A Load of Old Pony, Between Two Sheds
Discussion
A Load of Old Pony, Between Two Sheds
Act 1 – Shed 1 – Running the Direkt-Schalt Getriebe Gauntlet
Welcome all.
Our story begins long before these days of woe and despair – before the skies turned green with contagion.
It was a good time. It was a happy time. It was our time. For, you see, it was 2018.
We had battled through the mass celebrity genocide in 2016, and the most troubling matter for most people in the years following was how much of their working day they could dedicate to belittling eachother on PH over the trivial matter of something called Brexit.
I was an aspirational chap – I knew as little as, or even less than anyone else of the dark days to come – therefore I pressed ahead with my youthful dreams, buying a small home, furnished with a small garage and flat driveway to store my pride and joy, my Skyline. It had been thrust into service as my only car for a year or so, but as I had been travelling to work with someone else, it had covered minimal mileage and I intended to leave it parked for summer months, therefore developing a need for a daily driver.
The brief was simple. Shed. Small. Efficient.
Of course I ignored the brief.
I found the most unreliable of German powerplants, Volkswagen’s 2.0 Common rail TDI of 2006-2010, mated to one of the most complex gearboxes of the time, the DSG dual clutch auto.
Naturally, the drivetrain was in a woeful vessel, a Passat estate which had covered a mere 160,000 miles and had no discernible features or options – no cruise, no Bluetooth, no leather – but it was an ex company pool car and had therefore seen uninterrupted servicing and maintenance to ensure trouble free motoring over the past 8 years. Whilst tired, bruised and begging for a merciful retirement, it was honest, comfortable and endearing.
Despite faced with all the predictability of an unexploded WW2 land mine, I entrusted the old girl with my piddly 9-mile commute at 15mph, and she rose to the occasion.
Of course, being the harlot that she was, willfully subjecting herself to many different men over the years, often multiple at a time, I knew just one wouldn’t be enough for her. 18 months in, she began to yearn for more from her dull life with me. The honeymoon period was over for her, despite me still being smitten. 8 years of wide-open legs was all she knew, so they needed stretching more often than I could manage. DPFs clogged, glow plugs failed, batteries went flat, she could take the quiet life no more.
Act 2 – A Load of Old Pony
Ownership of a modified vehicle in the South East grows harder every day. The Skyline was low, loud, unusual, it drew attention wherever it went, usually the wrong type.
I had been stopped over 10 times in 3 years, and had never once been given any form of punishment or fine. Then one summer a checkpoint had been set up a mile from my house, with VOSA and some traffic officers inspecting vehicles and drivers for potential infractions. After spending 6 hours in the searing heat listening to VOSA/traffic cops lecture me on why my vehicle was illegal (it wasn’t) before being sent on my way, I had grown tired.
I had outgrown the thug life.
The car was sold, my heart was broken, I thought it was all over. I tried modern hot hatches, I tried luxurious land-yachts, nothing worked. I needed to tinker, and to improve, and to be proud of what I owned once again.
It had been a year, I had recovered from the financial ruin of owning something s
t, old and Japanese, and I should have been sensible enough to move on from these thoughts of dirty fingernails and oil leaks. But I wasn’t.
Maybe I could take a different route – what if I could buy something that would be worth – wait for it – some money when I had finished with it. I had heard of these… these things, they called them classic cars, I think. What if I could buy something that Papa SBF would be proud of?
What if I could be like Steve McQueen, except inferior in every way? Yes, let’s do that.
Act 3 – Shed 2 – This Is What Peak Performance Looks Like
Mrs SBF sees our relationship as an affliction. She’s the wasp stuck in the grille of this crazy thing I call a hobby, frantically trying to escape the rushing headwind of bad ideas and poor financial decisions that are keeping her pinned to the honeycomb mesh, inches from the spinning radiator fan known as bankruptcy. Occasionally I lift off the throttle, and the headwind slows, for example during the wild time I bought HMS Unreliable and sold the Pork Provocation Device, but just as she regains her motor functions the wild ride starts again.
Of course, she is absolutely enthralled with the joy and passion I share for bad cars and expensive mistakes (artistic license, she hates it, please don’t leave me I promise I’ll change).
(I’ll never change).
Her run-of-the-mill Clio had spent the better part of 3 years being devastatingly uninspiring. Until, during a road trip to visit her family, it was decidedly less va-va-voom and more va-va-where’sfourthgeargone. Of course, whilst not the end of the world, since a gearbox for a Mk3 Clio costs 25 pence, she was less than confident in her 5 year old car and in her mind it had to go.
