Italians are renowned for their obsessive attention to the aesthetics of pretty much everything. As a result, the country enjoys a reputation for style and flair that the marketing teams of brands like Alfa Romeo or Maserati waste no opportunity to exploit to their advantage.

Yet, few would argue that, when it comes to car design, that reputation was mainly established between the 1950s and the 1980s, the golden era of the Italian “Carrozzieri.” These were a handful of small firms located around Turin that, at the height of their creative powers, managed to exert an outsize influence on the aesthetic development of the automobile worldwide.

But it’s plain to see that those days are gone. Bertone is no more, ItalDesign is an outpost of VW, and if you want your new car to come with a Pininfarina badge, your only choice is the Battista hypercar.

So, what went wrong?

The question may be simple, yet the answer is anything but. The downfall of Italy’s famed design houses wasn’t triggered by a single event or circumstance. Instead, it was a gradual process characterized by multiple contributing factors. But to understand what knocked the likes of Pininfarina and Bertone off their perches, we first need to look at how they got there in the first place.

The postwar years weren’t kind to the European coachbuilding industry. The sector’s traditional client pool was dwindling, and as the continent’s automobile industry embraced unibody construction, so was the supply of suitable donor chassis to work on.

By 1955, many prestigious Italian names from the pre-war era, such as Castagna and Stabilimenti Farina, were gone. The few coachbuilding firms that survived this tumultuous period were those with closer ties to the local automakers. These were the strongest, most resourceful outfits that could work with unibody structures and take care of small production runs—all while serving as actual design partners, too. Genuine one-stop shops that, on short notice, could ease the pressure from an automaker’s factory and design office.

That’s because while the switch to chassis-less construction made for lighter, more efficient cars, it also made tooling up for low-volume derivatives like coupès or convertibles significantly more expensive. And that’s where companies like Pininfarina and Bertone entered the picture. Outsourcing their design and production allowed Fiat, Lancia, and Alfa Romeo to offer sporting derivatives of their regular models without investing in additional production capacity. This became even more critical by the second half of the 1950s, as a booming Italian economy sent the demand for new cars through the roof.

By the mid-’60s, these lucrative contract manufacturing arrangements had transformed Pininfarina and Bertone into small industrial empires. Both companies built car bodies by the thousands, yet their fortunes depended as much on ideas as they did on sheet metal. Being perceived as the cutting edge of automobile design was crucial to keep commissions coming in, so wowing the crowds at the Turin, Paris, or Geneva motor shows with sensational show cars was an integral part of these firms’ business. And the results were as spectacular as the cars themselves: Design commissions came pouring in from France to Japan and everywhere in between. It seemed the Turinese masters could do no wrong, but their success was due in no small part to favorable circumstances.

As we intend it today, car design was practically invented in Detroit in the late 1920s when GM established its “Art & Colour” section. It didn’t take long for each of the Big Three to have a well-funded and fully-staffed design department. But, strange as it may sound to our modern ears, during the ’50s and ’60s, most European automakers had yet to realize the essential role design played in market success. If they had an in-house design team, it was often understaffed and placed under the engineering department’s thumb. Management frequently had little understanding or appreciation for design matters and, lured by their flashy dream cars, didn’t think twice about handing the job to the Italians.

Of course, that’s not to say these people weren’t good. Unencumbered by the internal pressures the home teams were subjected to, the Italian studios repeatedly delivered the freshest, most original proposals. Sometimes, when one particular automaker was stuck in a dangerous creative rut, that outside input—think Giugiaro’s work for VW in the 1970s, for example—could even prove vital. But nothing lasts forever, and as the 1980s gave way to the 1990s, dark storm clouds were already looming on the horizon.

The first cracks began appearing right in the contract manufacturing business that had served Bertone and Pininfarina so well. Quality standards across the industry increased, while more advanced, flexible production methods allowed different cars to be made on the same line. As a result, automakers lost the incentive to outsource the production of lower-volume models. Moreover, if an international customer faltered, falling back on Fiat’s shoulders was no longer possible. Italy’s former industrial giant was all but broke heading into the turn of the new millennium and could no longer offer the support that had been so crucial four decades earlier. Few things can dig a larger hole in a company’s finances quicker than an idle factory, but the problems didn’t stop there.

By the time the last 747 full of Cadillac Allantés left Turin’s airport, design culture was much more widespread worldwide. Automotive executives were now acutely aware of design’s importance, and wanted to keep tighter control over it. Consequently, manufacturers invested heavily in their own design studios and often had multiple ones on different continents. With that, any incentive to involve third parties in the process was gone.

Especially when said third party counted most of your competitors among its customers. In an excellent biography published a few years ago, the legendary designer Ercole Spada shared a poignant anecdote from his time at BMW. He recalled how the company routinely asked each of Turin’s most prominent studios for proposals despite not intending to pursue any. But, since Pininfarina, Bertone, and ItalDesign all worked with BMW’s rivals, having these companies “compete” against its own design studio was, for the Bavarian firm, an indirect way to get a glimpse of its rivals’ general direction.

Last but certainly not least, complacency set in. There may still have been a space for Turin’s storied design firms in the modern era if they had kept their foot hard on the accelerator and their gaze locked on the horizon. Perhaps even more than in their 1960s heyday, being at the forefront of automobile design was a matter of life or death. Yet, one look at Bertone’s post-2000 output is enough to see why their phone stopped ringing.

Of course, Pininfarina is still around. Its latest work, the lovely Morgan Midsummer, shows that the company hasn’t lost its touch. But the days in which every Ferrari and every Peugeot on sale was a Pininfarina design are gone, never to return.

Nevertheless, it can be argued that what was created all those years ago in Turin continues to wield a certain influence on automobile design today. As a part of our shared cultural heritage, it’s in the back of every car designer’s mind, providing inspiration and being reinterpreted in novel ways. There are many examples out there, but the best one may be Hyundai’s brilliant Ioniq 5. It’s a resolutely contemporary and highly distinctive design, yet its design language’s roots are in Giugiaro’s “folded paper” cars from the 1970s.

Ultimately, the tale of Turin’s fallen design giants is as much about their amazing cars as it is about the fleeting nature of success. Left behind by the industry they once ruled, what’s left of the Italian “Carrozzieri” currently faces an uncertain future. What is certain, however, is that their massive legacy will stay with us for a very, very long time.

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Most of the 20th-century Italian cars you’ll find in North American car graveyards today will be Fiat 124 Sport Spiders and X1/9s, with the occasional Alfa Romeo 164 thrown in for variety. For the first Italian machine in the Final Parking Space series, however, we’ve got a much rarer find: a genuine Maserati Biturbo Spyder, found in a boneyard located between Denver and Cheyenne.

1989 was an interesting year for the Maserati brand, because that was when the longtime friendship between Maserati owner Alejandro de Tomaso and Chrysler president Lee Iacocca resulted in a collaboration between the two companies that produced a car called, awkwardly, Chrysler’s TC by Maserati.

