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I just got my TR6 back from an extended period of forced separation. Following a nasty incident with a moron in a Toyota Camry and an innocent party in a Cadillac Cimarron in front of me, my beloved Amanda was sent to the LBC orthopaedists to determine if she might be made whole once more. As it turned out, she could; all that was required was a duel of hourly salaries with moron's insurance company ("Sure, I'd be happy to go to court. I'm a grad student. My time is worthless. How much will it cost you to be there?"), the resulting $x thousand, and eighteen months due to various summer jobs, restoration projects, etc.
But now she's home. Just in time, as well; although a resident of Cambridge, MA while toiling on an advanced (or retarded, depending on your point of view) degree, I will be working in Santa Monica CA this summer. As a result, I plan on driving my '6 across the grand ole USA, and wanted to make sure that I had at least a month to reacquaint her with the Road and put some miles on.
Saturday the 25th of April I departed Cambridge for family retreat in northern Vermont. Tempting fate, I brought no baling wire nor duct tape; however, I'd done the 'quarter for the phone' one better with a digital CDMA cell phone, with coverage throughout my intended route.
I'll avoid the suspense. Nothing bad happened. The car did not break down. I know; many of these sorts of ramblings are in fact about what can happen to these cars and why preparation is good. However, this one really is just a set of musings about what it means to drive one. If you yourself own an LBC, then drop what you're doing and go drive it around the block. I'll wait.
Okay? Good, you who've done so can skip the rest of the column and go back to the good stuff. Those of you not fortunate enough to have the option can read on, where I will attempt to explain why otherwise perfectly sane people may be driving one of these in a Secret Life complete with RAF goggles and leather driving gloves with the top down in weather that'd likely chill a bear's you-know-what.
Why the heck is driving these cars different? It's not the cold and wet. I used to drive a '74 Toyota Corolla 1600 Deluxe that had enough holes in the pans that I kept an umbrella in the passenger seat to open against the floor when it rained. That car was chilly.
It's not the constant maintenance. If all I wanted was a car that required lots of work, I'd be restoring one, not driving this one. Come to think of it, that's not such a bad idea for a second...never mind.
It may be the smiles and general warm fuzzies that most of us get when on the road. People genuinely like these cars; every once in a while you pass someone who, you can tell from the faraway wistful look, used to own one of these or wanted to and now has a utilitarian vehicle. Those are the ones that wave and smile; I'm happy to have made them happy.
Personally, the reason I like driving this car (okay, besides all the reasons above) is because it is so different from driving a modern car. I have one of those, too, so I don't have to drive the TR in the winter when there's salt on the roads. I drove the TR through the first winter I owned it (because I knew I was going to redo the body that spring) and boy, that was a blast. Turning left fifty feet before the road is there because you know that's how long it will take the car to stop moving in the current direction and get traction produces delightful squeaks of fright from passengers and wide, silly grins on me.
Sorry, back to the thread. When I drive my TR, I have to drive with at least four of my senses. When driving the other car, or any modern car, I essentially am driving with my eyes and part of my ears. Eyes for the road; part of my ears for warning sounds from the car's instrumentation or other vehicles. That's it. There's no road feedback, usually; the steering wheel will (if you're lucky) pull a bit in one direction or the other to let you know you're turning while the power steering does the work and the maybe automatic transmission takes care of the engine, leaving you to mutter "I could've shifted that better" while trying to avoid reflexively dumping the car into neutral on the freeway.
In Amanda, such is not the case. I drive with my eyes not only on the road, but on the entire world that I can see where the roof and B-pillars are supposed to be. I can look up at night and see stars. I can look left and see the trees. Such is sight in an LBC.
I drive with my ears. Not listening for warning tones, because there aren't any such in my TR6. No, I listen to music; both real music and, more importantly, the sweet music of a 28-year old straight-six that is purring for me. I listen to the hum of my differential, which portends a rebuild soon. I listen to the slight squeak in my driver's door latch. I listen, in essence, to a continuous harmony, and am alert for dischord and changes in the tune which might indicate a problem. Burbling exhaust, growling engine, hissing tires, and rushing wind- of such sounds are my drives made now.
I drive with my nose. Every few seconds, the smells change. In the real world outside our modern cars, there are scents in the air. Pine needles. Water. Ozone. Manure from that farm I just passed. Rotting wood. Wood smoke. Finally, sometimes, there is the dreaded smell of burning materials that doesn't instantly fade with the airstream but is coming from your bonnet. That's important information. A few months ago, that slight slight smell of burning allowed me to find and disconnect a bad alternator before it completely seized, which would have resulted (in the least) at a horribly burned and maybe shredded belt. Again, there's a symphony; I'm listening for changes.
I drive with my fingers, feet, bottom and balance. I can feel the normal vibration of Interstate 91's tarmacadam and concrete; I can feel the normal swaying and thumping of shocks, and I can feel the meandering interference of bad pavement. All allow me to drive more carefully, more safely; and all allow me gain more information about my world and the car I'm in.
Taste? Not really. Although, I must confess, I have at times opened my mouth to see if it improved my sense of smell when trying to tell the difference between wood smoke and asbestos smoke from brake pads. However, I've found that no matter how hard I try, licking the rear-view mirror won't improve the vision, no matter how desperate I am to see behind me without taking my hands off the wheel. Besides, it tastes lousy.
It's not always efficient. It doesn't always get me where I was trying to go when I wanted to get there, whether due to breakdown, detour, a really nice sunset, or a quick nap in the breeze overlooking a field.
But that's not why I drive; at least, not the sole reason.
Cars used to be fun.
Now, they're just...efficient. Those that are fun put it there through direct dollar injection; I can't afford the amount of fun I want, if I'm looking in a modern car.
But in my TR6, it comes looking for me.
That's why.
24 hours, 446 miles later, I can check off the mechanicals: 22.7mpg, avg. speed 86mph, oil pressure at speed 80psi, at idle 45-50, and temp readings at 1/3 the gauge.
I'd check off the emotionals but I'm still grinning too hard.
Thanks for visiting.
-J.B. Zimmerman
If you're interested in more of his writing (fictional, in this case) it can be found here.
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