Understanding the Relative Reliability of Vintage Cars

Rob Siegel

I am not a professional mechanic. I don’t fix other people’s cars for money. I do, however, repair my own vehicles. And having owned over a hundred cars, including 70 BMWs, 40 of which were the boxy little 1970’s BMW 2002 sedan, I think I have a pretty good hobbyist’s bead on repair and reliability-related issues. Occasionally I make errors of myopia—drawing incorrect conclusions from too small a sample—but generally, when I bounce things off friends of mine who are professional wrenches, I’m not too far off the mark.

With that oddly defensive-sounding preamble, let me say what’s on my mind.

If you’re thinking of buying and daily-driving a vintage car, or taking an extended road trip in one, you need to either have a decent level of do-it-yourself mechanical skill, or expect to be writing checks to a specialty repair shop. And even with that, at some point the car is likely to break at an inconvenient time and location. If you’re not willing to deal with those realities, you perhaps shouldn’t own and drive a vintage car further than to occasional cars and coffees. And it doesn’t matter if the car was “restored” (whatever the hell that means), whether that’s by you, a big-name restoration shop, or a seller on Bring a Trailer with a good photographic studio that makes the car look like it’s a finished product. While there is a lot of truth to the view that well-cared-for vintage cars, even rolling Lucas jokes like my two Lotuses, behave very differently when treated as pampered sunny Sunday drivers than they did as rain-soaked dailies, you’re kidding yourself if you think it’s the same thing as daily-driving a ten-year-old 150,000-mile Camry. Got it?

vintage BMW silver roadside repair
Before buying and driving a vintage car, accept that this is likely to happen to you.Rob Siegel

I first began to feel the need to drop this truth bomb during the post-pandemic run-up in vintage car values. A good friend who is a professional wrench and I fielded a flurry of questions from folks who’d clicked and bought high-dollar “restored” (there are those quotes again) BMW 2002s and were disappointed when what was delivered was not the like-new fully-turn-key car of their dreams. I’m not a body-and-paint person, so I can’t comment on nuances of body restoration, but I can comment on why, mechanically, a repaired/refurbished/resurrected/restored vintage car is highly unlikely to be “like new.”

Don’t get me wrong—I adore the simplicity and the design aesthetic of pre-big-bumper pre-catalytic converter cars (which is what I usually mean when I say “vintage car”), where you can open the engine compartment and know what every component does simply by looking at it. That simplicity does mean that you’re likely to be able to diagnose a problem—and hopefully fix it—on the side of the road, but it doesn’t mean that that car back in its day was more reliable than late-model car is now, and it certainly doesn’t mean that a vintage car, even a well-maintained one, is less likely than a late-model car to wind up in the breakdown lane.

I’ve given a lot of thought over the years to why this is true, and I’ve come up with five layers of reasons. Not surprisingly, the first has to do with technological improvements in modern cars that you’d really have a hard time seriously arguing don’t offer a step-improvement in reliability over their vintage counterparts. I have written multiple articles about what I call “The Big Seven” things likely to strand a vintage car (fuel delivery, ignition, cooling, charging, belts, clutch hydraulics, and ball joints, the last of which is on the list not so much because they’re failure-prone but because if they break, you lose control of the car, so you can’t afford to be wrong about them). The first three of these are dramatically improved on newer cars. There is zero question that modern electronic ignition systems are far more reliable than points-and-condenser systems, that the electronic fuel injection that’s been in nearly every car since the early 1980s is vastly superior at letting a dead-cold car start instantly at the crack of a key, and that cooling systems in newer cars are actually designed for the temperature extremes that are experienced in hot American summer traffic as opposed to those in vintage cars designed for cool breezes in Bavarian forests, overcast British days, and balmy motoring around Lake Como. (I vividly recall attending the Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix in the heat of July a few years ago, and as I approached the venue, seeing increasing numbers of Jaguars and Lamborghinis in the breakdown lane with their hoods up.)

