A vintage trip along the Cavan Strip
Going for a lunchtime walk while in a world of my own I was suddenly struck by a car. To clarify, I was struck by the sight of a car; which surprised me as real-world cars are something I have little interest in.
I stopped to watch the car as it drove towards me. What first struck me was its size, it was tiny, almost like a toy car. Then I noticed it was gleaming white and dressed up to the nines in ribbons, for a wedding. As it passed, I glanced at what I assumed to be a bridegroom sitting in the passenger seat. Afterwards, I saw it parked outside the Cathedral and thought what a creatively-quirky wedding car it was.
Not long after I was describing the car to a friend who has a keen interest in cars of every vintage, he immediately said: “It sounds like a Fiat bambino, or a Fiat 500.” I googled it and saw that it was indeed the classic little Italian love-buggy that was zooming a groom to his nuptials – how groovy.
I’ve become aware of vintage cars in and around the metropolis of Cavan. I love walking round town early on a Sunday morning when the streets are silent and sleepy; and it feels like I’m the only guy in the village. One soft and wet morning a car stopped me and took me back to a sleepy English village sometime in the 1960s. A handsome Morris Minor gleamed outside the Protestant Church, and for a minute I wondered if Cavan was being used as a setting for a cosy crime drama serial in the vein of Miss Marple. But no, someone had simply parked their beautifully cared for motor on the street and I took the time to admire its black-beauty.
There’s something so celluloid about vintage cars, and I think therein lies their appeal for me; they’re intrinsically part of much loved stories and films. On summer time visits to Ireland as a child, I loved being driven in my aunt and uncle’s Volkswagen Beetle. And of course, when the Beetle was parked up and no one was looking, I would talk to him as if he were a living being, like Herbie The Love Bug from the classic film.
As I grew older I became to associate cars with all the glamour of James Bond. In those films, they were less a car, more a character. They were sleek and beautiful; and despite Bond’s penchant for the beautiful girl, I knew it was the car that truly stole his heart.
One recent Saturday morning a friend arranged to pick me up to go for breakfast. Whilst waiting along the road I was literally shaken and stirred when said friend pulled up in a 1968 Mustang. Jumping in the back, I was transported to another world. The Cavan bypass became an American-Freeway; and as we turned onto the Dublin road, I blurred my eyes as we cruised by Kyte Powertech and into Kiernan’s Service Station. For the briefest of moments I was in the Mustang from Diamonds Are Forever, cruising along the Las Vegas Strip.
And then dear reader, climbing out of the Mustang and walking away from Diamonds Are Forever, I walked straight into my all-time favourite Bond film, in Kiernan’s service station café.
In the café conversations sped around the breakfast-group like a grand-prix. Eventually I settled by a Lotus Esprit. I began talking of the Lotus Roger Moore drove into the sea; and much to his beautiful passenger’s relief, it converted to a submarine. An affable man who I’d only just met, said casually, “I’m in that film.” I juddered, stalled, picked up my dropped jaw and asked, “You were in The Spy Who Loved Me?” He nodded, “Yeah, in the opening submarine scene, I’m one of the submariners.”
This man has been in a Bond film, yet he was so beautifully blasé about it. Myself, I was star struck and listened to him while I sipped my coffee like a Martini, shaken, not stirred.
Afterwards I got a lift back to town in the Mustang, enjoying a cruise along what I now call, the Cavan Strip. Sitting down to write this column I smiled – how superbly random that on a Saturday morning I was driven to my own little piece of, “Double-Oh-Heaven.”
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