Members of the MGB Experience had a special gathering at MG 2006, the all-register MG convention held June 21-25, 2006, in Gatlinburg, Tenn.

While some members of the MGB Experience forum had gotten together in small groups and met informally before over the years, this was the first time a "formal" get-together was arranged, and certainly the largest gathering of members to date.

A crowd of 100 people attended the event at the Glenstone Lodge picnic pavilion on Thursday, June 20, including 50 people who are regular posters on the MGB Experience forum. (The rest were family, friends and guests.)

Here are photos of most of the members in attendance, with their names and MGB Experience user names and home states.

**NOTE: I'm really embarrassed, but there's a guy at the top who is unidentified, as we didn't get a photo of his name tags, and I'm just not 100 percent sure of the name. (I didn't get to talk to everyone, and couldn't otherwise possibly remember everyone from one two-hour gathering.)

So, If you can identify that guy, please email or private message me me so I can put a name on the face.

**ALSO: If you have photos of any of the BBS "regulars" who were at MG2006 but who are missing from this collection, please send them to me so I can add them.

Apologies that we didn't get photos of everyone at the picnic or at the show ... but we tried!

Photos by Charles E. de Bourbon / BGA Studios (c)

Love the road? Like to feel “one” with your car? Try driving 6,725 miles across the country and back in a vintage MGB. You’ll see some of our nation’s most spectacular scenery from your open cockpit, and by the time you hoist yourself out at night, you’ll swear that you’re more comfortable on four wheels than two legs.

THE DRIVE OF A LIFETIME

Our trip to Olympia, Wash., for MG 2005 was the drive of a lifetime. Charles and I left our home on the eastern edge of Pennsylvania on Thursday, June 30, 2005, in the company of three MGB couples from Long Island, N.Y.: David and Eileen Deutsch in their 1975 MGB, Alan and Enid Patraka in their 1980 MGB, and George Carrasquillo and June Ladden in their 1976 MGB.

An hour west, we picked up Joe and Sharon Lamando in their 1971 MGB for breakfast, and met up with Karl and Gail Schad with their 1980 B LE in Ohio that night. Elvin Davis joined our caravan the next day with his MGB, and Dan and LouAnn Griswold (1970 and Bob and Teri Walters (1974 met up with us in Wisconsin that night. Rounding off our official group were Larry and Barb Henle (1969 GT) and Steve and Carol Olson (1976 Midget), who joined in South Dakota.

By the time we pulled into Olympia on Wednesday, July 6, our group was 14 MGs strong, with people in our caravan from New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota and Missouri.

What a blast! The trip was organized by David, who plotted our route and booked all the rooms along the way, getting us the best rates possible with continental breakfasts included. Charles drove the Subaru Search and Rescue Vehicle, so we had two large coolers at our disposal. This meant we could have picnic lunch stops along the way, greatly cutting down on the cost of the trip, and adding a great deal to the level of fun.

With gas prices rising last summer (although not as high as they came to be!), it was best not to think about how much money was going into the tank at each fill-up. Just swipe that credit card and pump! (I still haven’t added up what it cost for all the gas there and back, but I put in 259 gallons on the trip, so you do the math.)

TWO BIG QUESTIONS

What most people want to know when hearing about our trip is (1) how was the driving and (2) were there any major breakdowns.

The driving was just fantastic, especially once we got west of Chicago, got off the highway, and into the more topographically interesting states. This was a driving vacation, for sure, with not a lot of time for touristing. We averaged 500 miles a day, driving roughly from 8 a.m. to 7 or 8 p.m., with breaks about every two hours.

We really did become “one” with our little cars. More than once, as our group got off the road to stand in a motel lobby waiting to check in, someone would comment that their body was still vibrating.

As for me, I just kept being amazed at how my little 1966 MGB just kept going and going and going, across farmland, prairies, deserts, steep mountain passes, great canyon switchbacks, all the way across the nation and back.

There were few regrets about not having much time to spend at tourist stops, since every day was a new series of fantastic scenery to be seen right from the seats of our MGBs.

