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Considering the Caterham Seven 160 is so very small and simple, the number of bits from which it’s made comes as something of a surprise. Especially when those pieces arrive on the back of a lorry in several dozen large cardboard boxes.
The plan, if you could call it that, was to build the new back-to-basics, lightweight sports car with our own fair hands. Why? Because half of all Caterhams sold in Britain are home-built, and three-quarters of all 160s – the cheapest, simplest Seven – will be built by their owners in a shed. But TopGear doesn’t have a shed (not after an unfortunate blowtorch incident a while back). We do, however, have an office…
The Caterham 160 is as simple as things get this side of a pedal car. Its basic design is over 50 years old, it boasts half shafts, live axle suspension and a 660cc, three-cylinder engine from Suzuki. In short, it’s the first DIY car in a long time to fall within the mechanical capabilities of the TG staff. That, and we thought it might make a fun way to spend a few lunch hours.
The Top Gear office, by virtue of being on the second floor, is accessed by many flights of stairs. The lorry carrying our bitty Caterham would not fit up these stairs. So an army – or at least a willing platoon – of TG staffers were dispatched to ferry the smaller boxes (axles, lights, roll bars and seats), but unfortunately the Seven’s three-metre long, 100kg chassis couldn’t be force-fed up the tight staircase.
A quick look at ancient BBC blueprints showed a forgotten service lift, so we wheeled the Caterham’s skeleton up through the office on what looked like a recycled hospital bed, squeaking past many important BBC people doing many important BBC things. Installation complete, and with a minor oil leak covered up by some A4 printer paper, it was time to spanner up.
It’s claimed that, armed with just a simple set of tools and 70 hours of free time, even the most mechanically deficient human should be able to transform Caterham’s pile of boxes into a road-legal car. To make sure there’s no room for artistic interpretation, all kits come fully wired, with the instruments in place, the fuel and brake lines fitted and all essential safety equipment secured. Essentially, all the other parts are just bolt-ons. It’s like an Ikea flat-pack with an exhaust.
The main problem was the instruction manual, which is as thick as a Bible. It’s as old as the Seven – which in turn is as old as the Bible – and bizarrely laid out, with indistinguishable diagrams, usually on the wrong page. After much squinting and a bit of swearing, Ollie Marriage – TG’s motoring editor and the nearest thing we have to a human with any mechanical talent – got cracking on the steering rack.
When doing so, he discovered a few more issues. Once you’ve cracked the manual, you must locate the parts. Most builders will arrange their unbuilt car like an Airfix model, so the bits are as organised as James May’s spice rack. This is vital, because most parts aren’t labelled, or particularly well organised, and sometimes they’re not even in the right box at all. Still, after a lot of rummaging, followed by some light bleeding, we had a steering rack. This was satisfying. A thing! That we’d created!
Written By:- Rowan Horncastle
More of this article on the Top gear website
