Dream machines
Petrolhead Alan Judd reveals our readers’ driving fantasies: from a Morris Minor to Lawrence of Arabia’s motorbike
Automotive fantasies
What would be your last automotive wish? What would you most like to drive before finally switching off in that great parking lot in the sky?
It’s not an easy question. Most last wishes are for easy fantasies such as world peace, universal happiness, global cooling or a ban on the BBC’S ghoulish relish for interviewing people until they weep. But this one is realisable.
Sufferers from AOS (Auto Obsession Syndrome) usually go for exotica, the fastest or most luxurious set of wheels they’ve never owned. A Mclaren F1, for instance, that ground-breaking, beautiful great insect of a car. Or perhaps the very first E-type, a Ferrari 430, a 1920s Straight Eight Bentley a D or C Type Le Mans-winning Jaguar, a 1930s Duesenberg or Buick, or the Mercedes 300 SLR in which Stirling Moss won the 1955 Mille Miglia at an average speed (on public roads) of 99 mph.
I’ve been an AOS sufferer from boyhood, albeit an atypical, sadly un-moss-like one. Offered the choice of two pedal cars in a shop window – a snazzy red racer or the big bumbly blue Austin lookalike – I chose the latter. I appreciate the power and elegance of much automotive exotica but mostly I admire without desire. In equine terms, I’m as happy plodding along on an old Dobbin with feathers around its fetlocks as galloping on a svelte thoroughbred.
However, a straw poll of Oldie readers suggests you don’t have to be an enthusiast to have eschatological longings of the automotive kind.
The first I asked has up-to-theminute tastes and drives a fully electric vehicle. But her desire is for the car she and her late husband owned in the 1950s, a 1937 bright yellow convertible Austin 7 Special called Bridget.
He tinkered with the mechanicals at weekends while she made new seat covers. It may still exist. If she ever remembers the number plate, we can find out. They were the first British car to be bought in numbers by the not-very-rich and were reliable enough (by the standards of the time) to be manufactured under licence in France, America, Japan and Germany. The first BMWS produced were Austin 7s made under licence and called the Dixi.
Another subscriber, a less nostalgic city-dweller with less fond memories of her husband, opted for two wheels, not four. She wants one of the new electric bicycles which range from lightweight mountain bikes to solid cargo-carriers. She chose a mid-range one called a hybrid: a comfortable, upright bike with straight handlebars rather than those back-breaking racing ones. They cost around £1,900-£3,000.
I tried one in the Shropshire hills: not ideal pedalling country even with the aid of a small electric motor. But its nine gears made for pleasurable cruising. And you sit high enough to enjoy the views, a relaxing and almost effortless ride far removed from the head-down, aggressive Lycra swarms infesting our town roads.
Another two-wheel enthusiast, also a city-dweller, preferred an e-scooter, one of those electric jobs that are spreading like an underground sub-culture through city streets.
She finds such simple, easy motion appealing and hopes it might offer relief to arthritic joints - so long as she’s not carrying so much shopping that she overbalance and does her ankle in. Costs range from around £300 to £1,600 but she worries they might be popular with thieves and is unclear about their legal status in the UK.
She’s not along in that. The law itself is clear. It is illegal to use e-scooters on roads or pavements but the application of the law is variable and their status ambiguous.
You’re allowed to buy and own them. Throughout the country, there are a number of trial schemes, with dedicated scooter lanes. The Government pledges to make ‘a legislative framework a priority’.
Meanwhile, they whizz about on roads and pavements alike. Given the deeply entrenched passion for regulation in this country, it’s likely that there will be restrictions.
Another regular reader, a retiree from the motor industry, says his choice is the humble Morris Minor. Now, if there are cars in heaven – and could it be truly he heavenly without? – the Moggie must su surely be among th them. Once the m modest conveyance o of rural deans and d district nurses, it has a an endearing u unassertiveness and p pleasing simplicity th that makes it im impossible to ignore.
What’s more, they c can be rebuilt to b better-than-new. As
‘My pensioner brother’s choice is the world’s biggest dumper truck’
a four-wheeled friend for your last years, it should be reliable and as easy on the hand as on the eye. A good choice.
On the more expansive end, one reader wants two cars: a top-of-therange Range Rover and a Mini.
An experienced horsewoman, she used to tow with Range Rovers and loved them for their stability, comfort, capability and sense of safety. You can’t blame her; driving any Range Rover makes you feel King or Queen of the Road, insulated and regal. It’s something about the height, bonnet view and all-round vision.
The Mini would be for shopping, either gleaming black or multicoloured like the one Wendy Craig drives in Butterflies.
My pensioner brother’s choice is a Belaz 75710, the world’s biggest dumper truck. Made in Belorussia for the Russian mining industry, it weighs 360 tonnes, carries 496 tonnes and is powered by two diesels offering 2,300hp each – top speed 40mph.
He still risks his life on motorbikes, over half a century after starting out on them. If the Gods forbade him his dumper toy, he’d have a Brough Superior, the sort of bike that did for Lawrence of Arabia.
His wife, however, would opt for any of the F1 Mclarens driven by Ayrton Senna. Or maybe including Ayrton Senna.
My choice, after lengthy internal pondering, would be a Mack truck, the ultimate Dobbin. Those are the mountainous beasts you see on continent-crossing, American and Australian roads, with gleaming radiators about ten feet high and drive-in-the-sky cabs.
Not just a ride or a drive - I want to own one. Preferably the recovery truck version so I could be called out to rescue broken-down lorries. I watched one pick up a cementmixer recently, with gentle precision, before towing it away without any apparent effort.
Apart from the comfort and sense of impregnability up there in those cabs, you’d always know that drivers in distress will be pleased to see you.
But our automotive fantasies needn’t be confined to last wishes. They can accompany us to the grave. There is nothing to say you have to use your funeral director’s hearse.
You can use your own car, van, lorry or whatever. And, if you fear you might not fit elegantly into your Morris Minor or Mini – and would have trouble balancing on your bike or scooter – there are various companies that will provide you with a fitting conveyance.
You can be horse-drawn, conveyed in a classic VW campervan, in an enclosed motorbike sidecar, on a 1950s Leyland Beaver lorry, in a pink Daimler or in a Land Rover Defender accompanied by a matching 8-seater for the – by then, you hope - cheerful mourners.
Go to funeralinspirations.co.uk/ funeral-ideas/funeral-transport for heavenly ideas.
But no need to book just yet.