gregbrighton
New member
They looked as if they 'fall over' quite easily.
Have you or know of anyone who owned one? Should they be brought back?
Have you or know of anyone who owned one? Should they be brought back?
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Have you owned a Robin Reliant?
- Thread starter gregbrighton
- Start date
Tipped one over once (drunk, obviously). Probably a deathtrap on roads today, flimsy as hell. No.
Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
You've got to be either elderly or very, very odd (or an "enthusiast") to have one of those. I can see no logical reason whatsoever for choosing a Reliant Robin as your vehicle of choice, they are ridiculous.
I quite often pass the same one coming down the A23 between about 6 and half 6 in the evening on my way home from work, with some old codger hunched behind the wheel doing about 40mph.
I quite often pass the same one coming down the A23 between about 6 and half 6 in the evening on my way home from work, with some old codger hunched behind the wheel doing about 40mph.
Prince Monolulu
Everything in Moderation
They don't look the most sturdy of conveyances.
The Clarkson review: Reliant Robin
Remember the rolling Robins? Well, I’ve a confession to make
By Jeremy Clarkson Published 11 January 2016
Hatchback | Jeremy Clarkson | Classic cars | Top Gear | Reliant | Amazon Prime | Robin
Reliant Robin, available used only TO JUDGE from the letters I get and the remarks in the street, it seems the most memorable thing I did on Top Gear was a short segment about the Reliant Robin. You may remember: I drove it around Sheffield and it kept falling over.
Well, now’s the time to come clean. A normal Reliant Robin will not roll unless a drunken rugby team is on hand. Or it’s windy. But in a headlong drive to amuse and entertain, I’d asked the backroom boys to play around with the differential so that the poor little thing rolled over every time I turned the steering wheel. Naturally, the health and safety department was very worried about this and insisted that the car be fitted with a small hammer that I could use, in case I was trapped after the roll, to break what was left of the glass. Not the best idea ever, because I distinctly remember seeing the hammer in question travelling past my face at about 2,000mph during the first roll. After that I invited the health and safety man to eff off home, with the hammer in his bottom.
Since then I’ve used similarly doctored and similarly hammer-free Reliant Robins in countless games of car football during our live shows. And as a result there’s probably no one on the planet who’s rolled a car quite as much as I have.
It makes me sad, if I’m honest, because rolling a Reliant Robin on purpose is a bit like putting a tortoise on its back. It’s an act of wanton cruelty. When you see it lying there with its three little wheels whizzing round helplessly, you are compelled to rush over and put it the right way up.
I’ll be honest with you. I really like the Reliant Robin. I know that Del Boy did his best to turn three-wheelers into a national joke. And I know Jasper Carrott went even further — the *******. But the truth is that the Reliant Robin has a rorty-sounding 848cc engine and the sort of snickety gearbox that makes you lament the passing of the proper manual.
Plus, it’s an absolute hoot to drive, partly because it’s light and nimble and partly because passers-by are genuinely fond of it. It’s like going about your business in one of the Queen’s corgis. Mostly, though, it’s a hoot to drive because you know if something goes wrong, you will be killed immediately. There’ll be no lingering and agonising spell in hospital. No priest with his last rites. One minute you’ll be bouncing up and down wearing a childlike grin and the next you’ll be meat.
In fact, I like the Reliant Robin so much that when Richard Hammond, James May, Andy Wilman and I formed our new production company, I rushed out immediately and bought one as a company car. Interestingly, the other three did exactly the same thing. So now we have a fleet sitting in the executive car parking spaces at our offices and we love them very much. Especially the fact that they cost us less than £15,000. That’s £15,000 for four cars.
Of course, they’ve all been fettled to suit our tastes. May’s is an ivory white estate model that is standard in every way, right down to the chromed overriders. Hammond’s is a lovely chocolate brown with whitewall tyres. Wilman’s is finished in racing green and inside is fitted with a wooden dashboard and lambswool seat covers — as befits, he says, the chairman of our enterprise. Mine — a coupé, naturally — is finished in winner blue and is fitted with an Alcantara dash and quad tailpipes. Minilite wheels complete the vision of sportiness.
