Last week, I headed down to Everett to see a special car: the last Jensen Interceptor to leave the original factory just before it went bankrupt.
Actually, in this case the machine was doubly charged with historical interest as its owner, Kjell Qvale, holds the distinction of being a pivotal figure in the early story of the sports car in North America.
Aside from founding the Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance, campaigning cars at Watkins Glen and Indianapolis, and being involved with the construction of what's now Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, Qvale was also the major shareholder in Jensen Motors. In the early 1970s, he brought Donald Healey on board, and the Jensen-Healey was born as a way to replace the defunct Austin-Healey, a popular bestseller at Qvale's American dealerships.
Seeing "Mr. Qvale" scrawled on the keychain, and seeing this spare-no-expense restoration rumble to life with its big Chrysler V-8 heart was a thrill, not to mention getting to boot it along for a couple of blocks. Yet the more I spoke with the man who'd restored it, the more I heard the same story I've seen elsewhere through the classic car world. His business was for sale. It was time to retire. He'd looked for an apprentice for 10 years, but couldn't find a good fit, and as his retirement plans included relocating to an island in the Caribbean, a large chunk of know-how would be going with him, lost forever.
He spoke about the calls he was getting from sons and daughters, looking for a way to sell on their father's prized Interceptor. The time, money, and storage these beasts consume can't be taken lightly, and to have one suddenly thrust into your life is an inconvenience if you don't have the passion for it.
Most just want to know what it's worth so they can move it on.
If you hang around at Wilkinson's Automobilia over off Broadway for any length of time, you'll see something similar. Here, the collections of Corgis and Dinky toys that once occupied the lion's share of shelf space have shrunk to a few corners. When last I was there, interviewing Ted Wilkinson on the occasion of his shop's 25th anniversary, he received two phone calls and a walk-in from older folks who were downsizing, and one recently widowed woman who simply didn't know what to do with all her husband's stuff.
There's a sense that time is running out for the classic car, a feeling that's exacerbated by frequent articles highlighting the disaffection so-called millennials have for the automobile. Car-sharing, high insurance and fuel prices, improving transit routes, increasingly poor traffic — these are all factors causing the next generation to fall out of love with the car.
But here's the thing: that's just one side of the coin. It's my belief that there's something else going on entirely.
If you head to any neighbourhood-sized show and shine during the summer, you'll see how the number of Model Ts and Model As has shrunk to something of a remnant. Yes, they're still around, but the people who would remember driving them in their youth mostly aren't. The bulk of the cars on display are the usual '50s, '60s, and '70s machines, and it's those owners who feel like their hobby is slipping into the twilight.
But if you look a little closer, you start seeing the other stuff that's showing up at these events: pristine 1980s GTIs, maybe a well-cared-for 300ZX Turbo, an original Acura NSX. And then, if you attend something less traditional, like the annual Revscene summer meet, you'll find a whole host of four-wheeled machines with younger owners who are just as excited by their hobby as any baby boomer. Vancouver has a large and active MR2 club. There's a drift community. There's an underground movement for modifying scooters into bosozuku-style choppers. There's a club that focuses entirely on the E28 BMW 3 Series, and one that champions the new FR-S/BRZ sports cars.
On the traditional domestic front, the prices of Fox-body Mustangs are actually on the rise. Sure, you'll still see a hacked-up one from time to time, but it's surprising how often a relatively clean and faithful build shows up. Ditto late-gen Camaros, and even the odd IROC.
Yes, classic car culture is shrinking, or perhaps readjusting, but there's also a shift going on to the cars of the 1980s and 1990s — the machinery of a new generation's youths. Mustangs, Camaros, and Mopars will always be cool, so that stuff will continue to stick around, but there's an infusion of fresh blood into the show-and-shine scene. It's possibly more Japanese and Euro-centric than in the past, but the passion for keeping a new sort of classic on the road is most certainly there.
Eventually, there'll be less of an interest in big fins, chrome, and large-displacement engines. It's not something to worry about though, merely a shift in the culture to a new set of potential classics. As ever, a gearhead will happily talk to another gearhead about anything, carburetors and piggy-back ECUs, flowmasters and bolt-on turbos.
The era of the British sports car that Kjell Qvale was a part of faded away long ago, but it continues to echo down the ages. Partly, that's due to the efforts of those who preserved the best of the breed, but it also might have something to do with the Miata's homage to that original spirit. Today, those early Miatas are themselves a classic car, if not quite so demanding as a British Leyland product. Still, if an E-Type and an NA Miata owner bump into each other at an overlook on the way up the Duffy Lake Road, there won't be any generation gap. It's the same essential stuff, just a new generation of it.
Brendan McAleer is a freelance writer and automotive enthusiast. If you have a suggestion for a column, or would be interested in having your car club featured, please contact him at [email protected]. Follow Brendan on Twitter: @brendan_ mcaleer.
