Behind the Steering Wheel [Courtesy Rovers North News, March 2007]
By Jeffrey B. Aronson
A friend in Vermont once asked me, “Why do you own such anti-social cars?” Her statement stunned me. “Antisocial? Moi?”
Perhaps she had a point with my ’80 Triumph TR-7 Spider; after all, it will only seat me and one friend. Given my short list of friends, that’s often proven to be more than enough. You do sit quite low to the ground and you enter by stretching yourself over wide sills. If you’re not medium height, lithe and athletic, you’ll never look or feel good about entering or exiting the car. If you’re female, you’ll likely feel on display. If you’re tall, you’ll not feel too good once you’re scrunched up inside the car. There’s also no visible evidence of safety or convenience; the cupholder is actually the person next to you, to whom you ask, “Would you hold this cup for a moment?”
Then there’s the styling of a TR-7, “the shape of things to come” that came and went. An apocryphal story, retold in Richard Porter’s Crap Cars, told of stylist Guigaro’s first look at the TR-7 at an auto show. He observed the right side of the car and walked around to the left. Upon staring at the car he exclaimed, “My God, they’ve done the same thing to this side, too.” To Triumph cognoscenti, the TR-7 remains an antisocial statement.
However, I must protest. The Land Rovers - my 1966 Series II-A 88”s, the Station Wagon and the Hardtop - what was my friend thinking?
What could be more convivial than having 6 acquaintances join you in an 88” Station Wagon? You quickly learn to share common space –“Is that your foot I just stomped? Sorry!” You learn to alert female friends to potential awkward moments – “Now I’m just reaching for the overdrive, not your thigh” – a sure sign of social and political politesse. The Hardtop provides a perfect demonstration of the classlessness of Land Rovers. Whether you’re seated on the fallen aftermarket squabs or on the fender wells, class, status, age or gender mean nothing as everyone is totally uncomfortable.
Series Land Rovers teach you the basics of proper social behavior. My parents always told me to “sit up straight.” That’s exactly what you must do in a Series II-A. You have no choice, of course, because the seats don’t move [unless you knock the seat squab off the seatbox] or recline. You either fit or you don’t (when Rover finally got around to “deluxe seating,” the total seat adjustment was 3 inches.). Pay attention to your door locks because you’re wedged against the driver’s side door. Seat belts and the large steering wheel help keep you in place during spirited cornering. Good vision, ideally 20/20, is a plus because the instruments sit just below your right knee on a fascia far, far away. There’s no way to view them except by taking your eyes off the road – never a great idea. At night, the peanut bulbs in the instruments give off less than 1 candlepower, enough to tell you they’re still present but not enough to read them. So you listen carefully as you drive; engine and drivetrain noise identify your likely speed.
Listening respectfully - another admonition from my parents - is also a good idea so you can hear any changes in engine, transmission or suspension noises that might indicate problems. I remember climbing a long hill in Waldo County, Maine, a few years ago when I scared myself silly listening a sudden loud blatting, grinding sound from underneath the car. Pulling over close to a ditch, I shined a flashlight under the car, expecting to see differential or transfer case pieces. Instead, I found an exhaust system dragging on the ground as both hangers had broken off from the frame. Fortunately, I had a dog leash in the car which served as an ideal tie down for the system. It was a noisy ride to the coast. I exercised great care in my driving so as not to offend nighttime sleepers with my broken exhaust system.
“Speak only when you have something useful to say,” my folks would insist. In a Series Land Rover, you do choose your words carefully any time the engine is running; no one can hear you well anyway, so you might as well have something valuable to make it worth the effort. Most conversation in a Series Rover becomes internal, to be shared only with yourself. It’s just too much effort to share it with others in the car unless it’s really important.
“Speak clearly and don’t mumble,” my father would proclaim. Once you feel compelled to speak you must do so at full volume and with great diction; otherwise, no one will understand you. Any orator who has tried to go one on one with a tappety 2.25 knows of the challenge. Beware of any person whose voice can carry above the din of a 2.25 Rover diesel. That’s the same person who will want to talk about his successes on the 10-hour Jet Blue runway hold.
The gentility demanded on Series owners often surprises people. The Rover owner must have the strength to wield a ½” breaker bar with a 1” socket on an output shaft nut, as well as the dexterity and deftness to install a new speedometer cable. I completed this charming task only last week in the yard of East Coast Rover in Warren, Maine. “Always be kind to your friends,” my parents insisted. Happy to oblige the favor given to me, I know that my travails of lying on a sheet of ice performing one of the more frustrating maintenance jobs would bring a grin the faces of the ECR staff. I’m assured by them that it did just that.
The winter show and ice cover on the gravel beamed the rays of a warm sun; with temperatures near 32 degrees F, I felt very comfortable leaning over the fascia removing the screw on end of the speedometer cable. While I was having so much fun, I took the opportunity to return my Rovers North-refurbished speedometer to its hole in the fascia panel. That meant I could diddle with even-smaller round nuts and the speedometer holder bracket, too. The key here is to pull everything back far enough to get your hand in back of the instruments without pulling any connectors off their pins on the ignition switch. It’s also helpful to be gentle with the small bulb that illuminates the speedometer; otherwise, you’ll break it off in your finger and have to rummage through old speedometers to find a working bulb.