A lot of people think we have bought the cars purely as some kind of weird publicity stunt but, actually, nothing could be further from the truth. Because we really do use them on a daily basis. Or, to be honest, we try to use them . . .
My first attempt had to be abandoned, because the engine decided that tickover should be about 5500rpm. Which meant that in fourth gear I was doing about 80mph without putting my foot on the accelerator. I say “about”, because the speedometer wasn’t working. For an accurate reading I’ll have to wait for a letter from the speed camera people.
Hammond’s has no functioning fuel gauge and he would therefore like to apologise to everyone on London’s Cromwell Road for running out of petrol the other night while turning right into Earls Court Road. Apparently the chaos he caused was quite spectacular.
Wilman’s hasn’t actually gone anywhere at all because as he tried to put it into reverse, the gearlever came off in his hand. I’m not sure what’s wrong with May’s. He tried to explain but after four hours I nodded off slightly.
We didn’t give up, though. And the other night I went all the way from our old offices in Notting Hill to our new offices, appropriately enough, in Power Road, in Chiswick, west London, and then — get this — all the way back to a party in Chelsea. Where the car spent the night, because its starter motor had broken.
Hammond said he’d come to the rescue, but annoyingly his ignition barrel came out as he turned the key, and Wilman was of no use because the gearlever popped out again when he went for first. So I rang May, who turned up in his Ferrari.
But despite the cold and the likelihood of it suddenly becoming very hot, the Reliant Robin is brilliant to drive. The steering is extremely light, possibly because there’s only one front wheel to turn, the acceleration is great, for anyone who’s used to, say, a horse, and in a typical London parking bay it’s so small and looks so lost and lonely, you are tempted to give it a carrot or some other treat.
This is what makes the Reliant Robin such a joy. My Volkswagen Golf is a car. The Porsche Cayenne I used over Christmas and will review next week is a car. You drive a car. But the Reliant Robin is not a car. It’s not even three-quarters of a car. It’s more than that.
It’s sitting in its parking space outside the office now, in the rain. And I’m worried about it. I hope it’s OK and isn’t missing me. Owning a Reliant Robin is like having a family pet. Yes, it’s a nuisance sometimes, and, yes, it can be stubborn and unreliable, but it scampers when you go out together, and if you play with its differential, it will even roll over so you can tickle its tummy.
Reliant Robin 850 specifications
Remember the rolling Robins? Well, I’ve a confession to make
By Jeremy Clarkson Published 11 January 2016
Hatchback | Jeremy Clarkson | Classic cars | Top Gear | Reliant | Amazon Prime | Robin
Reliant Robin, available used only TO JUDGE from the letters I get and the remarks in the street, it seems the most memorable thing I did on Top Gear was a short segment about the Reliant Robin. You may remember: I drove it around Sheffield and it kept falling over.
Well, now’s the time to come clean. A normal Reliant Robin will not roll unless a drunken rugby team is on hand. Or it’s windy. But in a headlong drive to amuse and entertain, I’d asked the backroom boys to play around with the differential so that the poor little thing rolled over every time I turned the steering wheel. Naturally, the health and safety department was very worried about this and insisted that the car be fitted with a small hammer that I could use, in case I was trapped after the roll, to break what was left of the glass. Not the best idea ever, because I distinctly remember seeing the hammer in question travelling past my face at about 2,000mph during the first roll. After that I invited the health and safety man to eff off home, with the hammer in his bottom.
Since then I’ve used similarly doctored and similarly hammer-free Reliant Robins in countless games of car football during our live shows. And as a result there’s probably no one on the planet who’s rolled a car quite as much as I have.
It makes me sad, if I’m honest, because rolling a Reliant Robin on purpose is a bit like putting a tortoise on its back. It’s an act of wanton cruelty. When you see it lying there with its three little wheels whizzing round helplessly, you are compelled to rush over and put it the right way up.
Rolling a Reliant Robin on purpose is a bit like putting a tortoise on its back. It’s an act of wanton cruelty.
I feel similarly aggrieved when people — and everyone does this — calls it a Robin Reliant. That’s like saying you worship Christ Jesus or that you drive an Acclaim Triumph. Or that your favourite Fifa presidential hopeful is Sexwale Tokyo.