The TC by Maserati was based on a variation of Chrysler’s company-reviving K platform and assembled in Milan. I’ve documented five discarded TCs during the past decade, and those articles have never failed to spur heated debate over the TC’s genuine Maserati-ness.

In fact, I’ve managed to find even more examples of the Biturbo than the TC during my adventures in junkyard history, and even the most devoted trident-heads must accept those cars as true Maseratis.

The Biturbo was Maserati’s first attempt to build a mass-production car, and it went on sale in the United States as a 1984 model. It was available here through 1990, at various times as a four-door sedan (known as the 425 or 430), a two-door coupe, and as a convertible (known as the Spyder). This car is the first Spyder I’ve found in a car graveyard.

The heart of the Biturbo, and the origin of its name, is a screaming overhead-cam V-6 with twin turbochargers.

Unfortunately, the 1984-1986 Biturbos sold on our side of the Atlantic used a blow-through fuel-delivery system featuring a Weber carburetor inside a pressurized box, with no intercoolers. Forced induction systems with carburetors never did prove very reliable for daily street use, and the carbureted/non-intercooled Biturbo proved to be a legend of costly mechanical misery in the real world.

This car came from the factory with both Weber-Marelli electronic fuel injection and an intercooler, rated at 225 horsepower and 246 pound-feet in U.S.-market configuration. This more modern fuel-delivery rig didn’t solve all of the Biturbo’s reliability problems, but it didn’t hurt.

A three-speed automatic was available in the American Biturbo, but this car has the five-speed manual that its engine deserved.

When everything worked correctly, the 1989 Biturbo was fast and decadent, with nearly as much power as a new 1989 BMW M6 for about ten grand cheaper. The Spyder for that year had an MSRP of $44,995, or about $116,500 in 2024 dollars. Sure, a Peugeot 505 Turbo had an MSRP of $26,335 ($68,186 after inflation) and just 45 fewer horses, but was it Italian? Well, was it?

Soon after the time the first Biturbos hit American roads, I was a broke college student delivering pizzas with my Competition Orange 1968 Mercury Cyclone in Newport Beach, California. At that time and place, bent bankers and their henchmen were busily looting Orange County S&Ls, and the free-flowing cash resulted in Biturbos appearing everywhere for a couple of years. Then, like a switch had been flipped, they disappeared.

This car appears to have been sold all the way across the country from Lincoln Savings & Loan, so it doesn’t benefit from that Late 1980s Robber Baron bad-boy mystique.

If you had one of these cars, you had to display one of these distinctive mobile phone antennas on your ride. A lot of them were fake, though.

This car appears to have been parked for at least a couple of decades, so I believe the 28,280 miles showing on the odometer represent the real final figure.

There’s some rust-through and the harsh High Plains Colorado climate has ruined most of the leather and wood inside. These cars are worth pretty decent money in good condition, but I suspect that it would take $50,000 to turn one like this into a $25,000 car.

Still, it has plenty of good parts available for local Biturbo enthusiasts. I bought the decklid badge for my garage wall, of course.

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Last week, Ferrari gave us yet more proof that whoever coined the phrase “Money can’t buy happiness” has probably never been anywhere near one of its showrooms.

Of course, most, if not all, Ferraris are special cars, almost by definition. Yet Maranello’s latest creation, the 12Cilindri, is perhaps an even more fascinating object than usual.

On the one hand, it’s a genuine technological tour de force. It’s got active aero, independent four-wheel steering, plus a whole host of performance-enhancing electronic systems. But on the other hand, it’s also a delightfully old-fashioned proposition. After all, it’s a big front-engined, rear-wheel-drive grand tourer with a bonnet large enough to have its own zip code, and the only battery in sight is there to start up its massive engine.

And what an engine it is.

A 6.5-liter naturally aspirated V-12 that can rev up to 9500 rpm is simply Ferrari doing what it does best. And with such a glorious, unapologetic tribute to the gods of internal combustion under the hood, it’s no wonder Ferrari elected to give the engine top billing, even if that meant testing its international customers’ mastery of the Italian language.

The new 12Cilindri picks up right where its predecessor, the 812 Superfast introduced in 2017, leaves off. But it also marks a significant and welcome step up in the aesthetic department.

In the recent past, Ferrari’s Centro Stile hasn’t been immune to the odd slip-up, and in my view, the old 812 counted among those. But over the last few years, Flavio Manzoni’s crew in Maranello really seems to have hit its stride.

Beginning with the SF90 in 2019, the Prancing Horse’s styling team has knocked out a sequence of genuinely outstanding designs, from the gorgeous 296 and Roma up to and including the impressive Purosangue. The new 12Cilindri definitely is no less accomplished a design, but to fully comprehend what makes it so captivating, let’s start from the fundamentals.

As I’ve already stressed in previous articles, beauty in car design is, first and foremost, a matter of proportions. But I have to say that, in this case, Ferrari’s designers have had it easy.

Being a wide, low-slung two-seater packing a large engine placed well behind the front axle, the Ferrari 12Cilindri is the automotive equivalent of a supermodel: naturally endowed with attractive proportions. With such a technical package, Ferrari’s stylists already had all the makings of a pretty car before drawing a single line.

Still, even such a big head start won’t count for much if you don’t know what you’re doing, and one has to look no further than the Mercedes-AMG SLR to see what I mean.

Thankfully, the folks at Maranello rose to the challenge and created a perfectly sculpted volume that reminds me of one of my favorite Ferraris, the Monza SP roadster, but with a sharper, more contemporary feel. For example, I love the way the lower bodyside’s surface twists in a well-controlled manner from the front wheel arch to the rear, creating an interplay between light and shadow that visually “lightens up” the car.

I also appreciate that Ferrari’s stylists kept the car’s volume remarkably clean. In car design jargon, a “character line” is a crease on the car’s volume serving no purpose other than aesthetics. There are precious few on the 12Cilindri’s curvaceous body, and the main ones are the two running parallel and “breaking” the door’s surface just above the handle.

However, by deftly tying these lines to graphic elements such as the shutline of the clamshell hood and the front and rear lights, Ferrari’s designers have created a continuous line that “guides” our eyes around the car and puts it all together into a cohesive whole.

But, without a doubt, what stands out the most about the new Ferrari’s design is its rather bold graphics. That’s the term vehicle designers use when referring to everything that “cuts” into the car’s volume, like shutlines, air intakes, the glazing’s contours, and lights.

At the front of the car, Ferrari’s designers made a wise decision by using a clamshell hood instead of having unsightly shutlines cutting through the 12Cilindri’s voluptuous fenders. The trapezoidal headlight units are visually connected by a black trim piece, which certainly isn’t a novel idea but is used to great effect here, paying a tasteful homage to the full-width acrylic panel used on the legendary 365 GTB/4 Daytona.

By contrast, Maranello’s stylists’ approach to the 12Cilindri’s rear-end design is decidedly more radical. The two active spoilers get a black finish to visually merge with the rear window and create an arrow-like graphic on the roof. That won’t be to everyone’s taste, and it does render the 12Cilindri very color-sensitive: Spec yours in black or any other dark shade, and it’ll all become nearly invisible.

