Hence the word, ‘enthusiast’. I have tried the noble art of car restoration, with absolutely none of the aforementioned qualities. A friend rebuilt an old 1974 Ford F100, and I decided I needed one too. Bright new paint job, fat tackies, loud exhaust, big 4.9 litre motor… What more could a macho man want?
Of skill, I had none. I can barely change a wheel. I hate having dirty hands, so not much will there either. My bank manager thought I had an alcohol problem, because my eyes were always red from petrol fumes (and bills), and I was tucking in to my overdraft a little more enthusiastically than usual. And my wife? I don’t know if she was tolerant, or just inquisitive if I could see this thing through. The rebuild took about a year, and about 10 years off my life. I won’t bore you with what went wrong, but to be brief, if something could go wrong, it did, even after the job was finished. Things broke. All the time. Broke is a good word to use here, but I was lucky that I broke even when I sold the beast three years later.
The next time I wanted an old car (10 years later), I thought I’d box clever, and buy a fully restored vehicle. I discovered that ‘restored’ does not necessarily mean ‘fixed’. My bank manager thought I’d fallen off the wagon (so to speak) again, but this time my eyes were red from the tears my rebuilt 1980 Range Rover brought to them. Three years later, a friend relieved me of this fiend of a vehicle, and left my bank balance with a huge dent in it. Another 10 years passed, and I happened to visit an old (but in good condition) surfing friend of mine at Hluhluwe River Lodge last month.
Gavin Dickson is rebuilding a 1948 Jeep. He has all the above qualities going for him, and he is a Jeep enthusiast, having restored two old ones already. Is he a glutton for punishment? His wife, Bridget, must be the most tolerant woman in the world. Why? Even their 11-year-old son, Rorke, is getting involved in his latest project. But she is lucky, she has a 14-year-old daughter to go shopping with, while the boys shed blood, skin (off their knuckles), and tears.
Me? Of course I was interested, but I think I am happier go shopping for more cushions with my wife, and less enthusiastic to go through restoration purgatory again!