I’ll be honest with you. I really like the Reliant Robin. I know that Del Boy did his best to turn three-wheelers into a national joke. And I know Jasper Carrott went even further — the *******. But the truth is that the Reliant Robin has a rorty-sounding 848cc engine and the sort of snickety gearbox that makes you lament the passing of the proper manual.
Plus, it’s an absolute hoot to drive, partly because it’s light and nimble and partly because passers-by are genuinely fond of it. It’s like going about your business in one of the Queen’s corgis. Mostly, though, it’s a hoot to drive because you know if something goes wrong, you will be killed immediately. There’ll be no lingering and agonising spell in hospital. No priest with his last rites. One minute you’ll be bouncing up and down wearing a childlike grin and the next you’ll be meat.
In fact, I like the Reliant Robin so much that when Richard Hammond, James May, Andy Wilman and I formed our new production company, I rushed out immediately and bought one as a company car. Interestingly, the other three did exactly the same thing. So now we have a fleet sitting in the executive car parking spaces at our offices and we love them very much. Especially the fact that they cost us less than £15,000. That’s £15,000 for four cars.
Of course, they’ve all been fettled to suit our tastes. May’s is an ivory white estate model that is standard in every way, right down to the chromed overriders. Hammond’s is a lovely chocolate brown with whitewall tyres. Wilman’s is finished in racing green and inside is fitted with a wooden dashboard and lambswool seat covers — as befits, he says, the chairman of our enterprise. Mine — a coupé, naturally — is finished in winner blue and is fitted with an Alcantara dash and quad tailpipes. Minilite wheels complete the vision of sportiness.
A lot of people think we have bought the cars purely as some kind of weird publicity stunt but, actually, nothing could be further from the truth. Because we really do use them on a daily basis. Or, to be honest, we try to use them . . .
My first attempt had to be abandoned, because the engine decided that tickover should be about 5500rpm. Which meant that in fourth gear I was doing about 80mph without putting my foot on the accelerator. I say “about”, because the speedometer wasn’t working. For an accurate reading I’ll have to wait for a letter from the speed camera people.
Hammond’s has no functioning fuel gauge and he would therefore like to apologise to everyone on London’s Cromwell Road for running out of petrol the other night while turning right into Earls Court Road. Apparently the chaos he caused was quite spectacular.
Wilman’s hasn’t actually gone anywhere at all because as he tried to put it into reverse, the gearlever came off in his hand. I’m not sure what’s wrong with May’s. He tried to explain but after four hours I nodded off slightly.
We didn’t give up, though. And the other night I went all the way from our old offices in Notting Hill to our new offices, appropriately enough, in Power Road, in Chiswick, west London, and then — get this — all the way back to a party in Chelsea. Where the car spent the night, because its starter motor had broken.
Hammond said he’d come to the rescue, but annoyingly his ignition barrel came out as he turned the key, and Wilman was of no use because the gearlever popped out again when he went for first. So I rang May, who turned up in his Ferrari.
While there is a knob on the dash that says “Heater”, it doesn’t seem to do anything. The only other knob says “Choke”. Pull that and immediately the whole car fills with petrol fumes
Anyway, on my trek across London I learnt many things about my Reliant Robin. First of all, to get my right shoulder inside, I have to drive with the window down, which makes life a bit chilly. And there’s not much I can do to rectify that issue, because while there is a knob on the dash that says “Heater”, it doesn’t seem to do anything. The only other knob says “Choke”. Pull that and immediately the whole car fills with petrol fumes.
But despite the cold and the likelihood of it suddenly becoming very hot, the Reliant Robin is brilliant to drive. The steering is extremely light, possibly because there’s only one front wheel to turn, the acceleration is great, for anyone who’s used to, say, a horse, and in a typical London parking bay it’s so small and looks so lost and lonely, you are tempted to give it a carrot or some other treat.
This is what makes the Reliant Robin such a joy. My Volkswagen Golf is a car. The Porsche Cayenne I used over Christmas and will review next week is a car. You drive a car. But the Reliant Robin is not a car. It’s not even three-quarters of a car. It’s more than that.
