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Richard Hammond: Richard solves the Da Vinci code

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Richard Hammond: Richard solves the Da Vinci code | Top Gear

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Richard Hammond: Richard solves the Da Vinci code

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Richard Hammond: Richard solves the Da Vinci code

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Richard Hammond: Richard solves the Da Vinci code

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Richard Hammond: Richard solves the Da Vinci code

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I have experienced utter contentment. I have sat back satisfied to the depths of my soul, knowing that I have done the hardest thing in my life, and that all things would now be a doddle... I had just removed the window-winding mechanism from my E-Type, a task that had proven, in its fiendish complexity, to be the hardest thing I have ever done.

The window of my E-Type had disappeared while driving home from filming a feature for the forthcoming series of TopGear. I had taken the Shaguar with the intention of showing it off shamelessly to the team. It had duly spent the day bathing in a warm pool of adoration. Even Jezza and James had found themselves rather boxed in by the simple fact of its beauty and been unable to tip their usual buckets of scorn into this particular car's hot tub.

And then, just after I'd buckled up and waved chirpy goodbyes all round, the driver's-side window dropped down and disappeared into the door. I drove back at a steady 15mph, fearful that the rush of wind at higher speeds would cause the drop-top roof to inflate and explode. I left it alone in the garage, but even given a straight two weeks of peace, the window-winding mechanism refused to mend itself, and I accepted that I would have to do it.

My E-Type is a fine example of what is considered by many to be one of the most beautiful cars ever made. It has been the recipient of many years of tender care in the hands of previous owners, and I therefore really didn't want to be the one owner in its half-century of life to bodge it.

The door card would have to come off, that was clear. And then there would be a winding mechanism inside the carcass of the door itself. To get the door card off, I would have to remove the window-winding handle and doorhandle. There was no obvious means of doing this; I realised that here was the most appropriate moment of all to refer to a Haynes manual or similar. Problem was, I didn't have an E-Type manual and neither, I discovered, was I going to be able to conjure one up in anything under five or six weeks. I would have to solve it myself.

‘I felt like the lead character in a Dan Brown book who would imminently reveal a secret of unspeakable power’

I studied the door and, after only a couple of hours, discovered that the thin horizontal stretch of chromed trim immediately below the window (sorry if this is boring you, but you should know that there are always other websites available, about fashion or different types of sofa) can, with sufficient force, be made to slide to the side, revealing underneath it a screw that secures the door card against the door. After only another few hours, I found that it can also be made to slide the other way, revealing a second screw at the other end.

By now, I felt like I was the lead character in a Dan Brown book and would, at any moment, decrypt a code to open a cypher to reveal a secret of unspeakable age and power. This didn't happen, although I did discover that the chromed bezel around the base of the door handle is actually supported on a coiled spring to keep it tensioned against the bottom of the handle and can, with as few as six screwdrivers and just five hands, be depressed to reveal a pin holding the handle onto the shaft that can be driven out, releasing the handle in well under half-a-day.

Repeat the process for the window-winding handle, carefully unpick and then try to repair the six spring clips holding the door card in place, peel back the covering, and you, my friend, are staring at the window-winding mechanism of a Mk1 E-Type.

Well, you would be, if it hadn't disintegrated and dropped down into the gloomy interior of the door's carcass. Mine had. I called a friend. Together, we felt our way through the small opening in the side of the door and committed therein acts of an intimacy and intricacy more familiar to vets and surgeons. The winding mechanism was retrieved, deemed to be repairable and removed to Hadrian's workshop for welding. As he left, Hadrian made it plain that he would weld it back together, but I would be on my own to accompany it on its return journey into the car door. It would be back in a week, and I promised that I would replace it myself and report back.

All of the above will be entirely familiar to you if you are minded to roll up your sleeves and do things with your car other than just drive it. If you are not, you will be wondering why I didn't get the thing repaired by someone else. To this, I would respond with a question: would you buy a book of completed crosswords? A book of Sudoku with the numbers written in? The puzzle is the point. I won, and the window works. Or the mechanism does anyway. I've just got to get it back in. Give me a couple of weeks, and it'll be there.

