scannon

Steve, I had completely forgotten the bump incident. That was a fun track to run on although it was a little worrisome being that far from home and running all out on the track. I believe there is at least one other member from the SLC area on this forum but cannot remember who. I'll be coming back to Utah in early July for the Cache Valley Cruise In. Maybe you can come on up there for it. Two Se7ens will really cause a stir at the event, especially one with a supercharged V6 to go along with my turbocharged I4 they have already seen. Do you have access to the Miller track? I'd love to run on it sometime.

timax, That is a spectacular photo! One of the best I've seen.

Tell the insurance company it is a replica of a 1959 Lotus 7. That's what it took to get Hagerty to insure my Caterham SV. I'm paying $450 per year and have a fairly good record, about one ticket per year. It can't be your only car or daily driver and needs a locked garage to qualify with Hagerty.

The Mudhen: Long before I owned a Se7en a GMC motorhome (the chassis the Decoliner is based on) pulled into the pits at the now defunct 2nd Creek Raceway near Denver. I thought it strange that it wasn't towing a track car. The next time I looked at it the rear of the RV had dropped down on the air suspension and the owner was raising a giant clamshell the full size of the vehicle. He then pulled out two short aluminum ramps and backed out a Se7en. I thought to myself what a great way to travel and take your car along. The interior aft of the front seats had been gutted and left unfinished but it looked like he could have left most of the living room/kitchen and still had room for the Se7en. He called the RV the Mudhen. When I bought my Se7en I recalled the Mudhen and asked around for contact info. When I found the owner he had given up on it and sold it for almost nothing. I would have bought it, put some living space back in and had a great toy hauler. There a couple of pictures of the interior in this post: http://usa7s.com/vb/showpost.php?p=51703&postcount=4

Aidan, That front end picture put a big smile to my face. What a great looking car!

I didn't know that. Congratulations on another great creation.

From the creator of the Tank Car and Pistol Pete. http://www.jaylenosgarage.com/video/Decoliner/1364218 The perfect track day tow vehicle.

Another nice feature of the Escort 9500 is when it detects a threat it displays my current speed on its readout. It also has a voice message telling me what band has been detected. I started using detectors back when the Escort was a large black box clipped to the sunvisor. It saved me a ticket the first day and countless tickets since then. I don't feel comfortable driving without a detector. I am still alert to situations where an instant on radar may be lurking.

Escort has recently come out with a combination radar detector and GPS navigation unit. It has all the features of the Escort 9500 plus it looks like a GPS screen rather than a radar detector. I was tempted to buy one when I traded in my dead Escort 8500 but since I already have two GPS's that I rarely use I went with the 9500. I really like its ability to store locations of false alarms. The interstate here has lots of traffic control speed sensing radars along its route that aren't a threat but really annoying as they set off a detector every few miles going through the Denver metro area. It also warns me of red light cameras as well as speed cameras. I can live without directional arrows, a threat warning is just that, and I act accordingly. It doesn't matter whether the threat is in front or behind me.

There is no welding on my Caterham SV seats as far as the mounting goes. Just four bolts on each seat frame that go through the floor and some U shaped channels that are riveted to the underside of the floor. If you have the width to accommodate them it should be a no brainer. I really like the seats, more comfortable than any other Seven seats I have planted my butt in. Most first time passengers are surprised at the comfort of the seats as well as the ride of the car.

