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It is the middle of the ‘merry month of May’. I am standing looking at the clutch plate in my hand. The plate has what looks like a ‘bite’ out of it, by someone with a Jeremy Clarkson sized mouth. Clearly this is not how Mr. Mintex had intended the plate to be. The piece which had been ‘bitten’off, had caused untold woes within the bellhousing as loose chunks of metal rotating at 8000 rpm have an uncanny habit of doing.
This had started as a niggling clutch problem. The usual lack of travel, couldn’t select gears without accompanying crunching noises etc. Simple solution, we thought, a quick bleed of the slave cylinder and a quick top up of fluid should do the trick. It did in fact appear to have some effect for a short while, but we encountered the same problem after the end of the run. More fluid, with much pumping on the pedal by my daughter, and all appeared to be in order. After the next run, Andrew Pedley, my esteemed racecar technician… Ok Handy Andy with a lump-hammer and a roll of gaffer tape in one hand, and a pork pie in the other, pointed out that there was no trace of the ‘missing’ fluid. We quickly turned to our technician from the fluid manufacturer, as any self respecting race team would. Upon discovering that we didn’t have any staff from Girling, we concluded for ourselves that the fluid had definitely not boiled off, and must be lurking with intent somewhere. Never mind. Another bleed and some more fluid, and we were (sort of) off again.
You may have read in previous ramblings of mine about crunching sounds emanating from the gearboxes of my various cars. This occasion proved to be no exception, and as I was rolling back to my paddock area, there was an unholy sound of metal coming into contact with more metal. Over the sound of the engine, and with earplugs and helmet on, I just knew that the two metals I had just heard, were not designed to become acquainted so intimately with each other. I could not engage any gears, so I was pushed unceremoniously the last few yards. By now the seasonal British spring deluge had become drizzle. I really wasn’t that keen on another run with a dodgy gearbox.
To amuse ourselves and the amazed passers by, Handy Andy and I decided that it would be a real jolly wheeze to whip the gearbox off the car, in the middle of a field, in the pouring rain. An hour and a half later, a burned forearm on the exhaust, skinned knuckles, various cuts, bruises, expletives, and unsolicited ‘advice’ from the passing public, Mr Hewland had parted company with his friend Mr. Renault. The ‘reason’, or so we thought, was the destroyed clutch plate, and associated shrapnel in the bell housing.
As luck would have it, we had a new set of plates, and these were quickly fitted. It is about this time, we reminded ourselves of the age old gospel according to Haynes Manuals; ‘Refitting is simply the reverse of removal’!! NO, it is not so. Refitting involves remembering what each bit is, where it went, in which order, not to mention contending with stripped threads, and that vital circlip, which when you removed it, sprang into a low-Earth orbit somewhere, for recovery by a shuttle mission at a later date.
With car reassembled, we patted ourselves on the back, and headed home for the debriefing suite…. the curry house and pub. We should have known better! The following morning, I warmed the car up, and tried to engage second gear. I don’t use first, because I can tell other competitors this, and they think I’ve got some really clever trick up my sleeve. Truth is, the dogleg first is a pig to locate, and on the move, finding second is a bit of a lucky dip, with reverse lurking dangerously in the firing line. The gearbox was having none of it, and we were going nowhere. We couldn’t face the thought of another gearbox strip in a field, so we packed up, and watched the racing for the rest of the day.
Later in the week, Andy, now having got the art of gearbox removal down to 22 minutes (true!), discovered that the actual problem was a 40-pence oil seal in the clutch slave cylinder. The ‘missing’ fluid had leaked past it, and was residing in the gear-side of the box, not the bell housing side. The destroyed clutch plate was a pure coincidence.
The story is just an illustration of a typical situation that can happen to anyone. I’m sure many of you will be able to identify with this, and yet we are able to shrug it off, and accept that things like this just ‘go with the territory’, and we come back ready for more the next meeting. I think sometimes, we actually enjoy having a problem to sort out. At least Andy, my mechanic does….. he is able to get all his ‘toys’ out of the tool chest to play with !
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