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Updates from December, 2011

  • I once had a client who was 79 years old when I first met him. He was a great client and even better friend. For the next 17 years, until his passing at age 96, we shared a close relationship, which revolved around antique and classic cars, art and many other common interests.

    I had the honour of both maintaining his collection of 20 or so cars and buying and selling cars within his collection as new gems came to light and older acquisitions started to bore him.

    One of his idiosyncrasies was that he could not for the life of him understand my attraction to antique and classic trucks. To him, trucks were quite simply what the gardener or other tradesmen used. As such, they held no more appeal to him than a wheelbarrow or lawnmower. In fact, until I absolutely forced him, horrified, into riding in one of my brand-new loaded Dodge 3500s, he had never been in a pickup. After a day of antiquing, he had to actually admit that the truck, with its wood trim, leather seats and fancy entertainment centre, was the equal of many luxury cars he had owned.

    It still didn’t change his mind about classic trucks and I could never talk him into acquiring one, not even a really rare and desirable 1936 Studebaker Coupe Express Pickup I had come across. This Studebaker was without a doubt the most beautiful and stylish pickup truck ever created. It had flowing Art Deco lines and smoothed and rounded box contours. It was quite simply a masterpiece. It was also an incredibly good investment, one that, had he bought it, would have appreciated several hundred per cent from the asking price at the time to what it would be worth today.

    Not too many years ago, buying an old pickup — even a nicely restored one — was the cheapest way of getting into the classic car hobby. But no matter how nice a truck it was, it did not have the cachet of a 1957 Chev or a ’50s Ford Crown Victoria.

    Over the years, I have owned several classic pickups. There is not one of them that I don’t miss or would never buy again. My favourite was a one-ton 1941 Fargo, a rare civilian truck, one of just six released in 1941 for farm use. The rest of that year’s production was for the military.

    Despite its humble destination and the fact that the Second World War was raging, that truck still bore the highly detailed planet Earth hood ornament and all the flashy stainless Deco trim on its hood, radiator shell and prominent fenders.

    Another great truck I owned was a 1948 Ford F-1. This one was also special because it had the very rare Ford six-cylinder flathead engine. These motors were installed in some pickups headed out to the U.S. grain belt. The reason was that, in the days after the war when things were still a bit tight, pickups often had to serve multiple roles from getting the family to the church on Sunday to ploughing the fields during the week. The six-cylinder had more grunt and was better at multi-tasking than the Ford flathead eights of the day.

    There are others that I miss and I wish I still had owned for two reasons. The first is that I just loved looking at them and playing with them. The second is that pickup  truck values have spiralled in value.

    Today, it is not uncommon to see well-restored pickups sell for in excess of $50,000. A 1949 Mercury pickup, a Canadian-only marque, sold recently at the Toronto collector car auction for $73,000 — an unheard-of sum for any truck up to a few years ago. In the United States, rare pickups such as the Studebaker I once tried to have my friend purchase for his collection can sell for more than $100,000. I think the first $250,000 classic truck is waiting just over the hill if, in fact, that price has not already been achieved somewhere.

    The new popularity of collector trucks is probably nurtured by the common acceptance of SUVs and trucks as primary vehicles and even luxury rides such as the Cadillac and Lincoln pickups.

    Trucks now hold a major part of the collector hobby and are near and dear to the hearts of many, but, to others, no matter how fancy or rare, they will always just be mundane devices to get lawnmowers to the lawn.


    2:00 pm on December 31, 2011
     
  • It has been quite a while since I wrote a progress report on the Bugatti Aerolithe that I have been building for several years. Despite the lengthy period, I still get regular requests to update the progress.

    Despite many readers’ concerns that the project has become moribund, it hasn’t, and, in fact, it has never even slowed down, but it has reached a difficult stage where we have been producing all the tiny bits and pieces required to build a car from scratch. Add to that the stipulation that the parts being manufactured had to replicate exactly the style and engineering of 1936 and it became extraordinarily time consuming. It also lent very little to the creation of sparkling progress reports.

