My friend John dropped by the office the other day to ask my opinion about cars. Knowing that I'm a bit of a motorhead, he wanted to know what I would buy if I were in the market for a new family buggy.

Well, my 1994 Saab 4-banger just clicked over the 100,000-mile mark, I told him. It still runs great, I said, so I suggested that he look into the 2003 Saabs. But without too much hesitation I also recommended that he go test-drive a Toyota Prius.

With its 276-volt hybrid gas-electric power train, the Prius just seems to make sense, I espoused. Especially these days when many Americans realize we need to cut our thirst for petroleum products. My buddy George recently bought a Prius, so I've had the chance to examine one up close and get my friend's impressions.

George tells me Prius dealers in Maine are promoting these cars by ensuring that early adopters are satisfied. As a new owner, he enjoys lifetime free service (although there's only one factory trained "technician" in this state of 1.5 million people).

On top of that, George explains that he gets an environmental tax credit for his new chariot, and that although the car sells for about $30,000 in Japan, he got his vehicle brand new for about $21 grand. George believes that Toyota is selling its hybrid cars at a loss in order to cultivate the US market.

Wow. Below-value initial cost. Great clean-burning gas mileage. A tax credit. And free service. Those are compelling reasons to buy one.

Walk the Walk
But I must admit that in spite of my progressive inclinations (and talk is cheap) I live in the past. You see, a few months ago I joined the legions of knuckle-bashers that restore, maintain, and drive vintage automobiles. In my case, my addiction is to a 1960 Austin-Healey 3000, a 6-cylinder 3-litre roadster of English manufacture. I acquired it second-hand last spring.

Distracted by my newfound madness for this impressively low-tech automobile, I recently attended an outdoor car meet called the British Invasion, a head spinning exhibit of more than a thousand little British cars. LBC loonies like me were showing off MGs, Triumphs, Austin-Healeys, and Jaguars there by the hundreds.

There were plenty of exquisite Elvas, TVRs, Rolls-Royces, and Bentleys to drool over too. There were even 3-wheel 1934-vintage Morgans---all driven to the show over miles of mountain roads. Aligned in profile on the turf like a row of old soldiers wearing different color uniforms, these cars proudly displayed their engine compartments.

Now, when you pop the bonnet ("lift the hood" in Yankee vernacular) of one of these LBCs you can actually see the ground down there between the chassis rails. That's comforting. By comparison, when I check the oil on my 1994 Saab, I see an engine bay so stuffed with tubing, wiring, and connectors that I can hardly see more than two layers deep.

What's worse, the Saab owner's manual is less than useless for routine servicing. Basically, it instructs you on how to tune the radio and work the heater controls. After that, you're on your own, at the mercy of the nearest Saab dealership or Swedish car shop.

In contrast, the hard-covered driver's handbook (that's what it's called) that comes with my antique Austin-Healey is a bantam shop manual that reveals all sorts of arcane things such as oil pressure in pounds/square inch, or how to advance or retard the ignition timing based on petrol octane. The manual reminds the Healey owner to top off the carburettor dashpots (carburetors on this side of the Pond) once a fortnight.

The little book is loaded with service details. It's profusely illustrated, with extraordinary line drawings that show the location of every grease nipple and lube point. There are diagrams that show exactly how to adjust the intake and exhaust valves, or how to set the gap on the ignition points. The handbook even includes a wiring diagram.

What's missing from most of today's new cars is a wiring diagram and character. To me, the LBCs that I adore have both, and most new cars do not. The old British cars that I enjoy are well documented.

I love the old and appreciate the new, but I want technical details about today's products, and that's hard to get. I don't want to know about the "feeling" I'll experience behind the wheel of the new rockets. I want to know details about engine horsepower and gear ratios. Even if I can't see the ground through the engine compartment, I want to know things like the diameter of a car's disk brakes---without having to crawl under the car and measure them (try that at a new car showroom).

Maybe cars such as the Prius will revive the way vehicles are promoted. Although Toyota doesn't encourage Prius owners to service their own vehicles, at least they tell you about the car's battery chemistry, and I'm certain you could crawl under one without raising the ire of a salesman!

If only I could cast aside my ambivalence about vehicular technology! Then I'd be able to advise my friend John, and he wouldn't think I'm slightly off the wall for cherishing a 1960 automobile. Oh well, at least I know I'm not alone.