Notes From the Hard Shoulder (12 page)

The world is full of misty-eyed optimists. If it wasn't, there wouldn't be a classic car scene. As it is, there is a very big one, and a whole rack of WH Smith's devoted to throwing away money that could have been spent on something useful, such as a new car.

Don't get me wrong – I love old cars. They're fascinating, they're great material for pub debates, and they're endlessly amusing. But I am a man who has gone carpetless for love, while other people imagine they can enter lightly into a relationship with an old car without realising that these things are the Heather Mills of motoring.

Every now and then I receive a letter from a reader or viewer who is interested in buying a classic car and is seeking advice. There has also been a rash of articles in the motoring press recently, headbanging that old chestnut about buying a supercar for
Mondeo money, which is becoming so fatuous that it's high time somebody pointed out what a nice Mondeo you could buy with all the money you'd lose on that
Jensen Interceptor. Finally, it's almost summer, when people forget the horrors of poor demisting, sticky heater valves and damp starting, and imagine that a Maserati
Bora can not only recapture a glorious age of driving freedom but can even be used outdoors.

So here, finally, are the basics: the definitive cut-out-'n'-keep guide to old-car ownership, an executive summary of pending woe that the eternally hopeful can keep in the glovebox. But not the glovebox of a '60s Alfa Spider, because it will go soggy.

Is it vital that you complete your journey?

If so, you need to think about alternative transport arrangements. The most popular solution is something known as a 'modern car'.

Old cars are old

I bought my Bentley
T2 with the attitude: 'It may be old, but it's still a Bentley.' The truth is more like: 'It may be a Bentley, but it's still old.' Even the most exotic car is still made from car-making materials, and they wear out. I'm guessing that you no longer use any 30-year-old electro-mechanical devices around the home, and that they probably went in the bin during the '80s. How could anyone expect something built by
Fiat in the '70s to still work properly? This is why the expression 'good condition for year' is so meaningless in classic car small ads. If the car in question is something like a
Datsun 120Y, then the very fact that it hasn't been scrapped means it's in good condition for the year.

Old cars aren't very good

If they were, they would still be in production. Wonky handling, cussed carburettors and poor fuel consumption are not the real issues here, it's the little things that you hadn't realised were so good on your 2002 Ford Focus – the power of the headlights, the effectiveness of the windscreen wipers, the ergonomics of the seats and so on. Remember that the car is a relatively recent phenomenon, and that a '60s British sports car is, in
the evolutionary scale of things, the equivalent of an unmodernised 12th-century farmhouse. It will probably smell similar, too.

Could you run a new one?

If not, you probably can't run an old one properly. The value of a Rolls-Royce undoubtedly goes down quite sharply with time, but a graph representing the burden of maintenance goes, if anything, the other way. This is especially true of exotica such as Aston Martins, Ferraris and Lamborghinis. There is no such thing as a 'cheap classic', not when you can buy a new
Kia with a £l deposit.

Only ever buy a good one

If you have enough money to scrape on to the bottom rung of Ferrari 308 ownership – say £15,000 – buy something like a mint
Triumph TR6 instead. Since all old cars are essentially rubbish (see above), you might at least have one in good condition. And sorting out a bad car will always cost at least twice as much as buying a good one in the first place. I know shabby is considered chic in some circles these days, but it only really works for overcoats.

Do you read tool catalogues on the lavatory?

If not, you are not a professional mechanic, so you will need to know one. Cultivate the friendship of a local specialist or a versatile under-the-arches repairer. Mine is a late-'60s Nigel with an impeccable service history
and a head full of exploded diagrams of Bentley and
Jaguar sub-assemblies. His toolbox is bigger than the T2.

A sobering thought

Of all the cars I have owned over the past four years, the cheapest to run, by a country mile, has been my brand-new Porsche.

In the general revamping of the Rolls-Royce and Bentley factory that has gone on over the last few years, the most obvious change is to the reception area. From the austere '30s facade of its main admin block now sprouts a glitzy vestibule that is pure architectural showbiz.