It’s sitting in its parking space outside the office now, in the rain. And I’m worried about it. I hope it’s OK and isn’t missing me. Owning a Reliant Robin is like having a family pet. Yes, it’s a nuisance sometimes, and, yes, it can be stubborn and unreliable, but it scampers when you go out together, and if you play with its differential, it will even roll over so you can tickle its tummy.
Reliant Robin 850 specifications
- PRICE: £1,463.78 when new 40 years ago
- ENGINE: 848cc, 4 cylinders
- POWER: 40bhp @ 5500rpm
- TORQUE: 46 lb ft @ 3500rpm
- ACCELERATION: 0-60mph: 16.1sec
- TOP SPEED: 85mph
- FUEL: 60mpg at 50mph
- ROAD TAX BAND: Free (classic car exemption)
- RELEASE DATE: 1975
Last edited:
daveinprague
New member
My ex brother in law (RIP) had one of the things. He was over 20 stone. He gave me a lift once from Boundary Road in Portslade to my house in Portslade Old Village.
We didnt make the double corner coming into the village. At least due to his weight, my side was easy to get out of. The embarrassment factor was huge.
We didnt make the double corner coming into the village. At least due to his weight, my side was easy to get out of. The embarrassment factor was huge.
GOM
living vicariously
Because of 3 wheels you could drive them on a motorcycle licence
Del Fenner
Because of Boxing Day
I had two friends who owned a Reliant Robin.
The first only had a motorcyle license, drove it exactly like a motorcycle, and soon came to grief in a front garden when cornering.
The second drove more sedately, but when doing a 180 degree turn at the entrance to the Grasshopper pub on the A25 at Westerham, rolled it and broke his arm.
I laughed like a drain on both occasions.
The first only had a motorcyle license, drove it exactly like a motorcycle, and soon came to grief in a front garden when cornering.
The second drove more sedately, but when doing a 180 degree turn at the entrance to the Grasshopper pub on the A25 at Westerham, rolled it and broke his arm.
I laughed like a drain on both occasions.
Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
GOM
living vicariously
In the early days they were a cheap way of getting into cars if you did not have a full driving licence. You could also transport more in them than you could a motorcycle, a la Del Boy.
I certainly don't advocate them, nor have I ever had one but there was a logical reason why people bought them.
Shropshire Seagull
Well-known member
Yeah but, taking your bird out on the back of a motorcycle was great most of the time - but in the depths of winter the warm comfort of an RR meant she could still wear her mini skirt and low cut top and not freeze to death or get soaked to the skin.
I worked for Redhill Motors in Lewes during the 80's and we serviced the RR where it was affectionately referred to as "Resin Rocket" or "Plastic Pig" due to their non-metal body shell.
They did a 4-wheel model called the Kitten too.
Icy Gull
Back on the rollercoaster
- Jul 5, 2003
- 72,015
Reliant did actually make a mildly desirable fibre glass car to sell alongside the rubbish Robin
http://www.allsportauto.com/photoau...1969_reliant_scimitar_se5_overdrive_30_sb.jpg
http://www.allsportauto.com/photoau...1969_reliant_scimitar_se5_overdrive_30_sb.jpg
VAL1850
Well-known member
Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
Anyone who actually managed to get a bird whilst owning a Reliant must have had a cock like a babys arm.
Tom Hark Preston Park
Will Post For Cash
- Jul 6, 2003
- 72,978
Saladpack Seagull
Just Shut Up and Paddle
Worried Man Blues
Well-known member
Shirley, the Messerschmitt had the best idea, two wheels at the front? Germans eh
Hornblower
Well-known member
- Jul 7, 2003
- 1,715
Forgive me father for I have sinned.
I owned a Bond Bug in the mid seventies. It was actually quite a lot of fun and the ladies liked it. The main problem with it - as I discovered when ferrying our portly drummer to a rehearsal - was that it would drag on the ground when cornering hard. Also reverse and first were very close and as a result I drove the little plastic beauty into a wall. Happy days.
Icy Gull
Back on the rollercoaster
- Jul 5, 2003
- 72,015
No reverse gear is a problem though, very un German