Escrow

I am a terrible home owner.  Words like Fescue or French Drain mean nothing to me, even though I am pretty sure I own both of these things.  It is not that I am uninterested in owning a home, I love my house and my neighborhood.  It is just that I am a little lost in all the things that come with a house of your own.

Home ownership is different than any other consumer action.  I am very comfortable indeed with owning things like cars and computers.  I understand there are responsibilities that come with having these things.  I have a virus scanner on my computer and I keep the cam belt changed in my car.  Without taking these simple steps my computer and car would become useless in short order.  But the house is only partly mechanical.  I keep the air conditioner coils clean, because it improves the performance of the unit.  I maintain my lawn mower, not only because I can grasp the basic necessity of maintaining a machine, but because the machine allows me to maintain my yard.  But beyond the mechanical things in the house I am a little lost.

The small patch of green earth I am responsible for is slightly overwhelming to me.  It is a living thing, and it supports a microcosm of life in its own right.  There are worms, slugs, squirrels, moles, numerous birds, and tiny snakes in my yard.  Why am I now responsible for the well being of hundreds of tiny creatures?  Lightening bugs that appear from thin air every evening.  Spiders who can weave massive webs between my car and a tree.  I know exactly what these spiders look like, because I tend to stumble through the webs every morning on my way to the coffee shop, unwittingly shuttling the poor arachnid downtown in my hair.  Until I realize there is a spider on my head, at which time I dance around flailing my arms screaming like a little girl in an attempt to rid myself of the unwelcome passenger.

It is not only the abundant life in my yard that freaks me out.  I worry about my responsibility to the city to maintain my trees, natural gas lines, sewer connection, water, power, and cable connections.  There are also several people who rely on my home for a job.  I have a gutter guy.  I have an exterminator.  I have a HVAC guy.  I have a tree guy.  I have homeowner's insurance and a mortgage.  There is a small part of the city’s economy that relies on my house.  I even have local, state, and federal politicians who count on me to vote for them at my designated polling place.  It is not that owning a house creates unique challenges, it is just that I am unfamiliar with this experience.

I am a car guy.  Even though a car is exceedingly complex, it is self contained, if you don’t count the gas.  It is, by its very nature, mobile.  It is small.  It is (relatively) inexpensive.  It is, in other words, exactly the opposite of my house.  I am comfortable with every aspect of my car, but I find it less easy to reach the same level of repose about my house.

Yet, despite all this, I am working into some level of comfort with my home.  We have been here over 10 years and I finally have furniture I like.  I am having somebody who understands green things do something with them on my property.  I am even planning on buying some mulch, whatever that is.  It has taken a long time, but having some permanence in my life is not quite so scary.  Home ownership has removed some of the care free nature my life previously held.  I now have something to lose if I decide to do something stupid, where before there were no consequences.  There has been a paradigm shift in my life without my consent or even knowledge, but I am learning to deal with it.

I might eventually find that I want this life. Until then, I will come to terms with this whole homeowner thing.  I enjoy my home, even though it freaks me out a little bit.  Some of us were born to own real estate, I was born to own a condo.  Or better yet, an old city garage.  Somewhere I could live with my cars.  An open space with exposed brick, wood beams, and a loft for my meager belongings.  All in the interstices of a city where I could remain anonymous while building very neat machines.  I am sure somebody once said it is good to have goals.  Maybe I have found one.

DIY?

A modern automobile is a fabulously complex thing. Easily the most complicated form of modern technology we use on a daily basis. Automakers employ thousands of people just to develop products to appeal to the consumer. Millions of cars are built each year to quell the demand of the buying public, and each one contains advanced computers, highly specialized accelerometers, ballistic explosives, high pressure vessels, rigidly controlled complex molecular processes, and a decent radio.  All with easy financing and a comprehensive warranty.

