1959 Triumph TR3

After going through several motorcycles and a systemic reaction to a bee sting I moved up to four wheels. The body was solid, the engine strong, the British racing green crisp and I could still feel the wind in my hair. Within the first week the entire wiring harness went up in flames. At first I thought the idea of keeping copper tubing for fuses was practical, the former owner made some explanation that seemed to make sense at the time. Not having access to a new wiring harness or the money to buy one I purchased 4 spools of 12 gauge electrical wire and replaced the entire harness, it took some time. Soon after it blew a rod bearing traveling over the mountain on my way to UMass. The following summer I found a used block and under my sisters' swing seat, with the radio blasting "Eve of Destruction", I preformed an engine transplant.

Things seemed stable until Sophie Slozeic slammed into the back of me. "It all happen so fast!" she repeated. She smashed the rear end so hard it pushed up the body so the doors couldn't close, and of course all the lights were toast. So I tied the doors shut and kept going, flying under the radar, avoiding the authorities.

Until the following spring when returning home after a day of practice teaching I crossed paths with the Registry of Motor Vehicles. There were three of them, waiting in ambush to nab motorists with expired inspection stickers, they flagged me over.

As one of them walked about calling out items from his list, the others stood there with hands on hips, dumbstruck at their blind luck - they hit paydirt.

"Try the brakes!" he shouted.

"What about the tail lights?"

"Wipers?"

When he asked me to try the emergency brake I give him a look like "this is a British car man, emergency brake, you've got to be kidding?"

"Horn?"

He removed his hat to scratch his head, pocketed his list, and went back with the others, then he turned.

"Try the headlight!"

The sole lamp came on and they all cheered. When he returned he informed me that the State of Massachusetts would be revoking my registration within the week and he advised me to drive the thing straight to the junkyard.

The Triumph came off the road until the summer. I sold it to my friend Redeye for a dollar. We fixed the lights, replaced a bad tire with a good Michelin radial, and drove it cross-country, through the Badlands, Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, LA, and to its final resting place, a Berkeley junk yard that gave us $50 for what was left of it. It was a great car.