Why we have these cars, revisited (3)...

[Scott Fisher <sefisher@domain.elided>]

We left the Hallcrest parking lot headed up Highway 9 towards the final
stop of the day, the White Cockade.  Since I had the only Spica-equipped
car in the bunch, and my gas gauge was in the lower quarter of its
range, I took advantage of the relative civilization of Felton and
filled up at the Chevron station at the corner of Felton Empire and
Highway 9.  The traffic through Felton and Boulder Creek was fairly
heavy, as usual, but it didn't stop me from enjoying the overhanging
redwoods and the shadows down the sides of the canyon towards the San
Lorenzo River.  I gave a suitable blip of the throttle when passing Al
Leake's shop in Boulder Creek; for those who don't know, Al is a
longtime Alfa driver, tuner and supporter, and there are always some
cool cars parked in front of his shop on Highway 9.

The White Cockade is... interesting.  It's a Scottish pub in the
California redwoods, an anomaly in many ways.  The barkeep there has a
Scots accent that goes so far beyond the pale (or actually Hadrian's
Wall, as the Pale is really a reference to the Irish Gaels) that one
year, my friend Berry Kercheval (with the '66 Bentley T Type) said, as
the barkeep left our table, "Three out of five."

"Beg pardon?"

"I understood three out of five words that time.  Either he's getting
better or I am."

We settled down to pints of Fuller's ESB on draught and eventually to
huge platters of fish and chips, served with malt vinegar and salt on
the side.  Every time I've been at the Cockade, I run into friends who
just happened to stop in there that day -- it's that kind of place.  On
this journey it was TeriAnn Wakeman, the woman who had helped me plan
the original Britcars Day tour.  She was in her restored (finally!)
Triumph TR3, a glorious red car with magnificent details, but running a
little rough.  She had done all the restoration work on her car herself,
over the past decade, and seeing it on the road finally was a real joy. 
She replaced the original SUs at some time with a brace of Webers, and
my Alfa experience helped her out.  She was experiencing a bad miss and
thought there was an ignition problem, while my sensitive ear (mainly
sensitive to her comment that "it really evens out onve you get over
about 4000 RPM") recognized a DCOE Weber with dirt in the idle circuit:
running on three cylinders at idle, barrelling along like a fighter
plane at 4000 and up.

On the way out of the pub, we located the friendly owner of a large
truck who had blocked a couple of us.  "Your Alfa?" he asked me.  I
nodded.  "I used to have an Alfetta, back in the Eighties.  Bought it
new -- loved it.  Wish I still had it."  We chatted about handling for a
second; I nodded, thanked him for moving the truck, and headed out of
the parking lot and back up the hill.

Just as I was leaving the lot, fate stepped in -- I had to wait to let a
minivan pass the exit of the lot, and behind it was...

...a British Racing Green MGB.

Now, some of you know that the car that prompted me to start the tour
I've been describing here was a British Racing Green MGB.  In fact, the
inaugural tour was for the American MGB Assocation's national
convention, held in Palo Alto that year, and I was tour director for the
day.  Over the years, the B was "under development" (not "broken," mind
you, but "under development") about as many times as it made the tour. 
But whatever car I took on the tour, I could always say that I had a
British Racing Green MGB at home, which is why I was leading a British
Sports Car tour in an Audi, or a Datsun, or an Alfa. 

But not this year.  I sold the MGB in 1998, for many reasons documented
elsewhere (if you have to know, check out
http://www.living-history.org/classics/tgc.html for the details).  I
*used* to have a British Racing Green MGB, *used* to drive it on these
roads, *used* to enjoy it.

And now I was following one, only this one was in condition about as
nice as my Spider (my MGB was always sound and eventually very fast, but
never better than shabby cosmetically).

The minivan finally got the clue that the people behind it would really
find it just awfully decent if we could get past at one of the many
turnouts on this road, and the B and I blew past.

And then we had fun.

I noticed, though, that the B's driver seemed to be using much more of
the road than I was -- running very wide on entrance and exit of the
corners, in particular.  I made a point of staying "between the lines,"
even when I could safely see that there was no oncoming traffic.  I also
noticed that I'd have to lift as we exited the corner, otherwise I'd run
into the rear of the M.G. which, somehow, didn't seem to be coming off
the turns quite as hard as the Spider.  In short, the M.G. seemed to be
working hard -- a *lot* harder than the Alfa, and not going quite as
fast in the process.  I chose not to put too much pressure on the MGB
for many reasons, not the least of them being the presence of my wife in
the car beside me -- she's admitted that she doesn't like twisty roads
as much as I do -- so I wasn't really hounding him or trying to execute
a pass, even at places where I felt I could have safely done so on the
track.  And, of course, we weren't *on* the track, we were two guys in
cool old sports cars out for a fast drive in the mountains.  I didn't
want to ruin his day... especially not as the experience had just
completely made mine.

Did you ever have a long, important relationship with someone and then
break up, not without regrets mind you but permanently, and then some
time later start a new relationship with someone whose company you found
you enjoyed more in every way?  And then did you ever meet up with your
old sweetie while your new sweetie was there at your side, looking just
drop-dead gorgeous, wittier, sexier, more intelligent, and more
glamorous than the old sweetie ever could have hoped?

That's what the drive home was like for me and the Spider.

We pulled into the driveway at 7 PM on Saturday, 27 hours and some 200
miles after leaving for Davenport.  Kim's weekend was glorious, she
says, if only for spending a day with other adults, talking about wine
and food and sports cars and some of the world's most magnificent
scenery.  In addition to all of that, though, I had the vivid, magical
experience of fate stepping in to let me know I'd made the right choice
in two difficult decisions -- selling the M.G. and buying this
particular Alfa.  It was a defining moment in my relationship with the
Spider, and one I'll never forget.

 --Scott Fisher
   Sunnyvale, California

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End of alfa-digest V7 #1043
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