Every Triumph enthusiast tries not to think about the horrors associated with what should be a simple, straight forward do-it- yourself (DIY) job - removing the cylinder head of a Triumph TR7.

Yet when push comes to shove and you realise that you can't avoid this job any longer, bravado quickly turns to near panic. This happened to me recently when my engine started showing signs of needing a new set of rings. Oil consumption was up and the engine was fuming.

My next thought was to entrust the job to the professionals, but I soon discovered that, because of the uncertainty of whether the head would co-operate or not, I was unable to get an accurate quote for the job. And because I shudder at the thought of embarking on a course of action with vaguely defined financial limits, I decided to have a go and do it myself.

The first lesson I learned was not to rush things. Forget all the hype and sleep on it. Then collect as much information as possible.

This is when I consulted with dozens of TR7 and TR8 enthusiasts the world over. Yes, that's right! The internet is a marvellous tool, and being a regular subscriber to a group known as The World Wide Wedge, I raised the question as to whether I should indeed tackle the job myself.

Yes, came the replies! Gavin Lukin from Sydney reassured me that the job is a relatively straightforward one as long as the head hasn't corroded onto the studs! That eventuality, he said, wouldn't be worth thinking about.

It was at this point that Joe Gorin from Santa Rosa, CA, told me about his horror ordeal with the TR7 head. The hardest part of most head removal activities is the removal of the studs, he reminded me. They often corrode in place because they are steel in an aluminium head,resulting in dissimilar metal galvanic corrosion.

What makes the Triumph head particularly difficult to remove is the fact that the studs are angled in the head. If they were parallel, DIY enthusiasts would almost certainly have an easier time of it.

I was determined to learn from all this and again consulted the brethren on the web. Detailed advice came from all over the globe, listing the steps I should take one by one. And when I didn't quite understand, I merely asked again and received plain English explanations that even a non-mechanic like me could understand.

Even more gratifying was the encouragement I received along the way. My "virtual" mates insisted on being kept informed of my progress, so I posted regular updates.

So, with spirits high, I grabbed hold of a spanner and peered under the bonnet at the rather sick engine.

It struck me that I must be completely mad, never having done anything remotely like this before. And all because of a barrage of enthusiastic advice from "virtual" people, none of whom I had never actually met.

Slowly, with trembling hands and heart in mouth, I threaded a spare bolt onto the first stud to be removed.

Afraid at first of applying too much pressure, I worked on the stud, becoming more confident as I sensed the first signs of movement. Then it was turning. Before I knew it the first one slid free.

More confident now, I set upon the next, then the next, and before long they were all out!

What an anti-climax, I thought, almost sorry that the head had given up without a fight. I had almost begun cherishing the thought of going down in Triumph history as the bloke who did it tougher than Joe Gorin!

Oh well, you can't win them all.

Now, tackling a "ring job" can be simple and straight forward, requiring the sump to be removed to expose the crank and big ends. But life can, and usually does, become more complicated if the car in question, like my TR7, happens to have the subframe positioned right under the sump.

Many of my "virtual" buddies said that I could do the ring job without removing the engine, but it's really fiddly, requiring the engine to be jacked up off its mounts while you slave away on your back under the car, working at the engine's innards. Not my idea of fun.

By far the best solution is to get used to the idea of pulling the engine, and doing things in relative comfort on the garage floor, they said.

Here again, good advice helped. All agreed that the car should be jacked up high at the rear so that I wouldn't have to tilt the engine and gearbox assembly so much when hoisting it clear.

Now for the fun.

Using a sling with a 23 inch leg to the rear lifting eye and an 18 inch leg to the front eye, I raised the hoist to take the weight of the engine. Next, I positioned a trolley jack to take the weight of the gearbox, and removed the four nuts retaining the rear

mount to the body. The engine mounts were loosened and the engine and gearbox assembly hoisted clear of the car to a chorus of cheers from around the world.

By now I was getting used to my newly found role in life and had become accustomed to black finger nails and sore back muscles.

Removing the pistons from their bores was a relatively easy task, as was fitting new rings and bearings.

One of the advantages of having the engine out of the car, my "virtual" mates told me, was that it provides an excellent opportunity to tidy up the engine bay. This involved some repainting and plenty of degreasing, all of which would do wonders for me at the next club show day.

Refitting the engine was easy, generally being the reverse procedure to removing it. And here again, the long stream of international advice on torque setting and the like was vital.

Six long months after I tentatively logged on to the World Wide Wedge and posed some naive questions about fixing my car myself, I was back on the road with a car far healthier than I could have ever imagined possible.

And I was far richer for the experience, in more ways than one.