Oh, sweet memories! The 1968 British Escort was my first car. I am still
grateful, because it taught me so much about auto repair. Simple as it was,
something failed almost every day. Rebuilding the generator (anybody
remember those?) was a semi-annual ritual. The transmission needed new
synchros every 5,000 miles. Water found ways to enter that I never figured
out. The 1.1 liter engine was powerful enough to carry a lighweight driver,
unless one wanted to go uphill, of course. It also kept pinging, no matter
how far I retarded the timing.
The single circuit, no power assist brakes sometimes needed help by dragging
my foot on the pavement -- which was easy to do, considering the rust holes
in the floor. A strut once broke while taking a corner - the car's funny
posture afterwards drew quite a crowd of admirers. But no doubt, the best
part was the speeedometer; it must have been possessed, because the glass in
front of it kept rattling even when the car wasn't moving.
I must have that manual!