I’m getting a bit fed up with the fact that all of my cars are rusting. I nearly always buy cheap, so it’s not surprising that most of my automotive purchases have a dose of tin worm. In theory, buying more modern machinery would give a much better chance of beating corrosion, but I don’t like modern cars. The Sirion is quite modern enough. And it’s still rusting.

So, quite naturally, I’ve been wondering whether it is possible to own a vehicle that is rust proof. In theory, the answer is yes. All that’s necessary is a galvanised chassis and plastic bodywork. This must be the perfect vehicle then!

Rustproof! If a bit short of wheels

Yes, the Reliant Rialto. A mild re-working of the legendary Robin. An important change was the move to a galvanised chassis. This protected the steel chassis from rust, while there were no corrosion worries with the glassfibre body. I even like the looks, though its less cute than its predecessor. I’ve not driven a Rialto, but I have driven a Robin. I drove it quite hard too. They’re far more stable than you might think, but I’m still not sure I’d ever feel entirely comfortable in one. I’ve done some very silly things with the 2CV, and it has always remained the right way up. The Reliant does have limits, and I’d be scared of one day finding them. There’s also the annoyance that stems from having the engine effectively beneath the windscreen. Some of the engine is accessed from outside, some inside. Or maybe that’s an advantage when it’s raining.

I’ll leave the Rialto on the ‘possible’ list. Galvanising became more and more popular during the 1980s. Porsche became major advocates of it, on the 911, 928 and 944. Problem is, I’ve seen enough 944s with utterly rotten sills to know it isn’t always foolproof. Besides, I can’t afford a Porsche. Audi also started to use it a great deal, but Audis are boring – unless they’re very quick, in which case they’re expensive.

No, I think the combination of plastic and galvo chassis is the way forward. Problem is, most cars were monocoque by the 1980s – apart from the odd anachronism like the 2CV and heavy 4x4s. There is one car that strikes me as ideal however. It’s French, which is always a good thing, has a proper number of wheels, and offers massive practicality.

The Renault Espace, second generation

Yes, the Matra-built Renault Espace. I’d love an early one, but they’ve all pretty much disappeared. It is still possible to find second generation ones from time to time though. I’m not sure I’d want a later one, as complexity started to compromise a great design. The Espace is a true pioneer though. Sure, it wasn’t the first MPV, but it was the first to make real sense in Europe. Super-flexible seating allowed to to switch easily from people carrier to van, while its overall footprint was the same as a large estate. It wasn’t enormous. It was a van-sized car, rather than a van trying to be a car. It was good to drive and wonderfully quirky. That’ll be Matras input. Matra does quirky very nicely. The Espace was originally designed by Matra to tempt Talbot, but that company had its own issues. It does explain why the first Espaces looked more Talbot than Renault though.

After the third generation of Espace, Renault killed off Matra quite cruelly. The fourth-generation Espace was built in steel by Renault itself. Renault gave Matra the ‘compensation’ of building the Avantime. Which was a complete disaster, compounded by Renault creating an in-house rival in the form of the Vel Satis! Karma got its way though, and Renault forgot how to make diesel engines and almost went bankrupt.

I digress. I would very much like an Espace. It would have to replace the BX though. I think it’s probably a sacrifice worth making though. I can’t keep using BXs as cheap daily transport, as they’re no longer up to it. They rot too readily, and when they go, they are not at all easy to repair – especially if the rear subframe mountings go. Would I trade some quirk-factor for a rust proof vehicle? Yes. I think I would.

I’m no mechanic, which will surprise very few people, but I do know my way around an old car. That’s because it’s vital to understand what you drive.

Take the 2CV for instance. Unless you happen to break down very near one of the very few 2CV specialists, repairs can be traumatic. Most garages haven’t got a clue how they work, which means that you, as the driver, really need to. In over 100,000 miles and almost 14 years of ownership, the 2CV has needed the breakdown services only three times – and two of those were alternator failure in the first few years of ownership. Most recently, it needed a tow home after a cooling fan failed. If I’d had a spare and tools, I would have made it home just fine. Preparation is everything!

Roadside tinkering in Switzerland (ignore the legs)

That’s not to say that it has been entirely faultless. I’ve had many battles with electronic ignition, have had a points-assisted system get problematic, had the brake lights pack up and quite a few times had the idle jet in the carburettor get clogged, preventing it from ticking over. I also once had the alternator seize entirely.