Still, if you really don’t like it, Ferrari has you covered.

In a surprising break from usual practice, the company presented the spider variant alongside the coupe. When closed, the retractable roof panel fits seamlessly with a pair of flying buttresses to give the 12Cilindri Spider a similar profile to is hardtop stablemate. The two active rear spoilers and the small decklid between them still get a contrasting black finish, but the effect isn’t nearly as convincing as on the coupe.

Italians are known to take great pride in Ferrari and its successes. And, being a citizen of this small country in the middle of the Mediterranean, I’ll confess that I’m no exception. Moreover, as an enthusiast who has witnessed the near-terminal decline of Italy’s volume car industry over the last few decades, the fact that there’s still a small company in Maranello building some of the world’s finest rides does indeed give me some solace.

Just like nearly everyone else, I’ll never own any Ferrari, let alone a 12Cilindri. But I’m glad it exists, and rest assured that when one of these roars past me in traffic, you’ll find me smiling and gazing longingly at its curves while I think: “We’ve still got it!”

Matteo Licata received his degree in Transportation Design from Turin’s IED (Istituto Europeo di Design) in 2006. He worked as an automobile designer for about a decade, including a stint in the then-Fiat Group’s Turin design studio, during which his proposal for the interior of the 2010–20 Alfa Romeo Giulietta was selected for production. He next joined Changan’s European design studio in Turin and then EDAG in Barcelona, Spain. Licata currently teaches automobile design history to the Transportation Design bachelor students of IAAD (Istituto di Arte Applicata e Design) in Turin.

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Lamborghini has a history of building some unforgettable models. Most of us remember the Urraco, and the Jalpa that came after rings a bell, too. But what many people forget is the car that linked those two—the Silhouette. The Silhouette was the work of the late Marcello Gandini, who died in March, and it deserves a wider audience.

Conceived when Lamborghini was at its lowest, in some ways it’s a miracle that any Silhouettes were made at all. The Italian firm went bust after the car had been introduced, and during its evolution Lamborghini teetered on the precipice. The only reason the Silhouette saw the light of day was that it was an evolution of an existing product, rather than a clean-sheet design.

The car that sired the Silhouette was the Urraco, which Lamborghini had introduced in 1970 as the P250, with a 220-hp, transverse-mounted 2.5-liter V-8. By 1974, there was a Europe-only P200, powered by a 182-hp, 2.0-liter V-8, as well the P300 with its 3.0-liter V-8 making 265 hp. As the first V-8–engined car from Sant’Agata, the Urraco was created to increase production volumes at Lamborghini; as a direct rival to the small cars of Maserati and Ferrari, it was consequently more affordable, if not exactly cheap. Pitched squarely against the Ferrari 308 GT4, the Urraco used the same template, with its Bertone design, mid-mounted V-8, and 2+2 seating configuration.

The problem with the Urraco was that its 2+2 seating layout made it rather less glamorous than a strict two-seater, and with Ferrari having launched the 308 GTB (and then the targa-topped 308 GTS), Lamborghini really needed something to compete. The solution lay in commissioning Bertone to get out the tin snips and turn the Urraco into a targa-topped two-seater. The Silhouette was the result, and it was revealed to the world at the Geneva Salon in spring 1976, to sell alongside the Urraco.

Essentially an updated 3.0-liter Urraco, the Silhouette was Lamborghini’s first production open car. Although it carried over the Urraco’s engine and bodyshell, this wasn’t immediately apparent, because the back end was redesigned with flying buttresses and an upright rear window (as featured on the 308 GTB/GTS). The detachable fiberglass roof panel could be stowed where the back seats had been. To distance the Silhouette from the Urraco, the wheel arches were squared off for a much more aggressive appearance. Beneath those moldings were bigger and wider Campagnolo wheels shod with the latest Pirelli P7 tires (195/50 up front and 285/40 at the back), and to top it all off there was a deeper front air dam that provided greater stability at high speeds.

Most of the mainstream car magazines of the time gave the Silhouette no coverage. However, England’s CAR had been a fan of Lamborghini since its earliest days, and on no fewer than four occasions the mag published drive stories on this transitional model. First up was Ron Wakefield in summer 1976. He wrote: “This is the sort of car whose limits are so high you can’t get near them on a public road with the margin of safety I like to have, and to be thoroughly familiar with the Silhouette’s behavior I’d like to have an hour on a race track somewhere. I was told that the car had matched a Group 4 Pantera’s lap times in testing at Varano.”

The prototype that Wakefield drove was poorly made so he reserved judgment on the build quality; just a few months later, CAR’s Mel Nichols drove the first Silhouette to land in the UK. His more extensive review didn’t mention how well screwed together the Silhouette was, so presumably this early production car was finished to a rather higher standard than the prototype. But he ruminated plenty on the driving experience, which he thought was something special:

“The Silhouette feels very different compared with the Urraco. Not harder and sharper as you might expect, but softer and even more supple; tamer… I travelled fast in the Silhouette, and I travelled fast so very easily. The wheel is turned and the car answers. Impeccably, precisely, unquestionably. The responses do not seem significantly better than those of the already superb Urraco, but the grip of the Silhouette once the manoeuvre has been undertaken is unmistakably stronger. You are endowed with even greater facilities for cornering, with reserves so huge that I sit here now after thundering along motorways at upwards of 160 mph, after whipping up mountains and charging down them, with no idea of where the limits of the Silhouette really lie… The Urraco hasn’t been overshadowed; it has been complemented. Magnificently so.”

Less than a year later, Nichols was back at Sant’Agata, bringing the final Silhouette back to the UK, with Lamborghini teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Production was running at little more than one car per week, and it didn’t help that North America, the world’s biggest car market, was out of bounds, because Lamborghini couldn’t supply enough cars to make the effort worthwhile for its importer, so it provided none at all. By June 1978, Lamborghini’s Type Approval paperwork for the UK had expired, which meant that its importer could no longer sell any cars there, either, even though there was demand for about 60 each year.

Thankfully, the company was saved in the early 1980s by brothers Jean-Claude and Patrick Mimran, but the rescue was a long, drawn-out process that took several years, and by that point the Silhouette’s time had been and gone. The final Silhouette was built in 1979 (the same year that the last Urraco was built), its production tally just 55 examples, the last one of which would become the Jalpa prototype. That car was launched in 1982, with a 3485-cc version of the V-8 engine first seen in the Urraco and carried over to the Silhouette. More than 400 would be made, in a run that lasted from 1982 until 1988, by which time the Silhouette had all but faded from collective memory.

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This may come as a bit of a surprise to those of you who like to patronize your neighborhood pizzeria, but actual Italians—the ones who live in Italy—are a bit sensitive about the use of “Italian Sounding” brand names for products that are not actually made in Italy. Their government is, anyway: A consumer protection law passed there in 2003 that makes it illegal to give misleading indications of the geographical origin of products. Italy has even taken the issue of “Italian Sounding” to the regulators of the European Union.

