Rolling Down the Road

There is something Norman Rockwell-esque about climbing into a vintage car for a holiday road trip. It evokes the spirit of Americana, that timeless, romantic, dreamy “thing” outside our readily identifiable experiences. The idea conjures up emotions and smells, feelings we reserve deep within ourselves. It is apple pie and exhaust, comfort and exhaustion. In a sense, everything good outweighing everything bad. It's wood-paneling in our mind, but laminate in reality.

For my holiday, it will be a special trip. Nothing could possibly bring more trepidation than a road trip in a vintage British sports car. Ordinarily, this trip would be the domain of my trusty and reliable 1966 Mustang. But this year, she is out of action. So, the journey falls into the hands of my newer car, a 1969 Triumph Spitfire named Pheona after the legendary Phoenix, which also liked to burst into flames periodically. Pheona came to me a little over a year ago when my long-time girlfriend was forced to retire her boring, tired Japanese sedan. My lady needed fun in her life, and this little convertible fit the bill. Maybe a little too much sometimes.

                                                   Pheona, our 1969 Triumph Spitfire Mk III

Our trip isn't a long one by modern standards, just to the East Bay area. In a modern car, one would turn on the radio, set the cruise control, and maybe the heater. Probably wouldn't even bother checking the tire pressure before leaving.

In our idealistic minds, we imagine the same thing in vintage iron. In reality, it's not like that at all. Few people today even remember what road trips in vintage cars were like. And throwing the British wrench into the cogs makes it even more dramatic. For starters, Pheona has neither a heater or a radio.

This week, little Phe started to stink of gas, not at all uncommon for British cars with multiple carburetors. I tested the fuel pressure, nothing abnormal there, so I tore apart the front carburetor fuel bowl, a standard procedure for vintage British cars. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I richened the carbs up, thinking maybe that would help. Now, she is running better, but still stinks.

In a modern car, the computer would do all of this, never even alarming the driver that anything was going wrong, and certainly never giving off a smell. But 40 years ago, this was normal.

So, the next step will be to recheck the valve adjustment, something that takes all of 10 minutes on the little car but would take a week on a modern car, reset the timing, something that is part of the process, but not possible on new cars, inspect and adjust the distributor points, parts that modern cars don't have, and then synchronize the carburetors for cold weather, in part something done entirely by computer on modern cars today, except that modern cars do not have carburetors. Normal. Then to check the brakes, tires, driveshaft, axleshafts, suspension, radiator, oil, belts, hoses, and lights. Nothing uncommon for vintage cars, something taken for granted by those who own modern ones.

And then comes driving. A road trip in a vintage British car can be as short as to Roseville, a distance I laugh at even in my 1966 Mustang, but can be serious in the little British car. Electrical problems can pop up at any moment. Just the other night, the headlights went out on the freeway. No big deal, just reach under the dash, pull the fuse, put it back in and Voila! Lights again. Normal. There is a reason Brits drink lots of warm beer. The same guy who designed the electrical system in this little car also designed the most common refrigerator in England.

The Norman Rockwell part happens somewhere along the road, where kids in SUV's give you the thumbs up, and despite the stench of exhaust and maybe burnt electrical wiring, you feel accomplished when you get where you are going. You look back down the road smiling, and think, that wasn't so bad, maybe we will do another trip in a couple weeks.