21 Days in a Lotus 7 - Kit Car Road Trip

DAY 4 - AUSTIN TO MIDLAND
We left the sauna-like underground car park of the Capitol Marriott early to try to avoid the worst of the day's heat. Steve Blair was the chief organiser of this epic trip (and it took quite a bit of organisation), and although now living near London, he was brought up in Austin. It was no surprise, therefore, that he found us a nice, twisty road out of the city, round the lake to the north.

We had an interesting but brief dice with a BMW M3 here: He had been held up by a couple of RV's, and when they pulled off he went for it. We were in the middle of a convoy of six Caterhams, and after about 3 miles of enthusiastic driving, the M3 seemed to get fed up with having a multi-coloured line of cars in his mirror and pulled over. After this we got onto the mainly featureless roads of West Texas and headed for San Angelo, where we had received a kind invitation to drop by. We were to meet at their Art Museum, which was a wonderfully cool haven and where a number of other interesting cars had gathered. Their welcome was typical of the greeting we got just about everywhere in the States.

DAY 5 - MIDLAND TO RUIDOSO
The first half of today was about miles of arrow-straight roads and acres of "nodding donkeys." We were travelling on our own about 25 miles east of Artesia, New Mexico, when we came across another Caterham stopped by the side of the road, with oil pouring from the underneath. He had hit a steel valve lever that had fallen from a truck and holed his sump. The three other cars he was travelling with had managed to avoid it, but noticed he was missing and returned to help out. And guess what one of them had occupying half his luggage space? A spare Rover K-series sump, naturally.

So there we were in the quiet bit of the back of beyond and right across the road was the only building for miles-and there sat a couple of wheel ramps. So shirt off, under the car, and after a quick whip round the group for spare oil, everyone was on their way again 30 minutes later. Unfortunately, no one had thought to check the drain plug on the new sump, and about 75 miles later (we were following and noticed oil on our windscreen and then had a sideways moment on a downhill left-hander), the oil all came out and ran the bearings.

We had a couple of tow ropes between us, and he was towed the 10 miles or so to a great little place on a superb canyon road called Mayhill. This had the feel of a real piece of the Old West, with an old guy in a rocking chair on a veranda who apparently did nothing all day except predict the weather. The lady who kept the only shop in town closed up to come and see those "cute little cars."

We were joined in Mayhill by two of the Americans on our tour driving Birkins and also a couple of the Westfields. One of the latter was certainly the closest to the American ideal of a hot rod, sporting a lot of chrome, cream leather interior and a 500-bhp 6.6L Chevy motor. The support truck was now on the way, and as we set off again climbing up toward Ruidoso, there was a marked scenery change from hot and dusty canyons to winding Alpine valleys.

DAY 6 - RUIDOSO
The next day was a rest day, sort of. The car that lost its oil had an engine which was never sold in the States, therefore someone took the precaution of packing a spare one. An engine crane was borrowed from a local garage, and by lunchtime the new engine was in and lasted the rest of the trip. We found the root of our hot starting problems (an uncrimped wire to the ECU aggravated by the very high temperatures) and set off to the White Sands National Monument, where we knew others had gone to see the sunset. Well, what a place. Definitely one of the trip's highlights was standing on top of a white-gypsum sand dune that looked for all the world like snow, stretching all the way to the distant mountains.

We were almost back at Ruidoso (3,000 feet higher than White Sands and 30 degrees cooler after dark) when we came across an accident where a pickup truck had hit an elk. The truck was blocking the road and we had to drive very close to the elk, which was stunned by the impact and just standing there. It was a good five feet at the shoulder and towered above the car. (It was apparently still there some 20 minutes later when another car passed by.) We had seen other deer in the road and we began to pay new attention to the increasingly prevalent deer-warning signs.