As a result of public pressure over that law from Aldolfo Urso, who holds the portfolio for the Ministry of Economic Development and Made in Italy (yes, that’s the ministry’s real name), Stellantis has announced that its all-new Polish-built EV will be renamed Junior instead of selling it as the Milano.

Last week, according to to the ANSA news agency, Urso said, “A car called Milan cannot be produced in Poland. This is forbidden by the Italian law that defined “Italian Sounding” in 2003, a law that states that you must not give indications that mislead the consumer. They would be fallacious indications explicitly linked to geographical indications. So a car called Milano must be produced in Italy, otherwise you are giving a fallacious indication that is not allowed by Italian law.”

On April 15, in response to Urso’s raising the issue of the 2003 law, Stellantis issued a slightly snarky press release:

During one of the most important weeks for Alfa Romeo’s future, an Italian government official declared that the use of the name “Milano”—chosen by the Brand for its recently unveiled new compact sports car—is banned by law.

The name “Milano,” a public favorite, was chosen to pay tribute to the city where our history all began in 1910. This was not the first time that Alfa Romeo has asked the public’s opinion when choosing the name of a car. It was previously done in 1966 with the Spider 1600 when the name chosen by the public was Duetto.

Despite Alfa Romeo believing that the name met all legal requirements and that there are issues much more important than the name of a new car, Alfa Romeo has decided to change it from “Milano” to “Alfa Romeo Junior” in the spirit of promoting mutual understanding.

The Alfa Romeo team would like to thank the public for the positive feedback, the Italian dealer network for their support, journalists for the enormous media attention given to the new car, and the government for the free publicity brought on by this debate.

With a unique story and an endless list of names to choose from, the name change was not an issue. Indeed, it was a pleasure to go over the list of names selected as favorites from the public’s suggestions, one of which was “Alfa Romeo Junior.”

Putting aside the question of whether or not the chunky little battery-powered compact crossover can accurately be described as a “compact sports car”, like the Milano name, Junior is part of Alfa Romeo’s heritage. After the success of the Giulia and its Sprint GT coupe iteration, for the 1967 model year, Alfa Romeo took aim at a younger audience when it introduced the GT 1300 Junior, a less expensive version with a smaller motor and fewer luxury bits.

It’s likely that Urso was using that 2003 law and the brand equity Stallantis has in “Milano” for leverage to get the multinational automaker to make more cars in Italy. His remarks about the Made-in-Poland vehicle were in the context of trying to keep Italy’s automotive supply chain healthy, and in response to Stellantis CEO Carlo Tavares’ remarks earlier this week that there could be possible plant closures if Chinese manufacturers started building cars in Italy.

Urso said that if Stellantis fails to build a million or more cars a year in Italy that it will be “inevitable” that an international car maker will step in to build cars there. The Italian government is already in talks with Tesla and three Chinese firms.

“We are working to enable Stellantis to produce at least one million vehicles in our country, Urso said. “To support the supply chain system, it is absolutely necessary to reach 1.4 million vehicles. If Stellantis believes it can do so, well and good, otherwise it is inevitable that there will be room for another car manufacturer or companies. We are a free market and we can and must incentivize Italian or foreign investment, obviously within the rules of the free market, and on this we are talking to those who consider building production plants in Europe.”

Urso jawboning Stellantis over the issue of the 2003 law was apparently not sufficient incentive to get the company to move production of the new vehicle to Italy.

It’s probably a good thing that we don’t have a similar law here in America about products’ “geographical indications” or we would have been deprived of such classic nameplates as the Chevy Malibu, Pontiac LeMans, or Ford Torino. Also, I wonder what those who crafted “geographical indications” legislation in Italy would have thought about more prestigious models like the Ferrari California and Superamerica not using Italian-sounding names.

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When the season-opening Firestone Grand Prix of St. Petersburg takes the green flag March 9 of 2025, two new cars will debut in the NTT IndyCar series. They’ll be fielded by PREMA, an Italian team that was founded in 1983 by Angelo Rosin.

PREMA, with more than 80 titles in multiple series, may be the best open-wheel organization that you’ve never heard of.

Though PREMA may not yet have raced in Formula 1 or IndyCar, graduates of the multiple ladder-type series that PREMA competes in certainly have. Those series include FIA Formula 2, Formula 3, Formula 4, the GP2 series, and other championship series that race in Europe and Asia.

And those drivers include F1 world champion and Indianapolis 500 winner Jacques Villeneuve, and IndyCar racers like Ryan Briscoe, Felix Rosenqvist, Marcus Armstrong and Callum Ilott. In F1, PREMA grads include Charles Leclerc, Oscar Piastri, Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly. The team is the partner of choice for every Formula 1 driver development program.

PREMA already has a deal with Chevrolet for use of its new, 2.2-liter twin-turbocharged hybrid V-6 engine, and it’s building a “brand-new, state of-the-art facility” in the Indianapolis area. The addition of PREMA will increase the IndyCar grid to 29 cars, and the Indianapolis 500 entry list to probably 35.

No drivers have been selected, but you can bet resumes have been rolling in. PREMA has long had a good eye for talent: Members of its racing family include Rinaldo Capello, Kamui Kobyashi, Lance Stroll, Mick Schumacher, Daniel Juncadella, Arthur Leclerc, Jamie Chadwick, Robert Kubica, Renger van der Zande, Enzo Fittipaldi, Sebastian Montoya, Eddie Cheever III, Ben Hanley, this year’s IMSA Mobil 1 Twelve Hours of Sebring winner, Louis Deletraz, and the lone American competing in F1, Logan Sargeant.

IndyCar will become the 12th series that PREMA currently participates in. PREMA also operates Lamborghini’s new SC63 GTP program, which just debuted at the IMSA Mobil 1 Twelve Hours at Sebring.

“PREMA Racing, with their global reach and extraordinary presence in open-wheel racing, will be a great addition to our growing and highly competitive paddock,” IndyCar President Jay Frye said.

“This new chapter will also be beneficial for PREMA Racing and its people, producing amazing learning opportunities and know-how transfer,” said Rene Rosin, team principal. “We want to thank IndyCar for the warm welcome and Chevrolet for supporting this project. We cannot wait to start operating in our new Indiana shop and get on track as soon as possible.”

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When discussing the halcyon days of Italian automobile design, I don’t hesitate to define the years between 1950 and 1980 as Italy’s second Renaissance. That may seem like hyperbole, but it’s a more fitting analogy than your art history teacher might like to admit.

Much like 15th-century Florence, a unique set of circumstances in the mid-20th century turned Turin into a hub of intense creativity. This time, however, at the heart of this creative explosion was not literature or the arts, but the quintessential product of the industrial era: the automobile.

Like Florence under the Medicis, the golden era of Turinese coachbuilding saw the work of countless artists and craftsmen eclipsed by the towering achievements of a handful of legendary masters. And masters don’t get much greater than Marcello Gandini, who passed away on March 13 at 85.

