Nothing Was Stolen In This Home Sports latest 2023

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Love-Hate Relationship With A Car

Back in the late 70s, and a few years before I got my driver’s license, there was one car above the rest that made my heart race – a Triumph Spitfire. The Spitfire (affectionately called Spitty by enthusiasts) is a two-seater British sports convertible that looks sexy and is a joy to drive despite having a crummy engine. The Spitty was manufactured from 1962 to 1980, then the company went bankrupt.

I was in love with the car. Everything about it made us want to have a really bad one. I saw myself driving with the roof down, sunglasses and my arm hanging out the window. It wasn’t even so much about picking up chicks with – hell, I was only 16 and life was more about buying a car. Price-wise, a used unit was within reach, even though I was just a weekend dishwasher at a Mexican restaurant.

My neighbor had a Spitty that he drove every day in high school. He put a custom exhaust system on his that gave it a charging sound. You could hear it coming a mile away. Eventually I got to ride in it and that’s when I knew I absolutely had to get one.

The whole subject of getting one was met with huge opposition from my parents. They thought the car was dangerously small and would eat me out of the house and home with repairs. Like many teenagers, I didn’t listen to them and bought one behind their backs. I figured I would bike every morning to a buddy’s house who would let me park the Spitty there, drive the car, and then bike home to keep the car hidden from my parents.

Well, karma hit me in the butt. From the time I bought that first Spitty I had nothing but massive issues. After buying it, the car broke down on the way back to my boyfriend’s house where it was supposed to be parked. I had no tools, it was dark, mosquitoes were eating me alive, so I hit on it with a plan to deal with it the next morning.

The next morning I returned to where I had left the car, but it was gone. I ran to the nearest phone booth and called the police. They said they hadn’t towed it, so they’d be there to make a report – it must have been stolen.

A squad with two officers arrived on the scene and one started asking me questions for the report while the other scoured the hilly area for clues. Ten minutes later, the officer looking for clues shouted “I found the car!”. I ran to where he was to find a skeleton of my car. I didn’t even have the car for 24 hours and now it’s a skeleton. The car was stripped for parts by thieves. All that was left was the bodywork – no engine, no interior, no tires, no gauges…nothing.

Needless to say, my parents were furious because I was being defiant. They were especially angry because I had no insurance. All I heard from them was “makes you feel good”. Like a clam, I shut down and never again mentioned the word Spitfire in front of my parents. In my heart, however, there was always a burning desire to own one.

Years out of college and into the job scene, I then had enough extra money to buckle up and finally get a Spitty. This would of course be my secondary vehicle as over ten years had passed and these cars were becoming unreliable classics. The good ones were really hard to find. Back then, we didn’t have eBay or any website to help us find one.

I ended up finding one in a nearby town, but it needed some repairs and cosmetic attention. The car seemed to be running pretty well, but it wasn’t in a state yet for me to enjoy as a driver. Almost a year after buying this Spitty, it was on the road and looking immaculate. There I was finally working in a Triumph Spitfire.

Life was good until the car broke down on me. One thing after another and with money constantly pouring into it, I raised the white flag of surrender and put it up for sale. It was difficult to find a buyer for this car, but finally I got rid of it. I was as happy that day as I was the day I bought it.

Twenty years later, I got a call from my brother who was digging tires at a Ferrari dealership in Denver, Colorado. He was standing next to a Triumph Spitfire in this showroom full of Ferraris. It was a single owner with 24,000 original miles. He told me the car looked like new. His intention was not to pique my interest in buying it, but rather to let me know because he knew how much I loved these cars.

Less than an hour later, I was telegraphing a ridiculous amount of money to Ferrari in Denver. The car became mine. I was going to own the most amazing Spitty on the planet. I could not believe it. With more excitement than I had felt in years, I shared the news with my wife. Fortunately, she remembered my passion for those stupid little cars and fully supported me.

The car arrived at our home in Florida. It was beyond my expectations. It really was like a new car in every way. I felt guilty driving it not just because what I paid would have fed a third world country for a day (just kidding), but because I couldn’t imagine scratching it. I drove it anyway.

I was overwhelmed with joy as I drove with the top down, sunglasses, and my arm hanging out the window. My dream has come true – 33 years later. I was grinning from ear to ear…until the fucking thing broke down in the middle of traffic. It had to be flat in a place where they thought they could work on it. I didn’t take into account that the 70s mechanics who worked there were retired or deceased.

Long story short, the car was still breaking down. It looked good at car shows, but getting there was another story. So, one day, I made the decision to sell it. I just couldn’t bear going out to dinner with it and having to take a cab home, especially the next day after spending $500 to get it fixed. On eBay he went, along with all the car trophies and ribbons show he was.

The eBay auction has gone crazy – beyond what I imagined. In fact, I made a handsome profit on the car even after all the service I spent on it. I was really happier the day I sold it than the day I bought it. I got rid of a headache and made a lot of money. The first question my wife asked me as we watched the Spitty being loaded onto a truck for its new owner was “so is this your last Triumph Spitfire?” I answered “probably not”.

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