So asks the fine fellows over at
Jalopnik, and here's what they say:
"So I drive a Mini Cooper
as my DD. I live in an area with a high amount of other Mini motorists and we
always acknowledge each other with a simple wave as we pass by.
I was wondering though, how do
you acknowledge other gearhead enthusiasts in cars that you don't drive."
Well, for me, that's an easy one
...
When I was a little kid, growing
up in the 60s, with two very older brothers in a family completely oriented
around all things car – especially sportscars – one always, always waves. Always.
To this day, I still do it.
When I see another sportscar
coming down the road, or an interesting car for that matter, I always throw
them a wave. And I always thought the main reason this was so de rigueur back
in the day had to do with what I always called sportscar karma.
For reasons that are as obvious
as they are mechanically painful, we were a British sportscar family. Our
garage and driveway was replete with Triumphs and MGs and Sunbeams and things
along that line (as well as tons of antique cars).
So when weekends came, and we'd
take one of said cars for an early Saturday or Sunday morning blast along the
mountain roads of Oregon or Washington, and we'd see another car coming the
other way – "It's a Healey! Nope. It's an MG Midget! Same thing!" –
we would always flash the lights, beep the horn and wave. 99 times out of a
hundred (and I mean it was literally that frequently) they would always wave
back.
Why would they always wave?
Simple: Sportscar karma.
And, if we were heading up and
over The Coast Range and we'd see, say, a bathtub Porsche by the side of the
road with it's engine lid open, we always, always, pulled over.
Why would we always pull over?
Simple: Sportscar karma.
Unless you were alive back then,
and had to deal with things like what counts as "reliability" to an
Englishman, you have absolutely no idea how sketchy these things could be.
Sure, Porsche 356s were sort of better than TR-4s (although their heaters were
a joke) and TRs were about the same as Alfas, but pretty much across the board,
you had to take things like "reliability" and "completing your
journey" under strict advisement. Now, if you were handy with tools and
had the necessary spares in the trunk (although you could still get caught out
if something you didn't have in the trunk needed replacing (just ask my brother
who had to wait in frickin' North Dakota for three days for a lower radiator house to show up from a London
parts depot)) you might be adventuresome enough to drive from, say, Pacifica to
Reno.
But what if 'something' happened? What if you 'ran into trouble'?
That is why we, and a whole bunch
of other 60s sportscar owners, would always pull over to help: "Uh-oh,
there's a buddy I don't know yet stranded on the side of the road with the
bonnet up and steam coming from the engine bay! Better pull over and see if I
can lend a hand!"
Sure, you could say it was
altruism. You could also say it was stupidity of people who don't know when to
stop working on mechanical things because they love getting their hands dirty
so much. You could also point out that a fair number of staggeringly attractive
women thought it would be kicky to own one of those cute little sportscars back
then.
But the real reason was
enlightened self-interest through a working class understanding of Buddhism.
"We better pull over and
give them a hand, because one day, it might be us!"
Ha! Not the overly optimistic use
of the word "might" in that rationalization. Then again my family is
a pretty optimistic lot.
So, to this day, I see you coming
at me with some sort of sportscar, I always wave. Always.
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