PLEASANT MOTORING Motoring
Jr would be interesting to discover, by secret ballot or any humourless and solemn method you like, exactly what everybody means when he says he enjoys his motoring. Is it the speed, the convenience, the sense of private travel (only to be rivalled, but never equalled, in a yacht), the know- ledge that, save on the very shortest of routine journeys, he has momentarily escaped from the life that knows him as its owner knows the goldfish in a bowl ? Is it the escapist who really appreciates motoring, the time-saver, the voluptuary or just the man who likes to own a car because his neighbour has two and his own wife none ?
One imagines that most of these go to the answer, as one is quite certain that the world of motorists is very clearly divided into those who motor for any of a dozen admirably practical reasons, those who drive because they like it and those who see in their car a means of increasing the sum of their knowledge of the world, which is life. As a rule the two last are combined or would like to be.
The man who is a born if not a trained mechanic, who has an instinctive love of and sympathy for delicate machinery (one cannot think of any more crazily delicate than that of a motor-car), who drives because he is happiest when in control of all that complex of nervous efficiency, that man sees in a survey of the world the prefect opportunity of satisfying his most intimate ambition. He will turn from a mere motorist into an explorer, while remaining the captain, engineer and pilot of his own ship. He knows that over his own steering wheel he will see things he would never believe, never suspect from a train or the guest's seat in another man's car. Driving a car as it should be driven sharpens the faculty of observation as nothing else.
About the others it is difficult to be as precise. The man who wants speed is easily satisfied, provided he looks for the results outside the British Isles. A large number of cars go very
fast, and 8o miles an hour can be had for any price from L'37's or so upwards.. He is a dull dog, though he probably enjoys himself in his own limited way, even if his way lies in the sort of barking toy that has roused the dwellers in once peaceful London squares to well-justified revolt. Anything fast will do for him, as almost anything reliable will do for the man whose object is convenience. There must be fifty cars of various sizes and powers that you would unhesitatingly put into the hands of the man who only wants to get to the station in time every time, whose wife's motoring is restricted to shopping and dining out, who would really be just as happy and perhaps slightly richer with a taxi. He is no problem, and he, too, is a dull dog.
Remains only the man who wants sie se:tce of private travel ; and he belongs, in a sense, to the escapist class. He may care nothing for the character of his car, provided only that it takes him away in reasonable comfort, away from the tedious fuss of cabs and trains and time-tables, hurry, noise, dis- comfort and other people in the carriage.
That ballot might produce entertaining answers, but if the voters were constant dwellers in the United Kingdom I fancy that the enormous majority would record the fact that such enjoyment as they were able to emphasise in their motoring was directly caused by liveliness and comfort. To them it would matter more than anything else that they should he able to keep station and that they should ride soft.
One agrees with them very sincerely. Those who are not car-lovers, who do not think of motoring in the terms of the Calais-Istanbul Road, those who would prefer the Blue Train to any Route Nationale on their way to the Prado or Taormina, the local Ritz to the local pub, who like to ask conductors how long one stops at Dresden and will there be time, while they change at Pisa, to see the leaning tower— these find their wise happiness in other ways. For them is built the car that goes on always, that goes fast when asked to do so, discreetly, silently, smoothly, carrying them in languorous upholstery, unblown upon by draughts, unjolted, at reasonable speeds, by bumps in the road.
And all these things are placed high in the needs of every wise motorist, including the elemental escapist, but we shall never know how far his secret pleasure in the business depends upon them, how far or how often. All we can be fairly sure of is that one and all like pleasant motoring—definitions to be strictly individual.
Pleasant motoring is to be had, if I understand what I have written, with two new cars, of good size and sensible power. They are the 1937 model of the 25-h.p. Studebaker and the entirely new 18/8o Wolseley. Both are very fast, both soft "-riding. They do not resemble each other in the very least in any respect save that of maximum. speed, yet I put them together because their two sets of qualities seemed to me to meet nearly every requirement of every class of motorist, including the train-catcher. One is very American, in the new and the best sense, the other very British in the sense we know, and each has the desirable qualities of its origin.
I liked the Wolseley for its swift acceleration, its direct and easy steering,. its almost silent third speed, its road- holding at 70 miles an hour and its comfortable seating. It climbs hills fast, it is lively and (a point for the Calais-Istanbul man) its steering lock is excellent. I liked the Studebaker for its' top-speed flexibility, its geared-up top (the overdrive, automatically engaged), its silence, its remarkable foot-brake, its springing and the exceptional comfort of its roomy body. The Wolseley is sold at the remarkable price of £290, the Studebaker for the equally remarkable price of £368. Pleasant [Note.—Readers' requests for advice from our Motoring Correspondent on the choice of new cars should be accompanied by a stamped and addressed envelope. The highest price payable must be given, as well as the type of body required. No advice can be riven on the Purchase, sale or exchange of used cars.1
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