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Re: [Bmcu] Suggestions for rolling restoration

To: bmcu@autox.team.net
Subject: Re: [Bmcu] Suggestions for rolling restoration
From: Mark J Bradakis <mark@bradakis.com>
Date: Thu, 15 Jul 2010 18:45:33 -0600
Just for grins here's something I dug out which I wrote some years
ago when I sold one of my cars.

mjb.



That smile gave him away, plastered across his face like a freshly painted
billboard.  I couldn't help but remember the first few times I bought cars,
young and eager, full of energy.  He looked at it, and liked it.  A young
teacher at a nearby private school, sort of thin and lanky, reminded me of
an old high school friend.  My friend and I had been over at Melvin's garage
when the head was finally back on the red TR3, the carbs were adjusted and
the battey connected.  Time for a test ride, both then and now.  I hop into
the Rust Rocket, fire it up and back out of the tricky section of the drive.
Matt, the teacher, beams with delight as I jump out of the driver's seat,
offering the vacated premises to him.

Around the block, timid and slow, he barely gets over about 2 grand before
shifting.  Fumbling about with the stubby TR-3 lever, he is unsure of 
the car
and his desire.  We putter back to the Fat Chance, and he gets out, again
with the tell tale smile irrevocably, it seems, wedged into his face.  I
offer to show him the way that *I* drive the car, so off we go again.  He is
impressed.

I wanted to tell him about the long hours of tedious, dirty work, the small
agonies of constantly bruised hands during major projects, dirty fingers,
late nights, swapping trannies in the drive in the dead of winter.  I wanted
to warn him of wallowing in the mud after a roadside stall, looking for a
clue, or perhaps a lost bolt.  I wanted to let him know there would be days
he would curse the name of Triumph, of all things British, and most 
especially
he would curse me and the clattering coughs of the worthless red hulk he
foolishly bought that summer's day.

I did not need to tell him of days like this, though, with crystalline skies
and throaty exhaust, bouncing around corners in a car crafted for such joys.
He hadn't really wanted a Triumph, he had been wanting a Jaguar, it 
seems, his
sights set on someday having the perfect XK 150.  Too much for a man of 
quite
modest means. But for now, he has the Rust Rocket, and that smile on his 
face.
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