How a Triumph Spitfire Won a 1,000 Mile Rally

Here’s the full transcript, cleaned up via AI and edited by a human staffer:

“We ran top-down the entire time. Anyone with any sense rallying a roadster is going to have the top down. That’s just how it is.

So John says, “Hey Dave, there’s this cool rally you should go on. You just won the Lemons Rally—you should do this. It’s called the Round Headlamp Rally 1000.” I said, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

I looked it up. The rules were basically: round headlamps—not even required—just a nice, classic car rally. At the time, they said it should be older than 1990, and you had to cover 1,000 miles in two days. That sounded great. I had just gotten my 1990 Chrysler TC by Maserati on the road. It hadn’t even done Lemons yet, so I figured it would be a great idea to take that. I had a couple of other old cars, but I thought, “You know what, the TC is comfy, it’s got square headlamps, it’ll be fine.”

I mentioned it to Dan, and he said, “Yeah, that’s totally fine. Bring the TC. I’d love to see it.” But two days before the rally, I lost a cylinder due to an ignition issue. I didn’t have time to fix it, so I did the sensible thing and brought the Spitfire—my most “round headlamp” car.

My Spitfire is a 1980 Triumph Spitfire, the last year they were made. When I bought it, I said, “I don’t want to do anything to this car except paint it.” I didn’t want to paint it—it’s expensive and a hassle—so I just looked for a car with a decent paint job already done. This one had been resprayed a couple of years earlier in vermilion red. Not traffic-cone orange—real vermilion red. I was sold.

Yes, it leaked quarts of oil just idling in the driveway. The steering wheel and interior were awful because it’s a late model, and there were other issues, but I didn’t have to paint it. Since then, I’ve done everything to that car. New motor, redone interior—by the time the rally came around, it was as mechanically sound as it could be.

My buddy Joe agreed to navigate. He didn’t really know what he was getting into. I just said, “Joe, want to do a two-day, 1,000-mile road rally with me in the Spitfire?” And he was like, “Yeah, that sounds great.” He had no reason to suspect he’d regret it.

We started out at Harbor Freight, exchanged pleasantries, met the other contestants. There were some cool cars. The route said, “Go south through rural Indiana, into Ohio, stop in Dayton, have a salad with a guy named Tim, then head north to Tawas.” I’d done Lemons before, so this didn’t sound that crazy.

The morning went well. We saw a few competitors, made jokes about how we were in a British car and our main rivals were in German ones. Got to Dayton, and I realized I’m a tryhard when it comes to rallies—if there’s a checkpoint, I’m going to hit it. Some people scoffed at going to the Bicycle Museum of America. I said, “Of course we’re going to the Bicycle Museum.”

We stopped at the burger bar that served salads. I had one—it wasn’t great or terrible, but I figured they wanted us to eat healthy. One checkpoint was getting a photo with a guy named Tim. I figured we’d find a gas station clerk named Tim or something. But then I overheard one of the organizers talking to a guy at the bar named Tim. I bought a growler to make it less awkward and asked, “Hey Tim, mind if we take a photo?” Snuck in that checkpoint. It was worth 30 points, and that came in handy later.

We planned to camp in Tawas, but everyone was running late, and we realized no one was setting up tents at 11 p.m. We got a hotel. One of the challenges was to get a photo of police lights in your rearview mirror. Some folks actually got pulled over, but we just snapped a photo of cops who already had someone else pulled over.

We reached Tawas at 11:00. Everyone was staying in the hotel. At that point, no one knew who was winning or what the scores were. The next morning, it became clear that it was a serious competition between us, a white E30, and a Porsche.

We left Tawas on a beautiful morning. In the Spitfire, our speed was limited, especially compared to those late-‘80s/early-‘90s German cars. The big checkpoint that day was Meno Island—worth over 100 points. You had to go there.

Joe was incredible at navigation. He timed our ferry to Meno perfectly: get on, take the picture, get off, make it to the finish. We had plus or minus 10 minutes to spare. We hadn’t seen the Porsche all morning. We thought, “No way they beat us to the ferry.” But when we got there—they were already parked. That blew our minds.

We got on the ferry, took our photo on the island. I suggested spending more time there, but Joe looked at me and said, “If we don’t get on that boat right now, we’re going to lose.” So we got back in the car and pushed on.

The last mandatory checkpoint was the Legs Inn. Dan and Brian were like, “You guys need to hustle—hit as many O’Reilly Auto Parts stores as you can. Those are worth five points each.” We were stressed.

Then came the final big checkpoint: the chapel on Boyne Mountain. We mapped it out and realized we’d need to hike through the woods. We’d already crossed the Meno Bridge and climbed Castle Rock, so I figured, “These organizers must be fitness nuts.”

We were running out of time. At a gas station, we had a choreographed stop: I’d pop the hood, run to the bathroom; Joe would grab the thickest oil he could find, pour it in, buy snacks. Quickest pit stop ever.

We made it to the finish with about 10–15 minutes to spare. And we ended up winning. First time doing this rally, no idea what we were doing, just going off my Lemons Rally experience. We won.

And I’m convinced it was because we hit the Bicycle Museum and got the picture with Tim. You can’t skip checkpoints on a rally. Tips and tricks? Heated seats and overdrive in the Spitfire were crucial.

We ran top down the whole time. It wasn’t required, but come on—it’s a roadster. The heated seats made it bearable, and when I redid the interior, I said, “Of course I’m adding heated seats. I like driving top-down, but I’m always cold.” Everyone said, “Why would you put heated seats in a Spitfire?” But come on—warm back, cool breeze? It’s the move.

Overdrive was just as essential. Without it, you’re pulling over 4,000 RPM at 70 mph. With it, you’re more like 3,500. Not a huge difference locally, but after 1,000 miles? It’s the difference between feeling fine and feeling like you’ve been on a boat all day.

But the story wasn’t over.

On the way home, Joe was driving—I was exhausted—and we were cruising on I-94. I was staring at our trophy, reminiscing. Then the car started slowing down.

Joe said, “Dave, we don’t have an accelerator.” I said, “What do you mean we don’t have an accelerator?” The throttle cable had broken.

It was 11 p.m. on I-94. I didn’t have a spare. My solution was to crank up the fast idle on the carbs to about 3,000 RPM, clutch-slip into third, and coast off the highway. Keith—because Keith is Keith—found someone who could bring us a spare throttle cable from the “Shaguar” at midnight on a Sunday in Ann Arbor. I got home around 4 a.m.

I was hooked. It was a great time, and I couldn’t wait for the next one. We’ve been doing rallies together ever since.”

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[Image: YouTube/Michigan Automotive Relic Society]

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