If it’s good enough for the Queen…

….then surely it can come sit in my barn?

After having a (comparatively) massive clearout over the last few months, I found this gem waiting for me a few weeks ago. It’s a 1965 Rover P5 3 litre coupe, and it’s now mine. The P5 was a strange car, being technically both backward and amazingly forward-looking at the same time. If you look past the leaf springs and ancient 6cyl engine, you find the first seeds of things that eventually  made up the P6.. driver safety was just becoming a factor and the whole concept of easily-replaceable panels is sort-of there.

OK, perhaps the title is slightly misleading – the Queen had a P5B sedan, but it’s not that different. The P5 coupe is only a coupe in the “streamlined and slightly chopped down” sense of the word; it’s still got four doors and it’ll still seat four cigar-smoking adults in very British comfort.

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This photo doesn’t really do justice to the sheer size of this thing. The P6 looks quite svelte in comparison; the P5 is built like a tank and is – coincidentally – also rather like driving one. For a ’60s British car, it’s positively massive. It doesn’t quite dwarf the Jaguar 420 that’s currently sitting next to it, but it’s much bulkier.

This particular car has lived in the sunny NW most of its life, and it’s been off the road for about eight years.. which is (almost) nothing. However, the fancy dual fuel pump has seized and it looks like it’s been resprayed as part of a playgroup of three year olds’ summer project.

However… some day soon……!

Sometimes… Rover got it right.

Much has been written about the general nastiness that was British Leyland in the 1970s. Some truly awful cars and some truly great cars ruined by quality resulted from the merry factories of the Midlands during that time, and the beancounters did an excellent job of failing to invest in any meaningful development of the ranges that were inherited from the 1960s. One only has to look at the Triumph Stag (no Rover v8? Why????), the Triumph 2000/2500 (positively prehistoric by 1977), and the Morris Marina / Ital.

However…

In the ’60s – when most of the constituents of BMC/BLMC/Leyland were independent or in much more manageable groups, competition was actually a thing… and Rover in particular got a lot of things right. They’d ditched the Auntie image of the P4/P5 with the P5B, and when the P6 appeared it was so technically advanced there was very little else to hold a candle to it. It launched with a 2-litre OHC engine, a frame/panel structure (much like the Citroen DS), proper crumple zones / a collapsible steering column, and the strangest suspension ever to grace a British car.

All of this was great and wonderful and the car sold well, even – for some reason – in Canada. It was a little down on power; the 4cyl Rover lump was a little thrashy… especially to people used to the silky smoothness of the Rover 3-litre that came before it.

Much has been written about the Rover v8, but – in the late 60s – it came together with the P6 to create the P6B – or, in this case, the Rover 3500S.

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This is a 1970 NADA-spec model, which means electric windows, A/C, the totally awesome bonnet scoops, and a few other bits and pieces. This particular one has also had the twin SUs replaced with an Offenhauser manifold and a Rochester 4-jet (*not* a Quadrajet, apparently they’re very different and it’s somewhat insulting to get them mixed up). It has also had cruise control retrofitted; it looks like kit from an SD1 to me, but I will admit I’ve been too terrified of it to actually turn it on.

It’s an absolute peach to drive, and the 170bhp coming from that v8 makes a huge difference to how the car drives. Granted, the BW35 slushbox really takes the bite off.. maybe the spare LT77 in the garage would fit…?

 

…alive inside this chrome…

This is a shiny thing. It’s the front of a Rover P6 – in this case, a 1967 P6 2000SC.. in other words, the slowest possible configuration of the car. Take a fantastic-if-unrefined 2 litre 4cyl engine, remove one of its carbs, and throw an autobox behind it.. and you’re never going to win the RAC Rally.

However, what we’re interested in is the shininess. Sixties Rovers were always a bit like driving around in a gentlemens’ club, but the P6 had an interesting combination of chrome, wood, leather, and fake plastic.

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This is an ICELERT. Its badly-spelled name tells you exactly what it is – it’s a big round shiny thing that lights the dashboard up when there’s ice on the road. More modern cars have sensors, alerts, buzzers, and all sorts of fancy electronics to make sure driving like an idiot doesn’t necessarily end in you crashing.

However, for the Rover driver – a small red light is plenty good enough. Rover assumed that concentrating on the road in sub-optimal conditions was far more important than surrounding the driver with gizmos. It actually works perfectly too.

The one tiny flaw? The “icelert light” is on the PASSENGER SIDE of the car!

What Rover did that wasn’t 4×4

This is a Rover P6. It’s mine, and it had a new exhaust fitted last week.

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Things we learned from this experience:

  • People at exhaust shops get confused if your brakes are attached to your differential.
  • People at exhaust shops get worried if your front shocks are mounted horizontally.
  • People at exhaust places will retrieve wrenches that have been hidden in your bodywork for FIFTEEN YEARS and merely smirk at you.
  • Contrary to popular belief, a 47 year old British exhaust manifold can, in fact, be porous.
  • Yes, a top speed of 77 is more than adequate.
  • Everyone will keep asking if it’s “some old Buick”.

    I love the Rover P6.

  • …and the Rover is no more.

    The SD1 started its journey to its new owner in Georgia this morning. It’s been an interesting ride with this car – over the last three years I’ve learned more about Lucas EFI than I ever thought possible, as well as grown to appreciate just what Rover were trying to do with SD1. It’s a huge shame they were initially dogged with so many issues here in the US, as the straight-six versions doubtless would’ve sold very well into the 1980s.

