This week, the lads made their own stretch limos. Seriously.

You know disaster isn’t far away when Clarkson utters the immortal words, “How hard can it be?” Hammond concurs, saying that you cut a car, whatever kind they choose, in half, and put an extra bit in the middle. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Clarkson has chosen a 1993 Fiat Panda CLX, with a one liter engine for his triumph of automotive engineering. He says it’s actually powered by Gerald, a small field mouse, and goes from 0-60 in 18 seconds. He says he’s chosen it because it’s going to end up huge, will be driven on city streets, and therefore doesn’t need a huge gas-sucking engine.

May has selected a Saab 9000 V6 with a three liter engine. He’s actually a bit manic as he says that we cannot begin to comprehend the bounds of his forthcoming genius. Goodbye, Captain Slow and Boring! Actually, I think that May shows the most ingenuity among the three overall–look at his amphibious car for another example. 

Hammond has chosen a lovely, inoffensive MGF, which happens to be a two-seater roadster. Before we can wonder too much what in the world he’s on, he tells us that he intends to create the world’s first mid-engine roadster limosine. 

Each fellow has a different shop to bring about the transformation. As might be expected, James has chosen what appears to be the cleanest and tidiest shop. Jeremy barges off in his, looking for his weapon of choice, hammers, in order to give the Panda that real custom look.

Now we see the full scope of May’s plan. He is actually using two cars; the second is an Alfa Romeo 164 V6 three liter. He crows that it’s genius because no one said that the two ends of the  limo have to come from the same car. I’m withholding judgement because the cars just aren’t that different in body shape, so what’s the big deal?

Hammond explains that since the MG’s engine is in back, there are lots of lines and hoses, such as the radiator, gearbox linkage and throttle control, to be severed and elongated. How can this possibly go well? It can’t. As soon as he cuts the first line, he is instantly soaked with fluid.

May is enthusiastically telling his assistants that both cars have identical floor pans and the wheel base is exactly the same so they will get a great fit. His helpers are less than wildly enthusiastic about the plan; they appear stupified, in fact. The theme for this limo is to be the mullet of the automotive world: sensible and Swedish up front, fiery and Italian in back.  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/motoring/main.jhtml?xml=/motoring/2007/03/10/mrmay10.xml

Clarkson phones May, looking for a competition in the cutting-in-half portion of our event. May isn’t playing and tells Clarkson quite firmly that he isn’t going to do it. Possibly because he knows he’d lose, but he also knows that Clarkson will make a mess of it. Clarkson then calls Hammond, right when he’s unbolting something from the undercarriage. He actually answers the phone, and instead of conversation after the hello, Clarkson gets a loud clanging and an “oh, bugger!” He chuckles uneasily and asks how it’s going. Hammond replies with his trademarked, cheerful lie: “Really well, actually,” and they snicker about May’s car choices. He told one he was using a Saab and the other an Alfa, so while they think he doesn’t know how to identify his car, they have yet to compass his diabolical plan. May and Hammond get on the horn and chat about Clarkson’s insane choice of Panda. May notes that if you stretch it out a mile it’s only going to be as large as a normal car. Hammond responds: “Well, have you met Jeremy Clarkson? Big, tall fellow, curly hair. Idiot. That’s your answer there, isn’t it?”

After the gossip, it is indeed time to cut the cars in half. Hammond begins cutting halfway across the door sill when his helpers urgently entreat him to stop so that he can include the seats in the front half. He says cheerfully that he’ll just weld the cut part and no one will notice. May, with his usual precision, is using a plasma cutter that takes forever. He does note that his patience and math skills have him better off than Hammond, who has set his drivers’ seat, door, and steering wheel ablaze with the welding. He has locked his convertable and is having some difficulty in opening the door to extinguish the flames. At this, he is miles better off than Clarkson, who has also set his car to flames but is having quite a bit of difficulty just operating the fire extinguisher. Advantage: May.

Following the excitement, Hammond and Clarkson finish cutting their cars in half. While May cuts away, Clarkson celebrates by taking his front end out for a victory lap.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-P_4khf3IQ 

Now, somewhere they fit the extra part in the middle, but we’re not shown that, possibly due to an edit for time. They report to the track on a bitterly cold day for their set of challenges. To the tune of Steppenwolf’s “The Pusher”, Hammond rolls into view in his green sports limo. The added metal in the middle is extremely dented and the whole of it is dominated by an enormous elevated spoiler. He shoots the camera a seductive glance and stops. The hood seems to pop a bit. Hammond proclaims that this is proof that style doesn’t have to be slow. I’d buy the argument if the stretched MG was actually stylish, but I just can’t get past the dented midsection. If it were Clarkson’s, I’d know he’d been beating on it with hammers, but I’m at a loss to explain its cause.

