Patina is not the name of the fanciest Italian restaurant in town; it is the word to describe the faded, dusty finish of an old car. In the old days a car worthy of collecting was worthy of an extensive and expensive restoration that would refinish the car to a lustrous shine that was every bit as good, if not better, than the finish that came from the factory. But today there is an appreciation for an original car with its faded finish. The feeling seems to be that anyone can repaint and recondition an old wreck of a car and breath new life into a hulk, but a car that is untouched yet still in servable condition is rare and special.
Cars that have survived 20 years or more in original condition have lived a charmed life. It is possible for a daily driver to endure with loving care, but the challenges of harsh northern winters and salted roads make such cars rare outside of the sunshine belt of the South Western and South Eastern United States. If you do find a survivor in the Rust Belt, it has been the cherished possession of an eccentric family or in the babied custody of an avid enthusiast who have carefully garaged their cars at the first hint of snow. But out here in warm, dry Southern California it is not uncommon to find cars 40-50 years old being driven by the original owner on a daily basis.
In my neighborhood there is a nice little old lady who drives a 1966 Mustang that seems to be untouched by time except for 40 years worth of parking lot dings and stone chips. In the local mall parking lot there is a 1973 Chevy Nova that has lost some of its chrome trim but otherwise is as it was when sold new. Near my office in Hollywood there is a mid-1950’s Ford Crown Victoria that appears to have never experienced the ravishes of time. At the car wash I met an gentleman in his 70’s who is the proud original owner of an immaculate 1987 Honda CRX Si. And these are hardly the only examples; the streets of Southern California are the automotive version of Valhalla for old cars that seem to live on forever in the comfort of the California sunshine.
My hobby car can be classified as one of the patina-blessed cars of Southern California. A 1987 Honda CRX Si, I rescued this car from a life of abandonment from a suburban driveway where it had been parked when its owner became a mother of two and needed a larger source of transportation. I have bent and shaped this humble grocery getter into my personal interpretation of what a performance car should be. Under the surface, nearly every part and sub-system has been modified to exact the most power, the greatest amount of road holding and the surest brakes. But the exterior has been left untouched, the paint is the same coating that left the factory in Japan. To the casual observer my car is no different from the rest of the compact cars seen on the street.
But recently I changed out the hood of my car for a Carbon Fiber hood. The new hood saves weight off of my car and thus serves to enhance performance, but it also ruins the stealth characteristics of my car. The contrasting color of the Carbon Fiber hood is like a red flag that announces my car’s sporting intentions. My cover is blown, the patina that my car has enjoyed as a cloak of anonymity is no longer enough to insure that my car does not draw unwelcome attention from racer wannabes, thieves and the enforcers of traffic laws.
In the logic of the car hobby, now that my cover has been blown I am compelled to finish the job and perfect the car’s exterior. My buddy’s tell me that it makes no sense to lay claim to Patina when the Carbon Fiber hood cries out that this car has been modified. But I am strong. I will resist the temptation to spend a lot of money to replace the damaged body panels and repaint the entire car. Because at heart I still cling to my automotive motto that Form Follows Function.