(This is kind of an homage to the kinds of articles the great Peter Egan wrote in Road & Track)
The year was 1984. I was newly out of school and enrolled at the local community college and needed a car so I could get there. I had a $1,000 budget. I really wanted an early 70's BMW 2002. They were handsome, sporty and practical. A "real" car. But the examples in my price range were really beat, scary to drive if I am honest. Then I spotted a 1974 Triumph Spitfire 1500 on Long Island. It came with a factory hardtop and some oversize snows on the rear. And it was brown. But it ran. Barely. A couple of friends had had them a few years before and I had developed a soft spot for them. A classic small British convertible with a real wooden dashboard. What's not to love?
I had never even changed the oil on a car. That would all soon change.
I picked it up on a cold January day and drove it to my friend's house. Luckily I had mechanically adept friends who had taught me to drive stick and now were teaching me how to maintain a car. We stayed up late cleaning and assessing things, preparing a list of tuneup parts we'd need. This would be the first of many days of work it would require to get back into shape, and stay there.
As cars go, the Spitfire is a funny bit of engineering. The chassis is not really body on frame like old cars or pickup trucks, and it is not a modern unibody (where the body is the frame), rather it's a hybrid where both structures can see stress. The original chassis design dates to the Triumph Herald sedan, (sorry, Saloon) introduced in 1959. The engine, known as the "SC" was originally introduced in Triumph "Standard Eight" of 1953 at 800cc. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Standard_SC_engine)
The Spitfire was essentially a sporty body dropped on the Herald's running gear in order to be able to offer a low cost sports car to compete with the Austin Healey Sprite (and later MG Midget, giving rise to the "spridget" moniker).
It had some good basics, especially for its day. Independent front suspension with disc brakes, rack and pinion steering, independent rear suspension and light weight. Thanks in part to all these bits, they did pretty well when they went SCCA racing. The front suspension was good enough that Lotus used some of it in their Europa sports car years later. The Spitfire also had roll up windows, which while that may seem comical as a feature nowadays, back in the early 60's many of its competitors still had side curtains, plastic sheets that snapped into place. Roll up windows were fancy. And the Spitfire looked the sporty part thanks to spiffy Italian styling. (by https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giovanni_Michelotti) It would later get a tweak by the German firm Karmann to reach it's final shape in 1970, with a chopped rear end and hidden seams in the bonnet (the rear still had exposed body seams though, hidden with stainless steel trim).
Through bore & stroke increases, the Herald's 4-cylinder engine grew from 948cc all the way to 1,496cc in the Spitfire 1500 of 1973. (an increase of 187% over it's 800cc origins) Thanks to the tiny engine and the light weight chassis, the cars managed better than 30MPG from their 1962 introduction onwards; in Europe the Mk2 ('65-'67) was quoted by the factory of being capable of 38mpg at 70mph. Mine manages nearly 30mpg combined despite a bunch of performance modifications and a driver with a heavy foot.
Crash safety? Lol, no. Don't crash. Don't hit anything.
Background on the Spitfire: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triumph_Spitfire
They are wonderfully simple to work on, which is lucky because they often need a lot of work after ~50 odd years. The entire front clip pivots forward and you can get to everything under the hood with ease. Most parts are not terribly big either, or expensive. They are about as simple and inexpensive as a car can get. A pushrod engine, points ignition, simple hydraulic brakes and clutch. SU carbs, the very best of 1920's tech - 4 moving parts! (A single Stromberg carb was stock, I replaced it. The SUs were stock in Europe) An electrical system with a total of 3 fuses. Yes, 3. You get the picture. Wait, here's a picture:
Super simple, and perhaps the easiest access of anything this side of a race car. Fun fact - I cadmium plated the A-arms, an homage to the Aluminum ones in the E-Type Jag. You can also see the missing paint on the firewall at lower left, from the various hydraulic leaks over the years. That grey is the epoxy primer. Tough as nails.
All that said, the parts that are there were not always well engineered, or were manufactured in a time period when regular maintenance was expected of owners. The owner's manual has a long list of regular service checks, things to grease, things to oil, things to measure or tighten, things to replace - and this is every few thousand miles. There are constantly things to do if you really drive them. Not to mention their infamous Lucas electrics. They also did not seal particularly well, giving rise to the old joke, "if it stops leaking, it's out of something". This one seals well, but it took work.
They are also very small, they leak when it rains, & things you may take for granted in modern cars are not very "together" in a Spitfire. Things like wipers, defrost, & heat are there but very weak by our modern standards. You may find yourself muttering, "you must be joking" under your breath as you watch the pathetic, vestigial wipers try to clear the windshield. You aren't wrong. The gauges will also fog up when it is humid, or cold, or just after dusk. The cabin is noisy, and you can feel the chassis flex as you hit bumps in the road.
On a cold rainy day you may say to yourself, "My God, what have I done".
Driving in the snow is just not a good idea, so I did it a lot. This was my daily for years.
On a sunny day though, there are few vehicles more engaging. You will look for excuses to run errands. With the top down, it's an entirely different experience. Other old cars will flash their lights at you in support, kids at the grocery store will ask you what it is and how fast it goes. People will spontaneously smile when they see it. The police may even write a parking ticket for your "MG" when your meter runs out, and you won't have to pay a cent. (true story, actually)
The windshield is short and has very thin A-pillars so your view is nearly unobstructed and you really feel like you're outdoors. It is very windy. Compare this to modern cars where the A-pillars are very thick and the windshield will probably end somewhere over your head for rollover crash protection. Think about it as a very slow motorcycle with roll up windows.
