Dward Farquar's Blob

• Nov. 28, 2005 - The Awakening

In 1972 my brother and I  came upon a Triumph TR3A on the front lawn of a dilapidated house with a For Sale sign on it. We pulled right in. The car wasn't drivable because someone had put DOT brake fluid in it and it was eating all of the natural rubber cups and seals. It started right up and we drove it around the block using the emergency brake to stop. The car was complete including side curtains and for $700 it was ours. We rebuilt the brakes with newer type rubber, replaced the cork in the carbs with neoprene. And finally, an idler arm and what would have been a ball joint on the right front. It was like a horizontal king pin of sorts. After figuring out that we had the battery hooked up backwards, the liitle car was amazingly reliable and a blast to drive. I'll never forget the first time I put the tail out about a foot and a half, went a little to opposite lock, and stayed in the gas. Over the next two years we redid the interior, repainted, and had the wire wheels redone. British racing green with tan interior - beautiful. The TR3A was the end of era - the last of the traditional post war British sports cars. It was a schizoid mix of technologies. The four cylinder engine had a primal roar due to the inherent vibration. In the gas, it was accompanied by gear whine and the reverb of two side draft carburetors sucking air. Nobody put radios in them. It was in it's element as an open roadster and became claustrophobic with the top up and the side curtains snapped into place. Side vision was through lexan. You grabbed the door handle and twisted it to open a door with no glass. To open from the inside, you pushed down on a cable through an opening in the door trim. It rode like a sled and cornered like it was on rails. The lever action shocks would have been quite at home on a late 30's model. And that hole in the grille - it's for the crank. The Triumphs were a blast to drive. They overwhelmed your senses. There was none of the isolation from the environment  that  cars have today. You felt every rise and fall of the pavement and the wind on your face. The handling was summed up in the word "tossable". After a period in my life when cars were uninteresting, The Triumph awakened a feeling. It can't be described. The photo below was downloaded from the internet. It's a good restoration and communicates an attitude and affection for automobiles that is completely different than anything one might feel about contemporary cars. It is possible to over restore them. The fit of the body panels was constantly changing as the cars were driven due to what the British call "scuttle shake". There was no detail finishing like one sees on more expensive British cars. Triumph, MG, and Austin Healey were the low end of sports cars. In the late fifties all were making the change into the modern era. Door glasses, bigger motors, better suspensions. But the British were stodgy in their attitude. They hung on to a concept of the "proper motorcar" and the way they should be built that mirrored their retention of the Royals. Materials reflected the eternal supremacy of the Kingdom, were from the colonies, and were made from natural resources . No petrochemicals for these boys. There was also a bit of that World War II austerity in their lack of features. You can't allow the common man too much comfort. Extravagance and luxury were the exclusive domain of the upper class. They, of course, could ride behind their chauffeur with their vintage wine in cut crystal. The isolation of a Rolls-Royce reflecting the class distinctions of their society. A Lalique hood ornament being the only out of place element. A little too romantic and passionate for their reserved manner, but it was art and that cost money and required refinement for "proper" appreciation.   A gentleman's sports car was the Jaguar - pronounced "Jag-you-are"  Then there were cars like the TR3 and MG TD.  A look at the picture sums it up nicely.

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