After the demise of my very first
sports car, (a beautiful TR250 I totaled on the
night before Christmas), the urge to get another
sports car was undeniable. One day white passing by
a Sunoco gas station near exit 75 off I80 in
Pennsylvania, I spotted a green Triumph Spitfire
parked in the abandon/wrecked car lot next to the
building, I stopped immediately and inquired. The
mechanic on duty said the car had broken down on
the interstate, (a Triumph broken down?) and was
towed in. He said the driver couldn't afford to
have the car repaired so he sold it to the owner of
the gas station. I asked if it was for sale and the
mechanic said that I'd have to ask his boss. He
said his boss would be in at 7:00 am tomorrow.
The next day found me standing by the car at
7:00 am waiting for the owner to arrive. The owner
was pointing out the pristine condition of the car
"she's from North Carolina," he exclaimed, "only
19K miles". I inquired as to the price and got
"she's yours for a $ l000". The year was 1977, the
car was a 1975 and was the most beautifully shaped
car I'd ever seen, (save for that of my TR250). I'd
asked what's wrong with it? He said "I don't know
but it won't turn over, look under the hood", so I
did.
This beautiful car had a connecting rod
protruding through the engine block. I bought it on
the spot.
For the next several weeks I called salvage
yards about a used engine. While waiting for a
reply from the salvage yards, I explored the car
and dreamed what it would be like to drive it; I
read the owners manual over and over, opened and
closed the "bonnet", (at least five times a day),
played with the map light etc. I removed the engine
and cleaned the engine bay preparing it for the
new/used engine.
Finally I got the call, but I'd already spent
all my money on the car. The salvage yard wanted
$500 for the motor and they only would guarantee
that it wouldn't burn oil "excessively". I went to
the closest loan office and borrowed $1000; (you
always need a little extra for those odds and
ends).
I bought the engine and installed it. Life was
good, driving the Spitfire was even better than I
had dreamed. My friends liked it too. I taught my
girlfriend how to drive a stick and left her use it
from time to time.
Then darkness fell one dreadful evening while
visiting some friends at an informal party. As the
evening grew late people started to leave. One
fellow, driving a jacked up 1969 GTO, (AKA Goat),
backed into the Spitfire's left rear fender. It was
an accident but I was livid. I insisted that he pay
for the damage and there will be no body filler on
this car. The rear fender was replaced and
repainted.
Soon came the final payment on my thousand
dollar loan. What a great feeling it was to drop by
the loan office and hand them the last payment. The
feeling wasn't to last. As I came out of the load
office, my heart nearly stopped. My beautiful Spit
had been pushed backward about two feet, coolant
was pouring out of the radiator and there was a
huge gash in the front of the bonnet. There had
been a red Ford F 350 4x4 parked in front of my car
when I went into the loan office, it wasn't there
when I returned but it's bumper hitch left it's
mark. Back into the loan office I went to borrow
some needed cash so I could repair my Spit. In an
attempted to find the owner of the Ford, I posed
myself as a tele-marketer and made about a thousand
calls, no luck.
Months later after my Spit was back in its
shinny BRG condition, and the recently acquired
$500 loan was paid off disaster struck again, this
time from above. On a cold sunny winter day, I was
dropping by a friend's apartment. She resided in a
building that was accessed from the main street via
an alleyway between two five-story buildings.
Immediately after making the turn into the alley, a
teenage boy standing in the middle of the alley and
waving his arms yelled for me to stop so I lid.
Seconds later the trunk of a well-seasoned six foot
blue spruce, (formerly a Christmas tree) fell from
the sky and planted itself on the top of the Spit's
bonnet. The plastic fan blade went thuda, thuda,
thuda in response. The boy took off!
I got out of the car and looked up. A woman was
looking down and screaming at the boy, "I told you
to stop the traffic you dumb shit." I don't think
he was listening since he was by now on the other
side of town. The woman had six kids, her husband
was in jail and she was on public assistance, she
gave me $75.00. I headed back to the loan office
for more money.
I landed a new job in Gettysburg PA
and the Spitfire came with me. I lived close to my
job and found it refreshing to walk to work. I
found a small garage to rent to house the Spitfire.
By this time the engine was getting short on
breath, so I decided to overhaul the engine, fix
the bonnet and repaint the whole car. It all
started out simply enough but one thing led to
another and before I knew it I had completely
stripped the Spit to the frame. I rented a BIG sand
blaster, (this thing was on a trailer and had an
engine bigger than the Spit's) blasted almost
everything, undercoated, rebuilt and repainted the
Spitfire until it was better than new. But, as you
could guess, it was not to last.
Remember the movie starring Clint Eastwood, Play
Misty for Me. Well instead of trying to kill me,
she did something far worse. She went to my rented
garage, broke the windows and threw a pile of
bricks onto my freshly painted Spitfire. Instead of
throwing her over a cliff, I reported her to the
police. She admitted liability but I never saw her
again or any money.
I drove the poor cosmetically challenged
Spitfire for several years until one day the thrust
washers spun out of the crankshaft center flange. I
managed to get the limping Spitfire home and was
considering another engine re-build when I got word
of another job opportunity in New York. So me and
my other means of transportation, (a pink MG
Midget) went to the "Big Apple". Having no garage
in NY, the poor Spitfire was forced into
hibernation in central Pennsylvania in my mother's
back yard. One day, I vowed, the Spitfire will
return. The "one day" was to be 12 years long.
After establishing a foothold,
(house, family and garage) in the "Big Apple" it
was finally time to bring the Spit back to life. It
had been parked outdoors on blocks for over 12
years and on the worst possible winter night,
through salt, snow and icy conditions, I towed it
240 miles to it's new home.
Never being quite satisfied with the engine's
performance, I decided when I rebuilt the Spitfire
this time, it was going to have some real fire,
The Spitfire has come
full circle and gone through a complete
transformation. Again the body was removed, sand
blasting, epoxy coatings, new springs, rubbers and
things etc, etc. But the fire under the bonnet now
comes from a GM source, a
1963 Olds 215 CID aluminum V8
with, (believe it or not), a factory turbo charger
and "Turbo Rocket fluid injection".
The transmission is a Borg Warner T5, the wheels
are American racing and the paint is DuPont's
Chrome Illusion, (Jade Perfection).
The Spitfire is once again finished, but dare I
drive it? Although I'm happily married and don't
think I'll ever see Misty again, many people here
drive monster SUV's, celebrate Christmas, (with
live trees), and the buildings; they're much much
taller.
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