A 2.8i at 18? You must be mad!

One of my first ever memories is of when I was just three years old. I was a passenger in my mother’s car, at the time a Mk1 Fiesta 950, and we had just pulled out of the end of our road, when a long, low sleek sportscar flashed past, a vision in bright lime green. Being crazy about cars at the time I gawped and gawped some more at this beast. It was unlike any car I’d seen before - it had a flat front end that was at once aggressive and subtle; a huge bonnet which rippled with power bulges like a shirt stretched tightly over a bodybuilder’s torso; a long low cabin with sweeping windows which lead into a tapering, down-turned tail. I turned to my mother.

‘What’s that, Mum?’ I said breathlessly

‘That’s a Ford Capri,’ she said

‘Can we buy one?’ I asked

‘No!’

And so I continued to be carted around in the back of my father’s A-reg Vauxhall Cavalier, or my mother’s Fiesta. But I never forgot that chance encounter, that first time I ever saw a Capri. Thereafter, every time I saw one, a part of me thought ‘Wow, that looks great!’ And. although I never lusted after one as I did after posh exotica like the Ferrari’s, the Lamborghini’s, the Maserati’s and the Jaguars, the Capri was always a car that, given the chance, I would have loved to own.

Fast-forward to 2002, and six months from my driving test. I couldn’t wait for the time to come when I could actually drive my own car to wherever I wanted to, and I was already trying to decide what I wanted to get as my first car. However, I had learned that at that age the limiting factor was not necessarily the purchase budget, but in fact the insurance premium. As such, a lot of time was spent researching to try and find cars that were quick yet cheap to insure. One day I was bored and, thinking it was a foregone conclusion that the insurance company would laugh in my face, I put a Capri 1.6 Laser into the online quote machine. I was amazed when the quote that returned was not only affordable, but pretty cheap as well!

It was on that day when my love affair with the car you always promised yourself really kicked off. For about four months I had images in my mind’s eye of myself behind the wheel of a stunning black Laser Capri, window wound fully down, arm hanging lazily on the top of the door and shooting about the place making Euro-box drivers jealous and impressing the ladies. My parents had always been uneasy about me getting a Capri, however, and as they were the ones who were to be helping me out with the finances, their opinion counted. One day they told me that they didn’t want me to get a Capri because they were concerned about the reliability issues, the safety issues, the cost issues, etc. I tried to keep my dream alive, but the decision was final. So that was that as far as that idea went, and I set about looking for a cheap hatchback to get me about for a few years until I could afford to move up in the world.

The yearning for a Capri never really went away, though, and early in 2003 I decided I could afford to insure a 2.0 Laser, so I set about looking for one. I was seriously tempted by a bright red example in immaculate condition, but I was kidding myself - I really couldn’t afford it at the time - so I put down those crazy ideas and bought a 1.8-litre Mondeo Estate, which three friends and I took on a 3-week cruise around Europe.

By this time, I had found an insurance company which was quoting me remarkably well on a 2.8 Injection. This excited me hugely, as I’d always wanted an Injector really and couldn’t wait to be able to buy one. So when we returned from our trip, I sold the Mondeo which had served its purpose well and, having run around in a banger for a couple of months in order to save up some cash to put aside, I set about buying my first Capri...

What a thing it was to be looking through adverts for 2.8 Injections with a view to actually owning one! I couldn’t quite believe that I was 18 years old and, while all my friends were running around in low-powered hatchbacks, I was seriously about to buy a 2.8-litre V6 rear-wheel-drive monster. The first car I went to see was a white C-reg Special, which had apparently been fully restored by Practical Classics magazine as a project car two years previously. This was borne out by the previous owner’s name on the V5 being Practical Classics Magazine - but if they had restored it, they hadn’t done the a great job of it by any means. Quite a large amount of rust was already starting to make its way through the paint on the slam panel, and the interior was far from perfect. I wasn’t impressed, and it really wasn’t worth the asking price (which I couldn’t really afford in any case!) This, however, was my first taste of Capri-dom: the first Capri I’d ever driven, and the first time I’d heard a Cologne V6 in full swing, and I was well and truly bitten by the bug!