Arriving in a fanfare of dramatic movie music, Clarkson manuevers the red stretch Panda onto the track. It is so enormous and boatlike. I have never seen a limo that long, but at least the vastness of his middle section is much less dented than the MGs. Hammond is chortling, and finally manages to say with great restraint, that it is a giant panda. Clarkson retorts that it has great fuel efficiency–its one liter engine gets 40 to the gallon, and goes on the offensive by critiquing the sports limo, questioning whether Hammond actually needs the downforce. Richard replies no, but that it’s part of the image. Jeremy points out that there’s no roof. Richard replies that there is one and pulls up the remainder of the convertable top. It is snowing, and the top doesn’t latch. Clarkson has a fit of laughter, and Hammond says there is a gap, that there are tolerences.  Distraction arrives in the form of May, driving to the Knight Rider theme song. He has put the two front ends together. If ever there was an occasion for speechlessness, this would be it, but not even this quite does the trick. The other two gawk as May explains the sensible/fiery dichotomy theme as Clarkson asks what paint thinner he’s gotten into. May blithely continues by highlighting the theme in the interior decor–the Swedish part is panelled in wood like a sauna–Clarkson: does it work? May: no. The back is in the style of what might possibly be an Italian opera house, with the look of stonework, Sistene Chapel-like paintings, a crystal chandelier, red velvet seats, and a beer fountain. Or maybe it’s supposed to be a high-end, fin-de-siecle bordello. Attached to a spa. May proudly informs them that you can drive it from either end, thus solving the manuverability problem. I have to admit it’s ingenious, even though the vehicle itself looks like a mutant bastard something.

They test drive each other’s offerings. The Panda has a novel passenger entry system; you flip up the front seat to enter and you get to the back seat lo those many miles away by laying face down on a wooden sled and pulling yourself along by pulley system a la the Great Escape. May joins Clarkson in back, declaring the pulley system an “ingenious solution to a problem that never should have existed.” Hammond drives, and Clarkson shows off his intercom system:  bullhorns, and some sort of outlandish headgear for the driver. The giant Panda can’t corner and is driven onto the field, making some interesting crunching sounds. Passenger exit is sped up by using the momentum of braking, and Clarkson is left nursing carpet burns that he doesn’t know how to explain to his wife.

The Alfaab is up next, with Clarkson driving. He has issues with the headroom, since the panelling extends itno the drivers area. Hammond remarks cheerfully that he has loads of headroom; his issue is that the beer fountain makes him want to pee. May is dismissive of both their problems. Hammond, possibly bored, sees something on the floor and pulls it, over May’s protests: he has uncoupled the steering linkage between the two front halves. The car fishtails violently, provoking consternation from the driver, disgust from the creator, and mirth from the culprit. Hammond gets into the second drivers seat and helps to regain control. I’m reminded of Star Wars, when Luke goes into the other firing pod of the Millenium Falcon to do battle with the Empire fighers. However, his steering caused the wheel to come off. May is huffy: “You pair of utter pillocks. You’ve ruined my car.” I can’t see what Clarkson actually did to be blamed for this, but it is convenient, and perhaps he did something we don’t get to see.

Clarkson asks Hammond where the heater is in the MG, and he has to admit that this is a problem, but puts the roof up. This adds no comfort, and the roof is whipped down again by the wind. Hammond has installed a phone with video for communication, and on-board sporting equipment to take your mind off the cold. This includes a bowling lane!! He throws a strike. May is commenting that Hammond has fixed the seat for his stature, which makes it difficult for anyone taller to drive, when he is interrupted by Clarkson firing an arrow at his head, completely missing the bullseye that is supposed to be the actual target.

Challenge one: because some limos transport political figures who may be attacked at any moment, cars should be nimble and quick to get out of tricky spots. They are instructed to come up to a roadblock manned by terrorists armed with paintball guns, make a J turn (reverse at high speed, slew the front end around as you brake, slam in into first and roar off) and escape.

The giant Panda is too big and slow. Hammond and May claim that their trigger fingers are tired from the constant firing of so many rounds at the lumbering beast and they also break a few windows. I think this might be by accident.  Nest, the MG has good speed but no protection–Hammond’s hit in the head twice. May’s got a plan–avoid the J turn by driving from the other end. The flaws inherent in this plan are revealed when he gets out to run around to the other end after crunching into the roadblock. And the steering wheel falls off. Again. When he halts, he’s quite upset with Jeremy, who deliberately targeted his wedding vegetables with the paint gun instead of the mutant limo.

Challenge two: evasive driving part two. Clarkson looks pained. It’s a test of nippiness vs the clock. You have broken away from the terrorists; now you slalom down the runway between strategically placed cars that belong to members of the general public so you may not hit them, steer around the stinger at Hammerhead, and pull up once you’re out of range of the water cannon.

May hits a car during the escape; the steering is still unlocked, making the slalom tricky, he does nip a car, but misses the stinger and gets past the water cannon.. Hammond starts out with wheel spin, which makes him very happy, gets through the slalom no problem, avoids the stinger, but predictably adds a swimming pool to his limo under the water cannon. The Panda cannot slalom and drives off into the verge, where steam appears from the midsection. Hammond asks May if that doesn’t just break your heart, but the camera crew pushes the monstrosity back onto the track where it hits the stinger, the engine dies, and Clarkson is brought down by the water cannon when he stupidly tries to flee the car.

