1 CAAT LIMITED, CO
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ADVENTURES IN MOTORING
One of the best things about these cars is that you don't just own them, you experience them. Even if they turn out to be more trouble than we bargined for, it usually ends up being a whole lot a fun. Or at the very least an adventure that's great to share with people that can appreciate the heartache of a classic car. The article below was coauthored by my good friend Ron Marion and myself. It cronicles one such adventure and was featured in the February-March 2001 issue of British Car magazine. (www.ClassicMotorsports.net)
For a year and a half I had been looking for another British car that would go with my Series III Sunbeam Alpine. I had searched all the usual interest sites and the British auto shows in my area.
What I really wanted was a British car with the steering on the "correct side." That urge was reinforced by the recent driving tour of England and Scotland I took with my wife Pat and our friends John and Carolyn Henriksen in a pair of Morgan plus 4s.
There was no doubt in my mind that what I wanted was a full-blown, honest-to-God, stiff-upper-lip, never mind-the-rain, "real" sports car from
"Old Blighty."
To see what we could find, my wife checked out e-Bay Motors on the Internet, and there were all these exotic cars to be had if you only had the
fortitude and money to bid on them, sight unseen.
As it turned out, I only thought I wanted another "sports car." The minute I saw the 1954 A40 Austin Somerset my wife had found, I knew it was the car for me. Somehow it had a quaint appeal that evoked memories of my youth. It was made the same year I graduated from high school, and spoke to me of a gentler, simpler time when things weren't nearly so complicated.
When I related my interest in the A40 to John Henriksen, he told me that he had read in British car that people who loved "saloons" were tweed jack-et, elbow patch, aromatic pipe kind of guys. Me? A Basil Rathbone type? So much for my "silk scarf blowing in the wind" image of myself. So, I entered the bidding war, and before I knew it, the Austin Somerset was mine.
Now what? It really was a straight-forward process with the friendly help of the owner, Derek Durst, who made the transfer of funds and paper-work a much simpler process.
The only thing that now remained was to the get the A40 from Newport, Rhode Island, to Maryville, Tennesse. (Talk about a radical change in culture!) A more prudent person would have had it shipped, but where's the adventure in that?
I had long before evoked a promise from John that he would go with me to purchase and bring home a car when I found "the right one." Like me, he thought that meant a sexy, exotic car of some description, within a reasonable driving distance. When I told him about the A40, I think I detected a little green cast to his complexion, but being the great sport he is, he swallowed manfully and agreed to go.
John is the owner and operator of 1CAAT Limited Co. ("One car at a time" as that's all he can do), a garage that is devoted specifically to the repair and maintenance of exclusively classic British motorcars. He also owns an Austin-Healey 3000, Austin Cooper S, and a Mk2 Jag. Being the professional he is, John began to search for info on the A40 Somerset. He got a response from someone who is knowledgeable about early Austins. He strongly advised that we treat the brakes very gently, and not drive over 45 or so. Forty-five? For a thousand miles? My God, I pull into my garage at almost that speed. OK. OK, I'll do it!
And Off We Go!
So we put together an emergency tool kit of wrenches, tape, electrical wire, pliers, and more, and went to the airport to fly to Providence. Fortunately, we were able to hand carry the tool kit; security didn't think we had any dangerous items. When we landed in Providence at midnight, it was storming with a wind chill of 32 degrees.
It was dreary and rainy the next morning, another portent of things to come. We met Derek and traveled over to Newport Isle. He treated us to breakfast at a fifties diner and then took us to his house, which was located on Downing street next to the "whorehouse." The "whorehouse" is so called, because in the early ship days, the building was used as a tavern and other delights. And, yes, the street leading to his house is really named Downing. Very British indeed.
His house, which lie built to match the historic area, is as unique as he is. He had several interesting cars in the stables, including a pristine 1953 Fiat, an MGTC, TA, and a regularly driven Delage boat-tail; Currently he's working on an Alvis chassis with a Jag J 20 engine and gearbox.