But these faults could largely be cured/ignored roadside. When the 2CV refused to start due to a duff 123 electronic ignition unit, I discovered that it would still bump start happily. That said, on one occasion, it took ages to catch, then blew up the exhaust crossbox when it did. I had to drive home with a VERY loud exhaust. When the points-assisted ignition suffered a heat sink-related failure, I increased air flow by removing the engine bay side panels. When the carb jets got blocked, I cleared them by slapping my hand on top of the carb with the engine revving to suck the muck out. When the alternator seized and stalled the engine, I simply removed the alternator and drove home. When the brake lights packed up, I wired them up to the light switch.

The joy of old cars is that you CAN do these things. I’d like to see how far  you’d get in a modern car with no alternator fitted. You probably can’t even do it as the belts usually drive many other things. Yes, perhaps it is a downside when you HAVE to do these things, but it’s all part of the bonding process with an older car. You learn where you went wrong and move on. For instance, I stopped buying second-hand alternators and coughed up for a brand new one.

The BXs are similar. You really have to understand the technology, because you’ll struggle to find a qualified mechanic who understands the quirks and dangers of the hydraulic system. Fortunately, things aren’t as scary as you’d think – just different. I seem to recall having an alternator fail on a BX too. I had no tools with me other than a knife, so I cut the alternator belt off and drove home. Sometimes, you have to think on your feet. Old school diesels will drive a VERY long way with no alternator. I managed more than 60 miles that time as I recall.

Trying to identify a brake issue while visiting my sister

Diagnosis is another key requirement. Is that knocking noise something terminal or not? When the 2CV’s cooling fan fell to pieces, the engine didn’t ‘feel’ right, so I stopped, pulled over and found the problem before it destroyed the engine. If I’d carried on, I would have been left searching for a new engine. In the shot above, I was trying to find a fault with the rear brakes on the Golf. It made a horrible squealing sound. I didn’t get to the bottom of it here, but did improve things sufficiently for the drive home to be far more pleasant!

Old cars are, by their very nature, old. That means they’ll have problems that younger, lower-mileage cars won’t. I’m having to drive around a weak third gear synchromesh in the Daihatsu Sirion for instance and a worn engine mounting in the BX. One of those is an easy fix at least! But I am aware of the problems, even if there’s nothing I can immediately do to remedy them.

So, get to know your old cars. It could save you a lot of waiting around roadside, and it’s bloomin’ marvellous when you defeat an issue!

I’ve driven about 800 miles in the new BX now. Today, I drove it back-to-back with the Sirion, which was a very interesting comparison! Is my return to BXing a good thing though?

Arise and we shall go for a drive!

But in this post, I’ll focus on the BX. After the frenetic fun of the Sirion, climbing into the BX is like donning your favourite slippers. The thing is, it’s like discovering that actually, your slippers are ideal footwear for a cross-country run. The BX may be comfortable – I just adore the ride – but you can cover ground pretty swiftly. It’s just that you still feel like you’re in front of the fire with a warm mug of tea, even when pushing on a bit.

The engine is the major reason for the clash. You can’t really accelerate in the traditional term, but you can maintain good speed, without having to raise the revs beyond 2500rpm. Most of the time, I find I’m switching between fourth and fifth where in other cars, I’d be using third, and maybe even second in a desperate attempt to find some grunt. You never feel like you’re taxing the engine, yet you can corner vigorously enough to cause some impressive body roll. This car is far softer than my previous two BXs, which is hardly surprising as the turbo diesels used firmer ‘springing.’ The spheres in those are set to higher pressures like on the performance petrol BXs. They feel almost conventional. What’s the point of that?

After many a month with the Sirion, I find myself looking at the road ahead and cringing in anticipation of discomfort. There are bumps mid-bend around here that cause some anxiety. The BX just saunters over them without being flustered. It’s uncanny.

Not that it’s all good. The single wiper (especially the unswept area) still bugs me, I still need to replace an engine mount and it has a few more fluid leaks than I’m happy with. The dashboard rattles are like Chinese water torture too. Ugh!

But, in case you hadn’t guessed, I’m loving my return to BXing overall. I can’t really believe it’s already been two weeks and 800 miles. I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. Have you had a break from a model of car only to rediscover your love later on? Or did the second chance prove that we sometimes have a rose-tinted version of our memories?