Confessions of A Teenage MG Driver
by Charles Cutler I grip the large metal-spoked steering wheel of my 1975 MGB, zipping between humdrum hybrids and stale SUVs, my red British roadster releasing the smell of carbureted happiness in its wake. I’m an average 19-year-old guy, but I’ve been photographed, waved at, and propositioned—all because of this classic British car. It is…