Where to start.

First off, I have never liked Jags. I used to talk to owners at our regional British car meets. Just said no.

I cut my teeth on Datsuns (510, all Z series) , BMW 1600, 2002s, Citroens, MGs, Triumphs, and TVRs.

So, 5 years ago, Im having G&Ts with some friends at the Royal Afghan Hotel in Khandahar. I had just gotten a pretty good payday.

Was telling my buddies I wanted to settle down a bit. I just been sailing in the Gulf Islands, BC. My old racing crew. And I fell in love with the area and the sailing.

So I decided I was going to buy another sailboat and a home in the Seattle area. I have not had a home in the US since 1992.

My British buddy told me that of course I must also buy a Jag, just to round out the image. Told him I had just bought a 928 the year before, and. Driven it from Vancouver to Central America, then back up through the states, and left it in my garage in Baltimore. And I was going to restore it. I last had a 928 in 1980, while living on my sailboat in Annapolis. Best days of my life.

I also related how much I hated Jags, and in particular, anything with a Lucas ingition. I have been shafted so many times over decades by Lucas. So he told me that I then wanted a Jag with a Marelli ignition, with the LE fuel injection. The FI I was familiar with.

He also allowed that even though abortion was legal in the US, he didnt think it applied to the later ‘federalized’ Jags. So he figured that I was to search for a limited range of model years. And it had to have a V12 and be a factory convertible. Jeremy had several Jags in the UK.

And that was my last evening with him. He lost it a few weeks later. Never to see my folly.

 

So, I started searching the web for candidates. After a couple of days, I found her. In an exotic car dealer in Cary North Carolina, USA.

I called them that day. It sounded perfect. I told them I wanted to buy it sight unseen and drive it to Seattle, where my new home was going to be. Things were going to come together!

The salesperson agreed that they would service it to make sure it would make the trip. The car came from an estate sale, but was priced at $14,000. I was feeling flush, so I agreed to the price. I wired a down payment that day, and promised I would pick it up in a few weeks when I returned stateside.

 

A few days after finding a very important part of my new life, I met a gorgeous Spanish woman working in the UN in Afghanistan.

We hooked up briefly. Woke up the next morning, and she was gone. But she passed the wallet test. My funds for the Jag were still there!

So I resolved to find her and marry her.

After I flew to the states, got the Jag and drove it to Seattle.

 

So, as promised I showed up at the dealership. Estate sale?

The deceased was the CEO of the Fluor Corporation, The dealership was liquidating his car collection. About 14 of them.

In addition to the original sales receipt, I received photos of his house, and his obituary!

The stars were aligned. The woman I wanted to chase after and marry wasnt a thief. And the money I made off the hide of an Afghan warlord was going to pick the bones from the estate of a war profiteer.

Karma was with me.

I picked the car and started off for the trip from North Carolina to Seattle to start a new phase of my life.

 

So, I took delivery of the car. Decided to visit my North Carolina branch of my clan. And hit the Blueridge Parkway, as it was fall and the colors were to be gorgeous.

I was certainly not used to driving the Jag. For 30 years I had been driving Subaru’s and Land Cruiers.

I was cooking a bit too hard around a corner. Slammed the brakes. The wheel was ripped out of my hands, and I almost totalled the Jag on a tree,

After regaining my composure, my next stop was going to be a town where I could find some underwear and fresh jeans. And a shower.

As I was later told, no should have any seats other than leather in a 90’s ABS equipped car. Otherwise the **** stains will never come out of the seats.

I found a Jag mechanic. For all the cash I had in my wallet, he agreed to look over the car. The drivers side outer wheel bearing was toast, and the race on the spindle was damaged. He found a new bearing, locktited it on the spindle and sent me on my way.

I imagine he took a vacation after that.

So, attempt #1 to Seattle was a failure. I drove the Jag back to my garage in Baltimore.

 

In Baltimore, I gave the car a pretty good going over. Replaced the spindle and the bearings, and gave it the all clear for attempt #2 to Seattle.

Called a friend in Western Maryland, and agreed I would meet him at a brothel in West Virginia to celebrate my return to the states, and my new Jag.

He was waiting for me outside with a beer. When I pulled up, he asked my why I put those stupid red neon lights underneath the car. That was a thing in Baltimore, but I certainly didnt do it. So I jumped out, and saw the passengers side exhaust was red hot, and had actually melted so it had sagged and was almost touching the ground.

So we stood back, and waited for my new toy to catch fire and explode

 

I had never heard of the infamous Marelli failure. Jeremy, bless his soul, never mentioned that one. So, I booked a room in the brothel for a few days, and waited for the ignition parts to arrive.

I figured it would be a piece of cake. No one ever told me that you had to pull the AC compressor to get to the two front plugs.

Anyway, got that done. Said goodbye to my new best friends, and set off to find an exhaust shop. And back to Baltimore, and onward to Seattle.

And then to find my future bride, Elaina.

 

So, back in Baltimore for yet another go at it. This time was serious. I was not happy with the rather squishy handling, nor the braking. So I hired a local mechanic to help.

We did a complete front end rebuild. New control arm bushings. New steering rack bushings. New front rotors and calipers. Dropped the rear subframe. Did a complete rebuild. NeW mounts, bushings, hub carrier bearings , rebuilt the non operational parking brakes.