The second car I went to see was also somewhat out of my price range - a black Special on a D-plate, which the guy had owned since 1987 and had all the history for. A lovely car, but I was put off by the difficulties we had in starting it, as well as the spits and spots of rust starting to appear. Besides which, it was far too expensive for what it was, so I left it alone for someone else to sort out and went off to see my third car, another black Special. This time it was a C-reg car with immaculate bodywork and which ran sweet as a nut. However, it had electrical problems which meant that the dashboard electrics were temperamental at best. On the other hand, though, it did have retro-fit electric windows and central locking, as well as a smooth gearchange, sweet engine and hardly any rust. This was the best I’d seen so far, and I was sorely tempted. However, I didn’t know the extent of those electrical problems, and they could have been costly to repair. The numberplate summed it up for me, though - ‘DUD’, it said, plain and clear in black and white letters. It was an omen. I left my third Capri well alone.

By this time, though, I was looking around at other cars. The Capris I had seen were rusty and decrepit, and each had serious question marks in several areas. My insurance company were also doing me very good deals on some more modern cars too, and I had always fancied a fast, small cabriolet. I decided to go to East London to see a couple up there, and was going to take a mate with me. There was also a 2.8 Injection for sale in Essex which was, as he pointed out to me, pretty near to where we would be going. I almost didn’t go and see it, because it seemed overpriced and didn’t sound at all promising in the advert. However, we decided to pay it a quick visit early in the day, more to get it over and done with than anything else, and to compare with the cabriolets which we would go and see later.

But I knew when I first clapped eyes on it that I had to have it. It sat on a dealer’s forecourt in Grays in Essex, resplendent in its black paintwork, surrounded by blog mid-90’s hatchbacks. It was dusty, but I could see the telltale shine of the paintwork which meant that this car had been kept in a garage. As we looked around, it became more and more obvious that this was a very well-kept car - and that was before we were shown the history, which came in a huge folder an inch thick! It included every MOT back to 1988, including the current one which went on for about nine months. It looked promising, so we took it for a drive, but it was then that a problem was revealed. The car was juddering and stuttering all over the place after just 15 minutes of driving. It felt like a fuel contamination problem, and this theory was supported by the fact that it was fine after being left stood for a few minutes.

Naturally, it put a downer on the rest of the car’s exemplary condition. We arrived back at the dealership and I cast my eyes around the car once more. The Recaro seats were untorn and hardly worn at all. The engine bay was rust-free, as was the rest of the bodywork. The interior was clean, tidy, and finished with a lovely slab of walnut. But there was still a nagging doubt in my mind about this fuelling problem, which could have been a sign of deeper troubles. It was a tough call. I pondered for a few minutes, but then I caught my friend gazing down at the front end of the car, a wry smile on his face. He turned to me and said ‘It’s got your initials on the numberplate.’ He was right: loud and proud, front and back, this Capri proclaimed itself to be ‘AJR’s’. My decision was made. I put down a deposit on the spot, and on the way to the cashpoint to collect the money, I proceeded to deafen my friend with whoops, yells, and other such irrational exuberance. My dream was coming true: I was finally about to own a Capri.

~

It was twenty-eight degrees Celsius outside, and rising. You could feel the heat from the black tarmac through the floor of the car, and I dangled my arm lazily out of the window in the warm sunshine as I checked the speedo once again. 70mph, dead on - the same as it had been for the past few hundred miles, a conscious effort I had been making to keep my speed down and to limit the huge amounts of fuel being guzzled by the Capri as I sped south. But not even the monotony of the inside lane of a French motorway, at speeds slower than most other cars, and even a few lorries and coaches, could dampen my spirits. There was not a cloud in the sky, and I was heading for my favourite place in the world, in my dream car. I had owned the Capri for about nine months, and had regretted not a minute.

