When my good mate, Chris Mundy, suggested back in 2008 that I should try and condense my motorcycling experiences into a blog, I didn’t even know what a blog was. Now there are some who would suggest that I still DON’T but that’s not really the issue. The problem was that I didn’t believe that my motorcycling experiences were that extensive that I could sustain an output of any length. And yet, here I am, some 16 years later, still going and I haven’t even finished the main part of my blog which is my motorcycling story, found under the main menu as “My Motobiography” I must say that I thought of that title and I’m still pretty proud of it.
So, today, a side-track into one of my car-related experiences if you will forgive me. Today, on social media, one of my friends who I guess is a contemporary of mine, posted about his experiences with an old Triumph TR2 (car). He made mention of the steering wheel and it immediately reminded me of a funny story that I below relate.
You may or may not know, that early 1950’s British cars shared many common features, even those that were built by different manufacturers. One such feature was the “sprung” steering wheel, as shown above and it is an experience with one of these that forms the core of my story.
In my early teenage we were living in Newcastle as my dad was the minister of three local churches. Dad had already worked in an interdenominational organisation in the Hunter Valley so he knew many of the locals already. He was good friends with the late Godfrey Theobald who ran Tahlee Bible College on the shores of Port Stephens. And we ended up going to Tahlee during the school holidays, first as campers at the school camps and later as counsellors when we got older.
Godfrey and Win had two gorgeous daughters, the elder somewhat older than us and the younger around our age. Judith, the elder, owned an old Morris Minor in which she commuted to Newcastle for her nursing job. And it was the car, rather than the girls, that was our major attraction at the time. After numerous pleas, Judith finally agreed to let Paul and I drive her car, despite the fact that we weren’t old enough to have a licence nor did we have one.
The road in from the Pacific Highway north of Karuah, to the Tahlee property was long and had a pretty dodgy gravel surface. But we persevered and so it was that I was placed in control of the “Morrie” for the journey from the college out to the highway. And it was so much fun, that is until attempting to be a “mug lair” on the loose surface, I lost control of the car which fishtailed sideways. That wouldn’t have been too bad except for the fact that the steering wheel decided that this was the moment when it would come apart.
Exposed to the fierce Summer sun it turns out that this was a fairly common occurrence. The rim of the wheel would separate from the wire spokes and you’d be left with just the rim in your hands and a sudden lack of directional control.
I had enough sense to brake and, more by good luck than good management, the car stopped, pointing in the right direction and still on the road. Judith took over, drove the car very carefully back to the workshop at the college where repairs were made (thank you Brian McPherson) and none of the adults concerned with this whole fiasco ever found out about it (I was, I think, about 13 years old at the time).
Funny how the mention of a simple car part can trigger a memory from more than 60 years ago.