Pulled the radiator to clean it. All new belts and hoses. Remove the air injection system. Replaced all the fuel lines, fuel pump and filter. Rebuilt the injectors. Recharged the AC. Had the rims checked for trueness, and mounted new Cooper tires all the way around. This thing was ready for the road.

And, I had found Elaina! She was working in the Spanish Consulate in Washington DC. So I booked a special place for dinner, as I was going to propose that night.

And to tell her that I was naming the car after her, not Mustapha, the dude whose hide paid for the car.

And then I was taking off for attempt #3 to Seattle!

 

So, I took off from Baltimore to Washington DC.

Came down I-95 to the Capitol Beltway. Great right hand sweeping corner.

At about 110, both left tires blew out. I didnt flip it, but did do some damage.

 

I called Elaina to proffer my excuse. She had been sitting at the restaurant for quite some time.

And was pissed. After I sent her pics, and convinced her that the accident was real.

So she gave me a choice.

What to do, but pick up the pieces and call a tow truck back to ****ing Baltimore.

To this day, I never got the chance to tell her I named the car after her, and wanted to marry her.

Such is life. And so was attempt #3 to Seattle.

 

Cool Story. Waiting for the next page.

Jack

 

After that, I was ready to tow the car to the scrap yard. My friends convinced me not too. After all, I had lost my future wife. I would be a total loser to give up on the Jag.

So, I parked the car for a year. Came back and picked up a donor car without an engine. Stripped it of it’s front and rear subframes, suspension pieces and it’s beautiful Alessio wheels.

Then took my heap and the donor parts to a frame shop, who promised me he would have it done the next spring when I came back state side. I paid him his 50%, and was glad to hand the job off to someone else.

 

I came back the next spring. Nothing had been done. Had some serious words with him. Came back in the fall, still nothing done. More serious words. Demands for more money. Discussions with the police and my lawyer.

Came back the next fall, and still nothing had been done, except some crackhead broke into one of my garages and cleaned out most of my tools.

The police were no help, so I tracked him down and had him arrested.

So, I thought about how I got the money for the car, how I tracked down that crackhead and him arrested. So I got the owner arrested to show him I was serious.

Then hailed my car and pieces out of his shop.

Took the car to another frame shop. They straightened the frame, replaced the front fender and door skins, and straightened the rear fender. But they would not replace the subframes.

I went to another shop down the street, I bought an engine hoist so we could do the frame replacement there. They let me work on the car. I replaced both subframes. Front and rear control arms. New shocks (again) all the way around. And decided to trash the original steering rack and replace it with a ZF rack and poly bushes. Got almost everything finished, but then had to leave for a few weeks, so I let the mechanic put on the finishing touches.

Returned, drove the car around the block, and it felt good, and tracked true. Went in for an alignment.

Then I went to another shop where the owner and I reshot the car and finished cleaning it up. I was st!

I was ready for attempt #4, bound for Seattle. But first, I had to go to the Annapolis boat show. I got about 20 miles from the shop in Baltimore that helped me with the frame replacements. Turning off the Baltimore beltway to the highway between Baltimore and Annapolis. The left front wheel started shaking violently. And it was ready to fall off. Limped to a nearby shop.

The mechanic had left the cotter pin out of the driver’s side spindle nut. The spindle, bearings and hubwere destroyed. The rotor had gotten so hot it warped.

I had the car towed back to the shop and told them to fix it, and I would return in Spring 2020 for my next attempt for Seattle.

 

And of course this spring the world was tunrned upside down.

We had a military lockdown in Uganda. No cars allowed on the streets. Curfew from 7pm to 5 am. Airport was shut. No one on or out.

By the time July was ending, I had to get to the Jag and move it.

So I joined Mission Aviation Fellowship. Hopped a refugee relief flight to South Sudan. Got a lorry to Khartoum, then a puddle jumper to Addis Abbiba. Then to Paris, Amsterdam, Detroit and to Baltimore.

I am now on the road to Seattle! I have made it as far as Denver. I hope to finally be in Seattle on Sunday.

Only took 5 years and cost me the love of my life. Part of me wishes the car had caught fire that night at the brothel. My life might have turned out differently.

But at least now I have my boat, my retirement house and the Jag. Who I decided to call Mustapha...

 

Seems somewhat ironic that the terrible "Lucas" ignition is actually just a sticker - inside the Lucas aluminium box is a GM ignition module used in millions of GM V8's. The Lucas system in the V12 is actually quite reliable compared to the Marelli, as you found out.

 

This makes me feel my life has been too uneventful!

 

Wow - great tale... that is a life well lived.
Work, kids and a dam mortgage... is my tale. LOL, Oh and the Jag which touch wood has been a pleasure.
And mine is a Lucas! 2yrs and its never missed a beat!

How do i get a job at the UN...

 

HAHAHA, back in my younger, and way sillier days, our fix for anything Lucas,was to take the sticker off.

 

Scott,

You are at the end of a bloody marathon, and I SALUTE you.

Good luck.

 

Wow I thoroughly enjoyed reading your adventures word for word! It definitely sounds as though you live the life most of us dream about. Should we still call you Scottpeterd, or special agent, or 00-something! 😁😁😁