by Ken Edgar

I’m standing in my driveway regarding the object I’ve just driven 200 miles to drag home. Ambitious projects have tended to attract rather than repel me and I’ve received some enjoyment in bringing hopeless cases back from the dead. A gentleman at a recent car show offered me this car if I would just come and get it out of his yard. He explained to me he’d had several cars and previously offered them up for sale. A crew came for the cars he had but left this one behind. What British car would suffer the ignominy of being overlooked even at a supposed junk sale? A TR7, of course. However, as a Wedge owner, I figured even if the car was a total loss there would still be something of use on or in it for me or any other Wedge owners out there. We Wedge owners have to save any bits we find as many parts (particularly the plastic ones) seem to now be made of unobtanium.

With my partner in crime (my brother-in-law) I set off on a Saturday to rescue the unwanted beast. As we drove we discussed the possibilities if it turned out the car was of sound body but we didn’t delude ourselves the car might not be suffering from terminal body cancer. We arrived at the site and gave the car a once over. To say our worst fears were confirmed is understatement on the same level as calling Hurricane Katrina a bad storm. The only body panel on the car with no rust-through was the boot lid. Both rocker panels were two-thirds gone, the spare tire well was completely eaten out, and there were silver dollar-size holes in the roof. Moss and ferns were growing on the driver’s seat. I noticed the sticker on the windscreen – the car was last registered in 1986. Regarding the corpse I felt sadness rather than disgust.

This TR7 was built in March of 1976 at Speke and painted in Carmine Red with a Black interior. It served its stewards for a mere ten years before being allowed to rot. These cars, particularly the early ones, are prone to rust but the extent here seemed rather excessive – unless the car had spent time up north. I sadly have to conclude that the car was abandoned out of frustration – early TR7s were notorious for build-quality issues – and the elements were allowed to take their toll. The Seventies were a time when an increasing number of drivers were starting to regard their vehicles as mere appliances, to be tossed aside when something needed to be fixed. The auto manufacturers are to blame for this as well, considering that build quality for most auto makers reached its nadir during this decade. Another telling indicator of the car’s demise was the discovery of a coarse-thread bolt used in place of a bleed screw – apparently one of the individuals who worked on this car appeared to be lacking somewhat in the technical skills department.

I’m a sentimental fool for regarding my cars more like family pets than mere conveyances so this type of decay is distressing but I am well aware of my limitations: I have to reluctantly conclude this car is terminal. This TR7 will sacrifice its remaining usable bits so others may live and its stripped shell will be recycled into something someone else will eventually throw away.

On a lighter note the trip was productive for my Moggie project: I needed a complete back seat and a proper jack for the Minor 1000 I’m putting back together and the gentleman had both of them. I was pleasantly surprised at this find – but not as surprised as the four-foot black snake snoozing in the corner of the upturned seat. It took some coaxing to get him to move but he grudgingly relinquished his spot and moved to another car nearby. The jack was in a parts cache in a barn nearby and there we had to pay our respects to the resident black vulture. She was nesting and was not amused at our intrusion. She, also grudgingly, flew out to a nearby tree and waited for us to finish our business. Did you know vultures can growl? I do now.

The car has yielded a treasure trove of usable parts and, more importantly, information on how these cars were put together. This particular Saturday was a learning experience: any old automotive carcass yields a few usable parts and even some useful information, be kind to the snake as he was there before you were, and respect the privacy of the vulture because that vulture could be someone’s mother – granted, a mother with a sharp beak, big talons, and a disposition about as sunny as Mommy Dearest.