By Dean Sprague
It was a very cold morning; the kind of cold that cuts into you. I had already been driving for over two hours and the first frost of the season was still on the ground. I had about an hour to go, all on back roads. I was driving my 62 Mini Morris Estate and her heater was struggling to keep me warm. The directions he gave me were vague and the area was becoming more remote by the mile. Plus my GPS was worthless but somehow I found it. There it was, the pale yellow farmhouse with red shutters nestled between two old oak trees. Strangely it looked exactly the way I thought it would. I saw an old man walking out from the gate to meet me. He appeared to be in his late 80s, sporting a full white beard and a plaid hunting jacket covering his bib coveralls. He said, “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” I assume the question was rhetorical because he didn’t wait for an answer. He was definitely eccentric but interesting.
I followed him around the house and about 50 yards across a frozen field. It looked like it might be a hay field or pasture in the summer but now it was just home for a few weeds. Our feet crunched into the frozen soil as we made our way to an enormous red wooden barn. We came to a very large sliding door in the middle of the barn. It appeared to be secured by an old and rusty paddle lock. The old man looked at me and said, “Nobody has opened this door in three lustrums” then he reached into his overall’s left pocket and fumbled until his hand wrapped around an old key ring. He then found what he thought was the correct key. On the third try he did, but the lock was so frozen and rusty the tumblers would not surrender. He found an oilcan lying next to the door and began lubricating the lock and finally it gave way and slid open. He unlocked the hasp and we both pushed hard on the door as the rusty rollers struggled against our efforts but finally capitulated and the door began to open. Behind us the penetrating morning sunlight streamed past the door opening illuminating the barn’s interior.
There sitting quietly in the back of the barn was the car of my dreams. It was as if she was waiting there for me to rescue her. No question it was clearly neglected but as always I only saw lots of potential. The tires were so flat the car was sitting on the rims. Over the years fallen hay and dust from the loft above had completely covered the car. I found a broom and some rags and began to remove 15 plus years of dust, dirt and hay. Under it all a fabulous 1953 Jaguar XK 120 fixed head began to surface. I struggled to open the driver’s door as the hinges creaked and moaned but reluctantly she let me enter. I was welcomed by a very dusty but beautiful red leather interior accented by exquisite English burl wood trim, which was nestled in a still shiny dark blue body. This was the exact color combo of my first Jag, a 1953 XK 120 OTS. I took this as a good omen. I sat in the seat as my eyes scanned the interior I couldn’t find a tear or imperfection. As I glinted at the clock (odometer) I noticed the mileage only read 9852 miles. I asked him if this was correct and he nodded his head. Once past the dirt and dust I noticed even the painted wire wheels were still perfect as was all the chrome. Even the windscreen, side screens and rear windows were clear and unscratched.
Of course, I wouldn’t dare to try and start anything that sat for all these years even if it had fuel and a live battery. However, I did roll it in gear and the engine moved just a little. Thank goodness she wasn’t frozen. Since I had already spent quite a bit of phone time talking with the old man I knew this negotiation would not be a simple one. He didn’t want to dicker at all; he was very firm in his position. In fact it was an ultimatum. He told me he was getting up in years and realized he would never drive this car again. What he wanted was to give the “old girl” a good home with someone who would covet her the way he did and had the ability to restore his Jag to it’s former light then keep and maintain it. In exchange for that solemn pledge and $5000 dollars he would give me the title. Well, I thought about it for 2 seconds (make that mille seconds) and quickly agreed.
I was just figuring out how I might get this thing home when all of a sudden I was stunned by a loud ringing sound. It seemed to emanate from outside the barn but it felt like it was right next to me. Where could it be coming from? The sound immediately transported me to another reality. I found myself catapulting out of the bed and diving for the alarm shutoff.
A harsh saddened reality washed over me as I realized these are the only “real” barn finds; the ones in your dreams. Well, at least I am consoled with the fact have I still have my Mini, Volvo and MGTD to give me pleasure and sometimes aggravations.
