Greasings and Lubrications, All...
The most entertaining part of this list I have found, in the 3 weeks
or so I've been recieving it, is the personal accounts of people enjoying
driving and puttering around with their cars. I generally read those sections
first, skimming over the more technical and mechanical stuff.
I thought you might like to follow along the final few (I hope) weeks
untill the yellow car in my garage reaches completion. The goal here, is to
drive the car to a local event 'British Car Day' at Chateu Elan, about an hour
drive north of Atlanta. The event usually comes about the middle of May. I
figure I've got about $3500 to go. I refuse to go into debt on the project.
We'll see.
All of this is my brothers fault. It was his idea. He talked me into
it. It started as I recall, on a backpacking trip to the Georgia Mountains.
With out regard to weather, we went on the weekend we had. Driving up the
curving, winding roads (somebody at the DOT has a LBC!) he mentioned more
than once 'This is an ideal road for say, an MGB or a TR6' . The want-ads
on the seat of the pick-up had several LBC ads circled in pink highlighter.
When we reached the trailhead and started up, very up, the winding trail,
he says...'You need a new hobby, MG's have low gears'...When the rain began
to pour, he pointed out 'You need a new hobby, MG's have tops you put up in
the rain'. I muttered under my breath that a poncho might still be a good idea,
in a fair number of LBCs I'd ridden in. We settled in to camp, fired up the
stove and had a reasonable, I thought, semblance of dinner. Brother tells me
'You need a new hobby,British sports cars of all makes are accepted in the
parking lots of fine restarants and hotels all over the world'. And finally, as
the mercury dropped well below freezing and the rain turned to sleet, 'You need
a new hobby, hell, even MGA's and TR3's have heaters'.
Time goes by. Fall comes. Brother calls to announce he's found the car
of his dreams. A 68 MGB, wire wheeled, faded yellow, except for the hood, which
was metallic blue and almost shiny. It was my job to take him to the sellers
place, a garage, (not a good sign) and follow him home. The money is exchanged.
'Oh yeah,' said the garage man 'it need a coil...lets see, there's one on the
floor around here someplace...' Our day light turns to dark as we find all the
missing parts. The engine sputters to life as the cold rain begins to fall.
This is starting to seem familiar. The rain turns to sleet just about the time
we realize, a. the coil is intermitant, it fails only when warm. b. the last
owner put the battery in the trunk, rusting a hole clear through to the fuel
tank, resulting in a 50/50 mix of old gas and water for fuel. c. The heater
doesn't work. This results in the need to stop every 3 or 4 miles and tinker
uder the hood, including the ritual of draining water out of the carburetor
float bowls. After about 3 hours of this fun, I offer to let Brother drive the
warm cozy truck and releive him at the wheel of his rusted treasure. He
declines, saying "There's no point in both of us being drenched and frozen"
to which I just could not help but reply "I thought you said these things had
tops and heaters!!"
More time passes. Brother forgives me for the 'tops and heaters'
remark. I find myself going to club meetings at the Peachtree MG Registry. When
asked to stand and give my name and car model, I am embarrased to say I don't
have one, but am 'considering' getting a car. Several hands go up, all with
'yard cars' for sale cheap, one spouse offering a two for one sale on some of
her husbands cars! This is like a religious cult...slowly, gently, winding
me in.
A bit more time passes by. Brother is a Volvo Master Technician for
a local dealer. Somebody trades in 1970 MGB on a new 740. 'All the little
car needs is a new top and a tune up!' The dealer offers $750 sight unseen
for the B. The wholesaler sends the flatbed wrecker after it...and calls to
say he doesn't think he can sell the car for enough to pay the wrecker driver!
The used car manager pleads with Brother to help him find a buyer. My phone
rings. Sweet Wife Kathy and I go see the little wreck, sad, forlorn, abandoned
and unloved in the rain. (But not a freezing rain) "Well," she said "It has
personality, sort of" Rusted, patched and painted five times, it definetly
needed
a top and a tune up. Bashed in the front, kicked in the butt, creased down
both sides with one tire flat and one low, looking like an orphaned puppy
from a storm drain, she thought it had 'personality'. Did I mention the lime
green shag carpet and the squirrel nests? Kathy asks what will happen if I
don't buy it. The wrecker driver, as if on cue, blabs something about "should
have gone straight to the crusher, anyway..."
Sweet Wife Kathy grants her blessing. I usually get her permission
before I do something REALLY STUPID with money. I went to see the used car
manager and offered him $100, at Brothers advice. "I HAVE to get $750!" says
the man. We haggle. I get up, pretending to leave. I turn and tell him, "$300,
plus taxes and fees, and since the car doesn't run, it is reasonable to expect
you to deliver it"...and he agrees.
24 hours later, my own rusted treasure is sliding off the flatbed in
the driveway. The wrecker driver shakes his head, laughs to himself, and
rumbles away in his truck.
Kathy comes out to remind me "This is YOUR project, I want NOTHING
to do with it, and remember, this is strictly cash and carry!"
I went into the garage, fetched out a cardboard box and some tools,
and began to dismantle my rusted, banged up, little car.
The NAPA calendar in my garage featured Miss January, 1991.
More later.
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