Memories of my MG Midget in 1978, Phoenix, Arizona


Yesterday I decided, on impulse, to post a photo of my MG Midget in 1978 on a Facebook group page called "Arizona Memories". And it is a fond memory of mine, as I had just driven it there the year before, from Minneapolis, where I grew up, and I was totally amazed by Phoenix.

The Facebook comments were wonderful, and cheerful, with only a few people actually touching on the fact that the car was so unreliable. I was twenty years old when I took this pic, and as I recall the unreliability of the car was a source of constant worry for me. It would break down for no apparent reason, and in those days I didn't have Triple A, and I was all alone in Phoenix. So while I enjoyed driving it, I was always glad to get home safely.

I wrecked it the next year, and since it's been gone for so long it's become a pleasant memory for me. But the reality is that it really was a piece of junk. I bought it in Minneapolis, when the car was eleven years old, and the bottom sheet metal had already rusted out so badly that you could see the road below the car. I took a piece of sheet metal and about a million screws to cover it up. But overall the car was falling apart, with so much rust and bondo (some applied by me) that up close it just looked ridiculous. The front end couldn't be aligned, and I burned through the tires on the trip, and tried not to go to far after that, keeping it in town. The clutch went out right after I moved to Phoenix, and the transmission stuck when you shifted from first to second. The list went on and on.

It was, by the way, a roadster not a convertible, and I drove it like that. If that confuses you, it just has to do with attitude - a roadster is always driven without the top except in cases of extreme weather, and a convertible is driven with the top up mostly, and the top is put down on nice days. My Midget had a completely removable top, which I stored in the closest of my apartment, and I drove it with the tonneau, something that I wouldn't dream of doing now in my, ahem, older years.

This view, which is looking south on Wonderview Road just east of 56th Street, up on Camelback Mountain, is a bittersweet one. I really was all alone, and I would take my Polaroid camera with me and take pictures of the scenery, and of my car.

Moving thousands of miles away from home when I was nineteen, and living on my own, was something that I really wanted. I couldn't wait for the day when I would be able to do this, and I was so proud of my horrible little apartment, and the terrible food that I fed myself. This felt so grownup!

But there were times when it was hard, and I was sad. No, I didn't miss Minneapolis, and the snow and cold, but I did feel homesick. I wrote to friends, my mom, and also to a girl that I had just met in Minneapolis (who later moved out to Arizona, but it didn't work out for us).

I remember wondering how I would feel someday, looking back. I was determined to live life on my own terms, to not have the type of dull life that I'd seen so much of in Minneapolis. I wanted to drive a sports car, and live in the sun, and I did. It was amazing, and it still is.
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