Eat Park Love

At the risk of sounding cheesy, I have to admit that writing this column on the eve of Valentine’s Day has a lot to do with my choice of topic. Besides by the time you read this, it’ll be just the day after V-Day and a lot of you might still be nursing a love-struck hangover from being shot with Cupid’s arrow.

Yes, this column was inspired by Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love novel which spawned the Julia Roberts film of the same name. In the story, the lead character takes off for Italy, India and Indonesia to experience three very diverse cultures and learn about love and life in a deep and almost spiritual manner.

I’ve been to two of those three countries but I won’t be expounding on the zen of love and life in any of them. Well, at least not necessarily. And definitely not in solitude. This is a motoring column, after all. And if there’s any allusion to romance or other matters of the heart, it’ll be of the four-wheeled kind.

Last year marked several major milestones for the automobile industry. Mercedes-Benz celebrated its 125th anniversary. So did long-time German car parts maker, Bosch. Chevrolet marked its centennial last year while off-road veteran Jeep marked its 70th year of existence. Those are seriously big numbers as far as anniversaries go.

We are all aware of – in fact many of us have felt – an attraction to our cars. Which makes man’s love affair with the automobile perhaps one of the most enduring of all.

Do you remember the first time you felt something special towards a car? Was it your first toy? A shiny new car that caught your eye as you stared out the window on a highway as a child? Was it love at first sight? It’s these special moments that create that first spark – the ones that define us and shape us into a future car lover.

Car lover.

I love that phrase. It is simple enough to explain yet contains more than one meaning. And I’m sure many of you will relate to me.

I love cars. I’ve fallen in love with a car. I’ve fallen in love inside a car. I’ve experienced love inside a car. I’ve fallen in love driving a car. I’ve had a special someone fall in love with me driving a car. And let’s not forget the one thing I love to do inside a heavily tinted car: stuffing my face with at least eight French fries in one go. It’s one guilty pleasure you should try sometime. Just don’t let anybody see you. It’s not a pretty sight.

My love affair with cars goes back a long way and exists on so many different levels. One of my favorite greeting cards came from my late maternal grandmother. It was for my seventh birthday. The inscription inside was simple and didn’t even mention anything about cars; but what I cannot forget is the red Jaguar E-Type on the front of the card. Then – and now – the E-Type will always be one of the most breathtakingly beautiful cars of all time.

My favorite childhood photo? A black-and-white photo of a four-year-old me behind the wheel of a pedal-powered VW Beetle toy car. I still have that greeting card and photo with me.

And like all matters of the heart, cars – especially European ones – can break our hearts, too. I remember arguing with my dad to keep – and restore – a nearly decrepit old Fiat that my grandfather brought home from Spain. I eventually won. Now I’m glad to have experienced the joys of spirited Italian motoring (Italian Racing Red sedan body, leather seats with Momo steering wheel, twin-cam twin-Weber aluminum engine designed by the creator of the Ferrari Daytona V12 engine, five-speed stick, four-wheel disc brakes, Veglia gauges, Cromodora wheels) at the age of 20 rather than in the cusp of a midlife crisis.

Unfortunately, it had Italian electrics (which are just slightly more reliable than its English-made counterpart) plus head gaskets that kept leaking, timing belts that kept snapping (thankfully without contact between the valves and pistons), and brake calipers that kept locking up (I kept a 9mm socket wrench under my seat so I can bleed the locked caliper anytime).

I used to bleed the calipers so regularly I could jump out of the car, reach behind the wheel/tire, fit the wrench over the bleeder valve at the top of the caliper, give the valve a few quick twists, and jump back inside before the light turned green.

But there were, um, other problems. Like when a rear suspension arm broke which made the rear axle twist every time I stepped on the gas. I remember a friend who slowed down beside me asking why I was doing 10 kph on a nearly deserted White Plains Ave. With a straight face, I told him the torque from the engine would cause the car to swing its tail to the left with a mere tap of the accelerator no thanks to a broken left trailing arm. He drove off without saying a word.

Then there was the time the rubber donut coupling for the propeller shaft broke. The shaft swung wildly, smashing the gearshift lever linkage to smithereens. The gearshift lever inside the car remained intact – except for the fact that it wasn’t connected to anything underneath. It was like one big joystick – with Ferrari’s traditional black billiard ball shift knob on top. Thankfully, the car was still in gear (2nd gear to be exact) and I was able to limp the car home.

I learned a lot about metallurgy and engineering with all the times I was at the machine shop to have this or that part machined or fabricated. I had no choice. Where else would you go in Manila to get a part for a 13-year-old Italian sports sedan that was never even sold in the country?

That’s why you better believe it when they say that Latin lovers are hot but temperamental.

But that’s love. And we all do crazy things for love. Even to the point of breaking our own hearts. Or bank accounts.

But it’s all wonderfully character-building and by golly, if I had a choice, I would do it all again. In a heartbeat.