I am a rather odd 25 year old. I carry a pocket watch, read leather bound Charles Dickens novels, send wax sealed letters and spend my Sunday mornings in quiet coffee shops turning the pages of The Financial Times. I am repulsed by the notion that the youth of today meet on inelegant apps to fulfill their lower desires before waking up next to a stranger attempting to remember their consorts name whilst watching vacuous Love Island – take a bow Tinder.
Oh how I yearn to be from days past. That being said, I will always use the latest generation of iPhone, not to use aforementioned dating applications, but to revel and take advantage of the greatest things of this era. I am a sucker for social media, not to share selfies (or nudes) but to share a bisected smudge of a recent escapade overseas where details are left scarce and the best memories remain to be shared over dinners and re-run in the minds of those that inspired such journeys and whom I had the immeasurable pleasure of creating moments to cherish for my remaining days on earth. My social media channels are a dot-to-dot, the gaps between the black blots are not for news feeds, tweets or snapchats.
Old school thrills are what I want, but with the added comfort of modern tech to clean up the spills. I want to walk through a forest with my phone on airplane mode to free myself of the shackles to instant contact before getting peckish and switching my 4G on to location the nearest boutique Gelataria. It’s so easy to forget the best things are far removed from the comforts of technology and the bustle and noise of the rat race.
This brings me onto a machine like no other – the Morgan 3 Wheeler. I refer to it as a machine as I do not see it as a car, but a mode of transport that not only moves you from one place to another, but into a different era. Modern cities are choked by articulated lorries, buses and so many Prius Ubers that you would need an abacus to keep count. Cars these days are a commodity that are used not for pleasure, but for convenience.
The romance of the automobile is dead. Think back to the 1900s, specifically France – there were less than 3,000 cars in the entire country. Tyre manufacturer Michelin wanted to encourage the use of the motor car so created the infamous Michelin Guide. It was first published in 1900 and was designed to get people onto the roads and drive to restaurants and hotels. It was the introduction of driving pleasure in a bound book, and it was free until 1922.
Imagine reading about a spectacular hotel or Michelin starred restaurant, calling out to your spouse to get ready to go for a drive and just driving. I need not imagine, this is something I try to do as frequently as possible, as I said – I’m a rather bizarre 25 year old.
Back to that machine – the Morgan 3 Wheeler. When you have such a car you don’t think about taking the Morgan to nip into the office, or to drive to the local supermarket – it’s back to basics pared back approach leaves no space for groceries and the lack of a roof means this isn’t a car for your daily commute. No, the Morgan 3 Wheeler is the machine you reserve for those special escapes to the country to enjoy a drive to a picnic in a lavender field, ice cream by the seaside or an anniversary dinner in town. It is the ultimate mode of transport to whisk you to the weekend treat you indulge in for no purpose other than merriment.
I spent a week with the Mog and such a short amount of time meant that I did not have the luxury of being able to check out the weather forecast and pick and splendid day to enjoy the Mog in. I commuted to work in it for four consecutive days through rain, hail, lightning and sleet. I imagine I would receive fewer glances, requests for photos and questions if I wore a tutu and ballet pumps around central London than I did driving the 3 Wheeler around town in a hail storm. What’s bizarre is just how happy and friendly spectators are to the driver of such a thing. I’ve driven a plethora of supercars on the same commute and people look but never want you to notice that they’ve looked as if they feel you do not deserve the satisfaction. The stark opposite is experienced in the Morgan. There are thumbs up, smiles, approving nods and pedestrians jostle for the best selfie angle with the car at traffic lights.
The attention could only be akin to an a-list celebrity strutting to lunch during London Fashion Week. It really had people tripping over one another to catch a second glance.
Driving to work in changeable conditions was surprisingly pleasant, but as I mentioned, it is by no means the primary focus of such a toy. The weekend came and it was time to escape the big smoke for greener pastures and rolling hills of the country. I called up a couple of friends and told them we were going for a drive. Country roads are where you can really put the 3 Wheeler through its paces – unfortunately for me there is a lot of motorway driving to get to such exciting roads.
I’ll be lying if I said that the Morgan was in its element on a motorway cruise – it’s bone shakingly hard and the wind noise and chill above 60 miles per hour is enough to have to down with a cold for months to come. The harsh winds of the motorways care not for you layering attempts.
Mercifully, the motorway trundle with the two-cylinder S&S motorcycle blaring away at 3,500rpm ceased before tinnitus set in and all my fillings had rattled into the passenger footwell.
Empty ribbons of sweeping tarmac awaited. Before basting in at 100 miles per hour I took stock of the driving aids…or thereby lack of. Power steering, nope, traction control, absent, ABS, only the ones you earn in the gym. There really are no driver aids and you feel it in a raw and unfiltered driving experience. You quickly bond with the Morgan and learn that the steering inputs must be massive – there is a tiny turning circle, that you cannot take liberties on down shifts or the single rear wheel with lock up and scare the shit out of you. Don’t think about compensating for this by braking harder, you’ll lock up and see the giant bicycle tyres doing so in front of you. There’s a way to drive a three wheeler and it doesn’t take long to learn it.
You get into a flow, a rhythm and suddenly you forget about the frostbite you’re earning and that your girlfriend in the passenger seat is inevitably going to use this drive against you when she nexts suggests you visit her parents.
It is a magnificent experience and one that you’ll be able to access doing 40 miles an hour, not 100 as you need to be doing in a supercar on the same roads.
This isn’t a car you’ll buy with your logical adult mind. It’s a toy that your inner child will beg you have in the garage and take out on a sunny day for a sunrise blast on your favourite B road. You’ll also need a few other cars in the garage and I suspect the typical 3 Wheeler owner has a serious collection for the Morgan to join. It is a real enthusiasts dream – a machine with no real purpose other than putting a giant blinding smile on your face – there are few cars in production today that are as pure or demanding than the 3 Wheeler and for that we must applaud Morgan and celebrate this little gem.