It's the sort of thing that beardy
Bill Bryson will moan about in his next book,
Notes from a Small Automotive Manufacturing Facility,
and it ought not to work, but it does. Tradition and modernity rub shoulders, challenging but ultimately respecting each other. That is the British way and there is no finer example of it than a current Bentley. But there are a few too many Audis in the car park for my liking.

The temptation at this point is to resort to my collection of
Commando War Stories in Pictures books and make a few disrespectful allusions to our favourite adversary in the field of human conflict. But let's be a bit more grown-up about this. I like the
Germans. I met
Dr Ulrich Hackenberg, the new board member for engineering. He is a splendid fellow, a true Bentley enthusiast and someone whom you'd gladly buy a drink if he baled out and landed in your greenhouse. So no war jokes.

But then I entered the lobby and was confronted with a particularly fine study in oils of a Hawker
Hurricane shooting down a Heinkel 111, and this got me thinking. I was at Crewe to drive the year-2000 model Arnage, a car that will come with a choice of not just the twin-turbo 4.5-litre BMW
V8 installed at
launch (now designated a Green Label Arnage, after the background colour of its winged badge) but also the old 6.75-litre turbo V8 as found in two-door
Continental Bentleys (Red Label).

During the war, of course, Rolls-Royce – in this very factory, in fact – produced the
Merlin engine for the Hurricane, the
Spitfire and a host of other kites. BMW, meanwhile, powered the
Dornier 217 and the
Junkers 188 and later supplied the unitary engine and nacelle assembly for the outstanding
Focke-Wulf 190. So the
Battle of Britain still rages under the bonnet of this latest Bentley. I'm sorry, but I just can't help it.

A quick briefing. All year-2000 Arnages have improved rear leg and foot room, courtesy of a redesigned bench and a lowered floorpan. Sat-nav is now standard, as are electrically folding door mirrors and speed-sensitive power steering. Externally, differences are few – clear indicator lenses, bigger 18-inch wheels and revised bumpers housing the discreet sensors for the new parking radar. The ground crew have been up all night working on the suspension, too, but we'll come on to that.

The real action begins under the gently shimmering engine cowlings. Strictly, the Crewe V8 would not fit in the Arnage, but with a few simple modifications it slipped in with suspicious ease.
Matthew Waterhouse, the project manager, suspects that the original car's engineers were subconsciously considering it when they drew the engine bay. Engineers are like that – a bit of an undisciplined rabble. Engine assembly is now back in-house, where a small team of our brave lads ministers to this awesome 400bhp, 619lb/ft powerhouse.

A few miles on the road are enough to separate the Englander Bentley from the Hun Bentley. The
BMW unit delivers 350bhp and 4201b/ft, and an Arnage thus equipped is no slouch. But once I'd driven the Crewe version, I was tempted to say
Not so fast, Fritz.
It's all about delivery. The awesome low-down torque of the Red Label version means that by the time the Jerry version, piloted by the evil Reichsfotographer Paul Von Dubious, has responded to the order
Achtung! Noch ein cog bitte!
I'm already at angels 15 and waiting in the sun.

The Green Label requires a good kick with the old jackboot to extract real performance, but in the Red Label one merely has to curl one's toes inside one's best Jermyn Street brogues and the Bentley rockets to 60mph quicker than you can say
Good God, Ginger's bought it –
5.9 seconds. It is superb and, apparently, just what the owners asked for.

In truth, the BMW version is still more refined and quieter. The noise in the 6.75 Arnage would cause a few monocles to fall from fanatical Prussian eye sockets, were it found in a Rolls-Royce, which is why this engine won't be making it into the Seraph. But in a Bentley it seems wholly appropriate, especially as improved engine mountings and increased body rigidity have given the engine note a firmer edge and banished the slight lumpiness found in the two-door cars. The Bentley fairly thunders as you push the throttle through the emergency gate etc., etc. Tally ho!

Since we're on rigidity, we'll come back to the undercarriage. I was under the distinct impression that the new Arnage's ride was softer, but Herr Dr Hacken-berg
tells me, with a sinister chuckle, that it has actually been firmed up a touch. Torsional improvements have allowed a more precise suspension set-up, which actually makes the ride seem more supple through better overall composure. It proves, once again, that what is genuinely good for handling is generally good for ride, too.