Now if you recall, HMS Bratwurst had been struggling with the short commute, the DPF had clogged due to constant stop start traffic and the harsh winter. I loved the old girl, so I cleared it out, bought some software, did some regens, replaced glow plugs and pressure sensors and a host of other little bits and pieces to make her happy again, and she was back in tip-top health. Rather than sell it, I donated it to Mrs SBF whose commute included 25 minutes at 50-60 on a dual carriageway, which turned out to be a great idea. The car’s been faultless, Mrs SBF feels safer, and now that the Escargot is escar-gone (wow, really?) she has the ability to load all of her female paraphernalia into the boot and go off to do lady things at weekends with her other lady folk, without worrying about whether she’ll make it home.
Ah, I’ve been here before. I need a shed.
The. Brief. Is. Simple.
Shed, small, efficient.
Come on mate, you've had practice at this, you got it wrong last time, you can do it.
Armed with £800 of our finest English pounds, I figured a little Fiesta would be more than enough. I’ve had one before in Zetec S trim, Derv powered, and £30 a year road tax. Of course I’ll be looking for a lower spec car to save pennies but how hard could it be?
As it happens, you can’t really buy a worthwhile Fiesta TDCI for less than a grand in this neck of the woods.
I racked my brain for a few days, surely I could buy one somewhere. Maybe from an elderly gent who doesn’t realise there’s such a demand out there. And then it hit me – I’d forgotten that some Fiestas got dropped as babies, meaning they grew up a little… wonky.
Turns out the aforementioned elderly folk quite like them, so armed with a few hundred notes I marched off one Saturday morning, and came home with my very own hearing-aid beige example, owned by an elderly couple for its entire life, covering a measly 150,000 miles, presumably at under 25mph.
At 68hp and 16 seconds to 60, it’s less than dynamic, but provided I’m kind to it I think it should handle the work run just fine for pennies.
I’m on the lookout for a National Trust sticker, some towing mirrors and a tissue box for the parcel shelf, to complete the look.
Shed 2 Total Spend to Date: £795.00
Act 1 – Shed 1 – Running the Direkt-Schalt Getriebe Gauntlet
Welcome all.
Our story begins long before these days of woe and despair – before the skies turned green with contagion.
It was a good time. It was a happy time. It was our time. For, you see, it was 2018.
We had battled through the mass celebrity genocide in 2016, and the most troubling matter for most people in the years following was how much of their working day they could dedicate to belittling eachother on PH over the trivial matter of something called Brexit.
I was an aspirational chap – I knew as little as, or even less than anyone else of the dark days to come – therefore I pressed ahead with my youthful dreams, buying a small home, furnished with a small garage and flat driveway to store my pride and joy, my Skyline. It had been thrust into service as my only car for a year or so, but as I had been travelling to work with someone else, it had covered minimal mileage and I intended to leave it parked for summer months, therefore developing a need for a daily driver.
The brief was simple. Shed. Small. Efficient.
Of course I ignored the brief.
I found the most unreliable of German powerplants, Volkswagen’s 2.0 Common rail TDI of 2006-2010, mated to one of the most complex gearboxes of the time, the DSG dual clutch auto.
Naturally, the drivetrain was in a woeful vessel, a Passat estate which had covered a mere 160,000 miles and had no discernible features or options – no cruise, no Bluetooth, no leather – but it was an ex company pool car and had therefore seen uninterrupted servicing and maintenance to ensure trouble free motoring over the past 8 years. Whilst tired, bruised and begging for a merciful retirement, it was honest, comfortable and endearing.
Despite faced with all the predictability of an unexploded WW2 land mine, I entrusted the old girl with my piddly 9-mile commute at 15mph, and she rose to the occasion.
Of course, being the harlot that she was, willfully subjecting herself to many different men over the years, often multiple at a time, I knew just one wouldn’t be enough for her. 18 months in, she began to yearn for more from her dull life with me. The honeymoon period was over for her, despite me still being smitten. 8 years of wide-open legs was all she knew, so they needed stretching more often than I could manage. DPFs clogged, glow plugs failed, batteries went flat, she could take the quiet life no more.
Act 2 – A Load of Old Pony
Ownership of a modified vehicle in the South East grows harder every day. The Skyline was low, loud, unusual, it drew attention wherever it went, usually the wrong type.
I had been stopped over 10 times in 3 years, and had never once been given any form of punishment or fine. Then one summer a checkpoint had been set up a mile from my house, with VOSA and some traffic officers inspecting vehicles and drivers for potential infractions. After spending 6 hours in the searing heat listening to VOSA/traffic cops lecture me on why my vehicle was illegal (it wasn’t) before being sent on my way, I had grown tired.