Now it’s time to exchange the cable. I pushed the old one through the hole in the bulkhead. Crawling under the car, I pulled the remaining length of cable out until I found the transfer case end. Since I had a Fairey overdrive, too, I know confronted a genuine challenge. You see, the transfer case end of the cable is held in place by a small, round flange, about the size of a quarter, with three flathead screws that go through the flange into the transfer case housing. In turn, the transfer case housing and the overdrive housing form a canyon too narrow for a human hand; into that canyon you must reach up to screw in three ½ “ long screws. Oh, and all go in at an angle, and the top one is totally hidden by the speedometer cable.
The dexterity required to accomplish all this should dispel any notions of Rover enthusiasts as ham-fisted mechanical barbarians. No, we must become gentle, nimble fingered artisans. I tried magnetizing a tiny screwdriver, the one that resembled the item included in Barbie’s Own Tool Kit, to hold the screw in place as I lifted it over my head. The screw made it very close to the hole when it leapt off the screwdriver and took a 9.5 dive into the gravel surface beside my head. I borrowed a huge magnet from the much-amused ECR staff and found the missing screw.
This time, I tried some Hylomar sealer on the head of the screw. That gave me enough grip for two to go in successfully, and the third to stick to my right eyebrow when it fell from the top hole. A lot more Hylomar, several healthy abdominal crunches, a strained neck and a small flashlight helped me complete the task. Three screws equaled 45 minutes of physical activity.
How meditative, how Pilates, how New Age of me! Anti-social and barbaric - I think not!
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From the time of its inception the Series Land Rover has been at home in a huge variety of settings, from fields to freeways. You can travel at 6.5 mph or 65 mph; at any speed there’s no better place to be than behind the steering wheel of a Land Rover. As I have two Series Rovers, I have the joy to two different driving experiences.
The QE I, the station wagon, received the maintenance described above. With its new speedometer, I know can view the leisurely acceleration that comes from the mighty efforts of the 2.25 liter engine, a rebuilt now at least 13 years and hundreds of thousands of miles old. The QE I now runs parabolic springs from Rovers North. They feel no different on the highway than conventional leaf springs, but on bumpy roads, they absorb bumps much more effectively. It used to be routine for pieces of luggage to be launched from the jump seats in the rear; I always kept a collection of bungee cords in the car. Now, I’m surprised if anything falls off a seat.
Off roading, the parabolics really do make a difference in control of the car. The springs are very flexible and supple so you don’t need to carry an anvil in the rear to compress the springs and gain articulation. They’re strong enough to help you keep control, too. I remember a ski instructor once watching me pound a mogul. As he helped me up, he reminded me to “bend your knees to absorb the bumps. Don’t fight them.” Running the trails of the Maine Winter Romp at 10 mph in low range second gear, I felt as though the car was bending its knees as it tackled holes, moguls, rocks and logs on the trail. That same instructor suggested that to gain control, you accelerate up the side of a mogul and as you rose to the top, straighten out as you go down, and then bend again at the nadir. You were always in control. That’s the approach I used in the Rover on the trails of the Maine Winter Romp, too.
The QM I, another ’66, has its original engine with only 46,000 miles –most of them on a Vermont farm estate – the 7:1 head and the original Solex carburetor. The Weber on the QE I needs next to no maintenance and runs very well - except for carb icing in cold, damp weather. The Solex provides punchier acceleration, less gas mileage, and easy starting. I suppose that top notch compression helps, too.
The springs in this one are standard leaf springs, a bit on the tired side. Except when it’s overloaded with firewood, it handles quite well off road. It pounds you more and you hear every bump as various doors and other loose bits rattle with every change in the road or field surface. Since I brought the car home in October 2005, it has not left the island so all of its driving been in conditions more common to rural England than contemporary America. Still, I remember how well it drove and handled on the 220 mile trip from Vermont to Maine and I’m certain that it would run fine anytime it was needed on the mainland.
Of course, I must first find out why the generator light remains on suddenly all the time: stuck brushes in the generator, failed internals, corrosion at the voltage regulator, bad wiring? Two years ago, when I had the same problem, I hit the generator with a hammer. Hopefully, this fix will be as simple.
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In the ‘60’s Land Rover ran an advertisement for the 109” 12 seat Station Wagon. Noting that Rovers had conquered deserts and rain forests, they recognized that the school run made by mothers throughout the land was probably the great challenge for any driver. With a Rover full of screaming children in their school uniforms, a patient mother stares through the windshield of the 109” in the ad. Incredibly, she’s wearing white gloves while driving (my steering wheel has decades of accumulated grease, sweat and palm oil that leaves an unsightly residue on my hands whenever it’s damp outside).
I thought of this ad when I read that British FirstGroup PLC will take over ownership of Laidlaw International, an American firm that operates both Greyhound Bus Lines and the largest single fleet of school buses in the US. FirstGroup already owns 13% of the US school bus market; this acquisition will elevate its dominance to 40%.
Yellow school busses may be all the rage, but really, who wants to ride in them? By the time students enter high school, they’re begging and/or nagging their folks to drive them to school so they won’t be seen on a bus. So what if FirstGroup replaced unappealing busses with Land Rovers? Attendance would skyrocket as kids flocked to get a ride in, say, a Defender 110 to get to school. Teachers would have to learn a new excuse. Instead of “the dog ate my homework,” the best fib would become “Lucas wouldn’t let the bus run this morning.”
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Congratulations to Rovers North technical correspondent John Robison, whose articles have graced our pages for the past few years. The Boston Globe recently reported that John just signed a major book contract based on the “triumphant tale” of his life. From Land Rovers and Rolls Royce’s to literary fame – nice going, John!
Copyright 2007 Jeffrey Aronson and Rovers North News
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