When it comes to vehicle collecting, there are two ends of the scale. At the top end you find the Sultan of Brunei and his brother, a pair of billionaires who own 2,500 cars. And at the bottom end there's yours truly, a lifelong car nut who refuses to own more than two cars at any given time.
Automotive minimalism makes me a bit of an oddball among gearhead pals, who generally like to accumulate as many cars as they can, as if they were hoarding food in the face of impending famine.
You may have heard the expression: "He who dies with the most toys, wins." Some friends are running for first place in the competition's automotive division.
One keeps a car for commuting, plus an SUV for weekend getaways. Then there's his off-roader, his weekend sports car, plus a dozen more cars that are never actually driven – they spend their days in a heated garage, their sole function to be viewed like priceless paintings.
Another friend has either 27 cars or 29 (he's not sure of the exact number, which should tell you something). Only two are actually capable of moving under their own power and carrying out the automotive function most of us insist on (i.e., transportation). The rest are stashed in barns and garages around Southern Ontario, awaiting a time when he gets around to restoring them, which means never.
My decision to never own more than two cars is based on hard-won experience. Back in the 1970s, when working as a mechanic, I briefly owned four old and decrepit cars – taking care of them was like being a polygamist husband with multiple wives, each afflicted with issues. I spent my days at parts counters and junkyards to keep my little fleet on the road. Not a good time.
But to hard-core collectors, four cars is a joke. My friend Matt typically owns about a dozen vehicles at once. His fleet includes – but is not limited to – a Chevrolet pickup truck, a Volvo station wagon, a full-size van and a pair of Jeeps. Then there's his 1967 Pontiac GTO, a project in the same way that a 15th century English estate is a project.
The list of things that must be done to the GTO is an endless Augean-stables-style catalogue – as soon as one task is completed, a new one pops up. A couple of years ago, he shipped the GTO to a Pontiac guru several states away for bodywork. This cost a fair bit of time and money, but the GTO's body panels did come out really well. Other aspects of the rebuild were more agonizing. Matt hunted down a used motor and had it overhauled, but it soon began smoking and making strange noises that suggested terminal issues with the crankshaft and main bearings. The motor fix has been in the works for more than a year now, with no clear solution in sight. Matt may swap the engine for a new one, and sell the old one for whatever he can get. Or he may disassemble the old one and try again.
Then there's the wheel problem. Matt bought a set of beautiful chrome alloys that look absolutely fantastic on the GTO. The wheels capture the spirit of 1967, but are totally modern – thanks to modern metallurgy and machining, the new wheels are larger, lighter and stronger than the originals. Unfortunately, they rub on the rear fender wells when he hits a bump with passengers in the back.
There are two possible solutions. The first – which any true car collector would choose, since it involves the maximum time, cost and suffering – is to expand the GTO's wheel wells by cutting them apart with a series of surgical incisions, welding in steel inserts, then grinding and refinishing the wells. This process would almost certainly do damage to the GTO's recently completed bodywork, which would have to be redone.
The second solution is to buy new, smaller wheels. But where's the masochist-style pleasure in that?
You see my point – an old car is not a transportation device – it is a time- and cash-disposal device. And the more old cars you have, the more time and cash you can dispose of.
This is why I only have two cars – I don't have that much time and cash to get rid of. If I win the lottery, we'll see what happens.
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