    Now, I am happy to say that 95% of the parts manufacture is done. The only major fabrication remaining is finalizing the two front fenders, hood and the aprons that surround the frame and radiator. We will also need to create the hold-downs and hood hinges for these, but those are small items quickly rendered.

    The frame and driveline is complete and the engine is just having its final inspection before it is assembled for the very last time. The interior is ready to install with just the upholstering of the seats remaining. We chose pale green leather in keeping with the exterior colour of the car, which is a very silvery green. This will no doubt be contentious as common myth and misunderstanding is that the car was silver.

    Our proof for the colour we are using is a painting executed by a Bugatti engineer by the name of Bigtet in 1936. He presented the painting as a gift to Jean Bugatti, the car’s designer and heir to the Bugatti dynasty. It seems hardly likely that he would have painted the car any colour but the correct one and, in the painting, the Aerolithe is represented flying down a rural road at speed and it is most definitely light green.

    While no colour photographs exist of the car, we were fortunate to have stumbled across colour photographs of another Bugatti of the same vintage, which is identical in colour to the painting. Voila!

    The entire rear shell and rear fenders are complete and under paint. The correct tail lights were sourced in France and we had to build the mounts and sockets into the rear fenders, which sweep around the rear of the car and meet in the middle. The amazing fin that runs from the front of the car over its roof and down the long tapering tail is complete and filled with all of its rivet detail. The rivet size and distance apart were carefully scaled from the photographs and are exactly as original.

    The spoked wheels were manufactured to specification, but there is a problem with the tires. We have period-appropriate Dunlops on the car. However, when it appeared at the Paris auto show, it sported whitewall Dunlops with the Dunlop script in raised black lettering. This has been a problem. A few years ago, I had great luck with Dunlop recreating tires for another Bugatti project and it was very supportive. But, this time, despite repeated attempts, we have failed to garner any interest or even returned phone calls from the company.

    What we have recently discovered is that Dunlop may never have made wide whitewall tires, and those sported by the cars on the Bugatti stand in 1936 may have actually been painted. This makes life easier, but it will no doubt stir another hornets’ nest of controversy. (Yes, the politics of Bugatti enthusiasts are that anal.)

    I had the instruments for the car restored by a specialist in Holland, and they were wildly expensive, coming in at a cool $9,400. But they did arrive in their own custom metal briefcase with a wonderful wooden plaque with my firm’s name and commissioning date. That made me feel much better about the cost.

    The chassis of the car is absolutely original and any alterations that we had to make to it were done with the addition of a few milled blocks of machined aluminum. This was done to implement the setback for the motor. In the Aerolithe, the motor was 90 centimetres back from the usual motor mount points. We created machined aluminum blocks shaped to curve with the engine and chassis and be quite unobtrusive. Other than that, the new coachwork fits the old chassis like a glove. This is despite the widely held belief by many entrenched Bugattistes that the car had a very different frame from the original standard Type 57 Bugatti frame we have used.

    I had the body built with no reference to the frame, only to the few photographs that existed of the car, so we were all very surprised when the body fit the standard chassis with virtually no problems. In fact, if we had been mounting the coachwork on the supercharged frame that many feel was under the Aerolithe, we would have had to make quite a few alterations.

    In my innocence I told of this discovery in print both here and abroad several years ago and have been the subject of quite a bit of mail, most of it quite hateful. Most amusingly, I was accosted at Retromobile in Paris last winter and I am sure that my detractor found it quite frustrating that I really and genuinely don’t care which is right or wrong as the car I am building is not the original Aerolithe. That car most likely ended up in the smelters of wartime Europe.

    We will certainly be finished by late winter or early spring next year.  Many people have asked what will happen once it is finished. That is entirely up to the car’s long-suffering and very patient owner but, whatever its fate, I am sure it will create a stir wherever it goes and impress all who see it. Even 75% assembled, the car’s lines and details are breathtaking, and no mean-spirited criticisms or controversy will ever be able to alter that fact.


    9:00 am on December 27, 2011