The gravel car park was small and slightly muddy. Bordering it was an expansive green, providing a verdant contrast to the dappled blue-grey sky. Several nondescript vehicles reposed in its confines, parked in a somewhat disarrayed row. A lone gentleman stood by his car, but in contrast to its unremarkable appearance, he was smiling. That was due to the arrival of a Morgan 3 Wheeler.
He drank in the curious, delightful sight of the 3 Wheeler: resplendent in red, S&S V-twin engine hanging out front, diminutive body the approximate size and shape of a streamlined bathtub with roll hoops. The twin exhausts burbled gruffly as the Morgan eased across the car park, its driver himself bearing a buoyant expression. I’d had a grin stamped on my face since collecting the car a few hours prior from Morgan’s factory in Malvern.
It had been decidedly gloomy at that point, a very British day for this most British of motor cars. The receptionist at Morgan figured I was “a bit mad” for wanting to go out in the 3 Wheeler, given that the morning’s persistent drizzle seemed likely to worsen. Weather protection in the little Morgan is limited strictly to what its passengers have chosen (or forgotten) to wear. The driver’s right shoulder and elbow extend just outside the body sill, which has a conspicuous lack of doors. Two tiny windscreens seem more decorative than functional. There is no option for a hood, unless it’s attached to your jacket.
But weather wasn’t going to stop me driving a car that has ten times more presence than anything else on the road whilst being approximately a tenth of the size. I’d worn a waterproof ski jacket, snow goggles, and winter gloves — “do your worst, nature,” I thought insouciantly as I prodded the aircraft-style starter button, brought the V-twin to life, and rumbled away. 10 minutes later, nature promptly obliged. I’d just reached an open country lane when drizzle became downpour and the Morgan became undriveable. So much for my weather gear and manly resolve. I parked the car on the roadside, clambered out, and prayed. But in that brief span, I’d had a taste of what the 3 Wheeler is all about: unfiltered driving enjoyment.
Prayers were answered, clouds parted, and the sun made its presence known. I climbed back into the Morgan the same way I would a go-kart: both feet in first, then slide down and forward into the seat. Soon enough, I was giving the V-twin its head as I barreled towards the Malvern hills, enraptured by its seemingly endless torque and throaty growl. 82hp isn’t exactly Herculean, but the motor only has to shift a 525kg dry weight; acceleration is rapid, linear, and invariably grin-inducing. The engine note is simply marvelous at every point in the rev range, but beyond about 4000 RPM, the full-bodied roar is worthy of goosebumps. Visually and dynamically, two cylinders define three wheels.
The rest of the car brims with indelibly interactive controls. The five-speed gearbox is sourced from the Mazda MX-5; its short, precise throws and mechanical feedback pair the S&S powerplant perfectly. Perhaps even better is the pedal box, which looks like it’s been lifted straight off a race car. Each of the three bare metal pedals hinge from the floor, providing millimetric control over the throttle and surprisingly reassuring brakes. The clutch bites much more firmly than in a MX-5, and the pedal itself is sprung more stiffly, but it’s easily managed, making each gearshift an involved exchange. Well-judged pedal placement and progressive brake calibration encourage heel-toe heroics. The twin exhaust pipes greet rev-matching with enthusiastic snorts, completing a panoply of sensory euphoria.
The 3 Wheeler charms its driver at any pace, but especially when given room to play. The unassisted steering needs a bit of speed to come alive; once it does, the front axle communicates brilliantly, letting the driver know precisely where each of its open wheels are tracking. That’s a good thing, too: while the driver has an exquisitely unrestricted view of the right-front wheel and exposed suspension, the left-front is obscured by way of a high bonnet and low-slung seating position. Tight junctions reveal the steering’s minor weaknesses; namely, a large turning radius and vague slow-speed feedback. My first few cranks of the wheel were mildly alarming— until you’re moving along properly, one must supply armfuls of lock, underscoring the car’s endearingly classic dynamics.
As I climbed into Malvern’s hills, the Morgan’s irrepressible personality shone ever more brightly. Open-wheeled it might be, but the 3 Wheeler is no scalpel-sharp formula car. Rather, it establishes its own inimitable driving experience. Through twisting switchbacks, the steering felt utterly organic; its linear communication feeds straight up into your forearms, engaging the driver in a physical, responsive partnership. Meanwhile, the engine propelled the car from turn to turn with muscular authority, its husky music echoing off the surrounding hillsides. Yet the 3 Wheeler’s singular disposition remains wholly present when puttering through town. Spontaneous grins break out amongst pedestrians when they see the Morgan motor past, as if you’re piloting mobile happiness.
I reached the peak of a hill and parked the Morgan next to a village inn, savoring my panoramic view of the Worcestershire countryside. The car’s bright red body displayed its simple splendor as it basked in the midday sun. Pride welled within me to be piloting the 3 Wheeler in its proper country of origin, as though the essence of British motoring had been distilled into the Morgan’s mechanisms. No other car I’ve driven has quite the same magnitude of character.
It was on the way back to Morgan’s factory that I pulled into that muddy little car park, intent on snapping just a few more photos before returning the car to its makers. I left the engine running as I stopped in front of the admiring gentleman. “Would you like a ride?” I asked him. Visibly pleased, he accepted, and soon we were motoring along, shoulder to shoulder in the Morgan’s cockpit. On our brief voyage to and from the cark park, he told me of the red 1930s 3 Wheeler his father used to own, remarking upon how true the modern car remained to its original spirit. It’s a spirit that embodies the joy of driving at its most honest, and one that will, inevitably, leave you with a smile.