Jo’s Diary: Save and be saved

Still, while I carry much affection for the experiences associated with those cars, I never fell in love with them. This is why I believe that truly special cars are those that come into our lives when we need them most. This is not always obvious at first. Back in 2019, when I impulse-bought my Cappuccino because I saw a picture of it looking defenseless parked next to other cars, I had this urge to bring it home and protect it from decaying in someone’s driveway. Back then, I thought I’d made a huge mistake.

As I picked up the car from my friend Spencer, I looked at its dented panels, the missing badge and the rust under the slightly red-going-pink paint, and I hoped that one day I would have the means to fix it. I convinced myself it would be fine. I would be patient, I would tackle every problem one at a time.

Unbeknownst to Spencer and many of my friends at the time, I felt as much of a project as the Cappo. I’d gone through some major life changes, with a new job and an amicable but tough breakup from a long-term relationship, which had me move to a different part of the country and live on my own again after seven years. Furnishing my newly rented flat had just wiped a big portion of my savings and having a project car should have been quite low on my list of priorities.

Yet, I think the Cappuccino and I trauma-bonded. The tiny little red car was fun to drive and brought a smile to my face every time I saw it parked outside. Not only that, it seemed to be charming enough to bring happiness to the people around me, too, which meant I was making friends and being sociable again. Eventually, slowly but surely, I was able to take action and started fixing the little things that were under my control and it all started improving from there – which, in this scenario, applied to both my newly acquired Kei car and my life.

That’s why a few years later, when the diagnosis on the Cappuccino seemed terminal, having been taken over by the merciless goblins of road salt, I made the decision to make yet another dubious financial commitment and fell deep into the rabbit hole of an expensive bare shell restoration. But I couldn’t start over with a newer, better shell. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of letting my friend down, not after what it had done for me.

Three years on, I am happy to say we’re both thriving. As I fling the wheel of the little Suzuki towards the corners at Curborough, it follows my lead like a kart. I own much more powerful cars, which had they not been broken or in the workshop would’ve been much better at setting a lap time around the sprint course, but I doubt I’d be having this much fun.

If I ever ask too much of it, it quickly lets me know, though having such a short wheelbase, the rear axle tries to overtake the front without much notice. Like old friends, we spend the day teasing and pushing each other’s buttons, often sideways. At one point I decided to test my luck. I could feel the load transfer to the front tyres on braking on the approach to the Mole Hill, but I thought I could get away with pressing the middle pedal just a little later next time…

I try it on my next run and for the most part think I’ve nailed it. But then my braking point overlaps with my turn-in point, the rear tyres lose grip and my headlights momentarily point straight at the apex cone to my right. Behind there’s mostly just grass, but it’s been freshly mown and not likely to stop me any time soon, so in my head I quickly tally the potential damage and the bill that would come with it. Luckily, my hands do enough work that I can swing its nose to the left. For a fraction of a second we are facing the Mole Hill head on and I wonder how far we’d travel across Lichfield if I hit the launchpad.

I regain control and we are pointing in the correct direction without losing much speed. Both unharmed apart from a slightly bruised ego and some blushing under my helmet. I tap the steering wheel and shout some words of encouragement to the car, which in reality is really a pep talk to myself. I giggle like I’ve done something naughty and I got away with it: I’m having the best time of my life.

I fell in love with the Cappuccino when it was a broken, rusty fledgling, and I love it even more now it turns out to be a surprisingly capable stand-in track car to my Lotus Elise, which is away being prepped. In our time together we’ve both become better versions of ourselves and there is not a doubt in my mind that, given the choice, I’d rescue this car again in every single lifetime. Still, sometimes, I am left to wonder: who actually saved whom?