I snuck out of work just a tiny bit early last night, hoping to do an
errand or two, then get home, eat, change and drive the Spitfire to
volleyball. (OK, it's not my Spitfire. It belongs to a friend, and I'm
doing some work on it. The excuse for driving it last night, which he
enourages me to do -- what a good friend, is that I planned at some point
to degrease the engine at the local self-service car wash, which I did.)
It was just about a perfect evening. Temperatures in the 70s, low
humidity, blue and sunny (later clear and starry). Having practiced off
and on for nearly 27 years now, I was able to properly fold the top in
about 45 seconds and take off for the 17-mile trip. (NOTE TO SELF: talk
friend into either repairing or replacing the tonneau cover, with its
broken zipper and missing snaps.)
The worst thing I can say about the whole trip is that I understand why
women carry purses. I had no place to put a wallet, keys, etc., in my
volleyball sweats. In the lockable Explorer, it's not a problem. But it's
silly to think anything left in a convertible is safe (and I had no door
keys anyway -- like it makes sense to lock a Spitfire). So into the church
gym for volleyball I go, with my one shirt pocket containing coin and
currency, driver's license, Spitfire keys, house keys, my good sunglasses,
AND the face plate from the expensive radio that I have no idea how to
operate! (Like I need a radio in a Spitfire.) Maybe I'll have to get
myself one of those "fanny packs" for such portage, something I never
thought I'd say!
The best thing I can say about the whole trip is that I'm psyched again.
Psyched to work on this car for my friend (I can feel lots of little
things that really should be tended to on a well-maintained but still
unrestored 26-year-old car with over 100,000 miles). Psyched to get out
and get doing things on some of my own cars. And psyched in general about
the upcoming VTR Convention and any other Triumph/ LBC encounter I can
attend this summer.
It's wonderful what a few minutes with wind in your hair can do for a
person's spirits. And there are those unmistakable sounds: a Spitfire door
closing and latching, with those metallic clunks and glass-rattlings; the
Lucas M35G starter cranking over the engine; those distinctive valvetrain
and exhaust sounds; gearbox and differential whirrs and whines; and the
fact that, being right there so close to the pavement and the tires, you
can hear as well as feel exactly what the tires are telling you.
Tonight I dive into the job of replacing the timing cover oil seal and
gasket, along with the valve cover gasket. Then maybe a bit of tuning,
lubricating and then prowling around to see what else needs doing and what
can wait. I'm PSYCHED now. The better I get it running and driving, the
more my friend and his wife will enjoy it (ok, so will I when I get to
borrow it until I've one of my own running), and the less likely he'll be
to sell the car to make room for his wife's new Chrysler Sebring
convertible. (I think I've already convinced him to keep the Spitfire
regardless. Just last month he and I discussed options for redoing the
interior, and he just spent a wad having the rare Dunlop bolt-on wire
wheels powder coated. They look great; sort of like a dull chrome finish.)
--Andy
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* Andrew Mace, President and *
* 10/Herald/Vitesse (Sports 6) Consultant *
* Vintage Triumph Register *
* amace@unix2.nysed.gov *
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