I drove an 80-year-old car on a 1,600-km road trip and lived to tell the tale
You have to accept that any mishap might be fatal, and then you will be fine
I remember what Mother Cole said after hearing my plan to take my 1936 Ford on a1,600-kilometre road trip.
“You’re crazy,” she hollered in exaggerated disbelief. Her response was not inappropriate given my track record of questionable decisions, but still, what’s the worst that could go wrong?
Well, that’s a fate-tempting question to ask if there ever was one. For starters, a minor fender-bender could be deadly — I’d be relying on the tepid stopping power of mechanically operated drum brakes all while putting my faith in a quartet of ancient bias-ply tires that could be as much as a decade and a half past their best-before date.
Driving a car from this era is akin to staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a sadist fondling the trigger. You simply have to accept that any mishap, no matter how minor, might be fatal, which, on the bright side is better than living with a devastating disability should you limp away from an accident.
If the guy coming at you in the opposing lane decides to check Snapchat at the wrong time and crosses the centre line, you’ll be gone before you even have a chance to scream.
Really, the only safety feature this Henry-era Ford has is safety glass, which I macabrely joke is there so you can have an open casket at your funeral because your face won’t be sliced into bacon strips by a hailstorm of shards. It’s best to say your prayers and don’t be stupid. Passengers don’t find this very funny.
Rust and bolts
I bought this ancient vehicle in late 2009. During the first four-ish years of ownership, my dad and I performed a complete frame-off restoration on what turned out to be a very tired and exceedingly rusty relic from Dearborn’s glory days.
Every nut, bolt, bracket and assembly was taken apart, cleaned, repaired, reconditioned or replaced as required, all to bring this machine back to driveable condition. Really, it’s as close to an eight-decade-old new car as you’re ever going to get.
My focus with this restoration was on building a period-correct driver, not a perfect, 1,000-point Concours trailer queen.
While it features the original frame, engine, transmission, driveline and other major components, I added things like a 12-volt electrical system, turn signals and LED tail lights for greater safety.
But still, why risk my immaculate baby on such a long and hazardous journey? Why endure the stress of living through a perpetual neardeath experience just to attend an event my employer would have happily flown me to or that I could have reached in practically any brandnew vehicle of my choosing?
In short, it’s because I love driving this vestige from the Great Depression. Sure, its fully mechanical steering is, at best, an approximation, the engine’s full fury means dawdling Honda Fits beat you from a stoplight, and the above-mentioned brakes bring things to a stop in geological time.
Dynamically, this car has more in common with agricultural equipment than a modern sedan, but crudity is all part of the charm.
Flat’s where it’s at
Through sheer force of will, in 1932, Henry Ford pushed manufacturing technology beyond its limit to introduce the world’s first mass-produced V8 engine, the famous flathead, so nicknamed because most of its ma- jor moving components are nestled inside the revolutionary single-piece block, resulting in cylinder heads that are — and here’s a shocker — completely flat.
Smooth, torquey, and surprisingly speedy for its time, this power plant was a Ford mainstay for two decades, hauling all manner of vehicles around until it was finally replaced by the ill-conceived Y-Block in 1953. Curiously, the design lived on in other countries for much longer, even propelling French military trucks into the 1990s.
Sparing you a protracted history lesson, it was the sort of groundbreaking engine that only comes around once in a generation.
It gave Bonnie and Clyde the ability to evade Johnny Law and even spawned the hot-rod revolution in postwar America.
For 1936, it was rated at a stout 85 horsepower, though the example propelling my car has been bored out rather significantly for roughly 4.1litres and what I estimate to be 100 ponies.
Silky smooth, these low-compression engines are real sweethearts with a lot of torque and a sound unlike any other V8. They produce a most beguiling exhaust note, a shuffling, syncopated thrum.
Victory!
Amazingly, my 80-year-old car went the distance, all without any mechanical faults or other issues. The only trouble we encountered was a mostly useless windshield wiper that flopped around at certain speeds (thank God for Rain-X).
The spare carburetor, coil, distributor, and condenser I brought in the trunk were, thankfully, unnecessary.
Luckily for us, this old Ford proved just as reliable on the return journey home, never missing a beat.
A1,600-km distance is a really long way to go in a car this old. But the experience was also enjoyable, invigorating and unforgettable.
I’m debating whether I’ll be wacky enough to attempt the same drive next year.