Perfect

So, in another thread, Al made this statement. It got me thinking about my own 15 year trajectory in this hobby, and about changing expectations. Some guys know themselves pretty well, and build or buy pretty much exactly what they want without a lot of muss/fuss. Jim Ignacio leaps to mind.

Most of us, though, have expectations that evolve over the years until what we are ultimately looking for bears very little resemblance to what we were after a few years before. When I bought my first car, I was after exactly what I got: a cheap, bare-bones "15 minute vacation" car for bombing around in after work.

I loved it enough that I wanted something to enjoy for more of the year, and I set out on a quest to have a "weather-tight", hardtop equipped JPS built. John made a lot of promises, and delivered... a speedster with an incredibly leaky hard-top. I sold the JPS and had an IM "coach" built.

The IM is an order of magnitude better than my two previous speedsters, but it remains a speedster- it will drip when driving in a huge rain. It's totally manageable, but a 9-month-a-year speedster ceased to be what I was after.

For a period of time, I was in love with the capabilities for mayhem of a big Type 1. I fell in love with the "Mighty-Mouse" ethos, and built my car into something a flat-lander could understand: a highly strung, highly built monster. It was fast, and that's a fact. The motto at the time was, "The car says, 'Speedster' on the side. I'd really like to tell the truth". I did the dry-sump a few years later to keep oil inside the engine when I was being stupid.

That was fun and cool and all, but I got wrecked when I decided on a lark (at the last minute, really) to drive the car out to a get-together with some friends in Sacramento/Chico/Tahoe, CA in 2012. I had the time of my life- the "mac-daddy" engine did not fare as well singing along at 4k RPM for days and days straight.

When I got back home, I set about trying to rectify that. My 2332 became a 2276. The Chinese nicasil jugs went out and some plain-'ol-Mahles went in. My 48 Tri-Jets were swapped for 45s, etc. It was much better, but I went a bridge too far in the other direction. Lord Acton said, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely", or something like that. It's true.

So... the engine came out, and the science project continued. Twin-plug heads and a different cam (hopefully, "not too hot, not too cold-- juuuust riiiiight") this go-around. The engine is back in the car, but my lovely bride brings up some good points. She thinks that (perhaps) I ought to just enjoy it for what it is, and lay off the endless Frankenstein stuff. As usual, she's right. This will be the 5th combination back there. She understands my need to do this stuff, but she'd like me to spend a bit more time driving and a bit less time building stuff I'm just going to tear out next year. "Perfection" is a mirage, always juuuust out of reach. It's the very definition of quixotic.

If I were less committed to this creaky old platform, I'd probably do it differently. A big Type 4 has the advantage of displacement for "easy power" and a design that encourages longevity. It can be built to be both powerful and able to cover several time-zones without muss and fuss. Of course a Subaru can as well, but I'm a Luddite, and Luddites are constitutionally unable to do stuff like that. It's in the handbook. I'll probably eventually end up being sucked kicking and screaming into EFI and crank-fired ignition, but staying air-cooled is where I personally draw my ridiculous line. Your mileage may vary.

But back to Al's point: for borderline OCD Type-AA personalities, it's a hard thing to hear that you can't have everything you want. We're used to getting it, or more likely making it happen ourselves. A Speedster (more than a "D" or a Cabriolet) forces compromise. Some things can be squeezed out (with great difficulty and expense), but a lot of it is just baked in the cake. Perversely, that's the part I like. I can rage-against-the-machine and howl-at-the-moon till the cows come home. I can treat a long trip like it's a NASA trip to the moon. But I'll still likely end up under some random overpass in Nebraska, trying to piece together a what-not with a 1/4-20 screw, a shoe-lace, and a beer can I found in the ditch.

If it were not so, I would not love it so much.

I didn't marry my wife 30 years ago because she was easy to live with (I really had no idea, and frankly wouldn't have cared). I married her because she was beautiful and fun and exciting. It took a while to understand the stuff that could not change for any amount of effort- and even longer to be OK with those things. A lot of the rough edges and sharp points needs smoothed off, but some stuff will always be there. Those weird quirks are a huge part of the fun now, and a reminder that there's stuff I can change and stuff that I can't. She lives with my idiosyncrasies, and I live with her's. She clearly got the short end of the stick (as everybody in my hometown reminds me), but it takes just a little bit of work for both of us. We're both just passengers on this rock- it was spinning before I got here, and will be spinning after I leave. A beautiful, imperfect car that turns me on (like the beautiful, sexy, imperfect woman I've lived with all these years) requires a few concessions. Both are good reminders that most truly great things require a bit of flexibility. 

I understand what it is. I love that stupid thing.