More Thoughts From A Car Guy

Back in May, I was inspired to set down a few musings about automobiles that I called “Thoughts from a Car Guy.” Well, as the title implies, here’s some more. Car and Driver magazine recently wrote an article about one of their favorite places to road test vehicles. It’s located in Southeastern Ohio, in an area known as the Hocking Hills. This article points out a key fact that underlies the love that all “car guys” (and, of course, car gals, too) have for the automobile: the best cars are a joy to drive. They not only take us places, but allow us to appreciate the journey as well.

 I’ve got a friend named Mike who owns some land in the Hocking Hills, and he used to tell me about the fabulous roads in the area. It’s not a particularly easy place to get to from where I live, with lots of less than great choices of routes that will eventually get you there, even if it’s not a direct route. But I’ve found my way to his place a few times, and it has always been a fun experience. When I was leaving once, he told me the route to take on my way home. It wasn’t really the most direct route home, but Mike assured me that the road had just been repaved, and would be a joy to drive. I’m not sure exactly which car I was driving at the time, but I think it was one of the four Honda Preludes that I owned consecutively after I finally got rid of my Mercedes 280S sedan. The Prelude wasn’t a sports 

car, but rather a “sporty” car. It was front wheel drive with a four cylinder engine , but it handled better than most front drive cars, and I always opted for Honda’s smooth shifting 5-speed manual transmission, which the guys at Road and Track and Car and Driver both considered mandatory.

I found the road without difficulty. The scenery alone was worth the experience, but the road was a thing of joy. It wasn’t a road designed to modern standards. Some turns were reverse banked.  Large rocks and great trees sat far too close to the pavement. It didn’t matter. A huge grin spread across my face as I rowed through the gears through the sweeping curves, upshifting and downshifting frequently and happily. All too soon it morphed into a typically boring highway that eventually led to an even more boring (but much more efficient) interstate highway, and then home. That experience has lingered on for the decades that have passed since then. And I know what the writers at Car and Driver are talking about when they wax eloquently about their favorite roads in the Hocking Hills.

I found a similar road in west central Ohio quite by accident, when I was on my way home from an appraisal assignment inspecting a nursing home in a little town I had never heard of before. I had arrived by a different route from the northwest, but I had to look at some comparable land sales on my way home, which took me more south and east. At the time, my vehicle was a Honda SUV (Sport Utility Vehicle), a Passport, which wasn’t even manufactured by Honda but was a rebadged Isuzu assembled in Indiana. Since I lived at Lake Mohawk at the time, I had to have a vehicle that could tow my boat and personal watercraft. It had lots of “utility” but came up rather short in the area of “sport.” Fortunately for me (if you consider facing a couple of grand in repair bills “fortunate”), my vehicle was at the repair shop, Leyland Motors (http://laylandmotors.com/), which is owned and operated by a truly talented guy named Denny, who also happens to be a friend of mine. While my vehicle was in the shop, Denny lent me his personal Porsche 911 Carrera Targa to drive. Now that’s a friend!

It may have something to do with the geology of central and southern Ohio that leads to these fine driver’s roads. During the Ice Age, the huge glaciers that covered our hemisphere ended in these areas, and piled up the rocks that they had scraped off of the land in the north into this area that geologists refer to as “terminal moraines” (http://www.dnr.state.oh.us/portals/10/pdf/glacial.pdf) which creates the area’s undulating terrain. The road that I happened upon was a gently curving delight, carved out of a hillside, with a sheer rock wall to my left that fell away to gently rolling pastures to my right. It had been recently repaved and I was in automobile nirvana as I clicked through the Porsche’s

fantastic 5-speed gearbox as the car’s powerful flat-6 engine snarled at me from behind. Traffic was light and while the curves lasted, it was bliss in a borrowed ride.

I should probably add a few more comments about my friend Denny, who has provided me with many automotive close encounters. I used to live across Lake Mohawk from Denny, where he has a huge house with a garage that was almost as large as my entire house. But I had already known him for years before we both relocated to that scenic wonderland. If I consider myself a “car guy” then Denny is a CAR GUY, or even car guru, or perhaps car god. He’s done complete restorations on several cars, including a twelve cylinder E-type Jaguar roadster and more recently a little Triumph sports car. One beautiful spring evening, Denny, with his wife, son and daughter, pulled down my long straight driveway in an immaculate turquoise Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible. He suggested that I get my brother Gary, who lived with me at the time, and take a drive to a new family-friendly bar and restaurant in nearby Minerva for a drink. Oh yeah, he wanted me to drive. Like I said, he’s a good friend.

Gary and I took the front seats, while Denny and his family squeezed into the back (even Rolls-Royce convertibles don’t have very large back seats). We were on the road to Minerva when a railroad crossing loomed in the distance. I began to slow the Rolls, in order to give my tightly packed passengers the most comfortable ride possible. Denny leaned forward and said, “No, no, don’t slow down. Punch it.” In all matters automotive, I defer to the master’s expertise, and did as instructed. We flew across the uneven railroad tracks as if we had encountered a mere pebble on the highway. In the rearview mirror, I could see Denny’s “I-told-you-so” grin.

