Cordero Studios
Notes From The Garage: Reeling from the Years
December 1, 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.
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