The Red Label Arnage is a fantastic motor car and the best thing that Rolls-Royce/Bentley/VW makes. At £149,000 it is a mere £4,000 more than the BMW-engined Green Label variant, a premium well worth paying. Scramble! Another triumph of British pluck over the white-coated German motor-industry machine, then.

Er ... no. Apparently Obergruppenfuhrer Ferdinand Piech loved this car so much he had to be forced from it at the point of a well-oiled Webley service revolver. It was a true collaborative effort and harks back to what I said at the beginning about tradition and modernity in happy conspiracy. So now, as Churchill said, let us go forward together.

For this Tommy, the war is over.

Could be on for a new car. The other day, Gav – he's my boss, MD of Vectra Print/Copy – called me into his office and said, 'Jim,' he said, 'you remember tuna wars? Well, now it's toner wars. The opposition are taking cartridges into Europe and we need to regain the initiative. I'm giving you Germany, Jim. I want you to go over there, get a feel for the place, and while you're there I want you to drive Vauxhall's new Vectra. I don't mind telling you this car could play a role in your future, Jim. I want your report by Monday.'

'I know where you're coming from,' I said, grasping the nettle. 'We need to nail down a cohesive policy on European market penetration. The Vectra could be the business tool we need for more rapid response to client toner needs. I'll run it up the flagpole, see which way it blows.' He looked blank, but I guess he's got a lot on his plate.

First impressions, as any on-the-road executive knows, count for a lot. I wear a company tie to build customer confidence; Vectra wears a purposeful, dynamic suit that picks up the Cavalier's baton (Vauxhall's words, those) and runs with it (mine). I couldn't help thinking it looks a bit like a
Primera at the back and there are hints of Peugeot in the slightly tapered headlights. Identity is established with the chrome V sign on the grille; individuality is emphasised by two creases that flow up the bonnet and blend into the pointed door mirrors. I reckoned this was pure styling, but the
Vauxhall rep swears it's like that for aerodynamic reasons.

It's a bit bigger all round than my old Cav, too, giving vital gains in interior room, especially in the back. Overall, its more rounded shape strengthens the Vauxhall corporate look, as established by the Astras our account handlers use and Gav's
Omega. Should make for an integrated-looking car park and solid corporate identity, for Vauxhall and for us.

Vectra's aggressive go-ahead stance is consolidated with new suspension, based on subframes front and rear. Vauxhall's mission statement was a smoother ride, better handling and less noise, and a better chassis means less driver stress and better business readiness. I drove a competitor's Mondeo 16v, and it showed how my
Cavalier has fallen behind with its jittery ride and soggy nose-led handling, especially with 120K on the clock.

There's a full spectrum of engines, including a diesel (I ignored this, as it doesn't complement our sophisticated blue-chip technology image), four-cylinder petrols in 1.6, 1.8 and 2.0-litre capacities, and a 2.5-litre V6. There are hatch and saloon versions with all engines, and an estate is coming next autumn. I made a decisive decision to go for the 2.0 16v SRi hatch, the obvious replacement for my Cavalier and the car appropriate for my grade (18).

It was lunchtime, so I worked my way gently into Vectra with a brief drive to the local McDonalds for
ein quarter pounder mit cheese und a coffee
(I picked up a bit of the language on the school exchange). It's immediately obvious that the interior
is a big improvement over the Cav's – more rounded, softer looking, in keeping with the outside. The seats are better, offering two lumbar adjustments and introducing a height variable, but the wheel doesn't move. That's a shortcoming, because in my ideal seat position my knees are splayed a bit and the left one bangs on the cup holder. While we're at it, my coffee cup didn't fit that well, and it seems odd that Vauxhall didn't involve McDonalds in optimising cup-holder parameters.

