Jerry writes:
< Just in case any of you Miata boys have any questions
> about the advantages of owning a real old Jaguar,
> be sure to check out the Peter Egan column in the
> latest Road & Track.
>
>
Here's something I wrote and submitted to a major magazine which shall remain
nameless, but who has not yet responded... Maybe you'll see it here "first"
then see it in a magazine...
CHD
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When Jerry Mouton volunteered his 1964 Jaguar E-Type coupe to be displayed in
San Francisco Region of Sports Car Club of America's booth in the San
Francisco International Auto Show, I thought it was a very nice gesture. The
thought of allowing the great unwashed masses to get up close and entirely
too personal with his freshly restored 36 year old car for 8 days was less
daunting to Jerry than it would've been for me.
Jerry was called out of town on personal business, and he asked me to drive
the Jag from Palo Alto to Moscone Center in San Francisco. I was honored,
but more than just a bit concerned that some idiot would pull some stupid
maneuver in front of me in the unfamiliar car. I agreed, anyway. I mean,
what self respecting sports car nut would pass up this opportunity?
After reviewing the starting and driving instructions (Turn key to on, don't
keep twisting it or you'll break it. There's a button to start the car. Let
the carbs fill with gas before starting. Set choke. Allow it to warm up for
a minute before driving off. No synchro in 1st, very little synchro in the
other gears. Shift slowly.) several times, I thought I could handle this,
despite being coddled by today's fuel injected, darn-near-drive-themselves
cars.
As Sherry Grantz dropped me off at Jerry's, I asked "You are going to wait
'til I drive off under my own power, aren't you?"
The answer was "Of course. It's British." Smart lady, that Sherry... We
took off the car cover, admired the white paint, chrome wire wheels and red
leather, found the keys in the designated hiding place, and I sat down in the
car, pulling on my driving gloves, as instructed. (The glue that holds the
wood steering wheel together and keeps it from splintering was the only
remaining restoration project.)
Hmmm, not much headroom, even for a 5'9" guy. My first reaction was to reach
down for the seatback adjuster. Hah! This car was build in '64! No such
animal! Okay, I'll just scoot my butt forward a bit, bend my knees and sit
like a tall guy. I was wondering what physique the car was designed to
accommodate. The mental image was a rather strange looking individual...
Jerry hadn't mentioned the telescoping steering wheel. When he mentioned it
after the journey, I changed my image to a less simian and more human looking
individual.
I turned the ignition on, found the choke and set it, and pressed the starter
button. It fired to life in about a second and idled smoothly, and I brought
it back a little to high idle. So far, so good. There was a surprised look
on Sherry's face. After a minute or so, I decided to try to find reverse,
and back out of the driveway.
Yep, reverse was right there to the left of first gear. Shifter is very
stiff. Hmmm, clutch is very stiff. Car slowly backs out, I pull it out of
reverse and go for first. We're backing up again. Okay, the detent isn't
very, uh, detentious. Is that a word? It is, now. There's first, and we're
off, taking it easy, nice muted growl. Up to 3000, pull hard into neutral,
then second. Krunch! Jerry said shift slowly, hmmm, thought I did. Well,
let's be even gentler next time. Interesting. How do you grab that lever,
pull hard, but gently?
A few more blocks, and I'm getting the upshifts down pretty well. Downshifts
are a bear, though. I hadn't really thought about heel and toe on the street
since I was trying to learn the technique to be a better autocrosser many
years ago. Guess it's time to think about it, again. It feels like my size
11 shoes can make that happen. The Brits probably knew that this would be a
necessity, and placed the pedals properly. This one wants the ball of the
foot on the brake and toes on the gas, not my normal style, but it'll work.
Well, we're in third going toward Highway 101, approaching a light that's
turning. Time to give it a try. Light brake, clutch, blip, second, clutch
out, no crunch. Cool!
Out on the highway, revving it up to four thousand or so seemed to make her
happier, and the shifts indicated that we were communicating a little better.
She seemed a bit more confident that I could actually control the situations
that might confront us.
Jerry had warned me about the skinny radials were on and not the fatter
autocross tires (yes, Virginia, this car does have some autocross
experience), so I didn't challenge the corners much, and left plenty of room
so I could brake gently. When traffic started backing up coming into San
Francisco, I found that the brakes were like the other controls, uh,
resistant to pressure applied... I had to get real serious with the brake
pedal, that time.
Once in The City, there were traffic jams everywhere. Typical... But the
temp gauge wasn't rising at all. Yet another surprise for a Brit car. When
I was able to cut and run, the Jag seemed to enjoy short blasts from light to
light, though something told me not to challenge the 5500 rpm redline. As I
pulled up to Moscone Center, I realized it was akin to playing fetch with a
nine year old Golden Retriever; she still likes to play, she just doesn't
sprint like a young pup anymore.
Later, working the SCCA booth at the show, I noticed that Joe Huffaker's GT5
roadrace Mini Cooper and Jerry's Jaguar were quite popular, and many who
needed bibs while admiring the lines of the E-Type had to ask what it was.
Imagine that in 2000 the two stars of the Sports Car Club booth would both be
out of production English cars!
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