Such shows, in which owners get together to swap car stories and share tips on finding parts, usually involve hundreds of automobiles. The gatherings are held in sunshine and in rain, on fairgrounds or farmers’ fields or even in parking lots.
Show organizers provide a placard for each vehicle that spells out the make, model, year and owner’s name. The signs invariably include the line do not touch! Many cars also bear signs that say such things as don’t even think about touching this car and touch me only with thine eyes. And there’s always at least one car with an admonition like this: warning–this car is owned by a homicidal maniac. touch at your own risk…
And then there’s our sign: IT’S OK TO TOUCH THIS CAR. At a time when the world seems to be getting coarser by the minute, the people who respond to our invitation are unfailingly restrained, almost reverential. They do touch the car. They caress the fenders, run their hands along the red-leather interior door trim, admire the “spats” that cover the back wheels, touch the jaguar-face emblem on the hood and horn.
They overlook the chipped paint here and there, the lumpy spot on the fender where the mirror used to be and the many other imperfections of an unrestored original. Those who linger are invited to look under the hood. The XK engine, invented half a century ago, is a six-cylinder jewel. The exhaust manifolds are black porcelain instead of standard rust-attracting cast iron. Even nonmechanics like me see beauty there.
Many people really just want to sit in the car. We encourage them to do so, and if they can’t figure out how to open the handle-less door, we give them a hint or two. They pose for pictures, wave to friends, smile broadly.
They don’t slam the doors or stomp on the pedals or track dirt inside or pound the horn button. They ease into the driver’s seat, ask permission to rest their feet on the pedals, grasp the steering wheel warmly and gaze out over the broad expanse of beautifully packaged machinery before them. They ask questions, listen to the answers and share stories about themselves and the cars of their dreams. Kids clutch the steering wheel and breathe the word “awesome.”
This happens everywhere, not just at car shows. With the slightest encouragement–a glance or a smile is enough–people approach the car. They look, talk, gently touch.
How civilized.
The car itself is a celebration of the philosophy of its creator, Sir William Lyons, who believed that it costs no more to build a beautiful car than it does to build an ugly one. Some say the XK 120 is the most beautiful car ever built. We say the most beautiful thing about owning it is being able to share it.
My husband jokes that the car is so sexy-looking he’s almost embarrassed to wash it in public. He drives it in decent weather (which he defines as all salt-free-road days). Bruce fell in love with the 120 back when the style was new and he was a teenager with a part-time job as a foreign-car mechanic. He’s loved it ever since.
The first weekend we owned it, Bruce spent Friday evening, all day Saturday and most of Sunday in the garage, working on the car. Finally, I went out there and asked sympathetically, “How’s it going?” He stood next to the car, a glass of Guinness in one greasy hand, golden retriever at his feet, Mozart on the radio. He looked up and said, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
The car has no radio, but why would anyone want to obscure the music of the dual-exhaust system? It has a seldom-used canvas top that leaks around the edges when it rains, but why bother putting it up when the wind that blows through your hair also blows most of the rain up over your head? Its heater is overwhelmed by its nature as a convertible, but what are hats and warm clothes for, anyway?
Our car’s a driver, as they say. It has 80,000-plus miles on it, and we add about 6,000 more every year–even in Vermont, where we keep it off the roads all winter and most of the mud season. It’s a wonderful car. We love the wind in our faces, the sound of the engine in our ears, the smiles and “thumbs up” gestures of other lovers of form and grace and timeless beauty.
In a time when crudeness sometimes trumps civility, courtesy takes a back seat to road rage, profanity studs everyday conversations and other unpleasantness spoils everyone’s good time, it’s fun–and heartwarming–to have an old car to share. Go ahead, touch it. It’s OK.