Then the Austin was uncovered. We did a quick check-over and everything worked. It was exactly as he had described it on e-Bay, no rip-off here. We took a short drive through historic Newport in the rain to get familiar with the car, which ran very well. Derek then led us out, gave us a toll bridge token and we were off in the heavy windy rain. The Austin was buffeted a few times on bridges and didn't like the climbs, but purred great on the straightaways.
The weather finally cleared, and it was a -wonderful day. We were zipping along US 1 southbound toward NYC at 55, which is a good speed in a car like this, when we began experiencing problems. We were about 50 miles away from our starting point when the car began suddenly to cut out.
For the next five-and-a-half hours during which we Covered only 35 miles, we stopped at every auto parts store in lower New England, replacing
plugs, wires, spraying silicone sealer, installing in-line fuel filters, and troubleshooting anything it could be. We must have been quite a sight. An old, black, right-hand-drive car hugging the shoulder doing barely 30 mph, often stopped with the bonnet up with two old dudes bent over the front wings.
Cops, Tow Trucks, and Bad Mechanics
Finally, it just wouldn't run anymore. At this point we decided that the fuel line was stopped up, or it had a bad fuel pump. After an eternally long time on the side of 1-95, a Connecticut State Trooper arrived and called for a wrecker. He had trouble describing the car and the license plate, which is a Tennesse plate with a University of Kentucky logo on it. I explained that Ron lives in Tennesse, but is a UK fan. He said he wasn't going to touch that one and got us a tow within minutes.
The tow truck driver assured us that the garage was knowledgeable about older foreign cars, so off we went, the A40. being carried in style on the rollback bed of the tow truck.
Fortunately, there was a motel across the street from the repair shop, and a good Italian restaurant within walking distance. The repair shop had promised to' get on the A40 the first thing next morning. So there was nothing left to do but call' our wives to let them know what was going on and bear their snickers, since we had made less than 100 miles the first day, then have dinner, toast our fortune-misfortune with some local ale, and turn in with the hope that tomorrow would be a better day.
Tomorrow was not a better day! The repair shop, which had claimed (to know older British cars, and AC fuel pumps in particular, apparently didn't know the first thing about either one! They did, however, remove the fuel
tank and send it out to be flushed, supposedly cleaning out the fuel line, and installing a new in-line fuel filter. However, they. didn't touch the fuel pump. It's probably just as well, because I'd bet they didn't even have a gasket to fit it! .
While sitting there all day, one of their shop go-fors had left the ignition
key on, so when the fuel-tank was reinstalled, the battery was dead.
When finally there was sufficient charge, the mechanic started it and let it run for awhile. When I backed it out, John noticed smoke coming from the bonnet. The mechanic said it was WD40, which he'd sprayed on the carb linkage. However, there was a steady stream of coolant coming out of the overflow pipe.
When John checked under the bonnet, it was so hot that the valve-cover gasket was bubbling. The temp gauge was on "High." This, along with the fact that the mechanic had messed with the carburetor, caused the engine to run even worse. We finally got the car cooled down, but now it wouldn't
idle. The mechanic finally admitted that he didn't know too much about these "old cars." Since it was an unoriginal Solex carb of Volkswagen vintage, we felt it best to seek expert advice. The mechanic called a VW expert who assured him he could rebuild the carb in five minutes, but not tonight. It was decided to tow it to the expert the next
morning, so we went back to the motel for another night.
Compression: Hope under Pressure
After John and I discussed the situation, John thought it would be a good idea for the shop to do a compression test first thing in the morning, before
towing the car to the carburetor shop. If compression was bad, no amount of carburetor adjustment or overhaul was going to help. We left word with the tow truck dispatcher to have them test the compression in the morning.
At last some good news - compression not the best on number four, but well within tolerances. So we decided to head for the carburetor shop ourselves. Sounded good to me! I was anxious to get as far away from those guys as possible. Vintage car knowledgeable, indeed!