Car problems? We had a few, but nothing out of the ordinary, really. Every MG in our group was the focal point of a roadside “tech session” at one time or another. All told, we had two occurrences of loose alternator bracket bolts, two flat tires, one loose exhaust bracket, one oil filter with a hole in it, one stuck throttle cable, one cracked windshield, one loose lifter, two bad starters and one loose carb needle. Nothing that took more than 30 minutes to set right, though.

My car experienced the worst failure of the group, when the front mount of the driver’s side leaf spring started pulling loose from the underside of the car in Minnesota on the way back. I started experiencing a big rear-end shimmy-shake on acceleration, and when we pulled over at the next rest area, discovered the rear left wheel had shifted back in the wheel well about an inch and a half, and the front mount of the spring hanging down, only partially attached.

David had an ingenious temporary fix: He jacked the car up to take the tension off the springs, and stuck the handle of a screwdriver under the shackle of the rear spring mount. When the car was lowered, the screwdriver handle tightened up the leaf spring at the back, forcing the front mount back up flat under the car.

We had already scheduled a stop that day at World Wide Imports in Madison, Wisc., to tour Peter Caldewell’s British shock rebuilding operation. Peter let me drive my car into the shop and loaned David a drill so he could secure the loose mount with a big bolt through a solid section of the floor board. The temporary fix worked great, and got me safely home for 1,500 more miles.

WESTWARD, HO!

Now, back to the driving . . . Heading west, we first got off the interstate in South Dakota, where we took a fantastic, surreal drive through Badlands National Park and then through the lonesome prairie to Mount Rushmore, where we had an excellent top-down “drive by” of the famous monument.

(We couldn’t stop because it was the day before July 4th, and the place was jammed with people waiting for a huge fireworks show. We lucked out, though, because the next week they put scaffolding up over the monument to start cleaning it.)

That night we had dinner in Deadwood City, in a historic gambling hotel right on the main avenue. Lots of colorful characters in Deadwood, and some of them were sporting six guns.

Heading to our motel that night, just before leaving South Dakota, the odometer on my B flipped over from 99999 to 00000. I had been anticipating the moment, and pulled over to let Charles ride in the passenger seat and record the numbers rolling over on videotape.

The next day really started the adventurous part of our drive, as we left the interstate behind and wound our way through the wild lands of Wyoming, past Devil’s Tower and through spectacular mountain passes and canyons. The outside temperature went from 56 degrees at the top of the mountain to 86 degrees at the bottom of the canyon floor. We found a great picnic grounds in a little outpost called Ten Sleep, where our pack of brightly colored British cars drew lots of attention.

AN UNFORGETTABLE FOURTH

This drive across Wyoming on Independence Day was probably the best day of our westward trip. We made it to Yellowstone National Park in the midafternoon, and had a wonderful run through the eastern side of park. We saw wild buffalo and elk along the road, and ended up at the Old Faithful geyser just in time to see it blast off.

Our trip turned north from that point, heading to Bozeman, Mont., for the evening. Our Fourth of July drive took a little longer than expected, and the day drew dark, but we were rewarded by a phalanx of fireworks displays on both sides of the road for a good 10 miles on our way to the motel. It’s a scene I’ll always remember, a climax to the best Fourth of July I ever had.

We had planned to have a cookout and fireworks of our own that night, but didn’t get in until about 10 p.m., so we were all too tired for festivities.

The next day’s drive was an easy one, though, so we celebrated the “Fifth of July” when we got to eastern Washington. We were booked at a great vintage motor lodge with a central court, and the owner welcomed us to have an evening cookout. We cooked cowboy hot dogs and buffalo burgers, and drank no small amount of beer. Richard and Debra Leslie and Alan and Sharon Kelsey of Minnesota joined up with us here for the next day’s trip into Olympia.

The next day was a short drive to arrive triumphantly at MG 2005, but it was not without some more spectacular scenery through canyons and mountain passes. At this point, we were simply filled with “wow!” from all that we had seen heading west.

We stayed put in Olympia for four days and nights, enjoying the events and tech sessions associated with MG 2005.

THE TRIP HOME

Sunday we headed out bright and early to start our trip back east. A different route was planned, which allowed us to continue the sense of adventure.

