MAKE SURE THE DOOR’S LOCKED
To show you what man can do with metal, I give you the beauty of:
1942 Alfa Romeo 6C 2500 Tipo Sport
1963 Maserati Vignale Spyder
Chrysler Duel Cowl Phaeton
Jaguar XK 120
1962 Ferrari 250 SWB
Bizzarrini 5300 GT Strada
Lamborghini Muira
1960s Bentley Continental Flying Spur
Mercedes 300SL Gullwing
Bentley racer, 4.5 litre, supercharged
Jaguar SS100
1960s Rolls-Royce Phantom
McLaren F1 . . .
. . . and any McLaren race car
Duesenberg SJ Lagrange Phaeton
Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost
Bugatti Type 57 Atalante
Morgan
Facel Vega
ISO Rivolta
ISO Grifo
MG MPB Magnettes
Shelby AC Cobra
The big Austin Healey
Alfa Romeo 8c Scuderia 193
Ferrari Daytona
1930s Alvis Tourer
Lagonda M45
There are a lot more photos I could put in, but there wouldn’t be room for anything else. Hang on, that’s not a bad idea. Beauty has always been there when they built these, practicality maybe came second in the thirties and forties, and even up to the seventies. Now the Ferrari 430 is as reliable as an Audi or Toyota. The Audi R8 is a luscious, lip-smacking, liberational libation of loveliness. That’s why I bought one!
You’ll notice there are a couple of American cars there, the Duesenberg and the Cobra. The Cord was a groundbreaking car but not many were made. America was taken over by bean counters, those horrible, faceless little bastards with glasses perched on their noses the size of a garden gnome’s dick. You won’t need this; that’s too expensive. Sack three hundred people and the profit goes up. Don’t let management have prostitutes; tell them to have a quick one off the wrist. These useless twits were responsible for some of the most dangerous cars in the world. Remember all those Dirty Harry movies in the seventies, where shit-box Dodges and Pontiacs chased Mercs and BMWs ’round mountain roads? The way they handled, the American plodders would’ve been straight over the cliff at the first turn.
Anyway, it’s sad. America’s a country of car nuts, and they love their hot rods and their V8s, and there’s racing on every weekend, racing of all kinds.
Guys like Walt Bohren. He was an IMSA national champion in the early eighties. I’ve codriven with him many times and he basically taught me everything I know about racing cars. He is a wonderful anglophile, a francophile. He races airplanes and motorcycles, owns a Mini Moke, a Citroën SM, and a 2CV, and he’s raced an Aston Martin prototype. He mourns the passing of American muscle but believes the new Callaway Fords are the real deal. He now lives on a huge catamaran in the British Virgin Islands (oh yeah, and I visit him at every opportunity).
The thing is, I don’t want the Yanks to lose what we lost, our national identity. Because that’s what our cars were, for better or worse.