As it’s widely known, Gandini was hired by Nuccio Bertone in 1965 following Giorgetto Giugiaro’s move to Ghia. Mr. Bertone had a keen eye for talent, but probably even he couldn’t imagine just how good his decision would turn out to be.

Gandini’s first project for Bertone was the car his name will forever be associated with: the Lamborghini Miura. Widely considered among the most beautiful cars ever made, the Miura’s design was a masterful synthesis of different influences. Its overall concept drew heavily from Ford’s GT40, while the surface treatment and detailing owed much to previous Bertone designs from Giugiaro, particularly the 1963 Corvair Testudo.

Although its mechanical layout was inspired by motorsport, in the Miura, function definitely followed form. It was the fastest car money could buy, but its capabilities as a vehicle were entirely secondary to visual drama. Designed primarily to drop jaws rather than seconds off a lap time, the Miura marked the birth of the bedroom poster supercar. Yet, while the rest of the world was busy writing checks to Lamborghini, Marcello Gandini had already moved on.

The Miura had boosted Bertone’s reputation to unprecedented heights, much to the dismay of its crosstown rival, Pininfarina. But there was no time to rest on one’s laurels—these firms’ thriving yet fragile business model hinged entirely on being perceived as the bleeding edge of automobile design. With that precious reputation on the line at every year’s major motor show, it was a case of innovate or die. And innovate Gandini did, big time.

First came the Lamborghini Marzàl, which landed at the 1967 Geneva Motor Show. The word “landed” is entirely appropriate, because few other artifacts embody the era’s fascination with space exploration quite like the Marzàl. Built on a lengthened and extensively modified Miura chassis, the Marzàl was a piece of art inside and out.

Its front end was a slim black slit, housing six Marchal quartz-iodine headlamp units, among the smallest available at the time. The Marzàl’s giant glass gullwing doors exposed its four passengers like mannequins in a shop window, while the mechanical elements remained hidden under a matte black, three-dimensional hexagonal pattern engine cover that looked like armor plates.

The hexagonal honeycomb theme continued in the dashboard’s instruments and controls, as well as the seat cushions and backrests, which were upholstered in a highly reflective silvery material reminiscent of a spacesuit. If Gandini’s initial works for Bertone still had a tinge of Giugiaro’s design influence, the Marzàl was the turning point at which Gandini broke away from that mold and never looked back.

When the 1968 Paris Motor Show doors opened, the Miura was less than two years old and still the hottest thing on four wheels. Yet, that didn’t stop Gandini from completely rewriting the design template for the whole supercar genre.

Based on an Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale chassis and running gear, the Bertone Carabo was a radical departure not only from established aesthetic norms but also from anything Gandini had done until then.

Inspired by the latest trends in racing car design, the Carabo was as pure a “wedge” shape as possible, achieving a low drag coefficient while minimizing the front-end lift issues that plagued the Miura. Gandini took advantage of the relative absence of mechanical hardpoints at the front of the Alfa 33 chassis to keep the Carabo’s nose low and frontal area to a minimum.

Thus, the Carabo’s visual weight was concentrated at the rear. Its profile was characterized by a single, nearly unbroken line from nose to tail, as the flat bonnet merged seamlessly with the windscreen. Gone were the Miura’s sensuous curves, replaced by sheer surfaces with minimal crowning and tight radiuses: it was the dawn of the “folded paper” design language that would dominate 1970s automobile design.

Nowadays, Franco Scaglione’s curvaceous 33 Stradale is rightfully revered as a design masterpiece. But one glance at Gandini’s creation, based on the same underpinnings, is enough to realize just how far he was pushing the envelope.

The Carabo was never meant to become a production car. Yet, in a roundabout way, it did. That’s because when it came time to design the Miura’s replacement, Marcello Gandini reused the same essential design ingredients (scissor doors included) but distilled them to even greater effect. Leaner, sharper, and with even more dramatic proportions than the Carabo due to its bulkier powertrain, the Lamborghini Countach hasn’t lost an ounce of its visual impact over half a century from its conception.

Marcello Gandini remained at Bertone until 1980. His early years as the Turinese firm’s main creative force were not only the company’s finest hour, but arguably the period in which Italian car design reached its peak in terms of international influence.

Over the following years, from a desk in his country house outside Turin, Gandini tackled everything from massive industrial programs for Renault to underfunded supercar projects like the Cizeta Moroder. Though not all the entries in his vast back catalog can be considered masterpieces, each of his efforts affirmed Gandini’s unwavering commitment to technological and aesthetic innovation.

That’s a commitment Gandini reiterated in what would turn out to be his last public appearance. In the speech he gave before receiving an honorary degree in engineering from Turin’s Polytechnic University this past January, he urged the young students to “extract from limitations and impositions a strong, stubborn, and constructive sense of rebellion.”

Addio Maestro, e grazie di tutto. Non ti dimenticheremo.

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As Benjamin Franklin famously wrote, “in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes.” But that’s never stopped human ingenuity from trying to cheat them both, with varying degrees of success.

Since levies on cars and the fuel that goes in them are difficult to evade, they have always constituted a significant source of tax revenue for the Italian government. Yet, in the aftermath of the 1973 oil crisis, when the government subjected the purchase of new cars equipped with engines over two liters of displacement to a 38 percent value-added tax (VAT), even the country’s most prestigious automobile brands felt compelled to adapt.

The story of Italy’s sub-2000-cc exotics begins at the 1974 Turin motor show, with the Dino 208 GT4. Nearly identical inside and out to the 308 GT4 presented a year prior, the Dino 208 GT4 was equipped with a 1990.64-cc V-8 created by reducing the 308 engine’s bore diameter from 81 mm to 66.8 mm. Fed by four Weber 34 DCNF carburetors, the 208 GT4’s engine was rated at 170 hp at a heady 7200 rpm. While that was an impressive figure for a 2-liter engine in the mid 1970s, performance inevitably suffered compared to the full-fat 308, which, in European specification, could count on 255 hp. Nonetheless, the 208 GT4 sold well enough by Ferrari standards, with 840 cars built until 1980.

The same can’t be said about the Lamborghini Urraco P200. With only 66 examples leaving the Sant’Agata factory between 1974 and 1979, the least powerful Lamborghini ever made is also among the rarest. Like the Dino 208 GT4, the Urraco P200 was presented in late ’74 at the Turin motor show and looked nearly identical to the larger-displacement model that spawned it. Lamborghini rated the P200’s 1994-cc V-8 at a generous 182 hp, which placed it conveniently above the competition from Maranello but didn’t prove enough to convince the Raging Bull’s customers.

While its crosstown rivals were quick to present their downsized offerings, Maserati’s answer to the oil crisis didn’t arrive until 1977, because the company nearly didn’t survive it. However, one of the first new models to see the light after Alejandro De Tomaso took control of Maserati in ’76 was the Merak 2000 GT. Like its peers from Sant’Agata and Maranello, this version of the Merak was available solely on the Italian market and was equipped with a 1999-cc, 170-hp version of the existing “C114” V-6 engine. The Merak 2000 GT did little for Maserati’s fortunes, however, as production ended in 1982 after just 190 cars had been built.