It would seem impossible, then, to Do It Yourself. To build your own car should be beyond the abilities of anyone. But, it happens all the time.  As unlikely as it seems, it is not all that uncommon to see a DIY car. Every Cobra, Ferrari Daytona, or Lamborghini Countach you have ever seen is a reproduction. It is a car that has been delivered in crates and assembled in some guy’s shed. In every case, DIY cars bootstrap themselves to completion by using major components from production automobiles. Things like chassis, suspensions, engines, transmissions, and electronic components. As a result, many modern kit cars are very appealing, replicating the styling of an unobtainable classic using reliable, commonplace, modern drivetrains. In some cases these cars are indistinguishable from the original, while others are hilariously obvious fakes. Even though, it begs the question. Why would you want to build your own car when there are literally hundreds of millions of cars pre-built that require no effort on your part to own? Especially when every person that owns a DIY car also owns a car that Ford has built. Or Honda, Toyota, VW, or Mercedes Benz, but you get the idea.

I suppose the answer could lie in who builds these cars. While not as valuable as an original, a kit car is not cheap. And maybe that is the simple answer. A genuine 67 Shelby Cobra 427 is a million dollar car, while a FFR Roadster is a $30K car. Most people can not figure out which is which. The builder of a replica invests 3% of the value of the original car, but enjoys the cachet that comes with owning something immensely valuable. It is much like buying a watch in Istanbul. If you like it, and it keeps time, who is any the wiser that your Omega timepiece did not set you back several thousand dollars? I am sure there are some people for whom having rare, expensive items is its own reward, even if the item is neither rare nor expensive. But I doubt there are enough of these people to support the entire kit car industry. Let me rephrase my assumption: There are not enough people with counterfeit Rolex watches who can grasp the concept of “righty-tighty, lefty-loosey” to support the entire kit car industry. Understanding basic wrenching techniques is essential to building anything, much less an entire car. Just wanting to impress strangers is not enough motivation for most people to learn basic engineering.

If the wearer of an obnoxious synthetic timepiece is not the intended consumer, then who is building these cars? Maybe it is aestheticians who love the look of classic cars. There will never be another Ferrari GTO made, so if you want one you will have to buy an old one or make it yourself from a Datsun. Even if the car in question is not financially unobtainable, there may be a very limited number on the planet. Mundane but rare cars like a classic fastback Mustang or a split window Corvette can be erased from existence by one careless minivan. Building replicas of beautiful cars allows the owner to drive on the street a vehicle that would normally be relegated to a museum. Hundreds of hours of work goes into even the least convincing kit car, and maybe the builder should be applauded for attempting to enrich our environment by replacing an anonymous sedan with an Italian supercar. Even if it is just a Fiero covered in vaguely Countach shaped FRP.

That might account for a sizable proportion of replica cars made, but what if the car in question is not a replica, but a unique creation. A car that is obviously intended to be fast, but is unrecognizable as a Ferrari, Porsche, Lotus, or Maserati. If the fruit of the builder’s labor is not a facsimile of valuable, beautiful classic, then why not just get a Boxster? For the sake of speed alone? While I am sure many FFR 818’s or SLC’s have been driven on a racetrack, I don’t think all of these cars represent such a single minded philosophy. The reason these cars are devastatingly fast is simple power-to-weight ratio. When a car is relieved of unnecessary luxury items such as power windows, bluetooth infotainment equipment, massaging seats, heated and cooled steering wheels, or WIFI hotspots, its performance necessarily increases. Some cars have taken this to another level, deleting superfluous body panels and glass in an effort to add lightness. There is no doubt, lighter cars are faster.  But they are also infinitely more uncomfortable than a normal car. In fact, cars like the Ariel Atom push the definition of an automobile to ludicrous levels, where the operator is more closely related to a motorcycle rider than the driver of a car. Clearly, then, these cars are built for speed first, with concerns of comfort occupying very little of the builders attention. But people tend to drive these things on the street, even on long trips. Considering it is no less comfortable than a motorcycle, maybe I am just whining. From that perspective some ultra-performance cars make something that resembles sense.

