Brooks Peterson

Monday, Mar. 29, 1999

Would restored car require a driver remake?

   What follows may be of little or no interest to many if not most of you. Still, the issue keeps coming up, so I thought I'd save all of us a little time by dealing with it in this space.
   It happened most recently when I was passing the time of day with my mechanic/sensei: As we conversed, he glanced at my green (and evergreen) '67 MGB roadster and said, "You know, if you put a few hundred dollars into that car, you'd have yourself a real beauty."
   Aaiieeee: If I've heard that once, I've heard it a zillion times. The MG and I have had a long, eventful and soul-satisfying relationship since a nice guy named Carmichael at Austin's old Continental Cars got my name on the dotted line back in October of '67.
   Of course, By now the MG shows the effects of the 165,000 or so miles we've trekked together.
   As matters now stand, the B is what one auto writer dubbed "a 30-foot car": That is, from 30 feet away, it looks pretty darned good. The paint has some luster, and if you approach the car from its good side (the driver's side door still carries an impressive ding from a long-ago parking-lot encounter), it bears few visible signs of wear save for the little rust patches in front of each of the rear wheel wells. For all its years, it's still plenty jaunty.
   However, get a little closer and you see what my friend was talking about: The acrylic lacquer, applied some 25 or so years ago by Hugo's Kustom Kolors, held up better than I had any right to expect, but there's no question a re-paint is in order. The rubber seals around the windows and windshield are hardening and turning into dust. The plastic rear window of the convertible (ha!) top is going opaque. And the wire wheels boast an accumulation of grime and rust.
   The B, in other words, Needs Some Attention. (Mechanically, thanks to some fairly serious work, she's in great shape . . . save for the inevitable puddle of oil on the garage floor, which is standard equipment with any British sporting machine.)
   So why don't I shake loose a few dollars and restore my beloved roadster to pristine condition?
   It's a question that deserves an answer - in this case, three answers.
   First, there's the matter of money. This would take a fair amount of cash, if I wanted the job done right - and if you're not going to do it right, why do it at all? That rationalization has worked for me for at least the past decade, but it's beginning to look a bit threadbare. I suppose I could shake loose the dough . . .
   Which brings us to the second point: the dreaded New Paint Job Syndrome. A few years back, we got our old BMW 5-series repainted for an astonishingly reasonable price ($450, if you must know - and that included taking out some dings). For a few weeks, we all luxuriated in its new comeliness - especially since the 5-series of that day was/is a particularly handsome vehicle. Eventually, though, they got us: My wife came out of the supermarket to find a huge gouge in the driver's-side door which almost certainly was intentionally afflicted. It was bad enough with the BMW; I don't know if I could stand it with the B.
   The third argument however, is the most powerful - at least to me. See, here's the thing: Say I invest the money and time that would be required to bring the MG back to showroom condition, or something close to it. You know what happens next?
   I'll tell you what happens next: Every time I take 'er out for a spin, I'll see people saying to one another: "Oh, wow. What's that seedy-looking middle-aged guy doing in a neat car like that? There's no justice."
   I'm not kidding you: I've had the same reaction myself as I've seen some unworthy knave motoring along in a pristine early-model Jaguar XK-E. (OK, I'm biased: Until I've got mine, nobody is worthy of owning such a knock-your-socks-off gorgeous machine.)
   So: Having applied a makeover to the MG, I'd have to do the same for myself. We're talking hours in the gym, jogging, pumping iron, push-ups, a strict dietary regime, maybe some white-water rafting . . . just to make myself worthy of my own car. (No cosmetic surgery, though: You've got to draw the line somewhere.)
   I dunno. Maybe I'll go for it. No denying it would do us both a lot of good. Still, I need to give this a lot of thought. A commitment of this magnitude just can't be rushed.
   (Peterson can be reached at 886-3772 or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com)