But if Lamborghini and Maserati found little success with their downsized exotics, by the early 1980s things were about to get a lot more exciting at the bottom of the Ferrari range.

When thinking about turbocharged Ferraris, one’s mind naturally goes to the apex predators from the company’s 1980s lineup: the 288 GTO and the F40. But few people remember that the story of Ferrari turbo engines actually began at the opposite end of the company’s lineup, and for good reason. Because if ever there were Ferraris in need forced induction, they were the 208 GTB and GTS.

When production of the Bertone-designed GT4 ended in 1980, Ferrari began installing the 1990-cc V-8 from the 208 GT4 under the pretty Pininfarina lines of the 308 GTB and GTS. From the outside, the only way to tell a 208 apart from a 308 was the badge on the back. But once you pressed the loud pedal, there was no mistaking one for the other. Ferrari quoted a power output for the 208 GTB and GTS of just 155 hp, down 15 ponies from the GT4’s already depleted stable. These naturally aspirated 208s only lasted two years in production and, like the Dino 208 GT4 before them, were only available to Italian customers. Which is just as well, given that Thomas Magnum would have had a hard time running away from trouble in a 208 GTS. Nonetheless, between 1980 and ’82, Ferrari managed to shift 160 208 GTBs and 140 208 GTSs.

Still, something had to be done to stop the 208’s customers from being embarrassed at the stoplight by lesser machinery, so, as they often do, Ferrari’s engineers drew inspiration from F1. The 126 C2 with its twin KKK turbos won the F1 Constructors’ Championship for the Scuderia in 1982, and the same year’s Turin show saw the debut of the first turbocharged Ferrari you could drive without a helmet: the 208 GTB Turbo.

The extra heat in the engine compartment of the 208 GTB Turbo forced Pininfarina to make a few subtle exterior modifications that set the model apart from its naturally aspirated siblings. At the front, there were new cooling slots in the lower front spoiler to channel extra airflow into the radiator, exiting through new grille slots on the hood. At the back, the engine cover featured additional vents, while the rear bumper was split into two sections to make way for a cooling duct in the center. On the sides, additional NACA air intakes were added low down behind the doors, displacing the Pininfarina badges from their usual spot.

But if the exterior design changes were subtle, those made under the engine cover completely transformed the 208 from a somewhat emasculated entry-level model into a genuine performance car. Thanks to a KKK K26 turbocharger, Ferrari’s 1990-cc V-8 now boasted power (220 hp at 7000 rpm) and torque (177 lb-ft at 4800 rpm) ratings not far off those of the newly launched 308 Quattrovalvole. The open GTS model became available in 1983, and a total of 687 of the 208 Turbos were built until 1985.

Following the launch of the 328, Ferrari upgraded the two-liter cars to the new model’s softened exterior design and improved cabin ergonomics. The “208” moniker was dropped, with the company now referring to these models just as the “GTB Turbo” and “GTS Turbo.” However, the operation wasn’t merely cosmetic, as the engine received a new water-cooled IHI turbocharger and an air-to-air intercooler. With a little over 15 psi of boost pressure, the revised 1990-cc turbo V-8 produced an impressive 254 hp and 242 lb-ft of torque. Yet, like their predecessors, there was little to distinguish the turbo cars from a regular 328. Aside from the NACA duct on the sides, the turbo cars sported a taller engine cover to make room for the intercooler and additional ventilation slots on the rear bumper.

These last models were also the most successful in sales terms, with 1136 units sold until production ceased in 1989, putting an end to a brief but intriguing chapter of automobile history. Born out of sheer expediency during an era of economic crisis, by the end of the 1980s, Ferrari’s sub-2000-cc “Italian specials” had matured into serious performers that neither the company nor its customers needed to make any excuses for.

The Italian government finally repealed its higher tax regime on over-2000-cc engines in 1994, but Ferrari had already moved on by then. After a long time of being undervalued compared to their large-displacement brethren, prices for these sub-2000-cc exotics on the classic Italian car market have now firmed up considerably, and quite a few examples have since found their way across the country’s borders.

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Matteo Licata received his degree in Transportation Design from Turin’s IED (Istituto Europeo di Design) in 2006. He worked as an automobile designer for about a decade, including a stint in the then-Fiat Group’s Turin design studio, during which his proposal for the interior of the 2010–20 Alfa Romeo Giulietta was selected for production. He next joined Changan’s European design studio in Turin and then EDAG in Barcelona, Spain. Licata currently teaches automobile design history to the Transportation Design bachelor students of IAAD (Istituto di Arte Applicata e Design) in Turin.

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One of the best parts of keeping tabs on old cars for a living is the immense variety of weird stuff you encounter: Dymaxions, Isettas, Amphicars, Cybertrucks, Olds Jetway 707s, just about every Citroën ever. In addition to hosting the usual gaggle of Detroit muscle or red cars from Italy, collector car auctions are often excellent repositories for the wild and wonderful of the automotive world, and Artcurial’s upcoming Rétromobile sale in Paris does not disappoint.

This 1967 Maserati Quattroporte fire truck, s/n AM1071452, is on the roster for next week’s auction in the French capital, with a presale estimate of €150,000–€250,000 ($164,000–$274,000).

The car left the factory in July ’67 as a regular old Quattroporte, a four-door luxury sedan finished in Argento Auteuil (silver) with Girling disc brakes, a 4.2-liter 260-hp V-8 up front, and a black leather interior. An accident ended its days of executive transportation, and in 1972, Italian fire suppression company CEA Estintori purchased the car along with four others (AM1071296, 2184, 2210, and 2290), then brought them to Carrozzeria Grazia in Bologna for transformation into “the world’s fastest fire tenders.” They were used throughout the ’70s as emergency vehicles at Italian race tracks, including Monza, Imola, and Varano.

We’ve written plenty here in the past on the great Italian coachbuilders of that era—Pininfarina, Zagato, Touring, Bertone, Frua—but nary a word on Grazia, likely because their specialty was promotional vehicles, emergency vehicles, and hearses, and we’ve just never gotten around to that big feature on the Grazia-bodied Ebano shoe-mobile …

For CEA, Grazia worked its magic by transforming this and the other Masers into pickup trucks by removing the rear doors (Dueporte?) and converting the entire space behind the front seats into a platform, upon which fire suppression equipment—a big red water tank, a pump, a water cannon, various hose reels, maybe a dalmatian—was mounted. The auction catalog notes that the internal compartment, with its sporty ZF five-speed manual transmission, “was closed behind both front seats and benefited from the luxury specific to the Quattroporte, including air conditioning.”

The catalog further states that the cars earned great publicity for CEA, “and until the end of the 1970s, they were used as guardian angels on the greatest Italian circuits.” There seems to be a great deal of misinformation out there about them (like that dalmatian bit above…), but the Quattroporte registry site Tipo107.com notes that this car and its fire truck friends changed hands a few times in the late 1980s.

