When is this gonna stop?
From the title of this post you might think the Alpina has run into a problem. If you did, you’d be wrong. The Alpina, finally, is on a truck coming to its new East coast home, with all sorts of work completed. And, of course, you’ll get to read all about that soon enough. But today, rather than chronicling or exploring the restoration of the Alpina, I’m getting all introspective, exploring my car problem.
There have been many constants in my car obsession but it has also morphed over the years. Of course, two of the main constants have always been financial and garage space constraints. Over the years, both of those remained but have eased a bit. My wife and I are serial renovators and as we’ve moved, we’ve both made some money on the houses and been able to be more picky about the amenities. One of those amenities was the garage and one-car garages became two-car and now that we’ve moved to the East Coast, we have the luxury of a three-car garage. Not huge space, but better.
The biggest constant has been the type of car I desire. While I’ve lusted after Ferraris (my son’s middle name is Dino!) and Porsches (and was even lucky enough to have a few over the years), as far back as high school and college (circa late 70s and early 80s) I’ve focused primarily on sport sedans. My first two cars were a1972 Ford Carpi and a 1969 Triumph GT6+ but I always had my eye on a 1969 BMW 2002. Was it the infamous David E. Davis article in Car and Driver? Was it my high school friend Tedd who waxed poetic about his 1600? Was it that every article I read about a boxy sedan—be it a Datsun 510, Mazda RX2, Opel whatever—that were all compared to pinnacle: the 2002? Who knows. But I lusted after one.
I finally got enough money for a 2002 by working for a year before college. Even though I could afford to buy one finally, I couldn’t afford to pay someone fix it. So, I taught myself how to work on the cars. Mostly I learned from the Chilton manual and articles and tech columns in the BMW Car Club magazine The Roundel. Mike Self, Mike Miller, Rob Siegle, they gave me the confidence to try it.
The combination of financial necessity and unwarranted confidence led me to plenty of mistakes along the way: I have fond memories of replacing the rear brakes on the 2002 using the BMW issued scissor jack in the Star Market dirt parking lot behind my apartment building while I was in college in Boston. The car only fell over once; don’t recall how I got it back up on the jack to finish the job but I know I did.
The early years were primarily focused on just keeping the car running but I always wanted to tinker, to improve. A Momo steering wheel, BBS wheels, a Weber carb. Then after law school I built a 2002tii I bought in pieces. It had a full suspension (Bilsteins, ST springs, Alpina sway bars) and a hot motor (292 cam and Alpina valve-train). For about 10 years I tried to thread the street/track needle: I’d daily drive the car but on the weekends it was my autocross or track weapon. Trying to serve two masters seemed to fully satisfy neither; most notably the suspension was barely acceptable for the track yet grueling on my daily commute. And, while I loved driving the cars fast in a controlled environment, I didn’t love it enough to dedicate the time to get as good as I wanted. Put differently, other priorities—career, wife, kids, enjoying life—interfered with the track/autocross hobby.
So, my car obsession became less track and more street focused. While I still tinkered, the modifications were less extreme and focused on making it better than BMW’s compromises for the masses and the marketing department. Wheels, lowered suspension—but not too low or aggressive, after all this was my daily driver and I took the kids to school every morning. A steering wheel. Sport seats. Maybe even a short-shift kit.
I had some fun daily-drivers, too. A 323i e21 Baur with a 325i, motronic M20 swap; a e28 535is; and after my wife hit a stock purchase out of the park (I swear there was no insider information!), I got a e34 540i M-Sport. I called it my 4-door 911 (once I owned a 911 I realized how silly that was, but that’s another Oprah show).
By this point, I had three primary car-nut lives: the kid who could barely afford what he wanted; the young man who built his street/track dual use car; and the adult who couldn’t stop tinkering. They all had commonalities, constants that hid the differences between them. The commonalities were tinker, tinker, tinker; improve over stock, rise and repeat.
During the last phase I could afford to have a daily-driver and restore something on the side. First, I got a 1972 Inka 2000 touring that I built with all the Alpina parts I had been squireling away for a decade or two. Took a couple years to build and it was a great little car but after a while I wanted another project, so I sold it. The road eventually led to the e21 Alpina, my longest and more comprehensive project.
But has Father Time caught up with me? I’ve reached an age where this might be my last project. I’m on the wrong side of 60 now, just had my second joint replaced, two heart “procedures” in the past ten years, and a cancer diagnosis (thankfully benign). Even more importantly, when I wrench on the cars, I often feel more frustration than the zen-like joy it used to bring. And my back aches for hours after. I still want to put a lift in my big (for me) three-car garage but is it worth it now?
And the age shows in my daily-driver. It’s still a BMW, a Sunset Orange f31 330i wagon. The car is a testament to the compromises of old age and practicality: an automatic, all-wheel drive for winter driving, turbo four for gas mileage. Yes, it has factory sport seats and I added a custom thicker steering wheel and (knock off) M3 CSL wheels. But, after buying all the parts to lower the suspension, I ended up selling them and leaving it stock—something I’ve never done before. Why? The road around here are rough, I like having my wife in the car with me and she hated the last f31’s lowered suspension, and honestly, for the intended use of the car, stock suspension is fine. It’s funny: my first 2002 got a steering wheel and wider wheels, the two things I’ve done on the wagon. Fifty-something years ago it was because that was all I could afford. Now, it’s because it’s all I want. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but it is full circle.
Does this progression, this arc affect the Alpina? Maybe, maybe not. Like most carboys, I have a wandering eye and mind. And the daily emails from Bring-a-Trailer and Cars and Bid only make it worse. Do I want to sell my 1972 2000 touring and the Alpina and get something that fits my old age better—i.e., something that requires less work and is a little less vintage/a bit more comfortable? Would I like a e46 M3? An Alpina B8 4.6 e36? Something a bit more “plug and play” than a 50-year-old restoration project? I was the high bidder on this auction and wonder if that would satisfy my elderly car obsession.
After the auction did not meet reserve, the buyer and I negotiated for a bit before someone else stepped up. I regret not getting it but I also know I’m torn: I like vintage cars and an e36 isn’t vintage to me. Can I find something that threads that needle, vintage but more comfortable and reliable? Am I in the adult version of that street/track phase where I’m trying to serve two masters but satisfying neither? Can this carboy ever be happy? All I know for sure is that I just keep obsessing over cars that could be my next toy or my next project. And then I wonder when is this going to stop? When will I be satisfied? If history is any guide, never. But in the meantime I’m just going keep asking when is this gonna stop?
