Our cars: it’s all systems go… ish for Alex’s TR7

[ OUR CARS ] 1980 Triumph TR7 DHC

Back home again, latest foibles forgiven

My friend Chris Turner and his mechanic Alan had finally finished recommissioning my beloved TR7 after several years trapped in the garage, and they’d also fitted several upgrades. I got the train to Sheffield and Chris drove us up to his yard.

A few days earlier he’d taken the TR7 for an MoT and I’d been checking progress online. After an initial failure on emissions, it had passed, but with two advisories – one for a weak handbrake and one for play in a steering column universal joint. I was taken aback to learn that Chris and Alan had already tackled both advisories, fitting a new joint lubricated and adjusted the handbrake and fitted a new steering joint.

The number of extra parts that Chris had sourced from his personal collection, including rear spring insulators, a correct fitting kit for the new pads, the aluminium hub adaptors for the new front brakes – the ones I’d ordered sadly hadn’t arrived in time – and a used exhaust section, including backbox and tailpipe, came to £405. I also gave Alan some money for all his hard work.

Given the TR7 hadn’t turned a wheel in seven years, I was fully expecting the first drive to be a disappointment, but it was anything but. I put the top down, started the engine and it idled at a rock-solid 900rpm, something it had never managed to do before. It also seemed to rev more freely than ever and the new backbox made a more exciting rasping sound, just on the right side of noisy.

Tunes return as Alan reconnects and tidies wires

But the next morning, reality bit and it wouldn’t start. I fiddled about under the bonnet and got it going, then set off on the 90-mile trip home, taking a detour to fill up with some high-octane petrol. Petrol stop done, inevitably, it failed to start again so I sat stuck at the pump with the bonnet open, confirming the prejudices of any passing TR7 or classic car cynic. I called Chris and he said if I could get it going, Alan was working at the yard and I should take it up there. So, I spent some time rocking the car while in gear and giving the starter motor a tap before finally resorting to waggle the wires, which did the trick.

After I’d arrived at the yard, Alan was brilliant. He jacked the car up, removed the starter motor wiring, cleaned up all the connections and put them on nice and tight. The starter worked without a hitch, even if it did make a slightly unhealthy noise. I’d also noticed the hidden radio/CD player wasn’t working and he quickly removed the relevant part of the dash and reconnected the correct wire; I was back on the road.

The trip home via the Snake Pass was a joy, the engine felt free and the chassis crisp and responsive. But the exhaust got louder and louder until it was really embarrassing, and then 20 miles from home the speedo stopped working. But I didn’t really mind, because the TR7 was back, it was driving better than ever and I’d fallen in love with it all over again.

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