far flung and I didn’t seek out any particularly epic roads, but just buzzing around the local B-roads in the warm evening sunshine felt sublime. It was pure automotive indulgence.

Arriving back in time for a nice cool beer I felt eminently satisfied with my purchase. True there are a few things on the ‘to do’ list, not least the exhaust, but I seem to have bonded very rapidly with ‘the wee car’ as its Scottish builder used to refer to it. Evidently it was worth the wait after all.