When dreams don't come true - Miura
Discussion
It won't come as much of a surprise to most on this site that I, like any red blooded male, have always lusted after a Miura. Although a child of the 80's, I never had an Athena Countach or Testarossa on the wall. Instead, I made do with some hideous 80's Honda superbike poster my parents bought me and cut outs of any Miura sales adverts I could find. Tiny little newspaper quality scraps stuck on my wall, dog eared and moistened over time by over enthusiastic blue tac application.
I know these things should be done methodically, but I never dreamed that I would be able to afford such a car, so the practilicalities of "so here we are!" never impinged upon "what if?"
The surprising success of my business a few years ago (suspected least of all by me, but we can all dream), suddenly opened my eyes to the possibility of a Miura and looking in the back of car magazines became a case of "should I?" not "I could never".
Much soul searching about responsibility and financial diligence came and went. And came and went. And then finally went. So a year after first asking a broker, I find myself on a plane to Southern Italy to look at a little known, not-on-the-market-officially Miura SVJ. The Jota modifications were not done at the factory, so it ain't super valuable, but it is a Miura with all the right mods and bits.
I was worried I might not fit, but was assured the LHD cars have more space than the RHD ones and I should be fine. I duly turn up and there she is. Not clean. And not cleaned, but definitely a Miura with a super aggressive stance and cut away bodywork.
Holy Moly. This is it. These people are all here because I'm here. This is perhaps the day of my life that I will remember above all (don't tell my fiancee). They're all talking, but I'm not listening. Sure, I'm umm-ing and aah-ing in the right places, but I couldn't tell you anything about the briefing. I cannot stop looking at the car. It is parked in the middle of some pretty special kit (246 Dino, RS200 off the top of my head), but it just looked so incredibly exotic, everything else looked mundane.
Then the owner starts it. Huge. Massive noise. Right through you. Forget active exhausts and tuned manifolds. This is 4 litres of V12 on 6 carbs with open trumpets into zero silencing. We all just looked at each other and it was all I could do not to cry. He sits there and warms it through for a full 5 minutes and then opens the door, jumps out and beckons me in. This is where my stomach goes properly squirty and half of me wants to say "Just kidding!! You didn't really think I could afford this did you?" and then run.
Sadly, what happened is that I tried to get in. Yep, tried. I'm no freak, but am 6'3" with 35" legs and I just didn't fit. Not even vaguely. I did work out how to get in to it, but my head was jammed so far through the roof lining that my scull touched the roof and my legs were so contorted I couldn't actually turn the wheel with both hands on it and my feet on the pedals. the pedals seemed very close so my knees were touching my elbows.
The truth of what this meant to me hit me incrementally over the course of about a minute. It was like a Wladimir Klitschko jab vs a David Hayemaker. That doesn't work, that doesn't fit, that's just horrible and, oh s
t, I don't fit a Miura...
I was just stunned and horrified. I think I actually went into shock. I got taken out in the car, as a sobbing wreck in the passenger seat (inwardly of course, on the outside I was unshaven and shouting heroic expletives at the driver) but I can genuinely tell you nothing about what it was like. I can't even remember. There were some kind gestures about fixing the seat and changing the roof lining, but that's like offering a bigger goal to the England football team - wrong and ultimately not going to change the result anyway.
I'm not quite sure how I feel after the experience to be honest. Gutted and actually, for once, devoid of any automotive ambition which has never, ever happened before. Sure there are a ton of cars I would love to own, but nothing like the Miura.
Perhaps I should realign and accept maybe the next petrosexual lusting isn't actually for a car. A Spitfire perhaps? Back to work...
I know these things should be done methodically, but I never dreamed that I would be able to afford such a car, so the practilicalities of "so here we are!" never impinged upon "what if?"
The surprising success of my business a few years ago (suspected least of all by me, but we can all dream), suddenly opened my eyes to the possibility of a Miura and looking in the back of car magazines became a case of "should I?" not "I could never".
Much soul searching about responsibility and financial diligence came and went. And came and went. And then finally went. So a year after first asking a broker, I find myself on a plane to Southern Italy to look at a little known, not-on-the-market-officially Miura SVJ. The Jota modifications were not done at the factory, so it ain't super valuable, but it is a Miura with all the right mods and bits.
I was worried I might not fit, but was assured the LHD cars have more space than the RHD ones and I should be fine. I duly turn up and there she is. Not clean. And not cleaned, but definitely a Miura with a super aggressive stance and cut away bodywork.