Minerva is a little village that straddles three counties in northeastern Ohio. It grew in importance due to its location along the Sandy-Beaver Canal (there’s a name that would never get used in modern times) in the early-1800’s, and the original coast-to-coast “Lincoln Highway” also known as U.S. Route 30, passes through the north end of town. As we drove toward our destination, I caught a glimpse

of an older Jaguar sedan sitting in front of an old, nondescript industrial building off to my right, but kept driving toward our destination. Now Denny is a true Jag aficionado, and he had been staring at the car as we drove past. He leaned forward from his seat and spoke in my ear. “Did you see that? That was a perfectly restored 1959 Jaguar Mark 2 sedan. Turn around. We need to go back.” Again, as in all matters related to automobiles, I deferred to Denny and turned the car around.

We pulled into the parking lot as a guy around our age emerged from the shop building, carrying a stuffed gorilla doll which was the size of a husky 12-year old, and placed it in the backseat of the Jag. Denny insisted on getting out first to talk with the man alone. We were strangers after all, with young children present, and Denny didn’t want to spook the guy before he had a chance to fully savor the fine-looking sedan. I suppose there is no better way to approach a fellow car guy in a less-threatening way than arriving in a sparkling clean Rolls convertible. We were all waved over in a matter of seconds, and introductions on a first name basis were made all around. I don’t recall the owner’s name after all these years, and he made only vague references to his job, cryptically mentioning having to “…go into the plant and sign checks once in a while.” Apparently he had level of financial comfort that the rest of us were still seeking.

The Jag was pristine and he was staging it for exhibit in a car show somewhere. In the backseat, the car had  furniture-quality little wood veneer picnic tables that folded down from the back of the front seat like a much nicer version of an airliner table. The gorilla had been placed on the rear seat with an open table from behind the driver's seat before him, as if he was about to turn to us and ask "Pardon me, but do you happen to have any Grey Poupon?" The trunk was open and revealed a custom-fitted old-fashioned wicker picnic basket, with leather straps on the underside of the lid that held real china dishes, silverware, and crystal glasses in place. He explained that the car was purchased from an Ivy League college professor who had purchased it new and driven it until he retired. At some point, he had driven it off the road and smashed into a tree, deciding that it was time for him to finally relinquish driving duties to someone else. Our host told us that the car had literally been shipped here in boxes and he had done a complete ground up reassembly and restoration. He had just gotten the car back from “his interior guy” who had restored the leather clad interior to better-than-showroom condition. We were too polite to ask what such a service cost, but it appeared that money wasn’t a real issue for our host. After gushing over the car for a few minutes, Denny peered into the shop, and then boldly asked if he could look around. Our host may have given young Daniel and Demi a worried look, but Denny sternly warned them “Don’t touch anything!” They were remarkably well-behaved kids, at least when mom and dad were around to keep them in check. Then we stepped inside.

Inside the shop can only be described as the ultimate Car Guy’s toy box. The walls were covered in old gas station and car dealership signs, among other automotive memorabilia. Just inside the main garage door was a late-40’s or early-50’s Packard Limousine in dark blue, with little chrome flag holders on the front bumper. I think the seats were missing, swapped for the Jag’s and taken by the “interior guy” for restoration. I could almost envision Harry Truman sitting inside, waving and smiling and wishing he was somewhere else, like maybe playing poker with his buddies. I think there was another older car inside, maybe an old Ford or Chevy, but I was on sensory overload by then, and I just can’t remember. I do remember a real old and very rare Indian motorcycle that our host was evidently very proud of which we all reverently gathered around before moving on. We moved through the building, carefully avoiding the tightly packed antiques which were everywhere. Outside, there were several other cars parked, awaiting the master’s careful touch. The one that really caught my eye was a 1956 Chrysler Imperial, with the taillights mounted above the tail fins. As the evening light faded, we finally thanked our host and bid him goodbye, heading off to our original destination and thankful that the children, and us, didn’t break anything.

I drove by the building several months later, and it appeared to be abandoned. There were no cars parked anywhere. I have no idea what happened to our generous host, but I can only hope that he decided to move to a larger building. He did need a larger toy box. Journeys are as important to drivers as destinations. It's often the unsought road that makes for the best traveling, and the unplanned destination that is really the place that we should be. As a car guy, my wish for you is to have many happy trips.

As a postscript, I offer this little insight about the difference between a car guy and a regular person. After my brother Gary had passed away in 2008, I was going through a box of his old photographs. I came across a photo of a Lamborghini Countach parked in my old driveway at the lake house with the passenger side scissor door open and pointing skyward. Perched in the seat and smiling from beneath his mop of curly brown hair was a very young Daniel, Denny's son, who by 2008 was a very tall teenager. It was the 4th of July, and I was heading down to my nephew's house at the lake to watch the fireworks, so I decided to take the photo over to Denny and give it to him. Arriving at his house, I first encountered Denny's wife, Diane, and showed her the picture. "Oh look at Daniel," she gushed, "how cute. Show that to Denny." I found Denny down by the pool, whipping up a batch of margaritas in a blender powered by gasoline fueled weed-eater motor. When I showed Denny the picture, his first response was: "Oh yeah, check out that car."

PPS: Thursday, November 21, 3013:
I was going through a box of old photos, and came across these shots of Denny's fully restored E-Type Jaguar V-12, and thought someone might like to see what a Car Guru's hobby looks like.