Suddenly there’s change; fall blows in and summer quickly sneaks away. If the young man’s thoughts are turned by spring, the older man’s memories and regrets are instigated by the cool damp air of fall mornings.
Memories and regrets? Change? Even, perhaps, missed opportunities?
I thought this was about cars!
Don’t despair, or (more likely) stop reading, you’re in the right place. But our hobby is subject to life, and there’s a fall for car guys too.
There’s a lot of change for me this fall. We’re moving. And to help the transition go well, I sold my M3. I’ve also cleaned out the garage, basically giving away my old MGA parts at the All British Field Meet (ABFM). But, while I was at the ABFM, I came across a car-for-sale that made me doubt my hobby car plans.
The M3 was the nicest it had ever been, the day I sold it. Why do I do this? I’m tired of watching a new owner enjoy a better car than I ever experienced. Both the MGA and BMW were sold at the end of a hefty garage session that left them significantly better than when I was throwing them down curvy roads.
And there’s my answer.
If the car can still fly down a back road, or an autocross track, I’d rather do that than fix little stuff. But buyers don’t like “little stuff”, so when I go to sell, I find myself spending time in the garage I’d avoided before.
When selling, Craigslist doesn’t fail to entertain.
The M3 sale started normal enough; a nice, youngish couple test drove the car and agreed to buy it the next day.
The following day an elderly woman accompanied them when they arrived for purchase.
The husband spoke first, “This is my Grandma, and she’s excited to test drive the car”.
A little confused, thinking the sale had already been agreed to, I found myself handing the keys over for a second time.
He drove off, this time with his Grandma. His wife and I made awkward small talk; she’d forced him to buy her several pairs of shoes in response to the M3. Sounded fair enough. As revenge for the strange second test drive, I convinced her that he should buy her more.
When the test drive returned, he jumped out and said, “Good news, Grandma likes it!”
The elderly woman shuffled over and handed me money. I don’t even remember her saying anything. I filled out the title, and then the man and his wife took the BMW. Grandma returned to the shuttle car they came in, despite having paid for an M3.
I don’t understand my generation. The couple were probably liberals; they seem to have talked Grandma into some wealth redistribution.
If fall is symbolic of aging, Craigslist could represent humanity… and it’s odd, to say the least.
With my home going on the market, I packed up all the British parts I could find lying around the yard/garage/children’s rooms, and headed for the ABFM.
I wasn’t concerned about money, I only needed the junk gone. Strangely, it was difficult to give British car parts away. I think people at classic car swap meets have become accustomed to absurd prices, and that plays out in strange ways.
There’s an initial hurdle to overcome when you’re giving away parts; the customer has presupposed you are asking for too much money. So they avoid all eye contact and ignore salutary greetings. So you shout loudly “Two dollars takes that home”, as they stare at a widget that interests them.
They ignore you. Their fight or flight reflex is shouting to their brain, “THERE’S A MAN TRYING TO TAKE YOUR MONEY”, without listening to the words you’re saying.
So you try to override their brain’s noise by saying, “If two dollars is too much, make me a better offer!”
More ignoring and furiously avoiding eye contact with the dastardly money taker.
“Please”, I’d beg, “Take it, I don’t want to take it home”.
You could see them processing. Slowly they’d realize they were not being taken advantage of. Their hardened faces began to melt. Some would even venture to make eye contact!
They’d reply, “Me? Oh… Ok. Hey, … Thanks! Really?”.
Sometimes the confusion was my fault though. I brought some non-British stuff, which really threw people off. I just wanted it out of my garage. The poor man I forced my Grand National seats upon still looked confused as I loaded them on his trailer.
Also, I couldn’t stand sitting in my booth. I wandered away, hoping people would steal things. I left a can on my table that said “Payment Bucket”.
Unfortunately, no one stole anything; apparently thievery isn’t a vice among those who restore outdated vehicles from another continent. Maybe Hollywood kleptos should try restoring Triumphs. Also, if they think about what old parts they need, they might stop whining about Trump; man, that’d be nice.
While I wandered the ABFM I came across a car that made me question every hobby car decision I’m making. Someone was selling a Lotus like car, with 50 years of racing history (albeit, with a gap in the middle), with racing history on two continents.
The price for this historic race car?
Thirteen thousand dollars.
That’s right. For the price of the BMW I’d just sold, I could have a historic race car, named Ladybird Mark 6, eligible for vintage racing around the world, built by a well-regarded race car driver (Derek Walker of England).
I’d already decided to apply the BMW’s money to our families next home, but it was painful to walk away from Ladybird.
So I bought a car. A plastic MGA. It cost me five dollars.
Everyone that lived through the early 1980s has a story of the cheap Ferrari they turned away. The Ladybird Mark 6 will probably be my “cheap Ferrari” regret. Small bore, historic, vintage racing eligible, kind-of-ugly, unique, British; the car ticked all my boxes. I will be jealous of whoever buys it. If they bring it to the ABFM in future years, to race, they’ll drive past the stands wondering why some strange guy is glowing green as he glares at the car going down the track.
Like Joseph with Potiphar’s wife, I hustled away from Ladybird, determined to watch some historic racing and get my mind off the car. On my way to the track I passed by my stand, and the payment bucket, to see if anyone was stealing things. Unfortunately, no one was.
At the track the V8 cars were putting in their laps. This pack is magnificent to listen to. I think it may be un-American, but I prefer the high revving small block cars to the pounding big blocks. There was a Trans-Am class Camaro, screaming past the stands, giving me goosebumps every time it shreaked past. Any time a V8 screams, it’s awesome.
Later, at home, Ladybird was still on my mind. I bet there’s not too many men that have said that and meant a car.
Curious how much I was likely to spend on my own Lotus-like creation, I started adding receipts. To-date, I’ve spent about $4k on the car. I’ve probably got four thousand more I need to spend. So, in the end, it’ll cost me about $8k. Ladybird isn’t far off that number.
But, it’s not all bad.
Going through my receipts reminded me that I’ve put some (theoretically) great parts on my car. If I can get them to play well together, it should be a blast. Especially if I find the parts I still want (anyone have a Zetec supercharger they want to sell?).
And this is me, in September, looking back, wondering if I’ve made the right choices for my hobby, and if I’m on the right path. Hopefully there’s no “winter of my discontent”, to follow this fall.
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