I haven't missed not having a car, Mrs. T and I very rarely have separate places to be, and in a pinch, Camilla can always be dusted off. That hasn't stopped my car buddy from daily submitting can't miss opportunities for my perusal.
Two this week, will give you an idea of what he's shopping for me for. Those of you too young to recognize them don't think I'm jealous. I'm not.
This is a Renault Dauphine, early '60's. It's also the French version of a British Morris Minor of the same era, although a Brit would have apoplexy at the thought.
Someone in fairly good shape could out run either of these on level ground. Many years ago, Car and Driver magazine had a story of the lucky stiff who had the coveted Morris franchise in San Francisco.
Eventually, the owner got word his ship had come in and he could pick up his cars at the wharf. On the appointed day he emptied the sales floor and garage to get drivers to pick up the cars. All went well, until they got to the first hill. The cars weren't powerful enough to climb the hill. Sales were slow.
A good rule of thumb in the US is to only buy French cars, in France for driving in France. If one day you catch stupid and decide to buy a French car in North America, ask yourself, before leaving home, who is going to fix it? Follow up with, where can I get parts? Honest answers to those two should set you straight.
If family and friends have always publicly thought of you as something of a dolt consider the Citroen 2CV Sahara.
The 2CV is a great little car. Primitive, but sturdy. The Sahara, just stupid. The French wanted a 4x4 of their own. Something to traipse around the colonies with. So how did they do it? Two engines of course. 1 in front, 1 rear, with all kinds of gizmos to get them to run in synch. Somehow they found almost 600 takers.
Next Saturday I'll show you what I'm really looking at, maybe.
Toad
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