By Sam Longo
In the spring of 1976, after returning from Frobisher Bay on Baffin Island, I purchased a beautiful, low mileage, 1974 MGB. As a twenty-two year old apprentice aircraft mechanic with Nordair, I had diligently saved my Arctic isolation pay. The little British roadster was my reward for the many lonely nights surviving in various frigid northern outposts.
With just 8000 miles on the clock and optional electric overdrive, it was in pristine condition and a joy to drive. On one memorable trip, after working a very busy midnight shift in Dorval, I headed to Toronto. I was tired but figured if I kept the roof down the windblast would help to keep me awake. I suddenly awoke at the wheel with the sound of gravel under the wheels. The electric overdrive was doing a fine job and the speedometer was reading 95 MPH. I was gently fishtailing on the soft shoulder of the 401. I cautiously nudged the car back on to the asphalt and the subsequent adrenalin rush, along with multiple large coffees, kept me wide-awake for the balance of my journey. In hindsight it was a mindful, miraculous, moment in a merciful MGB.