Pole Lap Comparison: BBC F1 2011 - Round 15: Japanese GP - YouTube

Part 2. I tried to rotate the parachute and look in other directions. But with one hand devoted to keeping the face plate up and both hands numb from high-altitude, subfreezing temperatures, I couldn't manipulate the risers enough to turn. Before the breakup, we'd started a turn in the New Mexico-Colorado-Oklahoma-Texas border region. The SR-71 had a turning radius of about 100 miles at that speed and altitude, so I wasn't even sure what state we were going to land in. But, because it was about 3:00 p.m. , I was certain we would be spending the night out here. At about 300 ft. above the ground, I yanked the seat kit's release handle and made sure it was still tied to me by a long lanyard. Releasing the heavy kit ensured I wouldn't land with it attached to my derriere, which could break a leg or cause other injuries. I then tried to recall what survival items were in that kit, as well as techniques I had been taught in survival training. Looking down, I was startled to see a fairly large animal – perhaps an antelope- directly under me. Evidently, it was just as startled as I was because it literally took off in a cloud of dust. My first-ever parachute landing was pretty smooth. I landed on fairly soft ground, managing to avoid rocks, cacti and antelopes. My chute was still billowing in the wind, though. I struggled to collapse it with one hand, holding the still-frozen faceplate up with the other. "Can I help you?" a voice said. Was I hearing things? I must be hallucinating. Then I looked up and saw a guy walking toward me, wearing a cowboy hat. A helicopter was idling a short distance behind him. If I had been at Edwards and told the search-and-rescue unit that I was going to bail out over the Rogers Dry Lake at a particular time of day, a crew couldn't have gotten to me as fast as that cowboy-pilot had. The gentleman was Albert Mitchell, Jr., owner of a huge cattle ranch in northeastern New Mexico and I had landed about 1.5 mi. from his ranch house--and from a hangar for his two-place Hughes helicopter. Amazed to see him, I replied I was having a little trouble with my chute. He walked over and collapsed the canopy, anchoring it with several rocks. He had seen Jim and me floating down and had radioed the New Mexico Highway Patrol, the Air Force and the nearest hospital. Extracting myself from the parachute harness, I discovered the source of those flapping-strap noises heard on the way down. My seat belt and shoulder harness were still draped around me, attached and latched. The lap belt had been shredded on each side of my hips, where the straps had fed through knurled adjustment rollers. The shoulder harness had shredded in a similar manner across my back. The ejection seat had never left the airplane. I had been ripped out of it by the extreme forces, with the seat belt and shoulder harness still fastened. I also noted that one of the two lines that supplied oxygen to my pressure suit had come loose, and the other was barely hanging on. If that second line had become detached at high altitude, the deflated pressure suit wouldn't have provided any protection. I knew an oxygen supply was critical for breathing and suit-pressurization, but didn't appreciate how much physical protection an inflated pressure suit could provide. That the suit could withstand forces sufficient to disintegrate an airplane and shred heavy nylon seat belts, yet leave me with only a few bruises and minor whiplash was impressive. I truly appreciated having my own little escape capsule. After helping me with the chute, Mitchell said he'd check on Jim. He climbed into his helicopter, flew a short distance away and returned about 10 minutes later with devastating news: Jim was dead. Apparently, he had suffered a broken neck during the aircraft's disintegration and was killed instantly. Mitchell said his ranch foreman would soon arrive to watch over Jim's body until the authorities arrived. I asked to see Jim and, after verifying there was nothing more that could be done, agreed to let Mitchell fly me to the Tucumcari hospital, about 60 mi. to the south. I have vivid memories of that helicopter flight, as well. I didn't know much about rotorcraft, but I knew a lot about "red lines," and Mitchell kept the airspeed at or above red line all the way. The little helicopter vibrated and shook a lot more than I thought it should have. I tried to reassure the cowboy-pilot I was feeling OK; there was no need to rush. But since he'd notified the hospital staff that we were inbound, he insisted we get there as soon as possible. I couldn't help but think how ironic it would be to have survived one disaster only to be done in by the helicopter that had come to my rescue. However, we made it to the hospital safely--and quickly. Soon, I was able to contact Lockheed's flight test office at Edwards. The test team there had been notified initially about the loss of radio and radar contact, then been told the aircraft had been lost. They also knew what our flight conditions had been at the time, and assumed no one could have survived. I explained what had happened, describing in fairly accurate detail the flight conditions prior to breakup. The next day, our flight profile was duplicated on the SR-71 flight simulator at Beale AFB, Calif. The outcome was identical. Steps were immediately taken to prevent a recurrence of our accident. Testing at a CG aft of normal limits was discontinued, and trim-drag issues were subsequently resolved via aerodynamic means. The inlet control system was continuously improved and, with subsequent development of the Digital Automatic Flight and Inlet Control System, inlet unstarts became rare. Investigation of our accident revealed that the nose section of the aircraft had broken off aft of the rear cockpit and crashed about 10 miles from the main wreckage. Parts were scattered over an area approximately 15 miles long and 10 miles wide. Extremely high air loads and g-forces, both positive and negative, had literally ripped Jim and me from the airplane. Unbelievably good luck is the only explanation for my escaping relatively unscathed from that disintegrating aircraft. Two weeks after the accident, I was back in an SR-71, flying the first sortie on a brand-new bird at Lockheed's Palmdale, Calif. assembly and test facility. It was my first flight since the accident, so a flight test engineer in the back seat was probably a little apprehensive about my state of mind and confidence. As we roared down the runway and lifted off, I heard an anxious voice over the intercom. "Bill! Bill! Are you there?" "Yeah, George. What's the matter?" "Thank God! I thought you might have left. The rear cockpit of the SR-71 has no forward visibility--only a small window on each side--and George couldn't see me. A big red light on the master-warning panel in the rear cockpit had illuminated just as we rotated, stating: "Pilot Ejected;. Fortunately, the cause was a misadjusted micro switch, not my departure.