A Classic Mechanic for a Classic Car
We got directions and started out to the expert, keeping the engine revving
so it wouldn't idle. We found the expert at Town Line Auto Repair run by an ex-Volkswagen mechanic named John, located in an old Sunoco station. We limped in and found John to be in a foul mood as he expected the car there promptly by seven a.m. We were late and he had a full day. I was ready to leave as John was quite vociferous, but then I told him we had to run a compression test first, and when he saw the
car, he calmed down and couldn't resist looking at it. Since it had a Solex carb, he just had to tinker with it to get it right, the mark of a true expert and lover of fine cars. His first comment after walking over to it was "Where did you get this piece of English s---". I
commented that the only piece of,s--- on it was the carb. Then we were
friends. When he found-out we were from Tennessee, he wanted to know if
we'd seen Elvis. I told him I hadn't seen him yet.
When he found out we were driving it to Tennessee he replied, "I wouldn't drive that thing to Bridgeport," a nearby town. He then told us we'd best get a cup of coffee as it was going to take some time. He guided us into the shop (a far cry from the neat-as-a-pin, computerized shop we had just left) and offered us, coffee, from a crockpot. It was black as old crankcase oil. Although my doctor had told me to lay off caffeine, I couldn't resist. It was delicious.
Then he went to work. He took off the air cleaner and lovingly washed it out and expertly adjusted the carb. He had it running smoothly in no time. He then noticed all the greasy hand prints on the wings and the next thing we knew he had a bottle of, cleaner and towels and was cleaning them off. He even went so far as to state that the Austin engine was probably one of the best ever made. As to his bill? He told us to give him $20 and get the hell out of there. Another far cry from the shop
we had just left. John is a classic example of a dying breed of local mechanics that work out of old gas stations, who know more about cars, racing, and common sense than anyone else around.
Once we got the carburetor squared away, we thought it was going to be clear sailing the rest of the way home. Alas, it was not to be. Just a few miles down the road, the A40 began to act up again. By this time, we were convinced that it had to be the fuel pump.
Gasket Hunt on Thimble Island
Fortunately, the night before, I had found an ad in the yellow pages, advertising Brainerd's Garage, a repair shop that specializes in vintage British
cars. As luck would have it, it was nearby and we coaxed the Austin to
the shop. And what a shop it was! It was located in the picturesque little town of Stoney Creek, Connecticut, on Thimble Island, a community complete with a scenic harbor and many old homes. We located Brainerd's, operated by Mr. Brainerd and his son in an old 1920s barn. The barn was built by Mr, Brainerd's father and it started out as a hardware store, which he developed into a mechanic shop. The barn is a classic filled with original parts. Inside they were working on a 1953
MG TD which was being beautifully restored to original condition from basket case status.
They looked lovingly at the Austin, but outwardly shook their heads. They soon agreed that the, fuel pump was the culprit and took' off the fuel pump
cover. Sure enough, the gasket fell to pieces. The pump was filled with silt, which had to be suctioned out with a syringe. Then they brought out an old AC Fuel Pump Repair Kit, which had the proper gasket. The son even offered to tow us to Baltimore as he was going to pick up two Mark 2s. But the car started and ran great and we were on the road again.
Changing Diapers with a Turkey Baster
Then it started again. We turned back toward Brainard's, but it had cleared up
and we decided we would purchase a "sucker," and baby it, and press on.
We stopped at a grocery store and bought a "sucker" (turkey baster). Then began what we affectionately termed "changing the diaper" (CTD), which involved stopping every time the car acted up, pulling the fuel pump cover, and suctioning out the silty gas.
We encountered a traffic jam just before the Tappen Zee Bridge. There were many smiles and laughs by onlookers. One highway worker said something in Brooklynese, but we couldn't understand him. He was smiling, however, so we just waved and crept by.
Needless to say, the rest of the trip was far from uneventful. We made our way down the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey, and the Pennsylvania Turnpike around Philadelphia. We had to CTD countless times before we finally
reached a mom-and-pop motel in Amish counry near Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The next morning, I decided to, CTD before heading out. Unfortunately, I stripped the bolt to the fuel pump cover. In desperation, I duct-taped it on and we got several miles down the road before it stalled in front of a local restaurant.
All appeared lost, but we noticed two hot rods parked out front. If we could get a longer bolt with washers we could fix the cover. The owners were getting into their hot rods about then and I went over to see if they could help. The next thing John realized is that the cars were gone and so was I. There was nothing for him to do but wait and hope I hadn't been abducted.
