Combat Controller sent me this little car review, and having once driven one in a long-ago life, I have to agree.
Quite possibly the greatest driving experience in my life, or maybe in a tie with my time in an Alfa Romeo Montreal.
But wait! there’s more — actually, MOAR. Try the younger cousin of the Stratos: the modern-day Kimera EVO37.
Have mercy.
I think I’m correct in saying that alone among the lower 48 states (i.e. the ones which have interstate highways running through them), Illinois is the only one which still stubbornly enforces a 55mph speed limit on its various highways. It’s a huge PITA — like so many things about traveling through Illinois — and we all know that it’s not just Sammy Hagar who can’t drive at 55.
Anyway, the lower speed limit didn’t seem to help much (if at all) a couple days back:
A fiery 60-car pile-up happened late Monday morning on I-55 in central Illinois. The horrific wreck appears to have been caused by loose dirt and high winds. Normally, dust storms connote the deserts of the Southwest, but the combination of dry conditions, loose soil from freshly-plowed fields, and high, gusty winds resulted in extremely low visibility which led to multiple collisions along the stretch of interstate south of Springfield, Illinois.
I’ve driven through this kind of dust storm before — the ones I hit in southern Idaho, South Dakota and South Africa’s Orange Free State and Karoo desert come to mind — and it’s no small danger. Typically, I’ve driven at 10mph or slower under those conditions, the problem being other drivers, who seem to have sooper-dooper x-ray vision and don’t have to slow down until they collide with your car’s rear end.
The same is true of snow storms, of course, the only difference being that snow doesn’t invade every crevice in your car and cause you to choke helplessly while peering through the suddenly-opaque windshield. Then again, you’re unlikely to freeze to death in a sandstorm, so I guess it’s a crap shoot.
As one who detests the wind-tunnel design of modern cars, and one who truly loves older cars, I have to admit to a secret desire: to take a favorite older car, and somehow get it up to modern standards of build and reliability. To mention but two, I want an electrical system that will work pretty much all the time and not only if it’s not raining, and a body that doesn’t rust after a single rainstorm or, for that matter, having been just garaged next to a damp chamois cloth.
A couple of people have done that, of course, most notably the guys at Eagle Motors in England, who took the basic E-type and turned it into what Jeremy Clarkson once called “absolute perfection”, featuring a 4.7-liter straight-8 12-pack instead of the original 3.8-liter 6.
Basically, it’s the E-type that Jaguar could have built back in 1961, had they had access to modern technology and not been constrained by wanting to price it far below the Ferraris of the time. They are now, of course, filthy expensive — Russian oligarchs, American tech billionaires and Arab oil magnates only need apply; but man, I’d love to own one.
Speaking of Ferrari, Longtime Readers will know of my fondness for the brilliant Dino 246GT of the late 1960s, because it is one of the most beautiful cars ever built — my #1, and pretty much in everyone’s top 5, for sure.
As much as I have always loved the look of the Dino, I’ve actually driven one and it’s a bit of a pig: the clutch is stiffer than a teenage boy reading a nudie magazine, and the gearbox is kinda clunky. The engine is still wondrous, though: Fiat’s original 2.4-liter V6 creation (history is here, and Iain’s followup Dino exposition is here) was perfectly tuned at Maranello, and its power and top end quite acceptable…
…for the time. Nowadays, it might need a little more poke, and Jay Leno shows how it’s done, courtesy of Ferrari fanatic David Lee (“This is the car that Ferrari should have built” — a paraphrase of the opinion I have about the Eagle E-type, above.)
And I want this car as much or more than I want one of those Eagle Speedsters. (Just in red, not on that horrible David Lee black, and without the “flares”. The above pic says it all.) A bored-out 3.6-liter F40 engine? Have mercy.
Thus, in the “Dream Cars” pantheon of my “When That Powerball Comes In” fantasy, the above two beauties are #1 and #1a (depending on my mood).
Any others?
Silly rabbits; of course I have one:
1956 Mercedes 300 SC
That’s my tourer. Frankly, apart from putting in better electricals (lights, wiring, soft-top motor etc.), I may not mess with anything else beyond perhaps the suspension or steering if needed, because the mid-1950s 300s were built with only the best engineering, not just for the time but for any time. I would never put in a modern Merc engine because computers.
There may be more I could add as I think about the topic a bit longer, but for now, these three are absolutely perfect.
What would you pick to resto-mod? Remember: you get to keep the shape, but other than that, it’s an open field.
