There was a brief stage of life during my senior year in college when our family owned an old Series II Land Rover. My parents had just returned from visiting me in Tanzania and my dad was as smitten with old Landies as I was. So it was with great excitement that we travelled down to the eastern shore of Maryland to pick up the vehicle of our dreams, an old Series II classic that we found through eBay Motors.
It was great. It drove like a tractor, topped out at 45mph and was unstoppable, even in deep snow. My dad's mechanic wrenched on it and added a few minor modifications. Then disaster. Mom and Dad decided to drive up to Rovers North in Westford, VT, to get some other modifications to suit the wintertime climate of rural Pennsylvania. On the way there, somewhere in upstate New York, the rover lost power and had to be towed the rest of the way to the Rovers North shop, where my parents were informed that it would take as much to rebuild the engine as we'd initially payed to purchase it (which hadn't been cheap). It was with no small amount of bitterness that my father was reduced to selling it for a song and driving a rental home.
I sigh and look back on that old Series II with much more romanticized nostalgia than my dad, who was the one who lost out on the investment. Only one photo exists to prove that once upon a time I had a brief fling with a beautiful dream.