SolidWorks to Sparks: Roll Cage Tacked, HVAC Deleted, and Our 2007 Accord LeMons Build on Track

Yesterday we did something that feels suspiciously like progress: we got the roll cage piping cut, fit, and tacked together with the cage in place—which, for anyone who hasn’t tried it, is basically adult-scale metal origami performed in a cramped cabin with sparks, sharp edges, and the constant awareness that your spine is one awkward shift away from meeting a floor pan in an intimate way.

The plan was straightforward: measure twice, cut once, and then immediately question every measurement as if it were written by a stranger who hates us. Tubing went in, came out, went in again, got trimmed, got re-angled, got “just one more little shave,” and finally landed where it was supposed to live and then ratchet-strapped together while we continued to dry-fit the rest of the cage. There’s a special kind of satisfaction that comes from seeing those joints line up cleanly. By the end of the day, the piping was sitting right, the fitment looked honest, and the tack welds held everything in place like a promise: this is happening. We still need to finish out the final welds and then measure and build the plinth boxes, but that is the easy part.

Special callout here: huge credit to our team engineer, who did the unglamorous wizardry upfront—modeling the cage plan in SolidWorks and giving us an actual roadmap before we started cutting metal. That work saved us from the classic “fabricate first, regret later” approach and turned this from driveway improvisation into something that resembles a professional build. The cage fits like it belongs there because someone did the math and the modeling while the rest of us were preparing the car to receive the cage.

While the cage work was the headline, it wasn’t the only win.

We also successfully removed the HVAC system, which means the Accord is now free of unnecessary creature comforts and several pounds of extra material we don’t need. The dash area is cleaner, the bay behind it is more accessible, and the car is one step closer to being exactly what it needs to be: a purpose-built endurance machine that doesn’t care about your feelings. No more heat. No more A/C. Just airflow and consequences.

Next up in the “we’re doing this for real” column: the battery relocation is complete. We planned the routing, made it sensible, and committed to it. Moving the battery isn’t glamorous, but it’s one of those changes that makes everything else better: cleaner engine bay layout, better weight distribution, and a race car that feels more intentional. It also means fewer future moments where we’re trying to work around a battery tray like it’s a sacred artifact, nad it leaves room for the cold air intake.

We also dry-fitted the racing seat, and that alone was a morale boost. There’s something about dropping a real containment seat into the cabin that changes the whole vibe. It turns the Accord from “project” into “race car” instantly. Suddenly, you can see the driving position, the harness angles, and the way the cockpit is going to function when we’re tired, sweaty, and trying to keep the car alive at 2 a.m. It’s a preview of the end state—and it’s exactly where we’re headed.

In the middle of all this, the steering column came out and went back in, because race prep is nothing if not a series of confident disassemblies followed by cautious reassemblies. Pulling it gave us access for the cage work and cleanup, reinstalling it confirmed that we’re not just building a sculpture—we’re building a car that will steer, turn, and do what it’s told. Removing and reinstalling major components without drama is one of those underrated victories that doesn’t look impressive in photos, but absolutely matters when your deadline is measured in days, not seasons.

Now—let’s talk about the timeline.

There are people out there—doubters, skeptics who think we won’t be ready to race in three weeks.

Let me be extremely clear: we will be ready.

We will be ready, but not because this is easy, we expect things to go wrong. It will go wrong. Things will break, bolts will snap, tools will disappear into alternate dimensions, but Black Flag Racing doesn’t fold when the timeline gets tight—we get sharper. We’ve built an ethos around one simple principle: when other people accept failure as “reasonable,” we treat it like a suggestion.

We don’t do “maybe next race.” We do solutions.

We do late nights. We do creative fabrication. We do the kind of stubborn forward motion that turns a half-finished plan into a functional reality. When a normal team looks at the calendar and starts negotiating excuses, we look at the calendar and start welding.

So yeah, three weeks is close. It’s supposed to be. That’s where the magic happens. That’s where the miracles live. And if anyone still doubts it, they’re welcome to stop by the driveway and watch the Accord continue its transformation in real time.

Because the piping is cut and tacked. The cage is becoming real. The HVAC is gone. The battery is relocated. The seat fits. The steering column is back where it belongs.

And the rest? The rest is just work.

We’ll see you at the track.