MACH 3.18 IN-FLIGHT BREAKUP OF AN SR-71 BLACKBIRD By Bill Weaver, Chief Test Pilot, Lockheed Among professional aviators, there's a well-worn saying: Flying is simply hours of boredom punctuated by moments of stark terror. But I don't recall too many periods of boredom during my 30-year career with Lockheed, most of which was spent as a test pilot. By far, the most memorable flight occurred on Jan. 25, 1966 . Jim Zwayer, a Lockheed flight-test specialist, and I were evaluating systems on an SR-71 Blackbird test from Edwards. We also were investigating procedures designed to reduce trim drag and improve high-Mach cruise performance The latter involved flying with the center-of-gravity (CG) located further aft than normal, reducing the Blackbird's longitudinal stability. We took off from Edwards at 11:20 a.m. and completed the mission's first leg without incident. After refueling from a KC-135 tanker, we turned eastbound, accelerated to a Mach 3.2 cruise speed and climbed to 78,000 ft., our initial cruise-climb altitude. Several minutes into cruise, the right engine inlet's automatic control system malfunctioned, requiring a switch to manual control. The SR-71's inlet configuration was automatically adjusted during supersonic flight to decelerate airflow in the duct, slowing it to subsonic speed before reaching the engine's face. This was accomplished by the inlet's center-body spike translating aft, and by modulating the inlet's forward bypass doors. Normally, these actions were scheduled automatically as a function of Mach number, positioning the normal shock wave (where air flow becomes subsonic) inside the inlet to ensure optimum engine performance. Without proper scheduling, disturbances inside the inlet could result in the shock wave being expelled forward - a phenomenon known as an "inlet unstart." That causes an instantaneous loss of engine thrust, explosive banging noises and violent yawing of the aircraft, like being in a train wreck. Unstarts were not uncommon at that time in the SR-71's development, but a properly functioning system would recapture the shock wave and restore normal operation. On the planned test profile, we entered a programmed 35-deg. bank turn to the right. An immediate unstart occurred on the right engine, forcing the aircraft to roll further right and start to pitch up. I jammed the control stick as far left and forward as it would go. No response. I instantly knew we were in for a wild ride. I attempted to tell Jim what was happening and to stay with the airplane until we reached a lower speed and altitude. I didn't think the chances of surviving an ejection at Mach 3.18 and 78,800 ft. were very good. However, g-forces built up so rapidly that my words came out garbled and unintelligible, as confirmed later by the cockpit voice recorder. The cumulative effects of system malfunctions, reduced longitudinal stability, increased angle-of-attack in the turn, supersonic speed, high altitude and other factors imposed forces on the airframe that exceeded flight control authority and the stability augmentation system's ability to restore control. Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion. I learned later the time from event onset to catastrophic departure from controlled flight was only 2-3 seconds. Still trying to communicate with Jim, I blacked out, succumbing to extremely high g-forces. Then the SR-71 literally disintegrated around us. From that point, I was just along for the ride. And my next recollection was a hazy thought that I was having a bad dream. Maybe I'll wake up and get out of this mess, I mused. Gradually regaining consciousness, I realized this was no dream; it had really happened. That also was disturbing, because I COULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED what had just happened. I must be dead. Since I didn't feel bad,- just a detached sense of euphoria- I decided being dead wasn't so bad after all. As full awareness took hold, I realized I was not dead. But somehow I had separated from the airplane. I had no idea how this could have happened; I hadn't initiated an ejection. The sound of rushing air and what sounded like straps flapping in the wind confirmed I was falling, but I couldn't see anything. My pressure suit's face plate had frozen over and I was staring at a layer of ice. The pressure suit was inflated, so I knew an emergency oxygen cylinder in the seat kit attached to my parachute harness was functioning. It not only supplied breathing oxygen, but also pressurized the suit, preventing my blood from boiling at extremely high altitudes. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but the suit's pressurization had also provided physical protection from intense buffeting and g-forces. That inflated suit had become my own escape capsule. My next concern was about stability and tumbling. Air density at high altitude is insufficient to resist a body's tumbling motions, and centrifugal forces high enough to cause physical injury could develop quickly. For that reason, the SR-71's parachute system was designed to automatically deploy a small-diameter stabilizing chute shortly after ejection and seat separation. Since I had not intentionally activated the ejection system--and assuming all automatic functions depended on a proper ejection sequence — it occurred to me the stabilizing chute may not have deployed. However, I quickly determined I was falling vertically and not tumbling. The little chute must have deployed and was doing its job. Next concern: the main parachute, which was designed to open automatically at 15,000 ft. Again I had no assurance the automatic-opening function would work. I couldn't ascertain my altitude because I still couldn't see through the iced-up faceplate. There was no way to know how long I had been blacked-out or how far I had fallen. I felt for the manual-activation D-ring on my chute harness, but with the suit inflated and my hands numbed by cold, I couldn't locate it. I decided I'd better open the faceplate, try to estimate my height above the ground, and then locate that "D" ring. Just as I reached for the faceplate, I felt the reassuring sudden deceleration of main-chute deployment. I raised the frozen faceplate and discovered its uplatch was broken. Using one hand to hold that plate up, I saw I was descending through a clear, winter sky with unlimited visibility. I was greatly relieved to see Jim's parachute coming down about a quarter of a mile away. I didn't think either of us could have survived the aircraft's breakup, so seeing Jim had also escaped lifted my spirits incredibly. I could also see burning wreckage on the ground a few miles from where we would land. The terrain didn't look at all inviting — a desolate, high plateau dotted with patches of snow and no signs of habitation. Continued in Part 2

