Moblogging – On The Road Archive

We should have been warned!

Posted May 24, 2010 By dad

Yesterday I visited the London Motor Museum.  I suspected something was amiss when I noticed I was the only one not on the payroll who had walked through the doors of the “museum”.  I paid my ten (!) pounds to the young man who quickly closed whatever internet window he wasn’t supposed to be watching on the computer at his desk, and was eager to see what interesting displays might await me beyond the double red doors.

As I first walked in, I was standing in front of a pair of silver vintage Porsches: a 356 speedster and 917 RSK.

exhibit number 1…

…and 2 for the prosecution

Not a bad start, but they both seemed a tad ratty.

Luckily, I noticed just beyond them sat one of my favorite Ferraris of the 1970s (and in sharing this opinion I’ll be destroying my credibility with my automotively-informed friends to admit that this model qualifies for such a list), the bertone-designed Dino GT4.

bertone sleekness

I moved in to take a closer look and immediately spotted them.  They weren’t just the wrong wheels. Nope. This was the automotive accessorizing equivalent of painting a mustache on Mona.  This was an egregious failure in the automotive aftermarket.

The Dino GT4 was designed by Carrozzeria Bertone, a Turin-based automotive design powerhouse.  When it was launched, this car offered concept-car sleekness in a production 2+2. Lucky dads around the world purchased this vehicle using the “honey, we can fit the kids in the back” justification.  I always admired how well the wheels (presumably also selected in consultation with Nuccio Bertone himself) fit the car.  They were the perfect wheel for this car.  Here’s how they should look:

beautiful dino shoes

What this particular example was sporting instead, were the equivalent of the white alligator-embossed ‘pleather’ loafers worn by a down-on-his-luck pimp.

insipido

I was amazed that someone went to the effort to cast a design so appalling, and that they had the chutzpah to place a prancing horse crest in the center cap. I can only imagine how humiliated the hapless designer of these wheels was to be fired after the product line achieved a whopping 4 units sold (worldwide!) and the other 2,000 units cast had to be scrapped to make room for more “commercially viable” designs.  How fortunate I am to see such a rare wheel in person.  What would Enzo say if he were alive to see what has been done to the car bearing his son’s name ? What’s italian for “Tres guache”?

pacchiano? insapore? insipido?

Glancing at the two Porsches only 5 yards back, I now realized that they weren’t Porsches at all.  The proportions were all wrong. The aluminium skin looked somewhat…heavy. THEY WERE REPLICAS!  Fiberglass facsimiles.  And not particularly good ones at that.  These were budget kit cars and they looked to have been constructed by laid-off Yugo factory workers. They had more glue smudges at the crooked panel edges than on the outside than my 10-year-old-son’s Kindergarden popsicle stick log cabin project.

Just to confirm my suspicions I walked over and looked through the rear vents of the RSK, where the beautiful 1.5 liter 4-cam engine would normally be mounted.  Where I expected to find Stuttgart’s diminutive mechanical masterpiece, there was mounted instead a rusted out VolksWagen powerplant that probably hadn’t been running since “Mork and Mindy” was in its premiere broadcast season.

Someone’s nicked the 4 cam and replaced it with a hamster wheel

I quickly walked through several adjacent rooms as my spirits sank lower and lower.  This wasn’t a museum–It was a fraud being perpetrated on unsuspecting tourists.  I began to appreciate why I was the only one in the museum for the hour or two I was there.

Disgusted with the whole experience and the many hours I had already squandered on this trip, I walked out.  I may have been ensnared by the coyote trap that is the London Motor Museum, but I have chewed off my trapped limb to make my escape.  I was so profoundly disappointed I would gladly consider chewing off the other limbs to ensure it never happens again.

Now back outside the “museum” in the beautiful Spring London sunshine, I could feel my mood beginning to improve.  I was half way back to the Hayes train station when I suddenly realized what a colossal mistake I was about to make.  I have an obligation to my fellow automotive enthusiasts, those obsessed men and women who would squander a beautiful half-day in one of the world’s most beautiful and interesting cities to look at driving machines.  I must protect the others and I would need evidence for those I wished to protect.  I must subject myself to another painful visit to this offensive establishment.   I must go back and take pictures.

What they meant to call it…

Posted May 23, 2010 By dad

“LONDON MOTOR MUSEUM” must be a typo.  Perhaps they were forced by their meager budget to save costs on signage for which they were being charged by the letter…

The only other possible explanation is that “Dingy Warehouse one half hour outside central London only accessible by infrequently running trains and full of shoddily constructed kit cars and plywood shell facsimiles of movie props” didn’t develop much traction with the marketing team.

Calling it the London Motor Museum is an insult to Motors, Museums and the cosmopolitan capital defamed in its name.

more to follow…

Yesterday, Jack and I were able to squeeze in a very rushed hour at the Three Lions Garage before I dashed home, took a quick shower, dressed and raced to the airport to catch a flight to London.  Before I left on my trip, I wanted to spend some time with Jack to cover the basics of Compression testing and work out with him how to attach a remote starter switch to the Mustang (more on that to come from Jack).

While on the plane for 11 hours on my flight (for the start of my week-long trip), I started to feel sad about being away for a week and not having time with Jack in the Garage to work on the car.  I was experiencing classic withdrawal symptoms.

I arrived at Heathrow at 11:00am Sunday morning, took the Heathrow express to Paddington Station and  hopped in a black cab (a 1980’s era Fairway) to Picadilly.  I felt that same feeling of comfort and security I always feel in a Black Cab.  That same feeling that led me to buy one for us in California (although that one is white–a condition I will soon remedy when I return).

As soon as I told my (lady) cab driver (which one doesn’t see very often in London) my destination,  she told me that Picadilly is closed for the St. Patrick’s Day parade but she could get me within 1/2 block of my destination.

She was very nice (as in my experience London taxi drivers always are) and we had a pleasant conversation about my London Taxi for the 15 minute drive.  She dropped me off and I walked the the half block to my hotel.  As I approached the hotel I  and could see (and hear) the parade at the other end of the block.  I walked past my hotel to check it out and you’ll never believe what I saw as soon as I hit the street (and that’s why I have a picture to prove it):

A 1959 Cadillac Eldorado (in two-tone mint green) motoring slowly down Picadilly!  I realized at that moment that while I have been pining over post-War European cars since I was a young boy in Los Angeles, there were young english lads who aspired to own American cars of similar vintage.

There were a few other cars (all in green St. Patty’s livery) in the parade, but none quite as interesting.  Enjoy my photos of the 1955 Morris Minor Series II Tourer, a nice (unusual in green) AEC Routemaster double decker bus and a modern truck I can’t possibly describe any way other than “Fuzzy”.