And another #5
In the late '70's at the secret base in North Wales, i do a deal one evening and buy a hulk of a mini from a friend. Problem was, the mini was at the MR site on the North side of the field, and my garage was in the domestic site. The mini has no seats, battery, brakes or steering wheel. A quick chat, I make a (really foolish and stupid) suggestion, and we have a plan. Mate in front towing the mini with a very questionable rope, mate behind bringing up the rear. Camlobe in the mini, on his knees, mole grips on the end of the steering column, and handbrake to hand. Off we go. We leave the North gate and onto the public road, lead and trail with lights on, camlobe in the dark (something's don't change). Hey, it's Ll working. This is going well.
CLANG, SCCRRRAAAAPPPEEEE. The mole grips are 'wrenched' (sorry) from my hand as the right front wheel goes on a UDI navex, and we grind (sorry again) to a halt. We are stuck on the public road right between the traffic lights, in line with the runway centreline. Half a dozen guys stand around still creased up at camlobe's expense.
And then the lights start to flash. What the f###...
Someone produces a torch, someone else chases after the wheel, the rest grope around for the errant wheel nuts...and the F111 deafens us and blows us around. He does a touch and go, and we renew our efforts with a frantic zeal, not wanting to still be here when he comes around again.
He must have seen us. He will have told ATC. We are going to be for the high jump now. It can only be a matter of seconds before the plods come to investigate. This was a stupid, stupid idea.
"Got one". "So have I". "I've got the wheel". "How are we going to jack it?" Stuff jacking it, I shout. Just lift the front end and I will spin the nuts on. Two will do.
We just clear the lights when our American friend returns. We got the mini back to my garage, and all the beer I had to buy that night cost more than the mini.
Camlobe