Well, it's been almost a year now that I've owned another LBC, this
one being a 1971 Triumph Spitfire MKIV. My first was a '72 MKIV that
I co-owned in High School.
I sit reflecting on the past year, and the current state of the car.
I haven't done a thing to it, except fix things that have loosened or
broken. I bought a battery charger when the battery died. I don't
even own enough tools to fix most problems, if they did occur (I
acquire them as needed). I usually acquire the knowledge to do the
repairs right after I find out what is necessary to buy (doesn't it
always seem like the tools you have aren't the ones you need to fix
the current problem? I think it's a conspiracy created by Craftsman,
Husky, and Snap-On working in conjunction, but that's for another
forum...).
The dual carbs I bought are on my bench, since the day I brought them
home (thanks, Alan!). The other engine, two trannies, and boxes of
parts are as I left them when I moved into my house. I haven't even
washed the car, and it's quite dusty now.
So, as I sit here thinking to myself, "Why has it been a year and I
still haven't delved into the refurbish/restoration project", I think
I now know why.
It's not that I'm afraid, or lazy, or don't feel like spending money
on the car.
The accompanying story is my answer. This is how I feel every time I
drive the thing, whether it be to work, to the store, or for fun. I
just don't want to take it off the road. And, I live in a place where
I can drive it just about year round.
I hope you enjoy yours like I enjoy mine. This is going to be one
long relationship, I can feel it.
Chip
'71 MKIV Spitfire - 'Ol Smokey
(geez, can you tell I was home sick and watching Speedvision all day?)
- - -
The Journey - September 3rd, 1998
I open the garage door, and peer up into the clouds. Dark, gray,
overcast clouds meet my view - it's been raining off and on all day,
thanks to Hurricane Earl. This is weather that any British
convertible would feel right at home in. I jump into the Spitfire,
and pull the manual choke. Turning the key, it fires right up, and
settles into a lopey idle. I buckle up, and watch the temperature
needle slowly rise, the exhaust burbling in my ear from the twin
custom exhaust pipes. One hand on the wheel, one on the gearshift,
sitting in the cockpit is as relaxing as being in a hot tub. After a
few minutes it's warmed up, so I depress the choke, and double clutch
into reverse. The transmission whines as we back down the slight
incline of the drive, and into the street.
Up the street we go, and out of the neighborhood. Turning left, we
head down a newly opened road. Heading off down undiscovered roads
seem to be what these cars are made for. We cross a main
intersection, and are off into the countryside. The road has been
freshly paved, is totally smooth, and very twisty. I set the car up
and drift it through an incredibly well banked left hander and apex
right into a perfect right sweeper. An automobile enthusiast must
have designed this road, as the whole road is set up like this. Tires
squealing, I drift the car into the next set of curves, the car not
leaning a bit. I'm grinning ear to ear as I get hard on the brakes
for an upcoming stop sign.
There's nothing like being in the middle of nowhere, at a four-way
intersection. Which way to go? You can pick any of the 3 options,
and have no idea what adventure lies down either one. I choose right,
shift into first, and turn the corner. The road cuts to the right in
a nice sweeping downhill turn, and as I'm shifting from second to
third, anticipating the corner, I glance at a guy standing in his
field, watching me. He gives me the thumbs up, and I notice an old
Opel in his yard. It doesn't appear to be running, but as I can tell
from the grin on his face, he knows what I'm feeling. As I roar past,
I catch another glimpse - was that a Llama in his yard? His whole
farm is made up of interesting animals, ones that you wouldn't
normally find in the rural Georgia countryside.
Past the Llama farm, the road sweeps downhill, then through a low
valley, and up the other side, to the left. I hit forth going down
the hill and double clutch down to third as I approach the incline.
The Spitfire responds beautifully, the exhaust rasping as it makes
more power for the hill. We go screaming up the hill, letting the
tires do the talking. Up over the hill and it cuts back down and left
again, this time taking me over a narrow stone bridge. I downshift to
third, and we cruise over the bridge and up the other side, to another
four way stop.
The last decision turned out to be a good one, so I make it again, and
we head off to the right. We head back toward the city, as barns and
houses start to pop up on the roadside. I do my best to keep the Spit
on course as I glance into the dilapidated old barns - I will find an
old TR3 or XKE sitting off somewhere, I promise - and continue down
the narrow country lanes. The exhaust echoes off the houses, which
now line the edges of the road. Farmers in their trucks give me
curious glances and waves as I roar by in my blue British convertible.
Taking another right, I end up back on the road that intersects with
my road, and my journey comes to an end. I pull into a filling
station, flip the Le Man's style filler cap, and fill it up. Topped
off, I jump back in, crank it up, and head off towards home. Pulling
into the garage, I ease the Spitfire into it's parking spot, and shut
off the engine. Getting out, I look it over, and smile.
The blue paint is faded, worn, and chipped off in some areas. The
chrome is dull, and the wheels need painting. It could use new tires,
and a new exhaust system. The seats aren't even bolted in yet. But I
wouldn't sell it for the world. Even filling it with gas is fun.
When is the last time you said that about a vehicle.
You've just got to own one to understand.
"Until next time," I say, as I switch off the light and enter the
house. All I need now is a Tweed cap.
==
Life is short - Drive fast, brake hard!
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