To look at two more of The Big Seven, with charging systems, the reliability advantage of newer cars is less of a slam-dunk. On the one hand, modern alternators with the voltage regulator integrated inside are generally more reliable than their older counterparts with external regulators simply because there’s no longer the failure mode of breakage in the wires and connectors that tie them together, but on the other hand, if the alternator dies, a vintage car can probably run for half a day on a fully-charged battery, whereas a modern electronic-laden car may drain the battery in less than an hour. Similarly, belts are a toss-up. Vintage cars often have their belts slacken due to degradation of rubber bushings in the adjustment track. Modern cars have serpentine belts with automatic tensioners that keep the belt tight, but if the tensioner fails, all hell breaks loose.

vintage BMW red front hood open
If you don’t think a significant amount of vintage car road-tripping is like this, don’t do it. At least this was the safe-in-the-parking-lot variety.Rob Siegel

Of course, advancements come at a cost. When a vintage car has no spark, the odds are strong that the points have closed up or a wire has broken off the connector to the coil, both of which are easy fixes. When it has no fuel, it’s almost always a dead fuel pump or a clogged fuel filter. You may not have spares with you, but once procured, you’re soon on your way. In contrast, these things are non-trivial to diagnose on complex modern cars. And some of you may have gagged when I said that cooling systems in modern cars are far better than those in vintage cars. To be balanced about it, yes they’re designed to perform in actual real-world high-temperature environments, but they also have many plastic components, and when one of them breaks, the car can suffer a catastrophic coolant loss which can easily result in engine damage.

The second layer of vintage car problems has to do with issues of parts quality. Most of our beloved vintage cars exist in small quantities, certainly not the millions or even tens of thousands like those models still under warranty or those still used as daily drivers. Once cars pass a certain age, the manufacturer bears no real responsibility for parts quality (or even availability) on older models. Even if you buy a “genuine” part in a manufacturer-logo’d box at a dealership, there’s no guarantee whatsoever that that part is the same one that went on the car when it was new. It may or may not be made by the same subcontractor, and may or may not (but likely not) be subject to the same quality control standards that it was when the manufacturer and/or dealership would have to eat the repair cost if it broke under warranty.

The third layer is that, even if you’re doing a systematic restoration or paying someone else to do so, you’re never going to replace everything. You usually can’t, because of either parts availability, cost, or both. And it’s usually not necessary. For example, on vintage BMWs, front subframes almost never break (well, the left engine mount plate breaks, but that’s weldable). Front MacPherson strut housings last the life of the car unless they’re bent in a collision. Instead, you replace what’s broken, and prophylactically address what’s likely to break. Of course, as cars from the 1960s are now in their sixth decade of service, things that never used to break are now breaking. So when you turn the key and nothing happens, don’t be surprised when it’s not the battery, or the starter motor, or the solenoid, or a broken wire, but turns out to be the ignition switch in the steering column. Or when there’s play in one of the wheels, you find that it’s not the wheel bearing but the stub axle about which the forums say “those pretty much never wear out.”

The next layer took me a while to see, but it goes like this: The issues of quality control and quality assurance apply not only to individual parts, but also to the entire car viewed as a manufactured system. Restoration shops don’t refurbish cars in sufficient numbers to be able to do anything comparable to the systematic testing, evaluation, data-gathering, and statistical analysis that manufacturers do. They may have opinions regarding which alternators and water pumps seem to be less failure-prone, but they’re not testing fleets of vehicles in Death Valley. No matter how thorough a restorer is, or how good your trustworthy mechanic is, the result is never going to be the same thing as a manufacturer building a commercial quantity of cars that they and a network of dealerships are on the hook for repairing under warranty. And you as one backyard DIY mechanic, reading opinions on enthusiast forums, are doing the best you can, but the idea that you’re an automotive W. Edwards Deming running a six-sigma total quality management system is ludicrous.

The last layer is one of expectation. Many of us love vintage cars because of their pre-wind-tunnel lines, their period and nationality-evoking interiors, and the nostalgia they trigger because we wanted them in high school or when we were young adults, couldn’t afford one then, but can now. But even questions of reliability aside, it is highly unlikely that a vintage car is ever going to approach the tightness, quiet, and comfort of the modern car that is probably your daily driver. Personally, I prefer the honesty of a vintage car with patina—it doesn’t surprise you when you drive it, and the car actually feels like the age that it is. Door seals are a big topic in the vintage BMW world. I get that, if you have a pretty shiny car with a redone interior, you want to stop that whoosh and whistle at highway speeds, but even if you do, the car is never going to have the hush of your daily.

vintage BMW red side
Yes, there’s wind noise through the door seals. You can see why I don’t care.Rob Siegel

I’m certainly not telling you not to buy the vintage car you’ve always wanted. I’m just saying that you should love it and respect it for what it is. It’s probably nearly as old as you are. It’s got quirks. It’s got needs. Hell, it’s probably got bunions and gout. Maybe even a little incontinence. It’s likely to need the same amount of professional attention that you do these days. Give it to it.