I was at the race as part of LOG31. It was horrible to watch the carnage, especially the five cars which caught on fire. After about an hour we heard that the drivers were called into a meeting. About the same time Danica was being interviewed when someone came up to her and whispered in her ear. She broke down and started crying and walked away from the camera. At that point we knew someone had died. Shortly after that Ross and I decided to head back to the hotel. I really regret not being there for the five lap tribute to Weldon.

Sean, How about one from the front that highlights the super wide suspension? That is one HUGE silencer.

2011 Bathurst 1000 Darrell Waltrip's first time on the mountain - "A Geological Oddity" - YouTube

We met in Golden, then went up Golden Gate canyon, across the Peak to Peak Highway to Blackhawk and Central City, then across the new Central City Parkway to I-70. I-70 to Idaho Springs then up the Mount Evans road to Echo Lake (where it got cold and wet) then down Squaw Pass to Evergreen and down Bear Creek Canyon ending at the Morrison Inn for lunch. About 160 miles roundtrip from my home. I believe all of the video was shot in Golden Gate canyon.

The LOCO club had an impromptu fall color drive last Sunday. Only four cars showed up because of the short notice. One of the members made a short video.

Yes, Ross is flying in from somewhere in the Eastern US. We will share the room and the Caterham. Because of my shoulders I am not doing the track day at Spring Mountain race track on Sunday, instead I am taking advantage of a group deal to attend the Indy Car race at LV Speedway. We get escorted infield parking, pit pass and good grandstand seats for $135. I'm going to lobby for all the Lotus cars attending getting a parade lap or two on the oval.

Can't take credit for the thinking, it came to me in an email. As for running for president, that's the very last thing I would want to do. It brought to mind a science fiction story I read many years ago in which some people could live their life forward then elect to regress back to birth.

I want to live my next life backwards! You start out dead and get that out of the way right off the bat. Then, you wake up in a nursing home feeling better every day. When you are kicked out of the home for being too healthy, you spend several years enjoying your retirement and collecting benefit checks. When you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work 40 years or so, getting younger every day until pretty soon you're too young to work. So then, you go to high school: play sports, date, drink, and party. As you get even younger, you become a kid again. You go to elementary school, play, and have no responsibilities. In a few years, you become a baby and everyone runs themselves ragged keeping you happy. You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury. Until finally...You finish off as an orgasm. I rest my case.

Make it clear that your car is a replica of an original Lotus 7. That's what it took to get Hagerty to cover my '04 Caterham.

12 of the 30 are in transit at this time and may not be in the shippers count.

Its closer to 100 lb. Balance is shifted 1%, about the same difference as when the top is up vs. stored. Keith would have won the Targa Newfoundland outright but for a failed fuel pump relay. Not finishing that segment of the stage cost him a 5 minute penalty plus the largest penalty of any other competitor in his class. Subtract 5 minutes from his overall time and he would have been the outright winner.

I called Jon at Caterham USA a couple of days ago to check on something and had a conversation with Jon (Nelson?) about the changes there. As I understand it, Jon is the sole owner of Caterham USA. Ben Woford and his father owned Rocky Mountain Sportscars Inc. and when the two were combined awhile back they did not become part owners of Caterham USA. Ben is no longer a regular employee there, his wife insisted that he get a real job. Ben is still responsible for finishing the restoration of Bessie. Jon said they have sold about 30 Caterhams so far this year. A new batch of 12 are on the way with only one remaining unsold. He is looking for someone to help with the assembly of these cars. I didn't volunteer.