Jackpot!!! – Part 1

It was the stuff that dreams are made of…

In February, a Canadian customer wrote to me with photos of a 1966 E-Type FHC project car that he was considering purchasing. He wanted to know if I thought that the car (which was disassembled and not a very pretty sight in its current state) was worth the asking price. I replied with something to the effect of, “I would buy that for sure at that price – go get it” – and didn’t think much more of it…

Well, about a week later, I got another email from him, saying something to the effect of, “I have come to my senses – I’m already working on TWO project E-Types, and I just can’t justify buying this. They still have it available – go get it” – I think his wife my have also gotten wing of this third E-Type purchase…

So I jumped on the phone and by the end of the day, I had made arrangements to purchase the car, and wired the money up to Canada the next day. The seller was the owner of a car repair shop, but it turned out that the E-type was actually owned by his father, who was winding down his own Jaguar repair business. They agreed to keep the car indoors until the snow melted and the weather improved. Finally, in mid-May, my friend Graham and I drove up to out Summer cottage on the St. Lawrence river, turned on the power and the water, and then set out for a long trek the next day to Saint Sophie, Quebec – about 45 minutes west of Montreal. We arrived without too much trouble – it was about three hours north – although we did get lost once and when all of the signs are in French, it’s a little tougher to get back on track!

Now what I should mention is that the son had said that his father had worked on Jags for many years, and had alot of spare parts. He had sent three blurry photos of some E-Type parts on shelves, and so I brought some extra cash to buy some things – the photos had a couple of transmissions, a front wing, a center console, etc… So when we arrived, I took a look at the car, and then suggested that we take a look at the extra parts that they had, and the father – Max – walked me down to a shabby Quonset hut barn surrounded by dead cars – dead exotic cars, that is. And that’s where this story takes a DRASTIC turn…

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