I had been creeping slowly up on a large artic when the BMW estate overtook me. It was wearing Belgian number plates, just the same as quite a few of the BMW estates which had overtaken me that day. But what made this particular car stick out from all the rest was the small child whose face and hands were pressed to the rear window, in sheer fascination at the glamorous black car they were overtaking. Smiling the smile of a man who had been waiting a while for the chance to show off his pride and joy, I knocked the Capri down into second gear and prodded the loud pedal. I pulled out first behind the BMW, and then out into the clear fast lane. Still winding on revs, the Capri surged past the BMW, the Janspeed exhausts bellowing, and I changed up to fifth. As I pulled back in front, I eased up, and dropped into line in front of the artic in the inside lane. I had soon dropped back down to that 70mph constant, and noticed the BMW estate coming up behind me in the middle lane again. It swept past, no faster than before - but with one very excited young boy waving madly from the rear window, and grinning like he’d just found a house made of chocolate.

Making that kid’s day is just one of a huge number of fantastic memories of the times I’ve had with the Capri. It is now a year and a half since that fateful day in Essex, and so much has happened since that time. The car has been shown off to friends at shows (most notably Fiesta in the Park 2004, when she made her first real public appearance in my possession). I have had bodywork repairs, brake repairs, suspension repairs and electrical repairs. As you have seen from that little anecdote, too, I have taken her on a 3000-mile month-long jaunt to France and back. I have taken her to university, only to find her too costly to run. And now, the latest instalment is that I have had the engine fully rebuilt to Stage 2 specification.

But what is living with a Capri actually like? And what can be so great that it pushes me through the financial woes, the squeaks and rattles, the idiosyncrasies, and the regularity with which Stuff Breaks?

In answer to the first question, living with a Capri 2.8 is surprisingly easy. Yes, the car feels its age in certain areas, but I know for a fact that it doesn’t feel nearly as old or heavy as you might expect. The steering is light and easy-to-use, the pedal feel is adequate and the car is easy to drive. Of course, when you’re driving the car, you don’t care about any of that. This is because it’s simply a huge amount of fun.

Look out over the long bonnet, point the power bulge in the direction you want to go, and launch yourself into the sunset, and you’ll see why. The fun comes not from slinging it round corners, as you’d find in a well-sorted sportscar, nor purely in out-and-out acceleration, such as in a mad modified hot hatch; chiefly, the enjoyment is simply from the experience of driving a Capri. Sat low, with that bonnet stretched in front of you, the big six woofling you along lazily as you simply cruise, and enjoy the fond looks from people remembering the three-litre their dad or uncle used to own. There lies the enjoyment of the drive in this car. It is impossible not to be captivated by the sound and smell of the thing; not to feel your heart beat that little bit quicker as you hear the deep engine note coming back at you from walls and tunnels; not to feel special as you thrum along, a black blur just passing through but stirring so many smiles.

Of course, if you really do open her up, the 2.8 can still shift reasonably quickly, even after 20-odd years - in my car’s case especially, thanks to the modified camshaft, big-valve heads, overbore and various other additions to the engine. The performance is not brutal, but instead it is refined; the torque building and building in an ever-increasing wall of acceleration and sound until it’s time to change up a gear, and repeat the process. Above 100mph, the car still pulls well right up to 130mph and beyond (at least, according to the speedometer). And of course, the inevitable tail-out characteristics of the Capri are ever-present. One simply cannot deny the simple pleasure of tipping the back end out in a progressive, controlled slide, then correcting it and carrying on your way.

However, the Capri’s tendency to do this is highly overplayed - in my experience, certainly, they aren’t anywhere near as bad as many will have you believe. In fact, the Capri handles a lot better than I expected it would before I bought mine, and with those big fat grippy tyres on the back, you have to be pretty silly with the throttle to get it seriously out of shape in the dry. In the wet, though, it’s a different matter - you do have to rule out all ideas of fast back-road driving and simply take it easy on pretty much every bend!

I am thankful for that chance encounter with the lime green Capri all those many years ago, as it set me on a path I will never regret. Despite its shortcomings, the Capri is a spellbinding car to own and drive. Any trace of doubt, any hint of the magic wearing off which may be brought on by rust, wear, leaks, or seized heater motors, is simply washed away by wave after wave of grins when you actually drive it. The combination of senses which are tickled by this awesome car, and the rush it can give you just from cruising in it, are truly fantastic.

You can show me cars which are faster; you can show me cars which are better built; you can show me cars which sound louder or throatier. But you will never show me a car which I will enjoy more than my Capri.