I am often asked which cars are my most and least favourites to work on or to restore.
It's difficult to pick my most favourite as there have been so many truly beautiful automobiles with which I have had the great fortune to work.
Looking back, though, one particular car stands out as having made the deepest impression.
It was a magnificent 1929 Vanden Plas-bodied, 4.5-litre Le Mans Bentley. It was a monstrous machine, fully capable of reaching speeds of 160 kilometres an hour and cruising at 130 km/h -- no mean feat for a vehicle built in the 1920s.
The car was one of the W.O. Bentleys, which were truly remarkable vehicles. They are called W.O.s after their creator, W.O. Bentley; this is to demarcate them from the Rolls-Royce Bentleys, produced after Rolls took the company over in the early 1930s.
These Bentleys ruled the tracks of Europe and set records at Le Mans. Ettore Bugatti hated them, calling them the world's fastest lorries, and there was some reason for his loathing. The Bentleys were incredibly fast. They were also immense, dwarfing the other cars on the track.
The car I had the pleasure to know was British racing green and sported an original leather-covered body emblazoned with the Union Jack on the sides -- a fitting and quite common marking for these locomotive-like leviathans.
I still miss taking care of that Bentley. To rub salt in the wound, I chanced upon it in the parking lot at the Laguna Seca race track in California a couple of years ago. The temptation to jump in and take it for a spin was intense, and it could have been easily done as the formula for starting it -- as arcane as it is -- does not require a key.
Lest you think that it is not secure, you are wrong. If you don't know the secret to starting a Bentley -- and few people do -- then you have no chance of stumbling upon the right procedure.
Having waxed enthusiastic about one outstanding and famous British car, it is with some regret that I name another well-known, even infamous British car as my least favourite and most challenging endeavour.
It is an offering from Aston Martin.
What is truly ironic is that I am an ardent admirer of every single car that has ever been issued from Aston Martin -- aside from the Lagonda.
It was not always so. When I first saw a Lagonda decades ago at its introduction to Canada, I was quite impressed with the low-slung styling of the futuristic four-door sedan.
Today, its styling looks antiquated and contrived, although that is not a reason to dismiss it. Many great cars have not aged well and yet still demand respect.
The reason for my dislike is that the Lagonda was conceived as a cutting-edge creation packed full of exotic solid-state electronics, including television screens on which road speed, engine speed and all other information was displayed.
Digital dashes are pretty mundane these days, but, in 1976 when the car was conceived, it was a huge risk -- and one that has proved to be the car's undoing as far as serviceability is concerned.
Right from a prototype that broke down on the day of the model's introduction -- leaving press and guests wondering where it was -- to cars whose gremlins are constantly raising blood pressure, the Lagonda has proven better at being broken than it is at belting along the highway.
This is not to say that driving one is not a great experience. It drives and handles beautifully as befits its heritage.
It's just that it does neither for very long, and any drive's enjoyment is always tempered by the knowledge that it is only a matter of time before the car glides to a halt because some tiny, electrical impulse has failed to reach its destination.
Worse than being a marooned driver is being the one who has to fix it. The Lagonda is one of those creatures whose problems are never apparent but need to be coaxed out by laborious testing and time-consuming hit-and-miss tactics.
Once a problem has been discovered and repaired, it often creates a cascade of other tiny failures in weary and complex electrical circuits.
There is no help to be had. Aston Martin dealers often laugh and wish you good luck (and good riddance); the Lagonda even leaves experts scratching their heads.
The car is so heavily laden with what amounts to experimental circuitry that it creates a rich environment for continual breakdown -- but rarely the same way twice.
I am sure it must hold the prize for most hours spent on maintenance to achieve a mile of road usage.
The sad thing is, I seem to be getting a reputation for being willing to work on Lagondas, so it seems as though I won't be rid of having at least one of the breed on the premises for quite some time.
If that were only true for the Bentleys, the world would seem a touch more in balance.
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