During my snatched in-car meal I assimilated more nice touches on the interior. The clock is linked to the RDS radio signal and is automatically changed when you drive into Europe or when we switch to summer time and is disseminated with radio and trip computer info via an in-dash display facility. The ventilation system is now by rotary knobs instead of sliders and my car had excellent optional air conditioning, which is an essential accessory in this weather – if you turn up at a customer's with wet armpits (highly likely in this easy-iron polyester shirt) then you might find yourself with a major disincentive in the agent/client interface which no amount of aftershave will rectify.

Back on the road, I had a quick thrash to the autobahn. This engine is basically an ongoing development of my old car's, with Ecotec variable inlet manifolding for wider reaching torque access. It felt a bit slower than the Cavalier despite this. Vauxhall says it does 0-100kmh in 10 seconds, but I reckon I'd be able to beat that. What's more, I can work on my nought to sixties utilising the computer's stopwatch function, which records tenths of a second for this purpose. The Cav did it in eight, according to
Car
Magazine,
and that figure needs to be kept in perspective: two seconds might seem immaterial now, but it'll seem like a long time when you're staring at the 'add toner' warning light on your photocopier control panel with 150 annual reports still to go.

I'll be honest with you, this engine feels a bit old. At really low revs, say when pulling away gently, it grunts and grumbles worse than our fleet manager. It gets a bit rough at higher revs, too, and this becomes apparent on the usual motorway drag. Up to 70mph Vectra is nice 'n' relaxed, but at 70 I'd be doing my competitors a big favour. I work between 90 and the ton, and up there Vectra's engine introduces a bit of a boom to the cabin ambience equation. That's a pity, because wind noise is kept nicely subdued even at three figures and the tyres are quiet even on those Jerry-built concrete surfaces. Later, I had a quick go in the 1.8, and though it's basically the same it feels much nicer – smoother, quieter, more peppy. That's a grade 15 car, though.

Sharp ridges, such as expansion joints, cause a bit of a clang but it's more a noise than a feeling. There's a grittiness in the suspension that complements the rough edge on the engine and spoils Vectra's composure, but overall the ride is like a good sales pitch – firm but compliant. Even at 120 the Vectra stayed stuck nicely on the road, only crosswinds interrupted by lorries causing a slight waywardness. Not so bad that I couldn't steer with my knees and use my hands for vital meeting preparation, though.

But gains that are made on the motorway in time-management are lost if the car can't hack it on the
winding stuff. First thing I noticed on a back-road blast was the pronounced castor effect of the steering, which snaps back to the straight ahead very smartly. This weights up the wheel in a turn, giving an impression of meatiness that isn't really there. In a fast bend the steering is more vague than you'd expect – in short, the wheel's writing cheques the front suspension can't honour.

The good news, though, is that it's quicker-geared than the Cavalier, and this does as much as the air con to reduce the incidence of sweaty moments. The car is much better balanced, too. In a hard-charging corner the Cavalier would nose its way soggily to the edge of the road, demanding more lock which was then harder to wind off. Vectra is more neutral, and can be held squealing through long bends at the outside of the adhesion envelope, allowing maximisation of cornering forces at your disposal (my 2.0-litre was better here than the heavier and differently tyred V6). The gear-change is improved too, though it's still not best-case scenario with its rubbery feel and second ratio feels a bit too tall when powering out of tight turns, where the seat base also reveals an inability to manage a major sideways momentum situation. But compared with my Cavalier, vital seconds can be shaved off response times with Vectra, and it's those last few seconds that make the difference between you or someone else closing that sale.

By the end of a hard day I had established a good, pro-active relationship with Vectra. It's more comfortable, roomier and makes a more dynamic executive statement than its predecessor. However, comparison
with the Cavalier is not enough to confirm Vectra's business credentials.

I decided to give it to Gav straight on a one-to-one basis. 'Gav,' I said, 'Vectra offers significant improvements over Cavalier but I don't think it moves the goalposts on the overall executive express playing field. Major problem identified is the engine; it's not at the cutting edge. We need to reassess Vectra in the light of a head-to-head comparative shakedown with major rivals with particular reference to Mondeo,
Laguna and
Xantia, to establish the way forward for most effective market penetration capability. We need to suck it and see.'

And he said to me, 'Jim,' he said, 'you talk complete bollocks.'