Morgan 3 Wheeler: a year behind the wheel

JIMI BECKWITH

The 3 Wheeler isn’t a subtle car, but unlike a goldplated Rolls or a straight-piped supercar, the reactions to it are overwhelmingly positive. In either of the aforementioned attention-magnets, my ill-advised trip into a gridlocked central Southampton during a rainy boat show weekend would have been met with hand gestures and looks of disapproval. Instead, strangers admired, took photos and asked questions about the Morgan. I defy you to find another car more approachably fascinating to all who witness it.

STEVE CROPLEY

My time with the 3 Wheeler reminded me starkly how important it is to dress appropriately. On one trip from Malvern to Gloucestershire I neglected to wear the right gear, and it rained. The screen protects most of your torso but leaves an unprotected zone running diagonally across your upper body from left eyebrow to right elbow. The weather turned really cold and wet, and water began to run down between my thighs. On my next wet trip I dressed carefully in motorbike waterproofs and laughed at the rain — while enjoying better wet-roads visibility than in any conventional car I can think of.

MATT SAUNDERS

I never struggled to fit my ample backside into the Morgan. But, frustrated by the shortness of my road test colleagues, I did take a spanner to the 3 Wheeler’s pedal box to find out how easy it might be to create the couple of inches of leg room necessary for me to be able to drive the car comfortably. Turns out, it’s not very easy. There are three possible pedal box positions, the upper two being easy enough to switch between by a combination of leaning into the footwell, groping under the car and indulging in some artful swearing. But the farthest position makes the brake pedal servo and related cabling a very tight fit in the bottom of the footwell and, without disconnecting and adjusting various pipework, I couldn’t quite make the pedal box’s bolts drop in. So I settled for an uncomfortable squeeze every time I drove the car, but still dearly loved every minute.

DOUG REVOLTA

Nothing focuses the mind like trying to clasp on the multi-toggled storm cover for the 3 Wheeler in the rain in the night. Getting it on and then yanking it off was always a fiddly process, but using it was essential for protecting the interior overnight. Keeping half of it on was a great way to keep your luggage dry and safe on longer journeys, too.

NIC CACKETT

Everyone has a story about suffering from exposure in the wind-blasted outcrop that is the 3 Wheeler’s cabin, but like a Surrey rambler relating their experience of the cold to a Nepali Sherpa, all pale in comparison to my six-hour round trip to Malvern in November to have a winter tyre fitted. The lesson, learned about 15min into the journey, is that you shouldn’t remove the visor from your full-face helmet just because it spends most of the year getting in the way in cars fitted with a roof. Without it, the sub-zero wind has a way of finding not only the naked flesh of your face but also the neck funnel formed by the three coats you’re wearing. With the sun up, the effect was bone-chilling; with the sun down, no amount of desperate position-shifting on the heated seat was enough to keep my body temperature above hypothermic.

Somewhere along the M4, I entered a blinkered, near catatonic nether zone that would have unnerved a Royal Marine mountain leader. I threw in the towel at Bracknell and drank service station coffee until the feeling returned to my cerebral cortex. Had the experience occurred in a Ford, Hyundai, Peugeot, BMW or Vauxhall, the width and breadth of the grudge would’ve been enough to put me off for life; in the 3 Wheeler though, any resentment evaporated in the morning light of the winter sun and the warm, mechanical glow of Morgan’s memory-maker.