We break away for a test of the Mustang GT 500. It’s a beauty, no mistake. Hammond starts us out in his 1968  Mustang GT 390 fastback, which is the same model driven by Steve McQueen in the movie Bullitt, although his is blue rather than Steve’s Highland Green. He rightly calls it one of the seven wonders of the world and uses it to illustrate his point: that the things that made it really cool, the engine, the stripes, the lights, were all extra. This new Shelby looks really cool, “from every angle you can see its muscle car biceps straining to burst out of the body work,” and notes the “menacing cobra badges, a tribute to tuning legend Carroll Shelby.” Hammond’s pleased with the supercharged V8 from the Ford GT that bursts the horsepower from 300 to 500. From 0-60 is 4.9 seconds; from 0-100 a flat 10 seconds. Cornering is the problem. This beauty lacks multi-link geometry, dual weight remote reservoir dampers, and a fully independant rear suspension. What it’s got is a live axel, which is essentially an I beam with a wheel at each end. It’s quite fun up to the point of everything going wrong when it’s as precise and dynamic as an ark. Ford says that the modern suspension would have aded $5000 to the cost; the lack of suspension leaves you with a hot car that goes great on the straights. He advises buying a classic instead.  I heartily concur, but honestly, the maintenance on a classic car will eat you alive. Being a pony car worshipper, I was rather upset by this segment. The first Mustang went from clay to full production in only 18 months, which didn’t allow for the development of any new technology. What you should expect from a Mustang is head-snapping back acceleration, and not much in the way of suspension. This is pretty much how it’s been. If you want the pedigree of an authentic pony car, there are tradeoffs. Ok. End of rant.

“Some say he isn’t machine washable and that all his potted plants are called Steve. All we know is he’s called the Stig.” The Stig is listening to another trashy romance audio book as he flounders around the track; as Hammond says, “wallowing around like a frisky hippo,” and losing speed in the corners. He gets around in 1.30. Clarkson extols the virtues on the Roush Mustang, that has only 415 hp but better suspension and brakes, but it also has a ridiculous-looking skirt. It gets around in 1.28. Clarkson says he’d have this car if he were the type to look at his sister and go hmmm. Bastard. He’s not worthy! 

The third challenge is to drive celebrities to the Brit Awards. The winner is the one who gets his celeb in the most pictures in magazines and papers. Each car is tested by the government to be street legal–Clarkson had to remove seven feet from his 46 foot long monstrosity. It looks like he’s taped the two sections back together; he’s got a thing for gaffers tape, Clarkson does. May picks up Lemar Obika, a Best Male nominee, in Chelsea, Hammond picks up Jamelia, an R and B singer, and Clarkson gets Chris Moyles from Radio One.  All of the celebrities are underwhelmed by the quality of their rides.

May turns on the car and promptly the horn blares continually. He has to apply some percussive maintenance to get it to quit. Clarkson’s passenger looks at the delivery system  with disbelief, and Hammond warns his passenger not to use the intercom if it rains for fear of electrocution. The target is Earl’s Court.

Clarkson keeps getting stuck in traffic. Literally, as the enormous monstrosity on wheels doesn’t manuever well. Lamar looks victimized as May yammers on about the different license plates confusing onlookers and points out Hyde Park. Jamelia attracts a lot of attention from fans. Due to traffic laws, Hammond has had to tape the receiver of the phone to his head; this doesn’t really increase the chicness quotient. May gets hopelessly lost and enlists Lamar to help him steer around the corner. Predictably, the wheel comes off in his hands. Clarkson stops at a shop to allow Moyles to forage for food and drink. The MG develops a grinding noise; Jamelia calls Richard the worst driver, but then she hasn’t ridden with May. James is going around in circles; Lamar points this out. Jeremy crashes into things continually. It’s all chaos and a comedy of errors.

Hammond arrives at the red carpet first, handing down Jamelia from a pool ladder. She seems to be a pretty good sport about it. Clarkson has broken his car in half. Fortunately the back hatch still works, and Moyles exits the defunct end the easy way to be tucked away in the passenger seat up front. Hammond suffers a burst of hilarity, managing to apologize for not being more supportive. Moyles crosses himself as they drive away, trailing sparks. They do arrive at the red carpet, where Hammond is mad that Clarkson cheated using only half his car. May’s absolute lack of navigation ability has pressed Lamar to the breaking point; he is late to the awards show and he flees the car.

Jeremy actually wins the challenge because he’s had the foresight to put a picture in his newspaper column. Billie Piper of Doctor Who was supposed to be the Star in the Reasonably Priced Car, but apparently this was another edit of material lost to American viewers. We do not have a preview of next week’s episode. According to the BBC website, this is the end of Series Nine; hopefully Ten starts next week. This show is more addictive than crack.