All show... but then no-go
All was going well with the Series I, until Alistair got enthusiastic on a section of rough grass
I’VE HAD UAO on the road for five months now, and during that time I’ve ticked more and more off my list of driving firsts with it. That list started modestly, with me simply driving it home. Then I completed a round trip to James Holmes, then it got rained on for the first time, then a first wash, then trying a full tank of fuel, then on and on and on.
Each step got bigger as I learnt more about driving the car, and growing my confidence and increasing the distances. There’s been some great times; the first time with the roof off collecting my sons from school in searing heat, and the first time in the dark, loaded with my drum kit to play in a jazz band, were both real stand-outs. By now, all that was really missing was a good long motorway drive, and a drive in very heavy rain. That would come, I had no doubt.
In the meantime, show season is well and truly underway and true to my word, I’ve actually been to a few. First off was small local event, on the invite of someone whose cars I’ve shot.
I’ve met many, many people in the course of being a photographer, and though most introductions are a hectic couple of hours together, there are a few people who I’ve kept in touch with. One of which is Paul Moran, who owns literally the best Mini in the UK. Best Mini means just that – in 2012 it was voted such, winning the Premier Concours category with the British Mini Club. At the time, his car’s colour scheme was thrilling the Mini scene in the UK. Being a Land Rover fan, I spotted it straight away – Epsom Green metallic, with lightstone leather, just like the P38 and L322s Paul had owned.
When he built a second Mini, an ex-rubery Owen Downton car, then hit the show scene with it, naturally the magazines were fighting for a cover feature. Paul had one condition for them, I had to shoot it. I agreed, and in the course of that shoot he learnt about my Series I. Paul instantly wanted to be kept updated, and even came over to view the car mid-build He’d spread the word around the Rubery Owen motoring club, and they were keen to have it at a show when I finished it. Well, that day came, and one sunny Sunday morning in May my eldest son and I headed to rendezvous with Paul half way to the venue.
All that went fine. Paul arrived, not in one of his Minis, but his 1989 Ferrari 328 GTS – much to my son’s delight – and the pair of us headed off in the world’s craziest convoy to the show, with my tyres roaring almost as loudly as Paul’s exhaust. Off we continued, finally arriving at New Hall Water Mill, which is owned by the Owen family. Into the designated
display field we tootled. Spotting a short section of rough grass, and keen to educate my lad in the Land Rover party trick of an ultra-slow crawl at tickover. I dropped the 88-inch into low box and we inched out laughing together, but as we pulled up behind Paul and changed to high ratio, the car suddenly stopped. I tried to restart, but there was nothing. Dead. Concentrating further, I realised I’d lost all the electrics. It wasn’t the best way to make an entrance, and desperately I started trying to think what it could be. And I mean desperately, too. In a few hours my boys needed to go swimming, and after that I was driving to Devon to work for a week. An immobile breakdown was definitely not in the (busy) plan that day.
Bonnet up, less than a minute later, a group from Paul’s club ambled over and were straight in to help. Keen as they were, confused faces spread around, as every electrical feed they diligently checked expecting to be live, wasn’t, and shouldn’t be on a Series I. Cutting a long story short, after me giving them a crash course in positive earth wiring, we realised it might be the fuse. Sure enough, the glass fuse body had cracked. Though not enough to blow it, the cracking was just enough to exacerbate an intermittent contact issue with the fuse ends. Basically, my slightly jolty low-high change was enough of a shock through the chassis to move the fuse just enough to kill the power supply. A helpful MG owner appeared, offering a new glass 35 amp fuse; it was tried, and the car ticked instantly to life again. Six minutes was all it took to sort. Partly thanks to taking the time to understand how to wire my car and then do it myself, but also down to me having the forethought to keep the wiring diagram on my phone. I think my workshop pal James and LRM’S Ed Evans would be proud!
It was a great morning in the sun and, minor breakdown aside, the variety of cars and working mill was fun for my lad to nose about. Naturally the Series I kept me busy explaining what it was, where it came from and why it looks like it does.
After that show came the bigger one, in more ways than one. Land Rover Legends. Held at the WWII-ERA RAF Bicester, taking the UAO there meant a good, long motorway slog for over an hour. What could go wrong? Those words are so easy to type, but life doesn’t work like that, does it?
Tune in next month.