A lifelong passion for giving old things
a new lease on life
Welcome to the eleventh edition of Scenic Route: Voices — a series spotlighting the stories of drivers and enthusiasts from all walks of life. This month, we’re digging into Elise Talley’s childhood fascination with all things vintage and mechanical, from antique typewriters to suspiciously affordable classic Range Rovers.
Elise Talley is a freelance photographer and a SpaceX engineer based out of Long Beach, California.
Life beyond the landfill
Words and photos by @starlordesss
“What got you into cars?” is a question that all automotive enthusiasts get at least once in their life. For most, the
answer to that question is that it runs in the family. Despite popular belief, I was not named after the mid-engine
Lotus roadster. In fact, nobody in my family is interested in cars or motorcycles in the slightest.
The answer to this question doesn’t come easily for me. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a fascination with
mechanical things. My mom would take us to antique shops, where she would buy beautiful glass bowls and fine china
dinner plates. My sister loved the old 1950s Seventeen magazines. I would buy old rotary phones, turntables, and
typewriters. She would say to me, “Why do you want that? Nobody uses those anymore. You won’t be able to find the parts
for it if it breaks. It probably doesn’t even work.” But that never stopped me. I bought them anyway.
I developed an interest in taking things apart and learning how to put them back together — ideally in better condition
than before. I fell in love with the idea that this item, whether it was a typewriter or a clock, had a whole life
before me with someone else. It could’ve ended up in a landfill, but someone took care of it and now it was my turn. As
I got older, this translated to an interest in classic cars.
On the 4th of July holiday, we would go to our vacation home in Lake Toxaway. The streets of downtown Brevard were
vibrant with parades and fireworks, with an endless sea of white tents selling food, art, and clothing, but I didn’t pay
much attention to any of that. Through the swarm of people, I could see a street lined with classic American muscle
cars. Land yachts and hot rods, all brilliant shades of red, yellow, and blue. The owners proudly sit behind their
respective cars in portable lawn chairs, cooking hot dogs on a George Foreman grill and playing Creedence Clearwater
Revival’s “Green River” on their Bluetooth speakers. My family continued shopping without me, knowing that I would be
glued to this street for the remainder of the Independence Day event.
I bought my first “classic car” when I was 18, a Range Rover Classic. It was $2,000, and I had bought it with a refund
check from my college, which I had just dropped out of. I still remember the day I picked it up — you would think I had
just won the lottery by the grin I had on my face.
As a broke teenager, and now college dropout, I had no choice but to learn how to work on this truck that had a wildly
unfavorable reputation for reliability. So, I purchased a Haynes manual, and occasionally I would bribe local repair
shops with chicken sandwiches so they’d let me watch them work and maybe teach me a thing or two.
Fast-forward eight years later, and the Rover still serves as my daily driver and a faithful companion. What once felt
like a foreign object with a mind of its own no longer intimidated me. I have been through every system on this truck,
and I now understand it like the back of my hand.
“Ever since I can remember,
I've had a fascination with mechanical things.”
Craving a new learning experience, I acquired another classic car — something that couldn’t be more different from my
truck.
It was just after noon as I drove up the Pacific Coast Highway. My left hand is gripping a Momo Prototipo steering wheel
as my right hand shifts through four sets of gears. The smell of the carbureted V4 engine fills my nose and stains my
clothing. “Green River” plays over my portable Bluetooth speaker as the “low battery” warning light blinks red. I had
just bought a Lancia Fulvia and, inevitably, another repair manual to go with it.
This new addition to my garage is from Ferrara, Italy, and now it’s in California. This car had an entire life before
me, starting in 1970, and I can only imagine the stories it could tell. My only hope is that both of my cars outlive me
and end up in the hands of someone who cares for them as much as I did, making new memories on the other side of the
world.
More images of her classic car adventures