I had outgrown the thug life.
The car was sold, my heart was broken, I thought it was all over. I tried modern hot hatches, I tried luxurious land-yachts, nothing worked. I needed to tinker, and to improve, and to be proud of what I owned once again.
It had been a year, I had recovered from the financial ruin of owning something s
t, old and Japanese, and I should have been sensible enough to move on from these thoughts of dirty fingernails and oil leaks. But I wasn’t.Maybe I could take a different route – what if I could buy something that would be worth – wait for it – some money when I had finished with it. I had heard of these… these things, they called them classic cars, I think. What if I could buy something that Papa SBF would be proud of?
What if I could be like Steve McQueen, except inferior in every way? Yes, let’s do that.
Act 3 – Shed 2 – This Is What Peak Performance Looks Like
Mrs SBF sees our relationship as an affliction. She’s the wasp stuck in the grille of this crazy thing I call a hobby, frantically trying to escape the rushing headwind of bad ideas and poor financial decisions that are keeping her pinned to the honeycomb mesh, inches from the spinning radiator fan known as bankruptcy. Occasionally I lift off the throttle, and the headwind slows, for example during the wild time I bought HMS Unreliable and sold the Pork Provocation Device, but just as she regains her motor functions the wild ride starts again.
Of course, she is absolutely enthralled with the joy and passion I share for bad cars and expensive mistakes (artistic license, she hates it, please don’t leave me I promise I’ll change).
(I’ll never change).
Her run-of-the-mill Clio had spent the better part of 3 years being devastatingly uninspiring. Until, during a road trip to visit her family, it was decidedly less va-va-voom and more va-va-where’sfourthgeargone. Of course, whilst not the end of the world, since a gearbox for a Mk3 Clio costs 25 pence, she was less than confident in her 5 year old car and in her mind it had to go.
Now if you recall, HMS Bratwurst had been struggling with the short commute, the DPF had clogged due to constant stop start traffic and the harsh winter. I loved the old girl, so I cleared it out, bought some software, did some regens, replaced glow plugs and pressure sensors and a host of other little bits and pieces to make her happy again, and she was back in tip-top health. Rather than sell it, I donated it to Mrs SBF whose commute included 25 minutes at 50-60 on a dual carriageway, which turned out to be a great idea. The car’s been faultless, Mrs SBF feels safer, and now that the Escargot is escar-gone (wow, really?) she has the ability to load all of her female paraphernalia into the boot and go off to do lady things at weekends with her other lady folk, without worrying about whether she’ll make it home.
Ah, I’ve been here before. I need a shed.
The. Brief. Is. Simple.
Shed, small, efficient.
Come on mate, you've had practice at this, you got it wrong last time, you can do it.
Armed with £800 of our finest English pounds, I figured a little Fiesta would be more than enough. I’ve had one before in Zetec S trim, Derv powered, and £30 a year road tax. Of course I’ll be looking for a lower spec car to save pennies but how hard could it be?
As it happens, you can’t really buy a worthwhile Fiesta TDCI for less than a grand in this neck of the woods.
I racked my brain for a few days, surely I could buy one somewhere. Maybe from an elderly gent who doesn’t realise there’s such a demand out there. And then it hit me – I’d forgotten that some Fiestas got dropped as babies, meaning they grew up a little… wonky.
Turns out the aforementioned elderly folk quite like them, so armed with a few hundred notes I marched off one Saturday morning, and came home with my very own hearing-aid beige example, owned by an elderly couple for its entire life, covering a measly 150,000 miles, presumably at under 25mph.
At 68hp and 16 seconds to 60, it’s less than dynamic, but provided I’m kind to it I think it should handle the work run just fine for pennies.
I’m on the lookout for a National Trust sticker, some towing mirrors and a tissue box for the parcel shelf, to complete the look.
Shed 2 Total Spend to Date: £795.00
I'm going to buck the trend. I hate fusions with a passion. After I wrote off my mother's 197 she had to use one until the insurance was sorted and she got a new lease car. It was hateful, slow, the brakes were awful and it took her a year to forgive me for putting her in it.
Nevertheless, hope it works out better for you!
Nevertheless, hope it works out better for you!
bungz said:
Good call on the fusion.
Saw one a couple of years ago in a national trust car park and it was 15 years old and immaculate. I walked round it trying to find a single blemish, was like it was out of a really st heritage collection 
A heriturd collection, if you will?Saw one a couple of years ago in a national trust car park and it was 15 years old and immaculate. I walked round it trying to find a single blemish, was like it was out of a really s
t heritage collection crofty1984 said:
Excellent first post!
