Tag Archives: sports cars

Hey, Ho, For the Open Road #1

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Jack makes it on time yet again – wonders will never cease!

This may be the first of a series of car stories –

There are two times in my life when I came close to death, and one happened in the early 1970s. I owned a mark 1 Triumph Spitfire, an open top convertible sports car with (in my case almost literally) a fatal flaw. The early models, like mine, had an unusual rear suspension – a transverse leaf spring with the rear wheels at either end. There were a few cars with this design including the VW Beetle, and Ralph Nader did research and found out that many crashes had resulted. Later models were redesigned!

I was driving from my home city of Dunfermline to the nearby town of Kirkcaldy by way of a narrow and twisty country road via the hamlet of Puddledub. It was autumn and there were lots of leaves on the road. I entered an s-bend with a banking on the opposite side that had rain water running down from a field.

That’s when the rear wheels lost grip and tucked in. The problem with the transverse spring meant that it was now running on the tire walls instead of the tread!

That’s also when my car slid across and up the banking, then turned over and cartwheeled down the road, completely out of control. It went from front to side to back and side and on and on like that. Remember this is an open top car and could have landed either side up. In these early models the rear view mirror was on top of the dash, so every time the car landed on its front my head hit that mirror – I still have the scar.

Another motorist ahead of me in a Jaguar saw the whole thing in his mirror and came back to check on me. I had blood streaming down my face but the Spitfire had landed the right way up and I was alive, so off he drove.

The car was a write off/totaled so I used the insurance money to buy my first MGB.

Booking Across the Road

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Jack’s weekly guest blog is about his mistress – aka his little red sports car

For those who don’t know, I own a bright red 1962 MGB. Back in Scotland I was her second owner, and thanks to the largesse of a friend who was her third and wanted her to settle with me in our golden years, I am her fourth. And MidGe, as we call her, is now an American citizen.IMG_4181

I took MidGe to our friendly local–as in 3 minutes walk, and about the same time driving–repair shop for her annual safety inspection. This is always a laugh, as cars over 25 years old only have to conform to the regulations in place when they were new; the list of ‘things to be checked’ is more than twenty items,  but the process goes fairly quickly: emission control? She doesn’t have any.  Reverse lights? Nope. And so on.

Hovering around was a young guy in the classic garb of a car mechanic:  baseball cap and dungarees of a uniform dark blue-grey (pretty much the color of 20w/30 motor oil, in fact – funny that!) He watched as MidGe was put through her paces, then ambled over and said, “lemeesrtatarrgharaghafirya.”

I said “Sure!” but thought What?!

It turns out that one of my rear lights was out. Baseball cap lad was clearly happy about this, as he’d been stroking MidGe in an affectionate way and sending her approving glances. It was obvious he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

He and his associate began to wrestle with the lamp fitting, which was attached to the over-rider by two small nuts and bolts, which in turn was attached to the rear bumper by a ginormous nut and bolt. Getting the bulb required all these to be dismantled.

Baseball cap lad looked positively radiant.

By the time they reached MidGe’s innards, I’d been there an hour, and the bookstore was due to open in 5 minutes. I explained to the young man that I would need to come back for the car later.

“Dyaaalnidanyilchyinge?” he said.

I blinked, stupefied.

“An ayil chainge,” he repeated, with hand gestures.

“Oh – an oil change – great, yes please.”

I set off and had walked a few yards when a thought struck me, so I called back, “Change the plugs as well.”

“Whaayit”?

“The spaaaaaark plugs,” I enunciated.

“Oh, seur. Whadabawt waayirs?”

I could only stare.

“Whaayirs!” Exasperated, he gave up on hand gestures and put his fists on his hips.

Clueless, I responded, “Those too, yes, thanks.”

I got poor MidGe back six hours later, looking offended; I’m sure baseball cap lad was too familiar with her, alone in the workroom. She had new plugs, new oil, new air filters, new wires and a new lamp housing –re-attached back to front.

Bless his heart.