Holy Moly. This is it. These people are all here because I'm here. This is perhaps the day of my life that I will remember above all (don't tell my fiancee). They're all talking, but I'm not listening. Sure, I'm umm-ing and aah-ing in the right places, but I couldn't tell you anything about the briefing. I cannot stop looking at the car. It is parked in the middle of some pretty special kit (246 Dino, RS200 off the top of my head), but it just looked so incredibly exotic, everything else looked mundane.
Then the owner starts it. Huge. Massive noise. Right through you. Forget active exhausts and tuned manifolds. This is 4 litres of V12 on 6 carbs with open trumpets into zero silencing. We all just looked at each other and it was all I could do not to cry. He sits there and warms it through for a full 5 minutes and then opens the door, jumps out and beckons me in. This is where my stomach goes properly squirty and half of me wants to say "Just kidding!! You didn't really think I could afford this did you?" and then run.
Sadly, what happened is that I tried to get in. Yep, tried. I'm no freak, but am 6'3" with 35" legs and I just didn't fit. Not even vaguely. I did work out how to get in to it, but my head was jammed so far through the roof lining that my scull touched the roof and my legs were so contorted I couldn't actually turn the wheel with both hands on it and my feet on the pedals. the pedals seemed very close so my knees were touching my elbows.
The truth of what this meant to me hit me incrementally over the course of about a minute. It was like a Wladimir Klitschko jab vs a David Hayemaker. That doesn't work, that doesn't fit, that's just horrible and, oh s
t, I don't fit a Miura... I was just stunned and horrified. I think I actually went into shock. I got taken out in the car, as a sobbing wreck in the passenger seat (inwardly of course, on the outside I was unshaven and shouting heroic expletives at the driver) but I can genuinely tell you nothing about what it was like. I can't even remember. There were some kind gestures about fixing the seat and changing the roof lining, but that's like offering a bigger goal to the England football team - wrong and ultimately not going to change the result anyway.
I'm not quite sure how I feel after the experience to be honest. Gutted and actually, for once, devoid of any automotive ambition which has never, ever happened before. Sure there are a ton of cars I would love to own, but nothing like the Miura.
Perhaps I should realign and accept maybe the next petrosexual lusting isn't actually for a car. A Spitfire perhaps? Back to work...
Can't think what to say ... what a well written piece, of a lifelong motoring obsession ultimately turning into a tragedy. In a way I am pleased that it's unlikely that I will ever have the money to have my dreams of Miura ownership shattered in the same way.
(aren't you tempted to buy it anyway, just to look at it?)
(aren't you tempted to buy it anyway, just to look at it?)
I hope to, one day, be in the situation where I can afford to be in a position where I can find out I can't fit into my dream supercar! 
But sounds pretty gut wrenching non-the-less. I presume there are no modifications that can be done.. i.e. modifications to the seat, seat frames that might enable you to actually fit in one?
But sounds pretty gut wrenching non-the-less. I presume there are no modifications that can be done.. i.e. modifications to the seat, seat frames that might enable you to actually fit in one?
I've wanted a Porsche 911 since I was 5. The 930, then later the 964 were exactly what I was after.
So after around 25 years I have the cash to buy and run one as a second car.
Of course I don't fit, head against roof, knees against the dash and my back is too wide for the seat. I took it out anyway to confirm that 8 minutes was long enough for things to start to cramp and there was no point in continuing.
It may be possible to make me fit by changing the drivers seat for something much lower and further back but that's a bit of a gamble and I don't want to ruin the car.
Arse.
So after around 25 years I have the cash to buy and run one as a second car.
Of course I don't fit, head against roof, knees against the dash and my back is too wide for the seat. I took it out anyway to confirm that 8 minutes was long enough for things to start to cramp and there was no point in continuing.
It may be possible to make me fit by changing the drivers seat for something much lower and further back but that's a bit of a gamble and I don't want to ruin the car.
Arse.
At 6ft 2 and a bit inches and 16 stone I feel for you. The monkey style ergonomics of Italian supercars has prevented me also from driving a number of my dream cars. A recent opportunity to try a Countach resulted in almost the same situation. I got out as it would have been dangerous to try and leave the car park.
I remember years ago one of my early dream cars a Lotus Esprit was just as bad. My legs were so jammed against the steering wheel it was impossible to turn it. As for head room, well the less said about that the better
I remember years ago one of my early dream cars a Lotus Esprit was just as bad. My legs were so jammed against the steering wheel it was impossible to turn it. As for head room, well the less said about that the better
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