This one was then offered for sale by Swiss dealer Christoph Grohe in the early 2000s. In 2011, a German collector purchased it from a dealer in Marseille and began an extensive restoration to return the car to original specs (of its firefighting life, not its stately sedan life), with paint and interior work done at the old Maserati factory in Modena, just before the company moved to Turin. The work was completed in 2017, and in December 2018 it was listed for sale—but never changed hands—at $442,500. In that regard, Artcurial’s estimate of $164,000–$274,000 kind of makes the car seem like a bargain.

“It’s hard to think of a better trackside accessory for vintage racing than this thing,” says Hagerty senior auction editor Andrew Newton. “Even better that it’s a Maserati, which wears the trident of a water god on its nose.”

Quattroportes of this era are rare in any configuration or condition with just 763 built, so these fire trucks are on a different level of rarity. But for the Maserati fan who has everything, or the fire apparatus enthusiast who’s looking to downsize, or indeed the vintage racer who takes fire safety to the next level, this rare, fast, meticulously restored Quattroporte might be just the thing.

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Mario Revelli Di Beaumont. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

I wish I had a name like this, one that exudes old-world charm and sophistication. It certainly wouldn’t look out of place on the label of an expensive Italian wine. Mario Revelli’s story has nothing to do with fine wine, but it’s nonetheless very much about good taste. He may well be the most prolific automobile designer you’ve never heard of.

Born in Rome in 1907, Mario Revelli Di Beaumont owed his surname to his family’s roots in old nobility. Revelli’s formative years were heavily influenced by his father, a career officer in the Italian army. He led young Mario to join the “Accademia Militare della Nunziatella,” a prestigious military academy in Naples. However, this didn’t stop the young Revelli from cultivating his passion for fine art and engineering.

The latter discipline brought Mario Revelli to Turin at the tender age of 17. His brother Gino owned a motorcycle dealership and workshop there, and it wasn’t long before the two brothers designed a racing bike together, built around a 499cc JAP engine.

Revelli himself rode the special motorcycle to victory at Monza in 1925. Period commentators heralded the young Revelli as a promising young rider, but that glory proved fleeting. After discovering the hard way how motorsport, especially on two wheels, wasn’t conducive to a long and healthy life, Revelli turned his attention to automobile design.

Combining his artistic sensitivity with his technical training, Mario Revelli conceived elegant yet functional car designs that soon made him a name in the Turinese coachbuilding industry. By 1926, he was collaborating with Stabilimenti Farina, Garavini, and Ghia—earning Revelli Di Beaumont a reputation as the world’s first freelance car designer. While that’s impossible to verify for sure, such a figure was certainly rare in the 1920s, whether in Italy or anywhere else in the world.

Thanks to his privileged upbringing and vast sense of culture, Mario Revelli was very adept at interpreting the aspirations of the coachbuilders’ wealthy clientele. In his proposals, Revelli often managed to strike that elusive, delicate balance between flamboyance and restraint that the period’s Italian elite so craved. His skill brought him to the attention of Fiat’s president, Giovanni Agnelli.

In early 1929, Mario Revelli began collaborating with Fiat’s “Carrozzerie Speciali” (Special Bodywork) department, where he assumed an unofficial managerial position. In practice, though, Revelli’s role was more akin to that of a high-profile “aesthetic advisor” to Fiat’s top management. From this vantage point, he indirectly held sway on the design of the entire Fiat range.

That role didn’t stop Revelli from cultivating his ties with prominent local coachbuilders like Giacinto Ghia, for whom Revelli designed the Fiat 508 Sport Spider. To give the little Fiat roadster the look of a proper racer, Revelli placed the two seats offset to obtain a narrower body that fit snugly onto the underlying frame, just as on the period’s Grand Prix cars.

The subject of Grand Prix racers brings us to one of Revelli’s wildest projects: the 1935 Monaco-Trossi single-seater. The car was the brainchild of the engineer Aurelio Monaco, with its creation financed by wealthy enthusiast Count Felice Trossi. The latter was a friend of Revelli, thus he was brought in to help with the design. The vehicle’s appearance was that of an airplane with its wings removed, and it was dominated by the supercharged 4.0-liter, 2-stroke, 16-cylinder, air-cooled radial engine placed ahead of the front axle.

As if that wasn’t radical enough, the engine sent its power (around 250 hp) to the front wheels, doing away with the propshaft and placing the driver closer to the ground. Daring as its design was, the Monaco-Trossi proved utterly worthless on track. It only took part in the 1935 Monza GP, and even then, it didn’t last beyond a few practice laps. The engine’s weight hanging ahead of the front axle caused severe understeer issues, but its driver didn’t have to put up with it for long, as insufficient airflow around the engine soon caused it to overheat. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Monaco-Trossi remained a one-off, preserved in Turin’s National Automobile Museum collection.

In the 1930s, Revelli emerged as one of the leading advocates of the “streamlining” trend. In collaboration with engineer Rodolfo Schaeffer, he conceived the Fiat 1500, which was launched in 1935 and played an important role in popularizing this new aesthetic in Italy.

After World War II, Revelli continued collaborating with Fiat and Turin’s most prominent coachbuilders before heading to Detroit in 1952 to work on GM research projects. Upon his return to Italy in 1955, Revelli established a new design consultancy, with French automaker Simca among his best clients.

The small Simca 1000 and 1300 sedans may not be the most glamorous designs in Revelli’s back catalogue, but they were undoubtedly the most successful, at least in quantitative terms. Introduced in 1961 and ’63, respectively, the Simca 1000 and 1300 stayed in production well into the 1970s and sold by the million before Chrysler took over Simca and ran it into the ground.

In 1967, the Copper Development Association approached Mario Revelli to create a show car meant to promote the use of copper in the automobile industry. The result was the Exemplar I, based on a Buick Riviera and lavishly decorated in 11 distinct hues of copper alloys. Amazingly, not only does this one-off prototype survive to this day, but it could be yours, provided you can live with its looks and meet the $750,000 asking price. Still, Revelli’s customers must have been happy with the exercise, given the fact they commissioned a follow-up model in 1972. Unimaginatively called Exemplar II, and built from a donor Oldsmobile Toronado, its fate is unknown.

Mario Revelli Di Beaumont passed away in Turin in 1985. He never became a truly famous name, but over a career spanning five decades and two continents he left a mark on automobile design history the size of which any current professional would envy.

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Matteo Licata received his degree in Transportation Design from Turin’s IED (Istituto Europeo di Design) in 2006. He worked as an automobile designer for about a decade, including a stint in the then-Fiat Group’s Turin design studio, during which his proposal for the interior of the 2010–20 Alfa Romeo Giulietta was selected for production. He next joined Changan’s European design studio in Turin and then EDAG in Barcelona, Spain. Licata currently teaches automobile design history to the Transportation Design bachelor students of IAAD (Istituto di Arte Applicata e Design) in Turin.

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There’s been no shortage of enigmatic cars over the years, but one of the most intriguing, enchanting, and left-field examples must be the Alfa Romeo Montreal. It looked like nothing else, packed a 2.6-liter V-8 unique to the model, and it looked little changed from the Bertone concept that sired it. In the early 1970s, it really was what dreams were made of.