The Spitfire makes fun noises, and really doesn't feel like anything else. They literally don't make them like this anymore. (it isn't legal...) Steering & brakes are both fully manual - no power assist. It is very involving. You do have to stand on the brakes to stop; I think Road & Track measured 80lbs of pressure on the pedal to panic stop the car. The steering is particularly good when it is in good repair. It sports a a very responsive rack & pinion unit that thanks to all the space under the hood gives the Spitfire an incredible 24 ft turning circle. (one of the tightest ever). Most cars are over 30 ft; 35ft is probably about average for a sedan.
A Spitfire 1500 is close to 1,000 lbs lighter than a Porsche 911 from the same period (which itself is perhaps 500-1,000lb lighter than most sedans), and you can really feel it.
Despite all of that, 0-60 is pedestrian, and top speed is probably close to 90mph (redline in 4th gear is ~96mph). It is faster than the VW Beetle of its day, but any decent grocery getter built in the past 20 years will run away and hide from it. You won't care though; you will be smiling too hard to speed.
Case in point, when Mazda design in California went to Japan to pitch the Miata concept originally, they rented a Spitfire for the chairman to drive into the mountains to demonstrate what they were going for. (their first choice, a Lotus Elan, was not available.) It's about the feeling of driving in it. It is raw, direct and loud, and impossible to ignore. It's an experience.
Years later, working at the garage we broke cars down into two groups: cats and dogs.
The logic goes something like this:
Dogs are wonderful and fun and loving but they need you for everything. You need to feed them discrete meals and take them outside regularly. You can't leave them alone.
Cats on the other hand, don't need you. Leave them with water, a clean litter box and a pile of food and you can fly out of town for a few days.
Old English cars are dogs; a new Honda is a cat. And old American cars from the 60's were essentially cats, in their own way. If you didn't change the oil or tune it up you would probably be fine.
Old EU & UK cars did not tolerate this kind of neglect, and in addition they rusted out on our salty roads. So these old cars are now as rare as Ferraris, probably more so, while costing less than one of their tuneups. It's a lifestyle choice.
Net net, when I bought my Spitfire I started down a road of having to learn auto mechanics. And that changed the course of my career, leading me to work at the garage which eventually led me back to school to finally graduate with a BA in business management. And that is what lead to a career in financial services tech & security. The butterfly effect, in action. Owning one will change your life.
Lots of parts were in bad shape when I got it, and lots of parts would break once I started driving it. The steering mounts were so bad you could feel the rack move, and you would have to adjust your steering about halfway through a turn! But all in all, I really enjoy the car, and I've learned a lot. I have been through every subsystem except the transmission. I don't have the brown one from 1984 anymore, but its engine, and many other refurbished parts found their way into the yellow one I bought later on. Yes, I made the same mistake twice. I bought the yellow one in the spring of 1988, also a '74. This yellow car is what got restored in Fall '91/Spring '92, and then got painted British Racing Green in Sikkens 2-stage catalyzed polyurethane (plastic) over an epoxy primer. No Spitfire ever had such nice paint from British Leyland. 30 years later it still looks pretty sharp if I do say so myself. This is really Porsche/Lexus quality paint. Being garaged certainly doesn't hurt either.
The front and rear overriders are '73 style but otherwise the car is pretty faithful to a 1974 model.
It was originally bright yellow ("Mimosa") with a burgundy interior, and it had a lot less rust than the brown one. In the body shop it just needed some small panel repairs in front and back and then new inner and outer sills. Sills are the panels under the doors that give the body rigidity; which are critical in a convertible. As a ballpark, cars tend to lose about 50% of their chassis rigidity when you cut the roof off. We even seam welded the sills for extra strength. (production autos are spot welded at intervals). We got a rear section of frame from an earlier car and welded in at a friend's race shop to make that all solid. Then we painted it British Racing Green, I mean how could we not?
The back of the frame; a real '74 would have big outriggers that held up the rear overriders, but would rot out that section shown here with the tow hook. I chose the cleaner looking early bumper and better rust proofing beneath. And I would do it again.
Rust is the thing that really runs the meter when you are restoring a car from the ground up. It's easy to clock 100 hours or more on bodywork and paint prep. At modern shop rates, that's real money. If you take no other advice from me ever, pay up for a clean, original car if you possibly can.
And so the Spit its various incarnations went to college. It went on road trips, it went on dates, and it went auto-crossing. The rear axles spit out U-Joints, the rear spring broke. The drive shaft bent. The head gasket blew. And blew again. And blew again... The dash wiring caught on fire, on a date. The water pump died. The oil pressure sensor broke and sprayed oil all over the ground. Twice. The exhaust manifold cracked. The brake master cylinder still fails almost biennially.
The first time the head gasket blew was on my way back up to college. I pulled the engine apart in a snowy parking lot with with borrowed tools and a rental torque wrench. I lapped the valves by hand, on my dorm room desk (shown here). As one does.
I could go on.
Arriving safely at your destination was itself, (ahem) a Triumph. A reason to celebrate. You had more fun, and you had survived. Often you had gotten a sunburn as well.
Speaking to a psych major friend at college once about it, she asked me what I thought it said to the world that I was driving this old oddball car. I thought it probably said I was an enthusiast who liked fun cars, and that I was also probably a good mechanic. She said, "Lol, No. You are a caretaker. You don't think anyone else can take care of it."
I laughed, but then realized she was probably right.
Pics:
Working on some electric gremlin under the dash of the yellow Spitfire. I probably spent weeks in this position. (photo: my sister) Probably summer 1988.
One year we rented a bloated SUV to go on vacation. I think the Spit might have fit inside. This is also a good view of the final stance, lowered 1" up front, 3/4" in the rear.
You can lose it in a parking lot for sure.
coming through a sweeper in the rain pre-restoration. The black "trim" is miracle paint. March 1989
The only pic I have of it sliding. Same auto-x as above.
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