Thank you.MC Bodge said:
If a Fusion handles as well as a Fiesta (or can be made to) , it will be an excellent car.
Eyersey1234 said:
I like the Fusions, they are nice cars and drive nicely.
It's a great car - it goes forwards, backwards, right and occasionally even left. More to come on this gimpy little bundle of fun.anomaly said:
Great write up. I'm looking forward to hearing more about the Mustang, these have been on my radar for a while now. Would using one as a daily be a totally ridiculous idea?
Yes. Yes it would. Get it done.Benrad said:
Enjoyed that, thanks for taking the time to write it up
That skyline story sucks. 6 hours and they didn't find anything! Must've been hard to bite your tongue
That skyline story sucks. 6 hours and they didn't find anything! Must've been hard to bite your tongue
daqinggregg said:
Interesting write up, raised a smile. Any pic’s of the Skyline and more info on the Old Pony.
Thank you. The Skyline was my gift to myself at 21, I imported it from Japan in rough shape, and my friends and I made a great car out of it. Those friends deserve all the credit to be honest, and I repaid them by being a s
tty friend, through poor management of mental health and terrible decisions. Sold it last year due to the aforementioned attention and the constant reminder that I was a bad person. I'll never forgive myself for letting it go.
The almost 'hard reset' I went through seemed to sort me out, and here we are.
Act 4 – The Wonky Donkey
When we last left off, I was filled with delusions of grandeur. I had images of warm summer evenings rumbling along the English coastline with a V8 under my toe and a trucker’s tan on my arm rattling around in my bonce.
I spoke to Matthew at Midland Mustangs – a pleasant chap who spends his free time bringing over tidy examples of cars from the states which usually end up sold before they landed. As my budget was less than adequate, many of his cars were out of reach, but he had sold a car previously to a customer who now wanted rid, having covered only 600 miles in 3 years. Conveniently, his customer was on the south coast, much closer to me than Matthew himself. A meet was set, and I trundled off down to the seaside with Mrs SBF in tow, having had a talking-to about not buying the first car we looked at, making sure we had the funds sorted before making an offer, making sure it’s the best it can be for the money, etc etc.
Of course, it goes without saying, I made him an offer without so much as glancing at Mrs SBF, let alone discussing it with her or taking the time to view other cars. She was pleased. She was so pleased in fact, that she elected to stay completely silent for the entire journey back, so that she didn’t erupt with pleased-ness.
So what had I bought?
The car was a Wimbledon White, 1968 Coupe, with a 289ci V8, a 3 speed auto box, and some choice changes such as a disc brake upgrade, LED converted tail lights, some wheels and a ‘GT’ Bonnet, with turn signals.
The car was as described, with bundles of history and American documentation. It had been imported from California in 2017 and had been dry stored and used as a weekend toy, covering hardly any distance in that time. The car still had original floors (which I was specifically looking for) and mostly untouched paint on top, meaning it didn’t carry the premium that show-condition cars carried. I like my Mustangs like I like my women, pasty white, dry and a looker from 10 feet.
At 52 years old, it would be safe to assume an unrestored Mustang is not going to feel particularly stable at speed, however it became very apparent very quickly that the car needed some attention under it’s stained white frock to keep it from wetting itself at anything over 30mph. I had noticed it was quite nose-up and had some positive camber, so I knew an alignment was on the cards at the very least.
The 70-or-so mile journey home reinforced that theory, having melted through the nearly new front tyres in around 2 hours. You can kind of see the tippy-toe stance and positive camber below:
One thing I got sick of in recent years was making suspension changes and then being stung with needed to have the car aligned at £80 a time, every time. Most race cars are still set up using string, so I learned the dark art of stringing vehicles using garden string, axle stands and some plastic wallets (vital). One sunny morning of rolling around on the drive and I’d gotten to the bottom of the problem – the camber bolts were at maximum positive and not particularly tight. Once the camber had been sorted I was left with around 70mm toe-in to deal with. No wonder it felt floaty and unpredictable, it was boss-eyed, trying to drive into itself.
Sorting the geometry seemed to drop the front as well, giving it the proper Mustang stance – or as good as it can be before any upgrades. I threw another pair of tyres on as well, don't worry, I disposed of the slicks.
A celebratory trip to see the sights of the Thames was on the cards – let’s just get these windows wound down.
-Snap-
Ah.
Well it drives nicely, but you can forget closing the rear quarter window for now. I’ll add that to the list.
