Rovers Magazine Summer - Rackspace Hosting

Having read Practical Classics, Classics Monthly, and a
host of similar magazines over the years, I knew the "rules"
for buying a classic car (look at several, never buy the first
one you find, never buy one sight unseen, never buy
someone else's abandoned project, etc.). Of course, I broke
every rule. From the moment I saw that first picture on
Craigslist, I knew it wasn't really a matter of if I'd buy her,
but for how much, when, and, perhaps most importantly,
how would I convince my wife? She claims I hoped to
convince her on three fundamental points: the Series III
88” was exactly the car I sought, its rarity, and its proximity
to our Florida home. Granted, these aren't Duesenbergs or
Ferraris, but you see fewer Land Rovers than MG’s or VW
Beetles here in Florida. Quite likely, too, the fact that I'd
been dreaming of a Series Land Rover for so many years
left me in a position to jump blindly on the very first one
that became available—it seemed fated for me. Luckily,
however, I've come up trumps with the purchase, as she
really is in better condition than I could have reasonably
expected for the price.
Some of the important bits, like the rear cross-member
and the frame itself, appear to be in a really good state,
given the fact that she's 37 years old and has spent most
of those years in the warm, damp swamp that is Florida.
There's some surface rust, but none of the rust appears to
have gone through the frame and none appears to be
boiling through from the inside. So, fingers crossed, she'll
just need a good cleaning, rust proofing, painting, and a
healthy dose of Waxoyl on the inside to sort the frame for
years to come. Her Birmabright bodywork is absolutely
stunning. There's a patina, of course, and the odd dent
here and there echoing some long-ago prang, but the
condition is better than I could have hoped for. I'm torn
when it comes to restoring this part of her—do I leave the
patina, or do I bring her back to showroom new?
I guess I'll just have to listen closely and let the truck
tell me what she needs.
The Landy doesn't have either the Zenith-Stromberg or
Solex carb that I'd been expecting to find, but rather a
Weber 34 ICH 2/350. Given the temperatures in Florida,
the likelihood of icing [an occasional problem with this Weber
in northern climes –ed.] seems minimal. The rest of the motor
isn't quite as promising, but that's part of the adventure,
isn't it? The electrical system has been modified in a, well,
unsympathetic manner, and a number of hoses are split or
missing altogether. The spark plugs are black and oily, and
the oil dipstick smells worryingly of fuel. It could be the
carb, or it could be piston rings or any number of other,
equally unpleasant horrors. But, then again, it was
adventure, exploration, and escape that I wanted, and it
seems my Landy is more than willing to provide me with
large amounts of each. Whatever happens, I know she'll
be here by my side, whispering promises of adventures in
far off places without deadlines, departmental meetings,
or any of the other "stuff" that eventually snuffs out most
childhood dreams. I really couldn't be happier.
Perhaps the best part of this whole experience so far,
and confirmation that buying this Land Rover was not just
the right thing but quite possibly the only thing to do, is
the response of my six-year-old twins. They're beaming
more than I am, if that's even possible, and they're already
planning out, in their own wonderful, simplistic ways, our
first adventure overland.
Opposite left to right: 1973 Series III 88” - Interior view - Engine
Above: Widerberg Twins planning their first overland adventure
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