The idea of owning a classic car has been in the back of my mind for almost as long as I can remember.
Helped by multiple back copies of classic car magazines, I've fantasised about stumbling across a low mileage, rust-free exotic covered in barnyard dust having been forgotten about for years, and then convincing the unwitting, sentimental owner to part with it for a fraction of its true value.
The reality, of course, is that finding such a car requires the patience of Job, lots of money and a willingness to travel up and down the country (and maybe even to Britain). I had none of these, so despite an almost life-long desire to own a classic, the dream seem destined to remain just that for the time being.
Until I met a man named Paul Kanters. It was in the course of researching an article for The Irish Times on buying classic cars as an investment that I got talking to this chatty, enthusiastic Dutchman living in Co Wexford who runs a part-time business importing classic cars to order from all over Europe to this country (website: welcome.to/classiccarsireland).
Kanters makes a point of searching for cars that are highly original and, if possible, unrestored. Classic cars in this country and in the UK, he opined, often suffer hard, neglected lives, and even if they are restored the quality of the work is often patchy. I test drove one car he had for sale, a 1966 Volvo Amazon that he was selling for a very reasonable price and was indeed in superb, unrestored condition.
The downside is that most of these cars are left-hand drive, being sourced from countries like Holland, Sweden, and Italy. This seemed a small price to pay, particularly after driving the Amazon, so I hinted to him that he might look out for a BMW 2002. I'd always liked the look of them and parts are still in very good supply. Compared to other popular classics, they're also great value.
Less than two weeks later, four images of a pale blue Swedish-registered 1975 2002 sitting in a showroom in Holland arrived in my e-mail inbox. It was ridiculously easy.
Although it couldn't match the joy of a barnyard find, I was convinced enough to call to my friendly bank manager and set things in motion. I picked up the car one Saturday morning in October 2002 (funnily enough) from Victor, a mechanic associate of Kanters in Bray Co Wicklow.
The sun had just come out after a succession of showers as I walked into Victor's small, leafy backyard where I spotted it immediately, nestled under a tree with glistening bubbles of accumulated rainwater slithering helplessly off its freshly polished paintwork. The time warp effect was accentuated by its proximity to other bland, modern cars in the same yard. I hate anti-climaxes, but having only seen this car in fuzzy digital photos, this moment of truth was an incredible relief.
Getting to grips with driving this car for the first time was like going on a first date with a girl from a strange, non-English speaking country. If the left-handed tiller wasn't enough, there was the huge, thin-rimmed wooden steering wheel, the low set driving position, the floor pivoted pedals and best of all, knobs that had words like "lufter" and "zu", "oben" and "unden", "kalt" and "warm". Ah, the heater. Ja. Gut.
A few more miles punting around some twisty back roads revealed a delightfully nippy driving machine with tail-happy but predictable handling, and a torquey two-litre engine allied to a slick-shifting four-speed gearbox. However, the steering is very vague at speed and it badly needs a fifth ratio for the motorways. It's not too bad on the petrol and it runs on unleaded without any problem, but I add a lead replacement additive into it at every couple of tankfuls.
I love its elegant and timeless good looks. BMW design has tended to lean towards an understated style that rarely dates, and this is certainly true of the 2002. Its beautifully balanced outline, bluff nose, high beltline and large glasshouse give it a sense of toughness and solidity, despite its relatively small size. It's a far more interesting popular classic than the ubiquitous MGB or Morris Minor, a fact reflected by the number of heads it turns as I drive along.
I have ended up spending more money on it than I would have liked. Not on any serious repairs, but on replacing basic things like shock absorbers, brake discs, a window winder and a variety of other bits and pieces that have together constituted a major service. There wasn't much history with the car, but it's a fair bet the last owner was a bit stingy on basic maintenance. If I could go back again to October 2002, I also would not have bought a 1975-reg car, as it still has to be road taxed and NCT'd for another couple of years until it turns 30, at which stage it will be exempt from both requirements.
It is highly recommended that you have the phone number of a sympathetic mechanic who can help you out when things go wrong, which they will. To be fair to the 2002, the things that went wrong were a direct result of my inexpert attempts at basic maintenance. For instance, I tried to reset the ignition timing, only for it to loudly backfire and petulantly refuse to start. I'm getting better, though. Thankfully, there is very little wrong with this 2002, despite the recent neglect, which shows the value of buying the best example you can afford. In fact, there are only about four or five minor things that need to be addressed before it is fully sorted, such as a re-trim of the driver's front seat, a few bodywork rust bubbles (for a car that has endured harsh Swedish winters, there is surprisingly little evidence of the tinworm) and new front headlights.
Having said that, I have resigned myself to the likelihood that more problems will emerge before all of the current ones are sorted. I'm very much looking forward to meeting up and exchanging notes with the fellow Irish 2002 owners through the Irish BMW 2002 Register, which I've recently joined. Membership of a classic car club is a prerequisite for cheap classic insurance, but it's well worth getting involved. A visit to a car show in Templelogue last year revealed a small but very friendly classic car community who clearly spend more time using their cars than just polishing them.
If you are in any way a perfectionist, you will be infinitely frustrated with classic car ownership. Even with a car as solid and reliable as the 2002, I've had to live with occasional mild tantrums. As an investment, it's also fairly risky. At best, it will not lose you too much money in the long term (especially if you find a decent one to start with) but you do have to budget for the essential annual maintenance and the odd repair, so it's safe to say it won't make you a million.
No, it's all about the warts-and-all driving experience, the smiles the car generates as you drive by and of course, the style. For the money, (anywhere from € 4k to € 8k) nothing on Irish roads comes close.