--- In thefordlounge@..., "Justin Tuijl" <jtuijl@g...>
wrote:
> do thoust not agree?
Hi Justin
You could be right. Just to liven things up a bit. I have a story to
relate to anyone who wants to read it. It is about my first car.
So here goes:

My Isetta bubble car cost me thirty-five pounds back in 1969, and she
gave me back more fun than any vehicle that I've ever owned since. I
called her "Supercar" after a children's TV show that was popular at
that time.
Pulling out to pass parked cars was an adventure, as it was a left
hand drive and the acceleration was 0-30… eventually. Approaching a
parked vehicle at the side of the road I would pull out into the
middle of the street to make my pass, then I might for instance see a
large truck heading toward me. At this point nothing could be done as
the little car didn't have a reverse gear, and as already mentioned I
didn't have the acceleration to speed past into a safe area. All I
could do was to half close my eyes (safety always on my mind), and
trundle on. I am convinced that I have heard every note on the
musical scale, emanating from all the different car horns, produced
by different manufacturers, used against my little car and me.
Parking was always fun because I never knew if I would be able to get
back in when I returned. The car had only one door and that was at
the front. So, when you opened it the steering wheel pivoted forward
along with the door, allowing easy access. However! If someone parked
too close to the front of Sc the door could not be opened due of
course to lack of room. Even on the occasions when other cars allowed
enough room I was not always able to drive straight out, I might need
to reverse her back for that little bit of extra room needed to able
exit easily out onto the road.
Fortune was with me at all times though, as my little cars brakes,
both foot brake and hand brake were not very reliable, and so it was
easy for me to pop open the sliding plastic side window, then push,
pull, and steer her free of the parking space.
Another time the poor braking system came into its own was a day I
was visiting my Mothers house. I had parked Sc at the side of the
road a little way up from Mums, I was sitting enjoying a cup of tea
and a slice of my favourite cake, (bought in specially for me), when
I was amazed to see Sc flying down the road past Mums living room
window, at a fair rate of knots. The rate of which I honestly didn't
know she was capable of achieving. Now at this point you are probably
thinking the same as I did at that time. My car was in the process of
being stolen.
`WRONG'!
The more observant onlooker would have noticed that Sc was heading
down the road at bullet speed with no driver!!!
What had happened was this:
Sc was parked as I have already related, when a woman in a large
American convertible hung a left from a side road onto the main road
where Sc was parked. This left turn of hers was going up the hill
away from Sc. But! The lady pulled out in front of a transit van that
was heading toward Sc. As the American car was very big and the owner
had not looked properly before making her turn she forced the van
driver to brake hard and skid out of control. He hit the American car
and wobbled on and down the street. Of course he was unable to stop
in time before crashing his van into Sc, whose brakes as I have
already pointed out were, not of the highest calibre (no pun
intended). Sc sustained not a scratch, even though she was hit with
enough force for her to make a personal best in the 0-60 stakes, and
I still remember the feeling of pride I had as I walked the fifty
yards or so to get her back.
Winter was (and I suspect still is) a challenge to the three-wheel
car driver, but none more than to me the owner and driver of
Supercar. I don't think I'm wrong when I say that the winters back
then were harsher than they are now, we always seemed to get snow at
some point over the winter, and it would lay around longer when it
had settled, maybe it's global warming these days, who knows? So
anyway let me carry on with this part of my story. The little Isetta
didn't have a heater, I believe this item was an optional extra on
the purchase of a new vehicle. I would wrap up warm with a scarf,
overcoat, and a warm pair of gloves, and set of on my trip to-
wherever. Trouble was I needed to drive with the side window open so
as to try and get the temperature equal inside and out, otherwise the
windows would steam up for the rest of the journey.
One trick I learned from the old timers was to rub a potato cut in
half over the windscreen this would help to cut down on misting,
unfortunately it also cut down on visibility.
When ice was around matters got somewhat more interesting, as the
misting up problem was cured!
You got no mist!.
But what you did get was ICE, and without a heater you could go
nowhere. Again the old timers came to the rescue…Glycerine! That was
the stuff. Again it had a slight drawback.
1. It worked only to a minor degree, and
2. When you did get to beat the ice and use glycerine before it
frosted you had to guess where you were going during a journey.
It was akin to looking through a shower curtain instead of glass.
Now snow was a whole new ball game. Think of a road covered in snow
and used by several cars, trucks, and buses, before you start out.
What you have here is `Tracks'. Any car can follow the car that went
before; you just follow the tracks…Right?
Wrong!
In a three-wheeler that is not going to happen. You get the front
wheels into the track, but the BACK wheel doesn't want to follow, it
slides into the rut on one side and you put the steering wheel on
lock and go crab like down the road, at some point the back wheel
finds a bit of a break in the track and flips over to the other rut
in the snow, a quick adjustment to your steering wheel and of you go
again. I would be interested to know how the owners of the three
wheeled Reliant's handle their vehicles in the snow when they have
the single wheel in the front.
Supercar's death was slow and painful, and it is only now after all
these years that I feel I can talk about it.
The beginning of the end came one day on my way to work when her
brakes let me down.
(Thinks. Maybe I should have fixed them).
