7 hours.
This is a combo entry, a process that started saturday and finished up sunday.
I finally got the frame lined up as well as I could, with full knowledge that it’s going to change, no matter what. Mainly I wanted to get everything clamped and locked before moving on to what has been built up to be the scariest part of the whole build: Cutting the canopy. Let me reassure you, it’s still scary. You hold in your hands the ability to fark up a $1200 part in less time than it takes to say ‘Oh sh–‘ and while you’re forming that curse, the Grand Ganyon has opened up longitudinally in the canopy, splitting it asunder in a nuclear winter of white plastic dust.
Fortunately, this did not happen. Me mate David came over to lend his critical eye, reputed thoroughness, and practical experience with plexiglass from his boyhood days working on signage at his Dad’s shop. So we measured, and marked, and taped, and checked, and checked, and read the plans, then measured again, and checked, then checked one more time.
until finally, generations of grizzled old homebuilders barked in my head, “Just grow a pair and cut the damned thing already.”
So we did.
Now, I didn’t actually cut the plastic at the angle the grinder’s at right now, I was just getting lined up. It’s pretty good that they give you a lot of extra plastic to practice on. Eventually we make some scrap and wound up with something vaguely canopy-shaped…
…And leaving a bunch of sharp, dangerous scrap plexi all over the floor.
“Nope, haven’t buggered it up yet.”
Through the sliding glass door at the vast mess. Even the lizardbrain responsible for autonomic functions remembered to cover all the exposed holes in the engine on its stand, but my conscious self didn’t get around to throwing a sheet over it until the following day. No harm, no foul, right?
Front’s trimmed, sides are trimmed back a bit, and it’s nearly time. By this time, we had decided to knock off, I think, and hit it the next day.
At this point, there’s some more measuring, puzzling, and visualizing, because we want to make damn sure we don’t lop off something that’s needed to actually hold the thing on there. So on Sunday we actually got round to it.
There it is. That strip of blue tape is the where the cut is going to happen. The arrows clearly mark which side of the tape to cut. We found out that I can make nice, straight cuts if I have the tape as a guide. The sharpie line isn’t as good for that, and this worked fine. Also written there are things like “Cut this side” and “Don’t F— The Goose!” I’ll let Dave explain that one. This tape line goes right down the middle of the cabin frame/roll bar. It’s actually on the plans and in the instructions, and it’s one of the few absolutes called out, unlike everything else at this point which is ‘Just kinda make it fit.’
This is the last time the canopy will be in once piece, other than the cut-off babyslicers all over the floor. Here, Dave’s clamping down some rails on either side to relieve the bubble’s tendency to spread outward. Behind his head, you can see the space heater going full tilt, keeping the shop at a plexi-comfortable 80 degrees.
Woot! There it is! The canopy is severed into two halves. So there you have it.. Steady hand, clean cut, no cracks. Phew! We did remember to break the edges, but they still need some more work.
OK, but how does it fit? Let’s find out.
Not bad. Nothing a little trimming and fudging won’t fix. Came damn close to trimming off too much on that left rear side though.
That was huge. Next comes all the fiddling and trimming to get it locked in, then the ugliness of drilling it to the canopy frame.
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