There may be other reasons a person would build a car rather than buy one. Some people enjoy an engineering challenge, some want hundreds of hours of “alone time,” others want to build a race car from their youth. Some of us just like taking something and improving it, or simply creating something we have thought of. The truth is, every car is built or modified for a variety of reasons. I would probably not build a Cobra, but I find them (real or fake) stunning. The synthetic Ferrari Daytona from Miami Vice is just a crappy old ‘Vette. But that point does not diminish its beauty. Z cars that look like a Ferrari GTO are still fun to look at, even though they are obviously fake. Even an old MR2 dressed in Ferrari or Lamborghini evening ware is generally more interesting than most new cars.

I suppose, just like most things, people build kit cars for a variety of reasons. Some reasons are even contradictory. I would enjoy the process of building my own car, and will at some point. The trouble will be deciding what to build. Or even what type of car to build. I like dune buggies as much as old Mustangs. I am not able to decide between a blindingly fast modern prototype styled racer or a rat rod. And lets not even start talking about old rally cars. Luckily, there are companies out there catering to my interests. They will provide me with just enough encouragement and instruction to really get me into trouble.

My Range Rover

What are you good at? For me it is fixing machines and avoiding responsibility. Ergo, I have an old car, which requires regular work, but does not require an obligation to some financial institution whose prime motivation is to club baby seals into profits, or whatever it is banks do to make money. I get to fix things (old car) while avoiding responsibility (car loan.) Since I enjoy every aspect of my car, I see no reason to get a new one. A new car would come with a warranty, which would require me to give my car to somebody else to fix. And a loan, which would require me to keep a job that pays real money. I see no benefit to a new car, especially since new cars are uniformly boring. Oh, sure, a new GTI is economical and sporty, an Outback is comfortable, and the new Corvette is one of the most competent cars I have ever experienced, but nothing out there is alluring enough to separate dollars from my hands. I would rather use some of that money to enjoy the instant gratification of good coffee or video games or a kayak. And no Batista is going to call me in the middle of dinner to inform me that I have neglected to pay for my coffee this month.

Since my attention is not focused on the latest widget from BMW, I am free to consider alternative forms of transportation. Don’t get me wrong, I am still considering an automobile. I’m not talking here about something stupid like a bicycle or the city bus. I don’t mean stupid. I mean slow, stinky, difficult, inconvenient, tedious, uncomfortable, demeaning, or dangerous. By alternative I mean something that is unique, fun, and relatively inexpensive. Something that is familiar, yet uncommon. A car that is practical, but does not sacrifice style for utility. A car with adequate power, yet is simple, durable, and economical. A car that is fun to drive at normal speeds. A car that can be trusted and is reliable to a fault.

Things like Mercedes Benz jump to mind, but they are not relatively inexpensive. Or unique. Or simple, durable, or fun. Ditto for BMW, Porsche, Land Rover, Jaguar, Audi, VW, or even Mini. Toyota, Nissan, Honda, Ford, GM, and Subaru have some decent offerings, but nothing quite makes the grade. Any new car, be it a two and a half ton Maserati Levante, or a Toyota GT86, is somewhat sterile. Safety and environmental regulations have homogenized the market. New cars are a rip-off, anyway. Considering a used car? Nothing really works out. Many cars have some of the bits, but no single automobile represents the whole of the car I am talking about.

As it happens, the perfect car must be built. Again, my values align perfectly with this task. I am good at fixing machines. It will also end up costing much less than the average price of a new car, which is about $34,000. Spending less money allows me to avoid responsibility. So, it just comes down to choosing the car, then making it what I want.

Since the car will be significantly modified from its original specification anyway, it could be almost anything. Weak engines can be replaced with strong engines.  If the old wheezy engine is attached to the wheels with rubber bands, I can use a real transmission, axles, and drive shafts made in Saginaw, Mi by a UAW machinist. If the electronics were never affixed to any source of electricity, I can supplant that crap with real wires firmly coupled to something at both ends. I could choose a horrible car, because I can correct all of its misgivings. If I am not scared of weak engines, rubber band axles, and electronics that do not work, then the classic Range Rover must be my choice.

