Racing The Clock ...and The Calendar.
One sign of a "mid-life crisis" often is a shiny Sports car. I got mine when I was in my twenties.
It was a British import, much-loved (especially by my mechanic) and a young lady I eventually married, was pretty impressed by my low slung 2-seater with wire-spoked wheels.
The first child meant getting a station wagon so bye-bye Triumph TR-3.
Of course, we now drove a nice sensible little Ford station wagon and our growing family really did need more than 2 leather bucket seats, but a first Sports car is sort of like your first love. Mostly fond memories.
Well, the British-trained mechanic HAD insisted on changing the oil every 1,000 miles.
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Jump forward through several marriages, divorces and moves to various cities and states and here I am back in Charleston.
Driving one afternoon in Mt. Pleasant I see a beautifully-restored Triumph in a parking lot.
I slip my card under the windscreen wiper asking the owner to call me.
A few days before Christmas, we met. He let me pose beside it and even sit in it.
It was a VERY snug fit.
Labels: British sports car, Ford station wagon, mechanic, oil change, Triumph TR-3
posted by chucker @ 4:17 PM
3 Comments:
OHMIGOODNESS- I love your pics. My favorite uncle had a Triumph TR 7. He would drive me around with the top down. Of course, years later a woman he was cheating on would set it on fire, but that is neither here nor there. Thanks for the flashback!
Well, wait a minute, was he IN the car when it was set afire?
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