Ah, that explains you dashing out as I dashed in. Sounds like all is under control - good news.
As for my "heap", I reckon it's all Jon and Jack's fault. If they hadn't kept on lapping me (I mean, come on, lapping me before I even crossed the line on my first lap . . ), I'd have gone a lot faster . .
Yesterdays excuse was I think something was wrong with the binding of radio gear and operation of the speedo - a re-bind and re-set up of the speedo seems to have cured the on-off nature of the speed control (honest, I was trying to modulate it, but it wasn't listening) and the weird delay/instant operation/jammed over nature of the steering. Throttle stick on the transmitter has a lever for altering the neutral postion, and it kept shifting, so I've superglued that into place too. However, I will think of another excuse before next time
I didn't spot who it was in my final, but whoever was piloting the rocket ship in straight lines between loud bangs might just want to turn it down a touch - can't be much fun flying between massive crashes, when going a lot slower in a straight line, but faster overall because the car is the right way up and on the track and you can make the corners. Crack it back up for blasting up the street at home
And I know, I know . . . do what I say, not what , , ,
Bri