Why the worst car in the world? Because it is cool. Land Rover introduced the Range Rover in 1970. Way back then everybody who spoke a romance language made cars the same. They were all crap, not just the Range Rover. Eventually most automakers built better products, because the buying public figured out that a Mustang II was a terrible car when compared to a Toyota Celica. Unfortunately, British Leyland was embroiled in a labor dispute that crippled the ability of the giant automaker to produce cars that could compete with Toyota, Datsun, and Honda. Despite the fact that the design of Jaguar and Land Rover were among the best in the world, the cars were deliberately built poorly by workers who felt they were being treated unfairly by the corporation. Due to this failure of management, we are left with the legacy of beautiful cars that are a nightmare to own.

Luckily, an old Range Rover is a relatively simple car. In fact, anything built before the early 00's is a simple car. I am under no illusions, it would take quite a bit of work to make a Range Rover reliable. What I am talking about is called “resto-mod” where a classic car is updated with modern mechanicals and electronics, but the basic look and character of the vehicle is unchanged. This sort of thing has its roots in the Hot Rod movement of the 1950’s where Ford Model T bodies surrounded Chevrolet small block drivetrains. But it didn't end there, the resto-mod movement is alive and well today.  People pay crazy money for Icon Land Cruisers, Singer Porsches and Eagle Jaguars. Any motorcycle that does not look like an insect is a factory built resto-mod. Even Mercedes Benz, through its AMG division, has created perhaps the worlds greatest resto-mod: the G63 6X6.

So, the idea has merit, but if I want a car that looks like a classic, it would be easier to just buy a new Wrangler. It looks a little like an old Jeep. Or that matter I could buy a new Camaro, Mini, Fiat 500, or VW Beetle. But retro styled vehicles make me a little uncomfortable. The Austin Mini, for instance, looked the way it did because its innovative design required it to look that way. Ditto for the Fiat 500, the Beetle, and the Jeep. Modern cars that attempt to recreate the look of a classic tend to fall short. Modern retro styled cars simply point out that most of the good ideas have already been used. And they are relatively expensive compared to the Range Rover I intend to build. And they come with a warranty. And other people that have them might want to talk to me about them. No thanks.

Another possible problem with a modified Range Rover is the chance that significant modifications could change the character of the car to the point it is no longer desirable as a classic. Part of the fun of driving an old car is the simple, mechanical feel of the thing. But I do not intend to make a drift car from a tractor. Replacing weak engines with strong engines (and transmissions, axles, springs, brakes…) improves the driving experience. Correcting defective wiring allows the windows to go up and down, as intended. Adding air conditioning that actually conditions the air can only be seen as a good thing. After all, Icon, Singer, and Eagle significantly change their cars, and they are generally considered the best possible version of a Land Cruiser, 911, or E Type, respectively.

So, the only obstacle in my mind is the investment required to build this machine. Old Range Rovers are basically worthless. We are talking $5,000 for a good one. It would take an enormous amount of work, not to mention about $30,000 to build this Range Rover. And in the end you have a $5,000 Range Rover with a bunch of really nice parts in it. I do not imagine I would ever recover my investment. After all, I am not Icon, Singer, or Eagle. And truth be told, even those builders only sell a few significantly modified cars. Most of the income at Icon is derived from the sales of t-shirts and hats, not $222,000 Land Cruisers. In addition, I tend to keep cars a very long time. I would probably never sell my Range Rover, so I would never lose any money. I would prefer to have a car I really like for a long time than to have several cars I don’t really care about over the same period.

The best thing about this train of thought is that it works for almost any classic. Don't want a Range Rover? Then do a Jeep Cherokee Chief, or Datsun 240Z, or a Buick Riviera, or a classic T Bird, or a BMW 633CSi, or even a Volvo Amazon. The GM sourced drivetrain I intend to use will fit into almost anything, car or truck. So the hunt is on. I need a crappy old Range Rover, most of a Silverado 2500, the bottom half of a Jeep Rubicon, about 65% of the back room at my local NAPA store, the name of a good upholstery guy, a friend at a junk yard in England, and about 12 months uninterrupted free time. Then I could have a really neat car.