“Push? We’re going to push the car?” It was a balmy day in the Pacific Northwest, so I had decided to take out our orange and black 1979 Triumph Spitfire. My 15-year-old daughter, Alex, was pleased with my choice, as the previous owner had put large speakers behind the seats, making it a perfect car by her standards. After a morning spent shopping (I was surprised at just how many pairs of Citizen jeans and Juicy jackets fit in the small trunk, and how brand-name blue denim rivals Ferrari parts in cost per ounce), we stopped in Southeast Portland for a […]
“Push? We’re going to push the car?”
It was a balmy day in the Pacific Northwest, so I had decided to take out our orange and black 1979 Triumph Spitfire. My 15-year-old daughter, Alex, was pleased with my choice, as the previous owner had put large speakers behind the seats, making it a perfect car by her standards.
After a morning spent shopping (I was surprised at just how many pairs of Citizen jeans and Juicy jackets fit in the small trunk, and how brand-name blue denim rivals Ferrari parts in cost per ounce), we stopped in Southeast Portland for a pizza lunch.
When we came out, twisting the ignition key led to a starter that moved slowly for a couple of turns before it stopped completely. “I left the radio on, I’m sorry,” Alex said. Drawing upon my decades of experience with old cars, I replied, “Honey, no radio on the planet could drain a battery in an hour. Except maybe an old British car battery.”
I then proceeded to demonstrate how you could get a car to start by pushing it while running alongside, hopping in, and then popping the clutch. We did just that, and to her amazement, the car started and we were off once again.
In the middle of explaining the mysteries of compression-starting a car to her, we came to a stoplight and the Spitfire died again. Evidently, the tiny number of sparks left in the battery had all been used up, and it didn’t appear that the alternator was putting any new juice back into the bank. If the alternator warning light worked, I might have seen this coming, but after all, this was a vintage car. You can’t expect everything-or sometimes anything-to work.
Having gone from “omniscient hero” to “owner of stupid old car” in a matter of seconds, I explained what we were going to do next. “Call a tow truck, right?” she asked.
“Actually, there’s a repair shop-Nasko’s-just four blocks away, and I thought we could push the car there.”
“Push?” she said. “Why do you have towing insurance if you’re not going to use it?”
It’s a logical question. But the “I can solve it myself” part of being a vintage car owner had taken control, and there was no turning back. My justifications went something like this: “It’s a nice day, it’s level ground, it’s not so far, and we’ll have the car delivered without having to wait for a tow, which could take hours.”
“And from there it’s only a few miles home, and we can walk. Think of it as a nice father and daughter bonding experience.”
Soon enough we were pushing the Spitfire, with Alex at the trunk, one hand moving the car forward and the other holding her cell phone to her ear. “You won’t believe what I’m doing,” she said. “I’m PUSHING A CAR. Really!”
“No,” she continued, “I’m not doing it for fun. My dad has a lot of old cars, and they break all the time, and this one broke by a repair shop, probably on purpose, so that’s where we are pushing it.”
She did balk at the walk home part, and by the time we had pushed the car to Nasko’s, a friend’s mom had shown up, and we had a nice ride back to the house in an air-conditioned BMW X3.
WHAT’S THAT SOUND?
Of course, if one old car breaks, the only thing to do is to grab another one. I hadn’t driven our 1968 BMW 2002 since it arrived from L.A., because, frankly, I was disgusted by how long it had taken to get it into running condition. And even then, it had enough dents, dings, and interior issues to serve as yet another lesson about the stupidity of buying cars sight unseen.
Nonetheless, Executive Editor Paul Duchene said it was pretty well fettled, so Alex and I piled into it and headed to a shopping mall about 20 miles away. She likes the minimalist shape of the car, and thought it was fun to ride in. I found the steering vague, but otherwise there was enough BMW DNA to get a sense of how the entire “Ultimate Driving Machine” mystique evolved. In other words, it was a pretty cool little car.
At least until the gearbox began to make horrible noises in fourth. At night. On the freeway.
I didn’t like my options. I’ve had gearboxes explode in old cars, sending shrapnel through the floorboards. That wasn’t a part of old car life that I felt like sharing with my daughter.
First and third gears seemed to work pretty well, so I stayed in those and limped along Portland’s surface streets.
All’s well that ends well, and soon enough the BMW was back in the SCM garage, and we had a car from the press fleet-a 2007 Dodge Charger R/T Hemi-for the trip home. As much as I love these old cars, it was good to be behind the wheel of something that wasn’t going to bite me when I tried to pet it.
BE A PART OF WAGON HO
The newest SCM Odyssey has started, with our 1968 Mercury Colony Park wagon making its way from Ann Arbor, MI, to Chicago. By all reports, it’s like driving a four-wheeled couch down the freeway and, unlike the Fiat 2300 that was our last car to come cross-country, more or less all of the parts on the Mercury are staying on the car. This month’s episode begins on p. 32.
Intrepid SCMers have signed up for every leg but one, from Rapid City, SD, to Bozeman, MT. If you’d care to get in on the fun, please contact Duchene at copyed@sportscarmarket.com. And remember, if it breaks, you can just leave it and fly home. Does it really get any better than that?
HOLIDAYS AND PARTIES
Legal Files columnist John Draneas has been on vacation in his homeland of Greece, no doubt sleuthing about for future topics, including vintage chariots with altered serial numbers and Internet toga scams. His column will resume next month.
SCM is having a party. Join us for our annual holiday bash on Friday, December 1, and help us to celebrate our new office. Long-time SCMer, Jaguar dealer and renowned racer Monte Shelton will be our guest of honor. There will be plenty of food, drink, and old car tales for everyone. Read about the history of our new location on p. 18; your invitation is on p. 137.