    Much has been written about the SD1 in the USA, and why it failed. Rover was a one-model range at the time, and – in Europe – completed a gap in Triumph’s lineup after the withdrawal of the 2000/2500. Had the planned Lynx ever actually been produced, it and the SD1 would’ve made a rather nice range.. together with the “new” Triumph 1500. Even the Rover 213/216 would’ve probably sold well over here, as is evidenced by the visibility today of their Honda brethren.

    It was my daily driver for a while, and – as well as proving it’s possibly to run a thirty year old British car on a daily commute – it still managed to average nearly 30mpg. It’s been to a few shows, confused a lot of people (‘what kind of Chevy/Pontiac/Ferrari is that?’), and been surprisingly reliable. It only broke down on me once, which was a) in the driveway so it doesn’t really count, and b) is because I ran out of fuel ‘cuz the fuel sender didn’t initially work. The kids also loved the fact that it was a little bit special and – for a British car – pretty big and comfy inside. It even did the school run a few times, during which there were occasional complaints about its fundamental brown-ness.

    …but on it must go. It’s going to someone who knows exactly what it is, and will hopefully appreciate it as much as I do. It’s been replaced in the “fleet” here by a Rover P6, which is a whole different animal… but more on that another time.

    Just a big blob of rust…?

    The P6 has always sounded a bit exhaust-y. I initially put that down to a small hole in the ancient rear silencer, but further complaining and investigation led to the conclusion that there was also a leak near the manifold. Normally, this means a holed gasket.. or a broken stud in some join somewhere.. either way, not the worst job in the world but certainly one of the more annoying.

    However, after an afternoon of removing 16 of the finest rusted-up 1/2″ British bolts, I found this:

    I think it’s supposed to be an exhaust manifold. It has the consistency of Swiss cheese, and there are four or five good bulges in it. I didn’t realise cast iron could do that, but apparently – if made in Birmingham – it can.

    The art of clearcoat

    Some time in the late 1970s / early 1980s, there was a revolution in the shadowy world of automotive paintwork. Metallic paints were all of a sudden in vogue in Europe, and everyone needed the latest and greatest metallic brown and orange finishes on their cars (cf. the 1981 Triumph TR7 colour book). Unfortunately, British Leyland et all soon figured out that metallic paint looks terrible when sprayed by robots built in Birmingham, so the industry investigated ways around this.

    What the paint people collectively came up with was “clearcoat” – essentially, a veneer that is added after the colour coat to protect, give gloss, and cover up mistakes. This was not a new idea, but it was rather expensive to implement. This meant two things – one, it only initially appeared on high-end Japanese and European cars.. and two, when it made it to mass-market British (and yes, Jap) vehicles, cost-cutting meant the benefits of the fancy new process were, uh, diluted somewhat.

    Fast forward to 2013; it’s now fairly rare to see an ’80s Accord or old Nissan without the characteristic flaky roof or bonnet.. and while this is obviously a far worse phenomenon in hotter climates, practically every Civic in Canada suffered the same fate.

    However, quality control fixed most of the problems over time, and by the 1990s automotive paint processes were much improved………..

    ….except in Birmingham:

    This is a 1994 Land Rover Discovery. It’s spent its entire life in the Pacific Northwest – where there is no sun – and the bonnet and roof are a spectacular mess of flaking clearcoat and faded colour coat. I kinda feel sorry for it – it’s not like the Discovery doesn’t have enough other problems. It’s the opposite of a ghost flame job in a certain light.. whereas in actual daylight it just looks terrible.

    Ugliest headlights ever.. entry #22

    This is a(nother) 1980 Rover SD1 3500. For some reason, I keep ending up with them.. this is my third.

    Don't my headlights look fantastic?

     

    This one lived in Salem before I got my grubby mitts on it, and spent a while sitting in a field. Unlike the other SD1 I had a couple of years ago, this one is a NAS model and is totally stock.. hence the slightly cross-eyed front end and the correct wheels. It’s also been oddly resprayed in its original colour of Platinum (oh really, British Leyland?), but fortunately still has the original awesome two-tone brown velour interior.

    It had the usual electrical gremlins, which required a bunch of relays, a Jaguar XJ6 fuel pump, and lots of swearing. It now drives and stops when it’s supposed to, and doesn’t seem over-inclined to catching fire.  So far, it’s only moved around the driveway and back, but as it’s got a bizarre custom exhaust system it sounds a bit.. well.. frisky.

    It also doesn’t seem to overheat. For now.

    Look at that velour porn.

     

    Cars I miss, but shouldn’t – #1

    Things I miss, but shouldn’t – #1. The 1993 Rover Vitesse.

    I bought this little wonder in 2004 as a stop-gap measure whilst commuting weekly to Oxford and waiting for the Primera to get fixed. It cost me a hundred and eighty quid, and came with a years’ MoT. Of course, I’d find out later that there’s no way it should’ve ever passed, but it had the enormous benefit of being big, comfy, able to hold a week’s worth of my crap, and – most importantly – working air conditioning. It also had an oh-so-manly boot spoiler, but we won’t talk about that.

    This particular one was a 2-litre turbo that hadn’t really been mucked about with, but was shovelling out around 230bhp. Not a lot by most modern performance car standards, but if you could tolerate the gearbox whine it’d do 140mph without complaining. Supposedly.

    It was one of the last things we sold before moving to the US in 2006, and I actually made twenty quid back on it in the process. I put 20k on it in that time, and it is sorely missed, at least partly because it left many any M3 owner open-mouthed at having been overtaken by something as common and rubbish as a Rover.

    I’d love to have one again – but sadly the Sterling is about as close as I’m going to get, seeing as US sales stopped in 1991 – right as the mk2 was introduced. On the other hand, free imports start at 21 years old.. so only another two years to go. Will there be any left that haven’t rusted away by then?

    Seems unlikely.