John Dyble - Four Wheel Fetish

Anyway, back to KVE 760P. Why is it that I can remember the plate number of the Clubman, my first car, but have trouble recalling those on later cars? Goodness knows, but I have. Perhaps it was because it was the first. When Jorge sold me this car he suggested that I have a rust prevention treatment applied to the most vulnerable bits; the undersides, the wheel arches and the engine compartment, to prevent the onset of rust, the enemy of all cars. Now in those days, little thought was given by manufacturers to rust prevention, as the process was in its infancy and woefully inadequate. If you happened to live in a salt-laden seaside town like I did, it was guaranteed that your car would disintegrate within days. So my Clubman had the Ziebart rustproofing treatment. Yes, seriously, that was the name. Sounded very much like a product from Holland, Jorges place of origin. He probably owned the company; no wonder he pushed the product. A black tar like substance applied to the underside and wheel arches. It was guaranteed to last the life of the car, but what if rust struck any other part of the car not treated? I did not think of it at the time. Well, I wouldnt, would I? I just wanted to drive the bloody thing, never mind worrying if the car fell to pieces.When I bought the car in December 1975, I was still an L-plated learner. So the Minis home for the first few weeks of 1976 was a snug little barn on my cousins farm in Haddenham, Cambridgeshire until the driving test was passed. Which, of course, I failed at the first attempt. Releasing the hand brake too soon on a hill and rolling backwards saw to that. I was devastated. Funny how you can always remember those little incidents in your life. I was mortified, but salvation was at hand in the shape of my mate Mick, who sadly is no longer with us.Now, Mick went with me from Great Yarmouth to Haddenham, and once the flat battery was recharged, he accompanied me in my L-plated Mini back home. In the weeks up to my re-test in March, he came with me in the Mini on all the possible test routes, offering encouragement and advice along the way. In those days, the theory test was carried out at the end of the driving bit. A few quick easy-peasy questions lasting five minutes, and you were done and dusted. Job done. Unlike the poor unfortunates today, who have survive an A level exam lasting several hours. Micks help was a godsend. Pre-test nerves were soon dispelled as I propelled my Mini with confidence around a familiar route and passed easily. Ripping off the L plates was a delight. My instructor said that he believed all the best drivers pass the second time around. I think he was just being kind. Freedom at last. So thanks, Mick; I hope they are looking after you in heaven.However, as time went by, I did my best to ignore the awful smell that emanated from the areas coated with this black, shiny substance that passed for rust prevention. The odours potency increased tenfold in warmer weather. Jorge assured me that the smell would disappear in time. It never did. Rust prevention firms were all the rage in the 1970s, until the carmakers finally got their act together. Thank God for that. I lost count of the number of times I was accused of soiling the air within the car, when the real culprit was the black gunk under it.The car itself was a mobile wonder. Except, of course, in hot weather, when the vinyl seats would stick to your back and limbs like sellotape to a parcel. And if you sat in the car topless due to the heat, as I did on a number of occasions, it was near-impossible to peel your back away from the backrests. There were no face-level vents in those days, and air conditioning was a very distant dream. The front windows, therefore, were permanently down to avoid the occupants expiration. Mind you, the summer of 1976 was unusually hot. It never bothered me that the car was tortoise-slow and noisy, because it got me around, and in those days thats all that mattered. With only 39 bhp, what did you expect? But it had a cutesy boxy look which I found quite appealing, especially since it was no bigger than a cornflakes box.I shudder at the thought now, but I never thought twice of consuming a few pints of beer at the local pub and then taking my mates in the Mini and driving 20 miles to the clubs in Norwich while under the influence. You see, I was constantly ribbed for my failure to absorb much. More than two pints, and my judgement was not as good as it should be. But did I care? Of course not, I was having fun. Fortunately, the road to Norwich was fairly straight, so I did not have go around many corners. Although, one of my booze-fuel pals nearly soiled himself when I went straight over a roundabout. How I never hit anybody or crashed still remains a mystery. One inebriated night, however, I nearly got my comeuppance. I foolishly took a mate home in the Mini again in a drunken state, and on the way back I was stopped by PC Plod. Had my luck run out? Would I face a jail sentence? No. Plod stopped me because I had crawled slowly away from the lights and he was only interested in the contents of my boot. He assumed a heavy load was slowing me down. What did he expect to find? A dead body? Anyway, I tried to remain calm and lucid, despite the fact that my heart was pounding away like a