The Press and Journal (Aberdeen and Aberdeenshire)
Take a jumbo across the water
Andrew Martin recommends the United States as a happy hunting ground for rare and vintage cars and reckons anyone can do it with a bit of effort and ready cash
Aclassic album by Supertramp, a masterpiece from 1979 that played constantly in my teenage bedroom in Inverurie.
The imagery conveyed by the title track, and the album cover, suggested the glamour of a distant world to the one I lived in. As the vinyl turned at 33 rpm, I was transported to a land where leisure time was more important than the Scottish Calvinist work ethic which emphasised hard work, discipline and frugality.
The attraction was, well, logical. Over 30 years after first spinning the vinyl, I took a jumbo across the water; to see America, live and work there. I landed
“I thought I’d combine dropping the Mercedes off at the port with catching my flight home from Newark”
in Kansas in the winter of 2008. And drawing on the lyrics of The Logical Song, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned; the choice of classic cars in the US is amazing.
January 2009 and I’m in deep snow outside what seems to be a smart business unit in an up and coming area of Kansas City. On the outside wall, the logo reads “Young Life”. But it wasn’t a business unit, it was a playground, as I found out when my contact, Ryan, arrived, disarmed the alarms and we entered. This unit had been a man-cave for his father and his family and friends. There was a bar area, pool table and the brightest and cleanest car showroom I’ll ever see.
Having lost his father in 2008, Ryan was now disposing of the car collection and clearing the prime real estate site to be sold. Sadly, by January 2009, all the peppermint creams of the collection had gone, and all that was left was: a Beetle convertible, a Healy 3000, a 356 Porsche 911 and a stunning 993 series Porsche 911 the family picked up from the factory when new. And, of course, the car I’d come to buy, a rare 4.5-litre 1972 Mercedes Benz 280 SE. Kansas is not a dry state like the preferred hunting grounds for classics like Texas or Florida. But, like so many other well-cared for cars in the US, those cars in “Young Life” were in an as-new condition. I learned that the US car collector looks after and treasures her or his possessions. I’ve looked to buy a number of cars in the US and they’ve all been perfect: an MGB in Connecticut, Porsche 911 Targa in Oklahoma, an E-type in New York City.
No one else was buying cars in that snowy January, so I offered $5,000 for the Mercedes and it was delivered to my home in Topeka, some 40 minutes away from Kansas City. I became the third custodian of a 50,000-mile car that was, to my eyes, perfect.
Returning to the UK I decided to take the long way home. A road trip in the Mercedes literally halfway across the country; Kansas to New York.
I’d like to exaggerate this road trip, with the drama that you expect. But I can’t, as there wasn’t any. I set off and after a few days’ trouble-free motoring, I rolled into New York City. And then hit a snag. I had run out of money. I ended up spending a couple of nights residing in the closest I’ll ever come to a squat. In an up-and-coming district called Harlem. My car stood out more than I did. So, after one night I paid more to have it garaged than I was paying for a roof over my head – and that of the large iguana in the bath.
But this was no case of Goodbye Stranger, no, the car was emigrating. Again, having to save money, I thought I’d combine dropping the Mercedes off at the port with catching my flight home from Newark. This was not clever. With no satellite navigation I set off in torrential rain to get to the port. On my own I’d to navigate across numerous intersections, over bridges and through tolls with only MapQuest directions and the use of the reset button for my milometer. Which was invaluable, until it broke.
Now I’d no idea how far I was travelling, with wipers failing to cope with torrential rain and rear wheels spinning with every push of the accelerator. Usually accompanied by a slide across at least one lane on the freeway. But we made it to Port Newark Auto Terminal.
I was warned about all manner of sharp practices at the port, but the monsoon kept the robbers inside. After an hour of paperwork, I drove the car on to the line for the vessel called Concept. I then stuck a bottle of malt under the seat and hailed a yellow cab to the airport, just in time to board the plane home.
After 15 days at sea the Mercedes arrived at Liverpool. Whisky still under the seat.
So, don’t be a Supertramp “Dreamer”; you can do this too. The cost of transportation on the Concept (a roll-on roll-off freight vessel) was £900. When back in the UK you can make the case to customs that your classic is of historical significance, in as much as it has a scarcity value and is in its original state. I’ve made this call for a 1970s Corvette, and been given a duty code, which means a classic car thus declared is free from import duty. Result. There is still an issue with VAT, which, again, with a case being made, can be reduced to 5%. OK, some paperwork to obtain a NOVA (paperwork due at import) but, hey, this must make sense when the exchange rate returns to be in our favour.