by waaytoomuchintothis » Sat Jul 21, 2018 9:17 pm
Today was a big success. We drove far out into the countryside to a house in the woods... with six outbuildings full of classic Jaguars, MG's. Trimuphs, and a few Mercedes. One of the buildings had 9 bays, two with nice lifts. The others had double wide doors for 4 bays each. Laughing and playing and working on near priceless cars was a cabal of great guys, and at 67 I was the youngest one there. We spent the morning working and getting to know each other.
We all went to lunch together at a little Maw & Paw place that sat between a tractor service station and a gas station with more diesel pumps than gasoline ones. We spent the afternoon back in the building at the house in the woods, working on a supercharged XKR convertible. Finished it up (it had an electric window switch that stuck), and we moved on, to an early MGB in the next bay.
This is how these old guys work in their secretive incredibly well-equipped valhalla of British cars. They bring cars into the bays, lining up the work to come, and one at a time, they do everything from complete engine or transmission rebuilds to little nuisance things like that window switch that had to be removed, filed smooth, reinstalled, computer memory flashed and rebooted, and drive it out the door, swarming all over the car all at once, and inviting Bill and I to join in. As soon as that Jag was out, they all turned and started on the MGB. I have never seen anything like it.
The conversation all day was about all the things they wanted to do with Bill's old Spitfire. We brought the carbs with us, and the chief guru among them saw them from across the room and said, "Those aren't from a Spitfire." He took them over to the bench and and explained the bizarre design of the SU carburettor, which as far as I'm concerned, must work by magic. Sure enough, he found markings on the pair and went to the computer to look them up. They certainly didn't belong on a Spitfire, but as he said, "I bet they work great on it." He went over to a chest of drawer type tool box, one of dozens in there, and pulled out two little baggies, the exact correct rebuild kits for those oddball carbs that don't belong on our project car. He said, "These damned kits cost $243 each." I wondered at the hundreds of others he had in that chest. One of the senior guys in the group who was under the MGB at the time, said, "I'll get those." Bill and I flubbered in astonishment at the generosity of this total stranger, thanking him profusely. The host plopped the two bags down on the bench beside the SUs and started the disassembly, with Bill right beside him, glued to every move he made, teaching Bill as he went along. The guy who volunteered to buy the expensive rebuild kits came out from under the MGB, and peeled off his coveralls, shook Bill and my hands, got in the XKR fired it up and left. When he returned he had a load of meat for Tuesday's BBQ that he loaded into the big fridge. Every Saturday morning they gather and work on cars, every Tuesday evening they cook outdoors and tell tales. That was when we were informed that we were expected on Tuesday.
I have not seen this kind of gathering of guys since the neighborhood when I was a boy. I half expected to see a sign on the door that said something like "He-man woman haters club- no girls allowed", like the Spanky and Our Gang comedies. But the wonderful hostess who came out to see everyone from time to time, and went with us to lunch would have voided that kind of nonsense. Good old farm girl, full of fun and smiles, and clearly the favorite of all these geezers. She was wonderful, and easily 40 years younger than our host- not his daughter or granddaughter, his girlfriend!
Outside, there were a couple dozen Jaguars, lined up, either waiting to be restored or in the process of being cannibalized. The great old inline 6 engines were all over the place, and lots of V-12s. The new V8s were scattered around, several of them supercharged.
On the walls were pictures of these guys with cars they had done, going back decades. Lots of XK120s, 140s and a rare XK150, many E-type beauties, an Inspector Morse Mark II (my favorite), several sedans I didn't recognize at all, and quite a few of them had the steering wheels on the British side of the cars. There were lots of MG TDs and TCs, too.
Tuesday evening, I'll ask if it is okay for me to take pictures. By Wednesday, there may be an orgy of British cars and that shop to drool over on HRW. I hope so. I haven't described today well enough here just now.
When I took Bill home, he was barely able to stay awake on the drive home. He practically poured himself out of the car, and when his wife came out to greet us, she was worried at how he looked, but he said, "Oh Terri, it was unbelieveable. We're going back there every Saturday morning from now on. You heard that, Rob? That's a date!" It was a great day for both of us, but it was best for Bill. I don't think he thought about cancer once all day.