Notes From The Garage: Reeling from the Years
12/01/2005
The notion of turning 50 had been gnawing at me for some time. Despite my usual lack of interest in birthdays—which are by definition occasions for vain and self-absorbed persons to garner attention and gifts—this one loomed large. Pondering the inevitable transition—barring a gun cleaning accident or a really bad bottle of Bordeaux—unleashed a phalanx of vexations, each hurling its own particular insult to the more general injury attendant to the piling on of years. Recent bouts of insomnia provided ample opportunity to compile a laundry list of nonachievements, women gone wrong, and what-ifs that had lain dormant as a lungfish for decades. A sobering appraisal of the present only served to exacerbate my unease, as I tried to put this half-century milestone in a rational context. There was only one thing to do.I bought a Morgan. A new Morgan, which may as well be an old Morgan. While this last of the vaunted Plus 8s enjoys the advantage of fresh parts and perfect paint, it is no different in principle than its prewar forebears. Of course, 1968 saw the launch of the Plus 8 proper, which differed from earlier Morgans by having a V-8 engine instead of a straight-4. Essentially, the car is a contemporary alternative to a well-prepared Jaguar XK120, and delivers more fun per mile than any car I have ever owned. That is a bold statement, and it is true.
What makes the Morgan great—apart from its inimitable look—is the way it
drives. The heart of the car is its aluminum Rover V-8, tuned for torque and
loping power reminiscent of a genteel AC Cobra, mated to a no-nonsense 5-speed.
The burbling sound through dual exhausts satisfies all the way to the 6,000 rpm
redline. Braking is adequate, and steering is trucklike but easily managed. The
suspension is antediluvian, and the feel of the car, low from within the
cockpit, is soul stirring.
For those of us sympathetic to the automobile, a rational context in which to
consider one’s own coming of age—whatever age—is to look at the cars that
populated showrooms around the time we were born. Just for fun, I spent some
time reading the October 1955 issues of Road & Track, Motor Trend, and
Sports Cars Illustrated. The magazines’ editorial content betrays simpler times,
and the ad copy for cars then new to our continent, like Triumph and Jaguar, is
charmingly asinine today. The classified ads made me weep.
This past September, I attended the Palos Verdes Concours, which, along with the Art Center Car Classic and the Quail, has to be one of the best shows on the West Coast (Pebble Beach, of course, stands perfectly and pretentiously alone). The organizers had assembled their usual superb assortment of automobiles, beginning with a 1901 De Dion Bouton. That particular contraption is too old for me, but the notion of something a little older than its driver has real appeal, and it is my intention to fully explore the possibilities. Another Morgan—a genuinely old one this time—may be the solution. One painted pea green, with cycle fenders and Brooklands windscreens and bolt-upright, barrel backseats. After all, if Ponce de León were proffering his fountain’s elixir of youth today, I would willingly partake after driving there, top down, in a Morgan.
Robert Ross
Creative Director