Act 5 - Are you winding me up?
Mustang coupe models have winding rear quarter windows, allowing drivers to wind them down for the full pillarless coupe, muscle car arm-out-the-window, wind in your armpit driving position we all know and love.
Following the home alignment, and the subsequent celebratory cruise, my drivers side quarter window popped off the runner and dropped out of reach. Marvellous.
The remedy is fairly simple but time consuming, requiring the removal of the rear bench and about 90 minutes of gagging after finding all sorts of atrocities beneath it.
With the rear bench out, the rear quarter trim panel can be removed. Interestingly this is a tin panel which (in my car at least) appears to be painted to match interior colours, so the rear bench tends to wear the colouring off, making it look filthy. I think I’ll recover this with Period correct leather in future. The window winder is held on with a grub screw and just pulls off once loosened.
The panel is held in place with three screws, one beneath the window winder, one at the top corner of the seat backrest, and one down beside the sill trim. Removing the weather strip on the door shut helps, as does loosening the door sill trim.
Once removed, some not-at-all-weatherproof paper gasket material must be removed to gain access to the window mechanism.
The problem is usually the bobbin on the window mech popping out of the runner on the bottom of the window, so it’s a simple case of tittivating with it for 5 minutes until it works it’s way back in place, and you can wind the window back up.
Problem solved.
Pat yourself on the back for not flying into a rage whilst completing this simple task, and reward yourself by ‘testing’ the window, winding it down an inch and watching it pop off the mech and drop back down again, meaning you have to re do the job for a second time.
You just can’t leave things alone can you?
Mustang coupe models have winding rear quarter windows, allowing drivers to wind them down for the full pillarless coupe, muscle car arm-out-the-window, wind in your armpit driving position we all know and love.
Following the home alignment, and the subsequent celebratory cruise, my drivers side quarter window popped off the runner and dropped out of reach. Marvellous.
The remedy is fairly simple but time consuming, requiring the removal of the rear bench and about 90 minutes of gagging after finding all sorts of atrocities beneath it.
With the rear bench out, the rear quarter trim panel can be removed. Interestingly this is a tin panel which (in my car at least) appears to be painted to match interior colours, so the rear bench tends to wear the colouring off, making it look filthy. I think I’ll recover this with Period correct leather in future. The window winder is held on with a grub screw and just pulls off once loosened.
The panel is held in place with three screws, one beneath the window winder, one at the top corner of the seat backrest, and one down beside the sill trim. Removing the weather strip on the door shut helps, as does loosening the door sill trim.
Once removed, some not-at-all-weatherproof paper gasket material must be removed to gain access to the window mechanism.
The problem is usually the bobbin on the window mech popping out of the runner on the bottom of the window, so it’s a simple case of tittivating with it for 5 minutes until it works it’s way back in place, and you can wind the window back up.
Problem solved.
Pat yourself on the back for not flying into a rage whilst completing this simple task, and reward yourself by ‘testing’ the window, winding it down an inch and watching it pop off the mech and drop back down again, meaning you have to re do the job for a second time.
You just can’t leave things alone can you?
That's very well written, had me laughing a few times 
Hell of a change to go from an ER34 to a 60s Mustang! How does it feel to go from something that's very dynamically capable (the Skyline) to the Mustang, which I assume isn't
What's the story with VOSA trying to screw you over with the Skyline? Spending 6 hours going over the car is just ridiculous, I hope you had nothing planned that day. I see the Skyline has some bad memories so if you don't want to think about it, I totally understand!
Hell of a change to go from an ER34 to a 60s Mustang! How does it feel to go from something that's very dynamically capable (the Skyline) to the Mustang, which I assume isn't
What's the story with VOSA trying to screw you over with the Skyline? Spending 6 hours going over the car is just ridiculous, I hope you had nothing planned that day. I see the Skyline has some bad memories so if you don't want to think about it, I totally understand!
Jaaack said:
That's very well written, had me laughing a few times
Hell of a change to go from an ER34 to a 60s Mustang! How does it feel to go from something that's very dynamically capable (the Skyline) to the Mustang, which I assume isn't
Thanks! The car is soft and wobbly but at only around 1100kgs or so, it’s not exactly heavy. Hell of a change to go from an ER34 to a 60s Mustang! How does it feel to go from something that's very dynamically capable (the Skyline) to the Mustang, which I assume isn't
You can feel that it’s light on its feet, so some choice handling upgrades and tightening up the steering so it feels a little more connected will make it really fun to drive. It’s obviously completely different but not in a bad way!
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