Right then, let’s talk about this Lotus Seven thing. I finally bit the bullet a while back and decided I was going to get properly involved with one. Not just looking at pictures, you know? Actually get my hands greasy.
The whole idea pulled me in – pure driving, no frills, just the essentials. Colin Chapman’s whole “simplify, then add lightness” mantra sounded brilliant on paper. Seemed straightforward enough. Bolt this here, connect that there. How hard could it be? Famous last words, eh?
Getting Started – More Like Getting Stuck In
I managed to get hold of a project. Well, ‘project’ is a nice way of saying ‘boxes of bits that someone gave up on’. First job was just figuring out what I actually had. It felt like detective work, matching old grainy photos to rusty metal parts scattered across my garage floor.
Then the actual building, or rebuilding I should say. Let me tell you, ‘simple’ doesn’t mean ‘easy’. Things just didn’t line up like they were supposed to. Instructions, when I could find any decent ones, seemed to skip crucial steps. I spent hours, literally hours, trying to get one bloody panel to sit right. My knuckles were constantly scraped raw.
Here’s a taste of the ‘fun’:
- Trying to find bolts that were just the right length and thread. Imperial, metric, weird British stuff – it had it all.
- Wiring. Oh god, the wiring. Looked like spaghetti thrown at the firewall by a previous owner who hated electricity.
- Getting the engine and gearbox lined up. Needed three hands and a degree in patience.
Questioning Everything
There were days, honestly, dark days in the garage, where I’d just stare at the thing and think, “What have I done?”. Covered in oil, freezing cold, something else refusing to fit. You start wondering if maybe buying that sensible modern car wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
It reminded me a bit of this job I had years ago. Everyone thought it was a simple task, managing this small inventory system. On the surface, yeah, easy peasy. But underneath? A total mess of old code, bad data, people not following procedures. Trying to fix that felt just like wrestling with this car – every time you fixed one thing, two other problems popped up. Nobody saw the struggle, just like nobody saw me swearing at a piece of aluminium at 11 pm on a Tuesday.
The Breakthrough (Sort Of)
But you keep plugging away, don’t you? Little victories. Getting the engine to cough and splutter into life for the first time – that was a moment. Smelled awful, sounded rough, but it was alive. It’s a weird feeling, making something work that fought you every step of the way.
I wouldn’t say I’m finished, not by a long shot. These cars are never really ‘finished’. There’s always something to tinker with, adjust, or improve. That’s part of the deal, I suppose. You don’t buy a Seven for a quiet life.
Looking back, was it the simple, pure experience I imagined? Not exactly. It was way more complicated, frustrating, and demanded a lot more patience than I expected. But building it, fighting with it… you learn stuff. Not just about spanners and engines, but about sticking with something tough. It’s honest, that car. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. If something’s wrong, it tells you, usually by breaking down or not working. No hidden agendas, unlike that old inventory system, or some people I’ve worked with.
So yeah, the Lotus Seven project. It’s been a journey. Still is. Ask me if I’d do it again? Probably. But I’d go in with my eyes wider open this time. And maybe buy more knuckle plasters.
