Columbus Laughed

By Kenneth Walker

In 2014 I had a brilliant idea. I owned a 1988 Merkur XR4Ti that was racking up the miles, but I felt I thought I needed something different, something older. After a few months of looking, narrowing my choice down to about 15 cars, test driving a few, and being rejected or just flat out laughed at in one case, I finally found the one—a red 1963 Austin Healey Sprite. Because what’s better than owning a semi-modern electrical nightmare? Owning a 50-year-old British car with Lucas electronics, of course.

The car was located in Detroit, which was perfect since the Woodward Dream Cruise was coming up. Our plan, if you could call it that, was to drive up, check out the car show, buy the car, and then…well, that’s as far as the plan got. I had no idea if I’d tow it home, drive it back, or some mixture of the two.

After purchasing the car I had it towed back to where I was staying. The car would start and after warming up it would even stay running, but it wouldn’t move under its own power. I tried asking for parts at the local AutoZone, but since this wasn’t a late model domestic that went about as well as a screen door in a submarine. I ended up with spark plugs and oil. No cap and rotor, no new wires, not even new air filters. If you hadn’t gotten the hint yet you should know I’m quite the planner.

After doing what I could (not much) and adjusting the carburetors, I took the car out for its first drive under new management. Proud of myself that it made it around the block I called it a day and went out to a club that had armed security. Just Detroit things. The next day I didn’t get to work on the car at all as I was out taking a tour of Woodward Avenue. Tip: never wear Chuck Taylors to the Dream Cruise. They are great for driving but terrible for basketball (ironically) and walking. After seeing more classic cars in varying degrees of overheating than I could count, I called it a day.

I had stalled long enough. It was time to get home. Being young, dumb, and still with a hint of invincibility I said to myself, “Screw it, life’s an adventure!” and set off on the 200-mile journey back to Columbus, Ohio, with Paul Walker tires, dirty air filters, poorly tuned carbs, and less than a mile of total test drive time. Phrases like “what could go wrong?” or “hold my beer” come to mind with decisions of this stupidity level.

Having only driven the car around a neighborhood, the first thing I found out was the car didn’t like going fast. Grandmothers were passing me, honking, and giving the stink eye. My father and step-mom in the support vehicle behind me were recording and, at one point, when I hit 60 mph she got audibly excited. Other than some light rain the first 150 miles passed by without much incident. I discovered the windshield wipers needed replaced (just one more thing on the to-do list), that my radio would cut out whenever I turned on the turn signal, that it’s surprisingly easy to talk to the person next to you when you’re shoulder to shoulder, and that I’m just tall enough that the top of the windshield slightly obstructs my view of traffic lights.

It wasn’t until the final leg of the trip, the last 50-60 miles, that things started to get interesting. The car developed a stutter while cruising at speed. It was already a slow car, but now just keeping 55 mph was becoming a struggle. Pulling out the choke would mask the problem and that worked until we reached Columbus. That’s when the traffic lights returned. Trying to pull away from a stop became a laborious event. Semi-trucks were pulling away from me and I was at full throttle. I had resorted to pulling over to the shoulder, accelerating in the break down lane, and then merging when I could. But still, the Sprite soldiered on. I reached the last segment of my trip (finally!) where my support vehicle and I parted ways. I had driven from Detroit to Columbus on garbage tires at 55 mph and I could taste victory. Home even seemed to be beckoning me with green lights all the way.

And then Columbus laughed. Construction, the official pastime of Columbus, struck when I was two miles from home. Stop and go traffic as far as I could see (being in such a small car, I admit that wasn’t far). That’s when the car died. That gut reaction of panic kicked in, I gave a little prayer, turned the key and she started right up. I played with the throttle, adjusted the choke, made it 50 feet, and she died on me again. Gentle words of encouragement, promises of a proper tune-up, and she started up again. This time a little bit slower, but that’s okay.

I inch closer to home. My street, my lovely street is in sight, I curse the insane amount of traffic that’s on the road for seemingly no reason, and sensing my eagerness the car dies again. It’s late, my legs are cramped, I’m tired. “C’mon, one last time,” I say. She starts back up. Hasn’t left me stranded yet. I turn onto my street, pull into my apartment complex, and (yes!) there’s a parking spot right in front of my unit. I swing around, home sweet home, and she dies again! I’m literally pulling into my parking spot, fifteen feet to go, and she dies. I crank it once, twice, three times, nothing. I fiddle with the choke, try again, and still nothing. Fortunately my girlfriend was home, and I pushed the car the final few feet across the finish line while she steered.

Amazingly, I drove the car mostly “as is” for quite some time after that fateful journey. Having returned to the place I paid rent, I was able to take a bit more time to get her running rather reliably. New air filters, an oil change, better fine tuning of the carbs (and learning of “dashpot oil”), fixing the e-brake, and a few other minor things all came in short order. On the nicer days I drove the car to work, but living just five minutes away meant that wasn’t a big deal. Eventually though my brilliant idea met the decidedly cold and salty Ohio winter and she was parked for a while. Then, shortly after, my life took a turn when I was offered a job halfway across the country in the Lone Star state.

Don’t worry, I didn’t try to drive the car from Ohio to Texas. This time I did the smart thing and decided to have her shipped to my new abode. While I moved and got settled into my new apartment and job I left the Sprite with parents for them to drive on date night every once in a while. An arrangement my equally car-obsessed father happily obliged.

Eventually my Sprite was able to join me and life resumed mostly to my new normal until one beautiful evening I decided to explore Houston’s abundant nightlife. I had a fresh haircut and was looking rather spiffy when I heard a loud “POP!” followed by my mild 1098 suddenly sounding like it grew a good two liters in size—and then the louder sound of scraping. I was promptly told by a car full of kids that I was throwing sparks from beneath my car and although it looked cool it probably meant something was terribly wrong. I pulled off at the next exit, got out, and found that my exhaust was no longer connected to the manifold.

There’s very little scarier than driving an old car that’s throwing sparks, marking far too much noise, while in a new city, on a night known for drunk drivers and a heavy police presence. I was fortunate to run into only one officer who seemed to care little that my car was a rolling fireworks display, and I made it home safely in one embarrassed piece.

That night I decided I’d finally do all the work I’d been putting off. An entirely new exhaust system, rebuilt carbs, new gaskets, some cleanup and paint under the hood, and anything else I could afford. She was overdue and I felt bad having neglected her for some of the other projects I once had.

I still own the Sprite. This might be the longest I’ve owned any one vehicle. The radio still cuts out when I indicate I want to change lanes, the (brand new) windshield wipers suck, and two years later I’ve still never put the top on. But she’ll now cruise at 70 mph on the highway and she still looks damn good doing it. She’s only left me stranded once which is less than or equal to the Merkur, my old Datsun 720, and my first Thunderbird SC so I think I’m doing pretty well with my British introduction. The car is still far from perfect, but she’s my imper