Over the years, I have got a ton of flak from my Readers about my love of European cars, and especially my preference for European cars over American ones (never mind the Japanese and others).
In the above post, I created my list of things that make me proud to be American — and yet, it does make me just a trifle ashamed that among those things, I only mentioned American-made trucks, and a generic admiration at that.
So I set about doing some research about American cars, but apart from a very few, I found little to enthuse about. And to be frank, with the possible exception of the latest models of Corvettes, there are no American cars of recent vintage that get my juices running and my manly parts excited. Of course, that means I have to go back in time — like that should come as a surprise to anyone who has even a passing familiarity with my rants and fevered scribblings — and really, it’s only as far back as the 1950s where I start thinking of cars that are proudly and unmistakably American.
Sure, there’s the late 1950s-era Chev Bel-Air:
…whose shape is admittedly more American in spirit than at least five American presidents I could name; but Chevy is a boring marque. Underneath all that chrome and those fins is just… [snore]
There’s also the 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz:
Once again, it says (or rather, bellows) “American!!!” but really, despite the four tons of chrome and the space-program fins, it’s more of a land barge than a car.
Nah, we have to look further and delve deeper into that era.
Which brings me to my absolute favorite American car: the 1957 Studebaker Golden Hawk.
Oh, please. A snorting, powerful supercharged 4.7-liter V8 (okay, 289 cu.in.) which gave the light-bodied Hawk an 0-60mph acceleration time of 4.8 seconds and a top end of over 125mph, which blew the doors off its Dodge, Ford and Chevy competitors.
The Golden Hawk was probably the first true American muscle car, and if that doesn’t get my starter motor cranking, nothing will. The GH also has matchless American looks — even though it was styled by Raymond Loewy, a Frenchman(!) — and in contrast to its European sporting counterparts, it’s a proper four-seater sports car and not the Euro-style “2+2” (meaning “fits two adults up front and two legless dwarves in the back”).
And it has a bench front seat so that you can cuddle up to your sweetheart at the drive-in movie (or anywhere else). Let’s not forget the capacious trunk and even — gasp! — seatbelts.
“Oh noes, Kim,” I can hear the plaintive cries now, “don’t you know that Studebakers were notoriously unreliable with questionable build quality?”
Yeah… ask me again about my love of Austin Healey, Alfa Romeo, Maserati, MG and Fiat sports cars. Unreliable? Don’t make me laugh.
I would rather drive the Golden Hawk in the above picture than any American car, of any vintage or brand.
So if any car is going to be added to the list of things which make me proud to be American, this is the one.
By the way: here is a lovely, affectionate history of Studebaker and its cars, done quite differently to the typical boring documentary.
Also: I could be talked into this Golden [sic] Hawk, whose color isn’t quite as shouty as the red one:
…but “not shouty”? Positively un-American, innit?
Jeremy Clarkson once described Italian hot-rodder Carlo Abarth as “completely bonkers” because of Abarth’s wonderful yet totally impractical designs, especially when taking the staid little 1960s-era Fiats and turning them into fiery sports cars.
To wit, this 1966 Fiat 850:
…into the snarling, 100+mph 1970 Abarth 1300 Scorpione:
In the parlance of my ill-spent yoof, the Scorpione would have been described as a “bird and a sponge bag” car, in that it had absolutely no luggage space at all, and the aforementioned two items were all that one could fit into the little screamer.
Like that’s important. And even though I would have no chance — zero — of fitting even my 25-year-old frame into the Scorpione, I would grab that little thing with both hands, oh yes I would.
Amyway, the Abarth story has a sad ending. In the early 1970s, they were bought out by Fiat, and disappeared without a trace — other than when Fiat wanted to make their rather boring sports cars (e.g. the 2015 Mazda Miata-based Spider) sound racy, and slapped the “Abarth” monicker thereon.
Note: In the U.S., the Scorpione was marketed as the Lombardi Grand Prix, fitted with the less-powerful 843cc engine.
Here’s the story of the Lancia company — and the title says it best: The Power Of Fun.
My favorite Lancia models (in order):
Fulvia HF
D50 F1 (as driven by Fangio)
Stratos
Aurelia B24
Stradale
Every time Lancia decided to enter some form of racing, they’d win, win big and win with some groundbreaking new technology. Very few (if any) auto companies can make the same claim.
I just wish they hadn’t been so horribly shafted by parent company Fiat… but that’s the corporate world for you.