This article was originally published in the November issue of Top Gear magazine.

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I have experienced utter contentment. I have sat back satisfied to the depths of my soul, knowing that I have done the hardest thing in my life, and that all things would now be a doddle... I had just removed the window-winding mechanism from my E-Type, a task that had proven, in its fiendish complexity, to be the hardest thing I have ever done.

The window of my E-Type had disappeared while driving home from filming a feature for the forthcoming series of TopGear. I had taken the Shaguar with the intention of showing it off shamelessly to the team. It had duly spent the day bathing in a warm pool of adoration. Even Jezza and James had found themselves rather boxed in by the simple fact of its beauty and been unable to tip their usual buckets of scorn into this particular car's hot tub.

And then, just after I'd buckled up and waved chirpy goodbyes all round, the driver's-side window dropped down and disappeared into the door. I drove back at a steady 15mph, fearful that the rush of wind at higher speeds would cause the drop-top roof to inflate and explode. I left it alone in the garage, but even given a straight two weeks of peace, the window-winding mechanism refused to mend itself, and I accepted that I would have to do it.

My E-Type is a fine example of what is considered by many to be one of the most beautiful cars ever made. It has been the recipient of many years of tender care in the hands of previous owners, and I therefore really didn't want to be the one owner in its half-century of life to bodge it.

The door card would have to come off, that was clear. And then there would be a winding mechanism inside the carcass of the door itself. To get the door card off, I would have to remove the window-winding handle and doorhandle. There was no obvious means of doing this; I realised that here was the most appropriate moment of all to refer to a Haynes manual or similar. Problem was, I didn't have an E-Type manual and neither, I discovered, was I going to be able to conjure one up in anything under five or six weeks. I would have to solve it myself.

‘I felt like the lead character in a Dan Brown book who would imminently reveal a secret of unspeakable power’

I studied the door and, after only a couple of hours, discovered that the thin horizontal stretch of chromed trim immediately below the window (sorry if this is boring you, but you should know that there are always other websites available, about fashion or different types of sofa) can, with sufficient force, be made to slide to the side, revealing underneath it a screw that secures the door card against the door. After only another few hours, I found that it can also be made to slide the other way, revealing a second screw at the other end.

By now, I felt like I was the lead character in a Dan Brown book and would, at any moment, decrypt a code to open a cypher to reveal a secret of unspeakable age and power. This didn't happen, although I did discover that the chromed bezel around the base of the door handle is actually supported on a coiled spring to keep it tensioned against the bottom of the handle and can, with as few as six screwdrivers and just five hands, be depressed to reveal a pin holding the handle onto the shaft that can be driven out, releasing the handle in well under half-a-day.

Repeat the process for the window-winding handle, carefully unpick and then try to repair the six spring clips holding the door card in place, peel back the covering, and you, my friend, are staring at the window-winding mechanism of a Mk1 E-Type.

Well, you would be, if it hadn't disintegrated and dropped down into the gloomy interior of the door's carcass. Mine had. I called a friend. Together, we felt our way through the small opening in the side of the door and committed therein acts of an intimacy and intricacy more familiar to vets and surgeons. The winding mechanism was retrieved, deemed to be repairable and removed to Hadrian's workshop for welding. As he left, Hadrian made it plain that he would weld it back together, but I would be on my own to accompany it on its return journey into the car door. It would be back in a week, and I promised that I would replace it myself and report back.

All of the above will be entirely familiar to you if you are minded to roll up your sleeves and do things with your car other than just drive it. If you are not, you will be wondering why I didn't get the thing repaired by someone else. To this, I would respond with a question: would you buy a book of completed crosswords? A book of Sudoku with the numbers written in? The puzzle is the point. I won, and the window works. Or the mechanism does anyway. I've just got to get it back in. Give me a couple of weeks, and it'll be there.

This article was originally published in the November issue of Top Gear magazine.

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This month, Richard discovers the deeper truths behind the Jaguar E-Type door card