DAY 7 - RUIDOSO TO SANTE FE
We fuelled up down the road and did our usual trick of occupying all the pumps in the filling station. We were, as always, a huge novelty, and we fielded all the usual questions: "Where are you from; what are they; where you going?" and increasingly as the price of fuel escalated, "What is the fuel consumption?" Our consumption was about 35 to 40 mpg. (By comparison, the aforementioned Westfield Chevy filled up 43 times on the trip and averaged 13 mpg.) Incidentally, if anyone thinks $3 per gallon is expensive, the U.K. equivalent is at present $9! On the way to Sante Fe, we visited Sandia Peak (10,800 feet), from where there was a spectacular view of Albuquerque laid out some 5,000 feet below. This mountain also happens to be served by a fantastic 14-mile road, on which we met our first serious sportbike of the trip (such bikes are predominant in Europe). A kitted-out, peg-scraping Yamaha R1 was just a bit too quick for us, but we did give him a run for his money before he started to lose us on the drag out of some of the sharper bends. (With some of the more powerful cars on our trip it may have been a different story.) One slight snag was that the road featured some random gravel patches, and on the way down this would catch out one of our number (the owner of a rather heavy throttle foot). Fortunately, although it was a complete 360, he didn't hit anything and those following avoided him. Even at 7,000 feet, Sante Fe was very hot, and our arrival in heavy traffic probably contributed to overheating and a failed hose joiner, which resulted in our coolant being squirted all over the hotel car park. A job for the next day when everything had cooled down.

DAY 8 - SANTE FE
It was today that probably the most extreme car on the trip finally turned up, having been air-freighted to Houston following some last-minute work in the U.K. This Dubai-registered car was based on a standard Caterham Superlight, except for the custom-built 2.4L V-8 (coincidentally the specification of next year's Formula One engines) mated to a sequential straight-cut gearbox and launch control system. Power was approximately 400 bhp at 12,000 rpm (yes, really) and weight about 1,200 pounds-it was quick. However, it was suffering from over-fuelling, and on start-up in Sante Fe it coated all bystanders in black smoke.

Sante Fe was the place most like a European city. It had a real Spanish feel and the centre had narrow streets, a welcome lack of franchise outlets, and it was pedestrian friendly. We opted for the Orehouse to eat, which provided a very nice meal.

DAY 9 - SANTE FE - DURANGO
We saw some seriously empty roads today, and on the way to the metropolis that is Mountain Air, New Mexico, somebody counted 32 miles without seeing another car. As we continue on this trip I keep redefining the word remote, and on this road we still see isolated houses and, amazingly, school bus signs. It occurs to me that wherever the school is around here, the kids must have to start out at some ungodly hour in the morning to get there and return home sometime in the evening.

Mountain Air is the only place for miles, and some of the Ford crossflow-engined cars (we had an all-steel 180-bhp version travelling in our group) and the V-8 Westfields were on the limit for fuel. However, there was only one gas station in the town (we would call it a village, I think), and the best octane available was 89. A complete fill-up here would spell the end for the only Sylva Stryker on the trip. This was the only turbo car and featured a 280-bhp Ford Cosworth motor, but despite limping on and major surgery taking place at every opportunity, it eventually ended up on the trailer where it had started (in that instance because it was without a driver due to having started the tour late when he lost his passport the day before departure).

At the fill-up we were quite excited to see our first proper Indian (signified by the waist-length plaits sprouting from under his hat). On a similar note, my wife was seriously expecting Indian reservations to contain acres of wigwams rather than acres of trailer homes.

On arrival at the Holiday Inn, Durango, we were greeted by the local drunk. He wandered around the cars directing indiscriminate abuse but was subsequently marched off by security. We had thought that was the last we would see of him, but the next evening he appeared in the hotel bar with a gun before running off ahead of four police officers sporting shotguns. They told everybody to get back to their rooms while they did a search of the premises (they didn't find him, as far as we know), but what the hell-our first taste of the Wild West. The next night we were in a blues bar (Janis Joplin look-and-sound-alike on drums and vocals) when the police burst in and arrested some guy. This was great; Colorado was living up to all the best cop shows.

DAY 10 - DURANGO
We had actually only heard about the guy who came into the bar because we were still returning from a stagecoach ride in a place called Mancos Valley. We had seen the sign to this on the way back from Mesa Verde, a truly phenomenal Pueblo Indian settlement we had been visiting. We were the only ones who headed down the five-mile unmade road to the ranch, and when we got there we met a 20-strong party of pensioners from Grand Junction (what a great name).

As soon as we drove in we were the centre of much attention, and it's amazing how many people "used to have an MG." We rode up on top of the stagecoach, and it was a fantastic experience to look out across the valley and not see anything for miles and then to reflect that these things, on their rock-solid non-suspension, only used to average 8 mph but travelled 120 miles per day. It puts our modest effort into perspective.