it’s friday and i’ve been invited by adele who races ‘striptease’ in vwdrc to show the bus in a lineup of race cars at the deva dubs show in chester…
i load up the bus with beer, loads of fruit, flyers, stickers, some t shirts and enough computer and camera gear to sink a battleship…

and it’s off to park up in the middle lane of the M6 near birmingham with the other ten thouand cars with nothing better to do on a friday evening…

eventually i get off th em6 and head toward north wales to call in on jony and pippa, artist friends who live in a small cottage miles from the nearest paved road in a forest in snowdonia.
i’m in no rush so of course i floor it all the way – my trusty radar detector beeping away incomprehensibly giving me a false sense of security.

somewhere past (insert a name of a town i can’t remember here later, or alternatively the town of your choice!) i’m trying to catch up with a 911 that i’ve been trailing for 5 miles or so and all the saucepans in the cupboard start rattling. it’s something i’ve marvelled at with all my aircooled volkswagens, trhough all the racked and din if there’s one noise out of place or some tiny new squeak or rattle my whole consciousness is focussed on it until i work out what it is…
i keep checking and i’m sure that it’s the saucepans. i try to put it out of my mind and concentrate on the completely childish and pointless task of keeping pace with the porsche. in my feverish imagination i picture the other driver being disconcerted to have this dented, wheezing, antique heap pacing him all the way… ha ha ha. what a sad life i must lead.
here i am – half deaf, taking my life (and steering wheel, firmly gripped) in my hands pretending that i’m bus-man master of the universe and he’s tootling home from the golfclub listening to sade on his blaupunkt blissfully unaware of his sudden involvement in my tenuous grip on reality.

the rattling doesn’t go away

it’s still rattling.

the car and caravan i’ve just passed is flashing me

maybe i should investigate the rattling.

ok, so i’m embarrassed to be pullingonto the hard shoulder.

it wasn’t the saucepans rattling in the cupboard.
was it?

the bolts holding the muffler on to the header had undone them sleves and i’d been dragging the exhaust for at least five miles….

apart from a large dented shiny flatspot it seemd ok. sadly along with split pins i don’t carry spare bolts anymore. serves me right for getting a swank new imitation snapon toolbox, a snapnon toolbox infact, and cleaning it out.

funny thing is i didn’t notice any change in the noise….

so with no bolts at hand i unhook the exhaust and head on into the hills scaring sheep and clearing the crows from fields five miles away.

jony and pippa, live in an idylic two room cottage in the middle of nowhere, behind the back of beyond. usually with some careful manouvering i can get within walking distance of their place, chuggin along old forestry tracks. unfortunately the foresters have been logging the area and it’s a quaqmire. i creep along the tracks until prudence takes over and abandon the bus in the forest for the night.

kevo, i love your dragster but i bet you couldn’t get it up here 🙂