The absolute highlight of our whole 17-day trip was our drive through Glacier National Park in northwestern Montana that Monday. The experience was perhaps enhanced because none of us knew anything about the place, and so had no expectations. After a delightful picnic lunch near the shore of a lake, we continued on what we thought was just a pleasant drive through the park.

Soon, however, as we wound our way around the foot of a mountain, it became clear that the road ahead was climbing, and steeply. With our tops down, we were able to look way up and see cars moving along ledges a couple of thousand feet above our heads, and before we knew it, we were driving our MGBs on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. This two-lane scenic highway, completed in 1932, is an engineering marvel that has been designated a National Historic Landmark. This is 50 miles of jaw-dropping driving adventure, and it really has to be experienced in a top-down sports car to be believed. (I’m still smiling thinking about this drive!)

The road climbed to 6,640 feet above sea level, well above the timberline and within easy view of glaciers. Snow pack in July ... Not something you see out East, that’s for sure. Topping it all off was the sighting of a grizzly bear. Far enough away not to be a danger to anyone (or their cars!), but close enough for a real good look, and we all were thrilled.

Those are just some of the highlights of our great adventure. There are times I still can’t believe I drove my 66 B across the country and back.

But it fully illustrates my belief that our MGs are meant to be driven, and if you’re not putting some serious mileage on your B or Midget every year, you’re missing out on some serious fun. Get it your car and drive it! The more you drive it, the more you will know it and trust it, and the more reliable it will be.

1966 MGB • GHN3L74255 • Tartan Red
Sept. 6, 1978 - July 24, 1980

I walked nonchalantly into the world of MGBs on Sept. 6, 1978, when I bought a 1966 MGB with 40,000 miles on it for $695 — including a hard top — from W and L Sports Cars, Inc., in Northumberland, Pa.

My boyfriend saw an ad in the paper, and thought it would make a nice car for me. I didn't have a clue. We went to look at it, and I don’t think I even drove it around the block. I handed over a check and drove it off the dealer's lot. It was the first car I ever owned.

I was just 22 years old. A lot of years have gone by since then, but I can still remember the thrill of sitting way down low and pulling out on the road after I bought that first B.

The thrill was short-lived, as I completely ignored the words "AS IS" written on the receipt. Fifteen miles down the road, the car quit. Some sort of electrical problem. We didn't even know that there were two batteries, and that they were located behind the seats. I think we rope-towed it home.

The ’66 B did need some work, and I let my boyfriend take it to a friend's garage. What did I know. The car disappeared there for almost a year, waiting for the clutch master and slave cylinders to be rebuilt. When I finally got the car back, I left the boyfriend, moved to a new town, and started looking for someone who understood my car. In August 1979 I found Chick Knorr at Knorr's Foreign Car Service in Bloomsburg, who would take care of my cars for the next 21 years.

The '66 B was my only car and I drove it year ’round, until one dark and rainy night I missed a turn and ran it off the road into a farmer's field, driving young and senselessly. Beers may have been involved. I and the guy with me spent the night in the cow pasture sleeping under the tonneau cover. I don’t even remember what the damage to the car was, but I still have a scar on the top of my left foot from a nasty cut I got during the crash. My first MGB came to an untimely end on July 24, 1980.

It says something about this time in my life that I have no photos of this car. MGBs were still being sold new at the time I bought this one used from a dealer. I had neither a camera nor a reason to take a picture of my 12-year-old car.



1969 MGB • GHD4U179352G • Tartan Red
Aug. 15, 1980-Nov. 11, 1983

I wasn’t without an MGB for long. Less than a month later, Chick sold me a 1969 B for $1,100. It was a good, solid car, and freshly painted red. Chick painted the rocker panels black, which I thought looked really sharp. A year later he admitted he over sprayed some undercoating there, so the black on the rocker panels was just a cover-up.

The ’69 B was a very reliable driver. I wasn’t crazy about the plastic “pillow” dash, but the car had been refurbished, if not completely restored, and I took more interest in the care and operation of this B. I still had the hard top from the ‘66B, which served me very well in the winter.

I drove the heck out of that car, taking it on two vacations, in 1981 to Washington, D.C., and the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia, and in 1982 to Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. Just me, the B, and an ornery cat named Benjamin who loved to travel.

