Right. It's ten to nine.
We're in one of the pit garages at the Knockhill Track
and here's our car!
While we're building our car, we have this satellite tracking system
which we can use to monitor the Stig's progress.
Right now he's here at the Caterham factory in Surrey.
The Stig had 465 miles to cover and was a man on a mission.
James, however, wasn't.
Spacer bush 3/8ths internal diameter, half an inch outside diameter...
From the rear mount using bolts three, inserted from the front of the mounting.
James, does it need a washer, yes or no?
You've got to be faster. Speed is what matters. Seriously.
-Guess and go fast. -Shut up, Jeremy.
-It's broken. -Don't hit it with the hammer.
-Why? -It's the tool of a pikey.
So, if you buy it in this state and build it yourself, it's £15,000.
If you buy it ready-made, like the Stig's, it's £2,500 more.
-Think of the fun of assembly. -It's not fun to do this.
Your wife leaves you. She's in bed with the milkman.
And you're, "Where's my front suspension unit?"
It took the Stig 90 minutes to get across south London.
I think he's crossing the River Thames.
And we'd used the time well.
One and a half hours, the rear suspension is on,
rear brakes, drive shaft, everything done there.
Up front, this corner, a magnificent achievement frankly.
Everything working... What are you doing?
-We have to clamp the steering rack down. -Oh, I knew that.
-James, can I start on the interior? -Yes.
-I think that's an excellent idea. -I'll get a hammer.
So, while James and Richard busied themselves with the steering rack,
I tackled the seats.
They hadn't lined them up in the factory, but I have, brilliantly.
The Stig was now on the M40 and had the hammer down.
I too had put my hammer down and picked up a spanner.
Something was bound to go wrong.
How did I do that?
You did it because you just dumped it in, didn't look and slid underneath.
Have I got to take it out again?
-You have. -Let's think about it.
No matter, the Stig was still 400 miles away
and coming to a halt again, this time at the Oxford services.
He's at Oxford and we're putting the engine in.
-It is engine time. -Victory is ours!
James, tell me what to do and I'll push it down.
It's all right. I've got it.
Don't worry about the big heavy engine and the small guy holding it.
You need to stop as soon as I say.
James, look at the map behind you.
Yeah, I know, Jeremy. Should we just lie it on the top?
Can we not bicker now?!
-Jiggle it. -I'm jiggling like a bugger.
Now, you can go down.
Oh, Jeremy!
-I didn't mean altogether... -You dropped it through the bloody car!
He is 299 miles away.
At Stig speeds, that could be an hour.
Jeremy was sacked from engine management
and James and I did it ourselves.
-It's in! That was easy! -Yes!
-Start it up! -It's not that in.
-The brakes have to be connected up. -Brakes.
-All the rest of the ancillaries. -Ancillaries.
-Battery. -Battery.
-Throttle linkage. -Throttle linkage.
-Clutch linkage. -Clutch.
-Gear linkage. -Gears.
There's quite a lot to do, if we're honest.
During our engine-fitting calamity,
the Stig had made up all the time he'd lost in London.
We were now on the back foot.
-Hammer. -No!
I have to attach this before I can attach something else here?
That means I can then attach the...
-Roll bar? -No!
Oh, God...
Look at the picture.
-It doesn't tell me anything! -It does!
They may as well have photographed your arse.
The Stig had now covered 220 miles and was making good time.
The only blessing was his small fuel tank.
I think he's stopped for fuel.
Has the Stig ever stopped for fuel before?
While the Stig was powering through the Lake District,
Jeremy was attaching the steering wheel.
Broken.
The Stig hit Scotland. He was now just 100 miles away
and we still had to do the brakes, the bodywork and the electrics.
Thank God Richard and I had taken some shortcuts!
I'm saving time by not putting washers and bolts on.
But these are all really important.
I know. James would flip if he knew.
Predictably, though, James was being too anal to notice.
All he's done all morning. He files.
He takes stuff out and then puts it back and files it where it's supposed to be.
James!
-What? -Stop filing!
I'm looking for the sodding socket thing that you need to take that out.
-Do you know where it is? -No!
-Do you know what it looks like? -Yes!
No, you don't.
With the Stig pitting for his final splash and dash,
we had to start bleeding the brakes,
which, it turned out, is a minefield of double entendres.
The nipple is off.
The tube is in the hole. I will be needing some pump.
-Where is he? -Why have you got that?
He's gaining his way towards Glasgow.
-You should feel it go stiff now. -Pump, man, pump!
-Braking? -Yeah, that's much better. That's hard.
The Stig was now off the motorway and bearing down on us.
Petrol.
Putting the gear knob on. It will be required.
Press the button.
It lives! It's dead...
If that goes on, will this car work?
Fuel pump's working.
What was that? Why did it do that?
-We can't. -Five miles away.
Right, now, just leave it a minute.
Now.
I'm just getting rid of tools.
-Who's driving? -Paper, scissors, stone.
-Can you do it with three? -Yes.
One or three? Do we go on nought or one?
Three, two, one, go?
Three, two, one, go!
-What does that mean? -Paper wraps stone.
You're driving. Goodbye.
It immobilises the fuel pump.
Yes!
-Come on! -Oh, God.
All we had to do to win was cross the start line.
Ready? Three... two... one... Go!
-That's enough! That is it. We won! Victory!
We had won, but how? What had happened to the Stig?
He was right on top of us at one point.
Does this car belong to you, sir?
Can I ask where you are going to?
Can I ask where you've come from?
He was three miles away ten minutes ago.
Is the car stolen, sir?
I would have thought, even with traffic or trouble getting in...
The Stig reserved the right to remain silent.