Central Valley Classic Cars

The first question that you should be asking is what in heaven or earth (or somewhere more sinister) could have possessed me to buy a Europa?

I could tell you that I absolutely love the car, but that doesn’t really answer the question but merely begs: Why do I love this funny looking little trouble maker of a car?

Having owned a lot of interesting metal (and fiberglass) over the years I’ve noticed my way of looking at cars has changed. No my eyes haven’t gone. Ha ha. What has happened is that my criteria for liking a car has been freed up.

It used to be that I skipped to the end of car reviews to read the stats. To find out, mathematically which car was faster. That was what mattered right? I mean I need to know that my car is superior (and speed is primary way to judge that) to whatever car is next to me at a stoplight. But there is a tiring problem with that (besides the possibility of driver error which can easily make the fastest car slow). Its expensive. I can’t afford a car that is faster then 5 seconds from 0 to 60. So I bought what I could afford and then made it faster. But that still costs too much money. And cost can really suck the fun out of things. For instance I would thoroughly enjoy cruising around Italy in a rented Ferrari. But that would mean I wouldn’t be able to afford anything but rice and beans to eat for a couple years. And that takes some of the fun out of tooling around Europe in an Italian thoroughbred. So I don’t do that.

But two things have happened that have left my primary criteria rendered moot. The first is where I live now. When I was in the valley the road are smooth, straight and intersections are so big they seem designed for drag racing rather than for traffic control (not that I encourage such illegal behavior). But over here in Santa Cruz, we don’t have many multiple lane intersections. Roads are never straight and are only smooth for a week after they’ve been resurfaced. Worse is our freeway on-ramps. One of my favorite pass times in my old Mach 1 was slowly getting onto an on-ramp and then seeing how quickly I could get to free-way speed. But that was in Merced where on-ramps are straight and uphill (making power all the more important). Over here our on-ramps are all giant centrifuges that fling you onto the the freeway where you find the average speed of traffic is 45mph. Much unlike HWY 99 where the people seem to mistake the name of the road for the speed limit. What we do have here though is tight twisty back and mountain roads, and that lends itself to a car that maintains speed through corners rather then a car that builds speeds on straights.

All of this is then compounded by the experiences I’ve had in different cars. Since my days of hopping up old Mustangs (I still contend they are one of the best all around fun cars to work on and play with) I’ve driven a LOT of different cars from all over the world with all kinds of different drive-train arrangements. And what I’ve learned (what Ferrari has been preaching for years) is that its not about the numbers. Its about how a car feels.

There is a saying that, ‘driving a slow car fast is more fun then driving a fast car slow.’ Its so true. I’ve come to love old cars for their sensory input. For the noise and shakes that the cars make. So that when you’re doing 40 mph it feels like you’re riding a rocket ship ready to explode. That is more fun on a daily basis then sitting in an uber-Mercedes and when traveling 90 mph falling asleep from boredom. In that sense its also safer.

But none of that really mattered until I got over something. How I felt my car represented me. It used to be that if there was something wrong with my car, I had to fix it immediately. I wouldn’t ever have to say to someone, sorry, the car’s not working right now. This is important because my cars were always my projects and I felt these projects, because they were what I spent my time doing, represented me. I never wanted to say “I have such and such great car.” And then when asked if I could show it have to say “Well no, its on blocks right now, and primered and the engine is in pieces in my living room.” That was, in my mind something I would never let myself become, even though I knew such a condition was always looming.

But that was when I was single. Now I’m married and since my primary goal in impressing anyone was to meet women, I don’t feel so tied down to what a normal (non-car person, usually women) thinks of me. I’ve had some really great cars over the years and my wife’s opinion has ranged from not caring to not liking them. So I have no one to impress but myself.

It feels so much better. If a car has a problem now, I save it for a free weekend and actually enjoy doing the work. Its something constructive to do. The freedom also means I don’t worry as much about what the car says about me when I pull up to places. People (usually women) tell me how ugly such and such a car is (usually really famous race car that they know nothing about, just as I know nothing about Ballet) and I just shake my head and think, ‘they don’t understand.’ Which is great because opinions like those keeps value on certain fun, fast, but ugly cars low. And low value to others translates to affordability to me.

You may think then that because of my apathy towards image that I’m able to compromise and thus buy a less expensive ‘fun’ car. That is not the case at all. I’ve come to love ugly cars. I find that they are more fun then beautiful cars because you don’t worry about them. You don’t spend your weekends waxing them just to curse the rain and bird poop that came out of nowhere hours after you finished. Or have your day ruined by a new door ding courtesy of some careless person at Cost-Co (I will find you one day and take my revenge!). Ugly cars can be tossed, raced, enjoyed and not worried over. And to me, ugly is better then boring.

So why the Europa? Its got all the novel things I like; British, wood dash, mid-engined, non-powered steering. And it is what I love. It is FUN to drive. Sensory input galore, 30mph feels like 50, steering that makes a Ferrari feel like a lumbering giant (in comparison it is, this car makes a Miata look big). And despite its ugliness, it looks great in Le Mans style stripes (I’ve always wanted to paint these stripes on a car but never had one that would like right with them). Driving is a joy again. I make up excuses to go anywhere in the car, just because its so much fun to slam its gear shift around and zig-zag down straight roads just because the cars agility feels so un-earthly.

I also deeply connect with the spirit of the engineering in the car. Okay that sounds really bizarre but here’s what I mean: I’ve often dreamt up how I think a car should be designed. True I feel my ideas are better looking then the Europa but the engineering is in total agreement. Mid-engined, and light. I don’t need or even want all the things put into cars today that make them weigh 2 tons. 2 TONS!!! Why do I need to move 4000lbs around when 90 percent of the time I’m the only thing that needs moving? To put it in perspective, why would I pay for gas to move 4000 lbs just to move 170lbs? Even if I have a buddy with me, that’s still less then 400 lbs for both of us together. The Europa weighs in at 1400lbs. That means it takes a lot less power to go fast. Which means less fuel too. Which means less emissions.

Its then kind of a bonus, living in Santa Cruz where everyone claims to be greener then they are. I get to say, my vintage sports car AVERAGES 35mpg without overdrive (which I hope to add one day). Apparently I’m saving the environment one Lotus at a time.

And all of that is besides the wonderfully snug feel of the interior, the vintage gauges, the feeling that the car could convert into an airplane if I could just find the lever that makes it do that. And I can’t forget to mention that it is the easiest car to work on that I’ve ever owned by a wide margin. Or that its the kind of car I don’t feel guilty about customizing with my personal mechanical modifications and the aforementioned stripes.

So when you see me driving around in the tiny little British racer, looking like my legs have been amputated, you’ll know. I’m actually having the time of my life.