The 1969 B met its end on Nov. 11, 1983, when it was parked on Main Street in Bloomsburg late one night. A drunk plowed into it after failing to negotiate a turn, shortening the car by about three inches. This happened just two blocks east of Chick’s garage, so I had it towed to his doorstep. I left it there with a note on the windshield: “Time for another MGB!”

The insurance adjuster wrote off the B as a total loss, and valued it at $2,120. Chick wanted the wreck for parts, of course, so I claimed the salvage and got a check for $1,721 from the insurance company. The drunk driver was arrested with a Breathalyzer reading of 0.19, almost twice the legal limit of 0.10. He pleaded guilty and paid a $500 fine.



1972 MGB • GHN5UC274407 • Red
Nov. 16, 1983 – 1989

Five days after I lost the ’69 B, Chick put me in a 1972 MGB. I gave him $500 plus the 1969 B, now a really good parts car. The hardtop that I’d had since my first B survived the wreck, and we kidded that once again, it was just a matter of replacing the body.

The ’72 B ran well enough, but was a ratty little car, and I never got attached to it. It had Rostyle wheels, not wires, and I didn't like that recessed grill. The paint was red but faded, and the dumb previous owner had popped rivets into the bonnet. I fixed it up the best I could, but I yearned for an early B with the metal dash.

Less than a month later, Chick found a worthy candidate for full restoration. On Dec. 6, 1983, I gave him a $1,500 down payment for a new 1966 MGB, with the understanding that I would keep driving the ’72 and give him money when I could towards the restoration of the ’66. It would be Tartan red, of course, just like all my other Bs

Three months later I took a job three hours away in Danbury, Conn. A good friend of mine had senselessly killed himself driving drunk, and it was time for a change in my life.

Chick got to work stripping the ’66 down to the tub. But — as these things often go — months turned into years as Chick tried to keep up on the restoration project while struggling to keep his foreign car repair business going. It was easy for us both to lose impetus on the '66 project when I wasn’t around and he had his hands full with the shop.

In October 1986, I packed a tent, sleeping bag, camp stove and lantern in the boot of the ’72 and took myself on a camping trip to the Adirondacks in upstate New York. The B was a solid beater, and I had no qualms driving it into the woods to haul firewood.

In 1987, I bought a small house on top of a big hill in New Fairfield, Conn. And although I had a garage for the first time, I needed a more practical car for winter. With a house to spend money on and a new boyfriend, Charles, to spend time with, keeping an old sports car just wasn’t a priority. In 1989, a friend bought the ’72 B for the same $500 I’d paid for it. I gave that plus another $500 to Chick in exchange for my first “foreign” car, a 1981 Subaru DL wagon. Subarus have been my "other car" ever since.



1966 MGB • GHN3L74255 • Tartan Red
July 21, 2000 –

Over the next eight years, I got on with my life in Connecticut. Charles and I married in 1992, and started living happily ever after. Chick and I talked a couple of times a year, and no one could understand why I wasn’t more concerned about the MG not getting done. But the time just wasn’t quite right.

Fate stepped in again in 1997, when I got a new job and moved back to eastern Pennsylvania. Now that I was in a better financial situation and only an hour away from Bloomsburg, I started to dream again about the MGB. Chick had some health problems, and it looked like finishing my car was going to be the last thing he did before he closed the shop.

Finally, the day arrived. On July 21, 2000, Charles drove me to Bloomsburg to pick up the restored 1966 MGB. Over the course of 16 years, the car had been totally rebuilt from the ground up, with an engine rebuild and all-new interior. The final cost to me was $7,700, a good price for all that was done to it.

It had been 20 years since I’d wrecked that first 1966 MGB. Hard to believe. The memories came flooding back when I climbed in behind that oversized “banjo” steering wheel and took a whiff of that indescribably distinctive British car smell. I tried out all the dash toggles, trying to remember which one did what.

I was now 44 years old, and about to begin a real love affair with the MGB. The car was now a classic, and I had developed an appreciation for MGs that I just did not have in the ’70s and ’80s.

I intend to keep this 1966 MGB for as long as I am capable of driving it.