***

Rob’s latest book, The Best Of The Hack Mechanic™: 35 years of hacks, kluges, and assorted automotive mayhem, is available on Amazon here. His other seven books are available here on Amazon, or you can order personally inscribed copies from Rob’s website, www.robsiegel.com.

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Comments

    Memorable trips in old cars-
    Bought a 63 Plymouth Fury in Pensacola and drove it home to Boston.
    Bought a 61 Chrysler 300G in Denver and drove it home to Boston.
    Bought a 62 Chrysler NYer wagon in Iowa and drove it home to Boston.
    Bought a 61 Chrysler NYer 8 door airport limo in Whitehall Montana and drove it home to Boston
    Drove a 62 Plymouth Fury from Boston to Mardi Gras and back, then Toronto and back, then to Anchorage Alaska from Boston.
    No side of the road breakdowns in any of these cars on these trips. Trips were mostly in the 80’s and 90’s when the cars were between 20 and 30 years old, and I was young and foolish. 😉

    I use a 1973 911T, which i’ve owned for almost 20 years, as a daily driver. I don’t think it’s as reliable as a new Toyota, but I don’t have much trouble with it. We use it around town, but also sometimes take it on road trips. The biggest problem is one that you mentioned, the quality of the replacement parts. Fortunately, for 911s you can have many of these parts, such as fuel pumps, distributors, fuel injection system components, alternators and brake calipers, rebuilt with much better results than if they were replaced by (often very expensive) new parts of questionable quality. For some parts, I’ve taken to designing and fabricating my own replacements (fuel level sender, turn signal flasher and a few other items), so the car is gradually filling up with my own electronics. I also rebuilt the air conditioning system so that it actually works well. It’s definitely more challenging than driving some new Toyota, but more engaging as well.

    You write “if the alternator dies, a vintage car can probably run for half a day on a fully-charged battery.” I can testify to this. I was driving a ’61 E-100 from New Jersey to Knoxville Tennessee. The generator ate its brushes about 200 miles north of Roanoke. When the headlights started getting dim, I pulled onto the shoulder of I-81 near the top of a hill, climbed into the back, and caught forty winks.

    In the morning, I rolled down the hill to start up and finished the trip. When I hit the brakes at a stop sign a few blocks from my parents’ house, the engine stuttered, so I ran three stop signs and pulled into the driveway. Roughly 450 miles without a generator.

    I’ve completed trips by buying a second fully-charged battery and a charger, charging both in my hotel room, and swapping if one ran down before the end of the driving day.

    Great article and comments. I would like to add a couple of other points that might be a surprise to new vintage owner:
    – Ride Quality: I’m a connoisseur of square body GM trucks. Really the brand doesn’t matter, they all rode the same in that vintage. Awful. The springs in the bench seats were an integral component of the suspension and vital if you value your kidneys. Handling wasn’t horrible, but add a lift kit and all bets were off. Jump in a truck made in the last 20 years and the ride is much better.

    -Braking and acceleration: It wasn’t long ago that a three ton vehicle with 150hp was a common sight to see on the roads. They neither accelerated nor stopped well, and by modern standards they can’t keep up with traffic. So if you are offended that a Hyundai Accent blew the doors off of your Monte Carlo, its gonna be expensive or embarrassing. Pick one.

    My heart wants a square body daily driver. But its no longer acceptable to call your boss and say “Sorry, I can’t come to work today, my car won’t start.”

    My vintage vehicle will be 62 years old this year. Is it reliable? Not really. Most of the issues I have are due to modern technology. Fuel lines that swell and clog due to ethanol in our gas. Replacement parts made in China that fail very shortly after installation. Modern technology allows cheap production. I recently replaced a new ignition switch with the original 62 year old switch due to the premature failure of the new switch. If there was a source for original 62 year old parts and gasoline, reliability would not be an issue at all. However, there may be a trade off here. Modern oil formulas are far superior to the old ones. Platinum plugs may not be as good a conductor of electricity as copper plugs, however, they sure last a lot longer and the difference is not noticeable. Aftermarket electronic ignitions are far superior to points, condensers and periodic timing adjustments. The big thing that modern technology cannot improve upon is the fun factor of driving a working vintage vehicle.

    My base Corvette turns 30 in May and I turn 72 in March. Up to this point, both of us have only needed fuel, fluids, and basic maintenance items to get to this point. We are also both daily drivers that get regular exercise. I hope our luck holds for another year. Parts might be hard to find for one of us, and parts, though readily available for the other one of us, are getting super- expensive.

