I started reading the August issue and was unpleasantly surprised to see a picture, with words, of a vehicle that I took on a nightmare excursion shortly after my first marriage. The TC 2000 made sure it wasn’t a honeymoon.
I bought it brand new in 1967 from a BMC dealer in San Francisco, California. My friends pleaded with me to buy a BMW 2002, citing the dubious reliability of British metal. I ignored their sage advice to my detriment. The car blew head gaskets, locked rear brakes on San Francisco hills, overheated, and had fuel leaks, but that wasn’t the worst. No, a planned two-week vacation trip to the Grand Canyon released the Rover’s inner evil.
I won’t go into all the details, just the most egregious. The car made it from San Francisco to Flagstaff, Arizona, without any problems. We even made it to the Grand Canyon without a complaint. However, in the evening, we left the Canyon for Phoenix. Within minutes of driving, we found that the car would not shift into second or third gears. It was just mush. I could get into first and fourth, but not anything in between.
We embarked on the trip using only those two gears, which entailed revving highly in first before lugging into fourth. Late at night we arrived at our hotel in Phoenix. The next morning, I called the local Rover/Citroën dealer (there’s a combination!) and the head (and only) mechanic told me to bring the car in right away. A day later he called to say a transmission shaft bushing had broken in half and he had ordered the parts from San Francisco. He would call when they arrived. It was Wednesday by the time they arrived, and I
