So, What Is It about a Small British Roadster?

August, 1965. I was 8 ½ years old. We lived in Minneapolis, and my aunt had recently returned home from a road trip to Mexico with her boyfriend. She had described some of the places they’d visited, and all I knew for sure was that Mexico was far away and foreign in a vague way – a little like Europe, but really, really hot! A day or two later, I was sitting in the front yard when Dale, the boyfriend, drove up in a small, dusty red, low slung car hovering just inches off the street . When I stood up I was taller than the top of the car. Only, it had no top.

I’d never seen anything like it. Oh sure, I knew it was a car, but it looked to me more like an animal. It could have been the purr-growl as Dale drove up and came to a stop, but even parked it seemed to be wound tight like a spring – like a big cat ready to pounce. I knew that if I looked away – even for a second – it might be gone. So, I just kept staring at it as I walked toward it. It seemed so small, but still kind of long-ish as I approached. And it only had front seats, which sat directly on the floor of the car. The wheels looked like really fat versions of my bike wheels.

“What is this?” I asked.

“An Austin-Healey.” Dale replied. “This is what your Aunt and I drove to Mexico in. Wasn’t sure we were going to make it home a couple of times.” He could see the effect the car was having on me.

“You want to take a spin?” he asked. I nodded.

“Hop in.”

He reached over and opened the passenger door. The seats were red with white piping and I think it had red carpeting, partially faded. I could smell dust and leather and just a tinge of metal at the back of my tongue. When I reached for the handle to shut the door, I found the door was hollow; nothing to grab on to. I had to reach up and over the top of the door to pull it shut. And the door weighed nothing. Everything about the car seemed wide open. No roof. The glove compartment was just a recessed shelf. There were no windows that I could see – except the windshield. You could feel every breeze and bit of wind as if you were outside; like riding my bike.

Then Dale reached up to the dash and turned the key. The car ROARED to life! Not just in my ears. My whole body vibrated; my heart raced. We began moving. I felt my weight sink into the seat back. There wasn’t much to hold on to; just the seat bottom around my legs and the upper edge of the door hole. It was a muggy afternoon and I felt the sweat on my neck and arms evaporating in the breeze as the car picked up speed.

“Whatever you do, don’t pull that clothes line in the door,” said Dale. “You’ll open it.”

My right hand returned to the seat bottom. As we drove around the neighborhood I wasn’t really tall enough to see much out the front; just the dash board, which really did look like a straight flat board with dials on it. Nothing like the curvy dash of my Mom’s Falcon. But I could see everything to my side, the top of the door only coming up to my neck. I could see off to the other side of Dale and of course, straight up at the clouds which were beginning to gather and darken.

After a while I reached out above the top of the door and let the wind push unsteadily back against my hand. Every bump we hit bounced me. But I wasn’t afraid. I felt like we were nestled on the back of a powerful, benevolent creature who might shift us around a bit as it tore past familiar landmarks, but would never allow us to come to harm.

Maybe that was it; the thrill of feeling two very opposite things at once. I was moving faster than I’d ever gone in a car – except maybe on the highway, which didn’t really count because by comparison to this, highway driving was almost like sitting still.

Here, we were in flight, and there was very little between me and the road and everything we were hurtling through, which made me feel completely exposed. At the same time I felt cradled and safe astride this wild beast who was my friend, who roared not at me, but at the rest of the world – a world that couldn’t possibly catch up to us. Man, we were untouchable!

And then the sky ripped open! There was lightning and thunder, and a sheet of rain hit us like a door slamming in the night. Dale pulled over and jumped out of the car. I had no idea what he was doing. He reached back behind my seat and started pulling at an umbrella — custom fit for this car, that attached in front to the top of the windshield. He told me to hold on to the front rail as he climbed back in and started working the latches.

We were safe again. Still no windows though, but Dale said if we got moving, we’d keep most of the water out.

Like everything else about this little car the roof, now that it had one, was really low. We were cocooned inside a tight, custom fitted room. It was carpeted, a whole lot drier than outside, and everything you needed was within easy reach. No one else could come in, but we could see everything and everyone around us, and we were still moving.

We could go anywhere we wanted. Complete security and unbridled freedom on the back of an overgrown, barely domesticated, fire-breathing cat with wings. What 8 ½ year old boy could possibly resist?

Years later, when I could actually consider buying a small British roadster, the Healeys were way out of my price range. They’ve stayed there. MGBs were an acceptable substitute though. Not too pricey and easy to work on, and never so rarified that I was afraid to drive or even park them. Since my mid-twenties I’ve never been without one; most of the time running and sometimes just sitting, but always beckoning—calling me back to nestle in, feel the purr and hang on while we sway and bank through the curves of a well paved country road.

By Bernard Wilburn