I was heading towards work on my usual rout when I came up to a
particularly difficult junction. For the people who use this road
every day it is of small consequence, but to the casual user of this
rout they are not so easy to negotiate. The main road, which is the
road I take each day is quite straight forward, but at one point it
snakes at a junction with several small side roads that go off at
different angles, and so the new driver to this area, using the side
roads may think he has the right of way, and that the main road from
his angle is no more a major road than the one that he is currently
on.
And so it was on this fateful day. I was trundling along reaching
speeds close to the thirty mile per hour speed limit when I came upon
the afore mentioned junction. As I approached I became aware of a
huge truck pulling out in front of me into the road. I assessed the
situation and calculated that if he keeps moving as he was, and I was
to apply my brakes just at that moment I would slow sufficiently for
him to have passed over the critical point and into the road where he
was now heading. I still to this day think my calculations were
exact.
The problem was he had also cut in front of a car coming in the
opposite direction, and this car he saw. Our truck driver applied his
(very efficient) brakes and stopped. I however was still travelling
in his general direction and hit the back of his truck. He stayed
where he was, I could not move. The front door of Sc was stuck up the
back of his truck. As I sat their waiting for him to get out of his
cab and come around and see what had run into him I noticed that his
truck was much more than just a truck it was an Army tank carrier
complete with tank on the back. He didn't even feel the impact. He
drove away into the street that he was heading for and was gone.
Now Sc's engine had cut out at this stage and would not start. I was
sitting in the middle of a very busy and very dangerous junction in a
car that would not start. I tried to open the door and get out but
found that it was stuck. I looked down and saw why. The impact had
wrapped the bottom of the door around my foot I pulled and my foot
came out of the wreck, leaving my shoe stuck in the door, I opened it
and got out, I was wearing one shoe and the pain in my foot kicked
in. I felt more than a little embarrassed as I hopped and pushed Sc
to the side of the road. Eventually I got her started and got to work.
That lunchtime at work I took a piece of wood and a hammer and beat
the bent door into "shape"? At this point I even got my shoe back
though the sole was ripped off. I worked at a chrome platting shop at
that time and so I was able to borrow a pair of Wellington boots for
the morning, and as it turned out the rest of the day.
Anyway Sc was as good as new. (I know I Know! That's a lie). At least
I could drive her again, and my life went on as normal… for a few
days.
I did not carry much money with me when I went to work in those days
unless I was going to get some petrol or some other reason. Anyway on
this day I needed petrol and brought a ten-shilling note (fifty
pence, though it would buy a lot more then).I left the ten bob on the
bench seat of Sc while I was working, and "yes" it was still there
when I came out at lunchtime.
I would go to the petrol station and "fill her up".
Everything started as normal as I drove of down the road, but then I
felt my a*se getting hotter, and hotter, until I was sure that my
pants were on fire. I stopped as quickly as I could flung open the
door and literally jumped out of the car, smacking my backside to
kill the burning pain, and put out any fire that might have started
therein.
I turned back to Sc to inspect the damage but with me opening the
door so fast I fanned the flames and now the whole bench seat was on
fire. I started to feel a panic in my chest as I realized that Sc was
going to go up in flames (I could just about handle that) but she was
parked next to old man Roach's car. Now old man Roach was a car
dismantler, who like all the car dismantlers who went before him was
a tough bas**rd. I knew right then that he would not be happy if my
car; that I loved very much was to set his brand new Merc on fire.
Luck was with me again that day in the form of a corporation road
cleaner, and a plucky young Irish lad who leaped from the said road
cleaner with a fire extinguisher in his hands exclaiming as he
advanced I'll get that for ye sir. He was as good as his word and the
fire was put out. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked him and he was
on his way.
So there I was Sc was still in one piece but minus a seat.
Now as I have already said I was outside old man Roach's scrap yard,
and so a plan formulated in my small brain. I would walk right into
Roach's car breaking yard and get a seat for Sc. Easy!
Problem was the ten bob that was beside me on the seat was torched,
and I had not got any more money, but in I went in anyway to ask.
`I'll give you the money when I get paid' I said to old man Roach.
`Let me see your car son' he replied.
I led him out to Sc. He looked at her and then at the close proximity
of his Merc. He smiled and said `You lucky bas**rd'. I knew what he
meant. And I smiled back; Weekly.
`Look son' he said. `I haven't got a seat that would fit your bubble
car, but I've got something that might help till you get fixed up'.
I felt like a fool driving whilst sitting on an orange box. My head
was too high and I had to bend my neck so that I could see where I
was going.
I took the burned seat back to work, which was only a few hundred
yards away, and thought I might be able to fix it up. I t became
apparent very soon that this would not be possible. The impact from
the crash a few days earlier had made me lurch forward and then back,
this had cracked one of the support springs underneath the seat. At
the same time a cover for the car battery which is also under the
seat had jumped off leaving the battery exposed. On the day I took Sc
out for petrol, the spring under the seat had given way and broken.
As I drove down the road on that day the two broken ends of the
spring touched the battery terminals and… Fire!
I managed to get a replacement seat from a second hand Isetta dealer
at the time, but the old girl didn't ever drive properly after that.
Then after her cutting out and loosing all power to the engine and
her lights one night in the middle of the Warwickshire country side I
decided enough was enough and sold her to a friend Dad for five
pounds. He was a very handy amateur mechanic, but I can tell you he
didn't ever get her to run and that was the end of Sc.
Gone but not forgotten.
R.I.P. (Rust In Peace).