sledgehammer waiting for the fatal breath test. But it never happened, and once he was satisfied that I was not carrying a nuclear bomb, he let me go. Unbelievable! I lived to drive another day.I had caught the bug; a year later, I traded the blue Mini for another Mini. Same styling, but this was no ordinary Mini, oh no. This was the top-of-the-range Mini 1275 GT. I got 1200 for the blue Mini as a trade-in, leaving me to find another 550. Was it a real tyre-burner? Not really, but in those days a small car with 63 bhp under the bonnet meant you went a bit quicker, aided by the fact that the car weighed less than a balloon. And dare I say, a tiny bit sporty? It looked distinctive too, finished in bright orange with golden 1275 GT go faster stripes along each side. This car also got the Ziebart treatment, only because the salesman convinced me it would help the resale value; which in reality it didnt, but thats another story. The seats were finished in a bright beige velour which gave the car dare I say it an air of opulence. I met my first wife when I had this car. Because it was new, her parents thought I had pots of money, so they gently encouraged the relationship. It was not just my good looks and personality then! Little did they know that all I had was wrapped in this tiny piece of metal! But the relationship thrived and the GT may have helped. Well, just a little bit.I then went into car mechanic mode and learned how the engine worked, the gearbox, the carburettor, exhaust etc. Once I understood the principles of how everything worked, I developed a need to alter things. I think they now call it modding. I know what youre thinking overlarge boots the size of a penny-farthing wheel and body kit embellishments that suggest the car had developed mumps. No, no, mine were of a more subtle nature. Changes unnoticeable from the exterior. So what did I do? Out went the engine-driven fan which kept the engine cool, and in went a Kenlowe electric fan that only came on when the engine got hot. The benefits: reduced noise levels and better fuel economy, but I never noticed. I then had an approved Mini Stage 1 tuning kit fitted. Yes, like most young drivers, I yearned to go quicker. Male testosterone kicking in I think. Anyway, the existing 1.50-inch SU carburettor was replaced with twin 1.25 ones and a through-flow exhaust. This apparently allowed the engine to breathe better and made the car faster. Which it did, but there were issues. The car seemed to spend every week in the garage having the carb rebalanced. Why? Because when the car got hot, the tick over speed was something like 8000 revs instead of a sedate 800 revs. I thought the engine was going to explode. After what seemed like a trillion visits to the garage, it was sorted.In July 1977 my mate Steve and I went on a two-week holiday with the GT. For the first week, we drove down to Bracklesham Bay on the south coast; staying at one of those raucous holiday camps where alcohol consumption regularly blurred one day into the next. On the way, the exhaust box decided to part company with the exhaust pipe, but the AA man came to our rescue. He said that it had been fixed incorrectly. Great, what else was going to fall apart? But nothing did; despite a long drive north to stay with another mate Ivan, who happen to live in Aberdeen, for the second week and the drive back to Norfolk. Despite being warm elsewhere, after all it was summer time, in Aberdeen it was so cold. It felt like you were staying at the North Pole. After defrosting the windscreen, we set out on the journey back at about 4 am. Dawn was breaking and the roads were very quiet as we calmly drove southwards, slowly waking up. At that time of the day, the roads were covered in birds, no doubt looking for food. But we had to slow down because they seemed totally oblivious to our presence. A most bizarre situation; like something out of that Hitchcock movie. In fact, the GT, despite crawling along at tortoise speeds, manage to brain a few of them. So slow were they to fly off, I wonder if they were on drugs! Steve and I had a fit of the giggles at the thought of these winged creatures suffering headaches every time their heads head-butted the underside of the Mini. On reaching home late afternoon, we saw several small dents in the Mini where our feathered friends had clearly left their mark. A weird experience.That journey did emphasise that a bit of noise suppression would not go amiss. So I attempted soundproofing. Now, Minis in those days were as noisy as a knackered washing machine on a fast spin. Basically, because the engine was a close to you as a mother breastfeeding her baby and British Leylands idea of noise reduction was a few sheets of paper under the carpets. So it was rubbish. However, salvation was at hand. I came across a company called Acoustic Research, who claimed that they could reduce the decibels by fitting specially-designed solid foam panels in the engine compartment; that is, under the bonnet, against the bulkhead (both sides) and under the carpets. Did it work? In a word, no. I never noticed any difference. The tuning was the only mod that really worked. It made the car really go. The rest was a waste of money; but you have to do it, dont you, just to get it out of your system? Thank God my obsession with modding was short lived.