Only one man could get us back
in contention. The field was now spread out, but in the next three hours,
the Stig climbed eight places. Then when it was my turn, the fog came. I was completely blind. Because the visibility had slowed James
to a crawl, I thought I could get away
with some fog-based japery. James is serving. The bad news is
you jokes just had me stray off. Eventually, the fog became so thick,
the race was halted. And when it resumed, we were
in the grey light of a summer dawn, when the drivers are all a bit dopey, as James demonstrated. Come on, dude. It would probably be rude to point out
to him that he's pulled up in next door's pit. Take his stuff. Put it there. -What's going on?
-This is the wrong pit, guys. It's close enough. Next door's pit was home
to the Saxondale team, who were using a diesel BMW like ours. After the calamities,
they were now our main rivals. As Jeremy geed up the capacity claim... Give a Mexican wave! ...the Stig made mincemeat of him. But then 20 minutes later, disaster. The front splitter, which helps
with aerodynamics, had come off... Ah! ...and there was a monumental fuel leak. It was down on power. It's five seconds a lap slow. Then the splitter fell off that we put on. -Yeah.
-Detachable. -Yeah.
-That's what they do. That's a feature. The Stig stayed at the wheel, so after the leak was fixed,
he could go out again. And even though the missing splitter
was ruining the handling, nothing was gonna stop him. Nothing. Right now, at this very moment,
computers tell us the Stig is having a wee in the car, and I'm next. This speeded the Stig up even more. Okay, it's now 12 o'clock, as you can see. Midday, four and a half hours left to run. The Stig's work is done. He's got us into third in class
with the third fastest diesel. And now it's all up to Hammond
and then me. Should feel okay.
The brakes have come off. It's just shared a bowl. Nice. With the splitter coming off,
the fuel leak and now this, it was clear our little Trojan
was starting to fall apart. It was also down on power, and with no front splitter,
the handling wasn't great either. The car doesn't feel as fast as it felt
last night. Even I can tell something's wrong. That Aston Martin just spun out
in front of me. And having been up for 30 hours,
I nearly followed. Concentrate. I'm losing my concentration. Well, bollocks. To wake myself up,
I organised a little present for Jeremy. Having a pee right now. At the end of Richard's stint, we were still third in class, but I knew it would be hard to stay there. The problem is is that the Saxondale one,
that silver 330, the one like ours, is 30 laps behind. We're going to lose five laps
in this next pit stop. They've got their quick driver in there against me. I'm telling you, in three hours' driving,
they're going to be right up my bottom. So this was it the final stint. I was tired out.
I was sitting in a puddle of wee. The car was sick and we had
our main rivals bearing down on us. Please, car. Please make it to the end of
this race. I beg off you. To stay in third, Jeremy had to drive
fast, but there was a problem with that. -He's got to do two hours 20 minutes.
-Yes. I did that to these tyres in two hours,
and they're absolutely trashed. He's got to last 2 hours and 20 minutes
on the same tyres. Jeremy, in the front, it's tearing the tyres too bits. So that we didn't need to waste time
with another pit stop, Jeremy had to preserve his tyres. Unfortunately though, this was Jeremy. Yeah! Please don't be cross with me,
but that last lap was a bit quick. He's just at 24. Those will not last
two hours, let alone 2:20. Just to let you know, at your pace,
you're gonna be shredding those tyres. Sadly, he was too busy racing
team Saxondale to listen. I've got him! Do you want me to slide in slow? Jeremy, it's Richard. I know you're busy.
Tell us about the tyres. Do they feel okay? I've got Saxondale.
Oh God, I missed a gear. Whoa! God! Jeremy had destroyed the tyres. Just heard from Steve. We have our tyre expert in pit lane. He's looked at the other tyres and says
you're not gonna last. Come back in three minutes. We had to get him in. Saxondale would rack up five laps
while our tyres were changed... but on fresh rubber, Jeremy could now get
the hammer down. Lap update. Saxondale responding: 2:24. Go rub your rosaries, boys! Oh, God! I just tried to take the Jag on the inside
of the corner. It went badly wrong. If you fall off in the last hour
of the race, there's no recovery service,
which means that's the end of the race. Happily, we got some luck. The Saxondale team had hit problems, so now all I had to do
was nurse the car home. Come on, car. Please make it. This has been one
of the best Top Gear companions ever. A ratmobile, transformed in ten days
into a racer. Fifteen minutes to go. Starting to get a bit sloppy now.
We're getting a few mistakes. Five minutes to go,
and for the first time, this pee-stained David among Goliath
was actually going to finish well. It wants to make the finishing line.
I'm just willing it on. It's there. Yes!