I finally came back in the hot rod. The owner had taken me to his friend's body shop to get the hardware. After much ado, we got it working.
We were back on the Interstate, trying to make time. Since we were very edgy by now, we tried all sorts of intimidation in hopes of coaxing the Austin to work. A truck went by loaded with crushed cars and I told the Austin "See what happens to cars when they're bad?" It didn't seem to help. After much trial and error, we learned that if we kept the gas tank
above half-full and the speed around 50-55, it ran OK.
After being passed by everything on the road, we hit a milestone of the trip. We passed a semi exiting a weight station, We got around him and John was
patting the little Austin on the top, yelling hooray. A few miles further on, the semi roared past us and the driver gave us a friendly toot of his horn. This lifted our spirits and we sang "see the USA in your Austin A" with apologies to Dinah Shore.
We spent the night in Roanoke, Virginia, and were on our way by 8:15 the next morning. We experienced a few more minor hiccups but nothing to delay
us and no more CTD.
We saw only a few other British cars on the road including an MGB on a trailer what a wimp!) and a Healey on the road (alright!).
We made it home by 2:30, just 30 minutes later than we told the wives we'd be there. We took a few pictures and then went off to dinner to celebrate.
I couldn't resist calling John at Town Line Auto the next day to let him know
we made it. He answered, I told him who I was and that I knew he didn't
give a damn, but wanted to let him know we made it back to Tennessee. He asked if we had seen Elvis. I told him no, not yet.
It was certainly a trip of a lifetime. What should have been a three-day trip
turned into a week. But we saw some interesting country, got to visit a truly classic car restoration shop and met some very nice people along the way.
What Had We Ended Up With?
We know little about the history of the car, except that an inspection certificate found in the glove box indicates that it was only driven about 900 miles in a seven-year period, so it's surprising that it runs at all. Apparently it was used as a static advertising display for a shop of some kind, and was exposed to all forms of elements. It was subject to some loving care sometime in its life because the paint has
been rubbed down to the undercoat in a few places.
Though the car's stance makes it appear to be up on its tippy-toes, it is quite road-worthy and handles very well, especially in light of its dated
styling and mechanics. And driving on American roads from the "Correct" side is a blast all its own.
The engine is a four-cylinder, 1200cc, overhead-valve type, producing 42 bhp
at 4500 rpm. The Somerset's weight is 1950 Ibs, which I suspect is about all the engine can reasonably be expected to handle. Of course, it has the usual suspect Lucas electrical system, and a four-speed column-mounted transmission, with synchro-mesh on second, third and top, with reverse and first being the exact opposite of American cars. At an over-all height of 64 inches, it easily stands head and shoulders
above its brethren in the mall parking lot.
The front suspension is the independent by coil springs and wishbone type, with semi-elliptic underslung reverse camber leaf springs in the rear. Overall length is 13 feet 3.5inches, with a turning radius of 37 feet, and ground clearance of 6.75 inches. The front panel is fully instrumented, except for a tachometer, with all gauges easy to read, even though centered in the panel in true 1950s fashion.
The car came with an original Austin Service Manual, owner's handbook, and a book about the Somerset by Ellison Hawks, published by Cassell and Co.,
Ltd. of London in 1955. All are in extraordinary good condition considering their age and obvious usage.
Since the Austin has been home, I have again, flushed the fuel tank and applied pour-in sealant to the inside. Voila - no more trouble! I drove it to
my high school class reunion about 200 miles away and had no problems.
Needless to say, I got lots of attention from my classmates, (It's probably more honest to say, the A40 got lots of attention!) most of whom had never seen such a car.
The car is in great shape for its age, and I don't have any immediate plans for repairs. It has a wonderful age patina overall, and retains that "old car smell" that only a true old car lover appreciates. There are some rusted places that will need attending to, and the engine will eventually need to be overhauled, but those are for some time in the future. Right now, the car is too much fun to drive to put it out of service. What with the stares from other motorists as I go by, or the questions from interested people in the parking lots around town, the Austin Somerset is a hit!