    Well said, sir! Yet nothing compares to driving a car you’ve fixed and improved, despite the worry that nothing errant occurs “this time”.

    Along the lines of restored cars being “not exactly” new cars I have a personal experience that you may find interesting. I have always wanted an E9. I decided to purchase a fully restored one from a reputable dealer. I paid over market for a car from an E9 specialist in the Netherlands then flew to Europe to drive around before shipping it home, In the 1000 miles I drove it: 1. The head cracked, 2. The transmission needed to be jammed into first and second even with matched revs, 3. The dash light went out. 4.The clock never worked, 5. The clutch throw out bearing (or whatever that is on an E9) started to fail, 6. The brake rotors warped (they had been turned which apparently is useless on these cars) 7. And the wipers stopped working. On top of all that once I got it home and further inspected it it was completed rusted in the firewall which was the one reason I bought from a “respected” restorer. For it not to be. I have worked through most of the issues but only stopped the rust from spreading.

    I am so sorry you had this experience. E9s hide their rust, but a “respected restorer” should’ve caught it and known about it. The other mechanical issues are EXACTLY the kind of thing I’m talking about.

    I call my Jaguar XJS my 99 mile car. I rarely take it farther than that cause my towing insurance covers 100 miles.

    I hear you. Even I who fixes cars by the side of the road when necessary increased my Hagerty towing coverage to 250 miles, which give me a bit more peace of mind for weekend trips around New England with my wife in the vintage cars. When I do long road trips, when I’m coming home and cross that 250-mile threshold, I relax a bit, knowing that if the car died, it’s an easy and already-paid-for tow home.

    I enjoy reading all your articles and have a couple of your books. What I think is important here is not the fact that vintage cars are unreliable. (I have 60s Fiats. That goes without saying.) What I think is valuable here is your description of the layers of unreliability because it is a framework that I can use when I select which of the myriad things I could work on I should do next. The implication of unreliability is that you need to enjoy the wrenching and the adventure of solving problems on the fly to own one of these old cars (or have silly amounts of money to spend).
    For me, I spend most of my car time wrenching. I love the troubleshooting and problem-solving processes. I love getting to understand the engineering and design that makes these marvelous machines what they are. I get a satisfaction out of it that I don’t get elsewhere in my life. Sometimes I even have to remind myself to just go for a drive and enjoy one of the cars.
    I couldn’t imagine owning one of these cars if I didn’t enjoy working on them.

    I view it a bit differently. I often say that a car needs to be “for something.” If it’s for long road trips and it keeps breaking on them, maybe you need to refocus what it’s “for.” Maybe that’s day trips and cars and coffees. If you still love it, maybe that’s enough. But if it’s not, then yes, maybe it’s time to move on.

    (ps) Rob – Just because you don’t work 9 to 5 as a mechanic, doesn’t mean you aren’t one. I’ve met way too many ‘certifieds’ who don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.

    I would like to add to that last layer that a reason to have these cars is simply because we like them. I’m not a collector and not much of a mechanic, but I love my ’70 MGB. Over 42 years of commuting to work and driving to projects and 450k plus miles I’ve never really been stranded. The key is the every day of a ‘daily driver’. Listening to the car every day, feeling its movement through steering and bumps in the road, one gains confidence through these repeating sensations to generally know what is the ‘next’ thing that needs to be fixed or replaced. In retirement with less driving, that confidence slips away….

    Sure there were then, and are now, much better performing cars, but this one fits me. A sunny day, or even a rainy day (I’m a die-hard Oregonian), with the top down means I’m alive!

    Really good, honest article — and great comments!
    I’ve restored 4 “older” MB’s from ’73 to 99. The 82 330CE and the 88 560SL seemed to have the best combination of design and build quality — and parts availability. The HVAC vacuum system behind the dashboards is a “piece of work”. And some of those parts are NLA. Most German Auto repair shops now won’t work on anything older than 1999. They don’t like digging in to find the problem, sourcing the parts, and then finding out the owner doesn’t/can’t pay for the repairs. So the car sits around his shop or outside for years. Not to mention that new auto techs tend to only know how to read diagnostic codes and swap parts. So I can see why they don’t want to work on older cars. So, it’s either DIY or find an (expensive) specialist.
    On the other hand, I’ve certainly learned more than I ever wanted to know about Bosch D-Jet and CIS injection systems during the process!

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