The Montreal story began in 1967, when Bertone displayed a pair of concept cars at Expo 67, the World’s Fair hosted in Montreal, Quebec, that year. The car was based on the platform of the Alfa Romeo 1600GT Junior and styled by ace designer Marcello Gandini. Alfa Romeo claimed that huge demand from buyers desperate to have their own Montreal resulted in a road-legal version of the concept being developed. In reality, it’s highly likely that Alfa expected to come up with a production car from the outset.

By early 1970, the road-ready Montreal was revealed at the Geneva Salon, and in place of the 1.6-liter four-cylinder engine was a much more appealing, detuned version of the Carlo Chiti-designed 2.0-liter quad-cam, dry-sump V-8, which was usually fitted to the T33 sports racer. The displacement was now 2593 cc, and with Spica mechanical fuel injection it developed an easy 200 hp at 6000 rpm.

This detuning was essential to the V-8’s long-term health; by reducing the peak power point for the engine from 8800 rpm to 6500 rpm, and cutting maximum power in the process from as much as 350 hp to 200 hp, the V-8 wasn’t remotely stressed in its new road-going application. Peak torque was also reduced, to 173 lb-ft at 4750 rpm; the racer’s maximum came at a heady 7000 rpm. Although 200 hp might not sound like much now, it was enough to take the Montreal all the way to 135 mph, having despatched the 0–60 mph sprint along the way in 7.5 seconds. Heady stuff for 1970.

When Autocar tested the Montreal in 1972, its V-8 was found to be supremely flexible. The car could be launched from a standing start in fourth gear, which would then take it all the way to 120mph. The maximum speed was 140 mph in fifth. Autocar noted: “On the road the most impressive thing is the way the noise level does not seem to increase at all with either revs or speed. Much of the time it is impossible to detect which gear is engaged or how hard the engine is revving. This coupled to the amazing flexibility means that initially the driver changes gear too much and it takes a while to get used to the idea that this Alfa can do most things in fourth.”

Considering the Montreal’s exotic engine specification, the suspension left something to be desired. While up front it was independent with coil springs, wishbones, dampers, and an anti-roll bar, at the rear there was a live axle with coil springs and dampers and an A-bracket. It was just as well there was a limited-slip differential, or getting the power down in challenging conditions would have been pretty much impossible. As it was, Autocar wrote: “Although there was never a trace of axle tramp on smooth roads, bumps or broken patches in the surface on corners set the live rear axle pattering about, but never to an alarming or disturbing degree. For a high-performance car without the benefits of independent rear suspension, the Montreal is deserving of high praise, especially in regard to its ride qualities and excellent handling.”

The magazine continued: “For a high-performance car the ride is really quite soft and much less harsh than, for example, that of a BMW 3-litre. There is quite a lot of body roll on corners in consequence, despite anti-roll bars front and rear, and a noticeable excess of front-end dive under heavy braking. Driven with verve and not much finesse on twisty roads, the Montreal will disturb most passengers by the frequent attitude changes. With a sympathetic driver behind the wheel it can be hurried just as fast on a much more even keel. It is the kind of car which grows to fit you, not the sort one takes to immediately.”

Montreal production started in 1971, with the all-steel bodyshells being built by Bertone. Things got off to a reasonable start, with sales the following year peaking at 2377, but it would be all downhill from there. With the fuel crisis hitting in 1973, Montreal production slowed to just 319 units in that year.

Once European sales had been established, in August 1972 U.K. imports began, with the Montreal priced at £5077 ($12,456). That was just £522 ($1280) less than a Ferrari Dino 246 GT, 50 percent more than a Jaguar E-Type V-12, and twice the price of the V-8-powered Triumph Stag. The Alfa was £1100 ($2698) cheaper than the BMW 3.0 CSi, but that was little consolation to potential buyers, who generally stayed away. Matters were not helped by a lukewarm reception from the press.

Despite room for improvement in many areas, not least of all its suspension, the Montreal wasn’t developed at all during its production run, which officially came to an end in 1977, with Alfa Romeo finally removing the car from its price lists. However, Bertone would later claim that it had built the last Montreal body shells a full two years earlier, after 3917 examples had been completed; just 180 of those were right-hand drive. Survivors are rare thanks to low values for decades. While good Montreals are now worth significant money, with so many other classics also vying for your attention, this is one car that’s likely to maintain a low profile for the foreseeable future.

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In the history of automobile design, few periods are more fascinating than the years between the end of World War II and the early 1960s. We can attribute this to the intense creative exchange between the two sides of the Atlantic in that era. To the eyes of people in war-ravaged Europe, the flamboyant automobiles hailing from the United States embodied the promise of a better future. On the other side of the ocean, Americans manufacturers seeking to lend glamour and sophistication to their mass-market products found a font of resources in postwar Italy, a land of rich design heritage and abundant artisan talent. And if there’s one man whose career trajectory rode this wave of “transatlantic style” better than anyone else, it’s Giovanni Savonuzzi.

Savonuzzi was born in 1911 in the small city of Ferrara. Shortly after graduating as a mechanical engineer, he moved to Turin to work for Fiat’s aero division. It was during his time at Fiat that he met Dante Giacosa, and the encounter would lead to a pivotal moment for Savonuzzi’s career.

By the early 1940s, Giacosa had become the head engineer of Fiat’s automobile division. But, with activities on future car projects sidelined by the war effort, he was tempted by entrepreneur Piero Dusio’s venture, Cisitalia. Working over his spare time at Dusio’s Turinese residence between 1944 and ’45, Giacosa designed the D46 single-seater for Cisitalia and laid the technical groundwork for the marque’s famous 202 coupé. Yet when Dusio asked for a full-time commitment from Giacosa, the latter politely declined. He suggested hiring Savonuzzi instead.

In his 1979 autobiography, Giacosa described Savonuzzi as: “Intelligent, brilliant, passionate, and a tireless worker.” Deservedly so: Savonuzzi began working for Cisitalia in August of 1945 and, in the space of a few months, set up Cisitalia’s technical facilities from scratch and took over every aspect of vehicle development. This included styling, an area in which Savonuzzi would go on to show remarkable skill.

The first prototype for Cisitalia’s coupé got the uncharitable nickname “cassone” (the Italian for “large box”) due to its slap-dash, makeshift looks. (Not so in the case of the lovely 202 Coupé Mille Miglia that followed, however.) The Italian engineer’s fascination with aerodynamics is evident in these cars, known today as “Aerodinamiche Savonuzzi,” due to their voluptuous curves and tailfins tall enough to make a Cadillac blush.

Meanwhile, Savonuzzi started work on the production version of the 202. It would become one of the most celebrated designs in all of automotive history. And once again, his creative input went beyond the technical aspects to encompass the car’s aesthetic appearance. Pininfarina usually takes all the credit for the design of the 202 coupé, yet the key elements that made the 1947 Cisitalia such a turning point in car design—like its fully integrated fenders and the bodyside made of a continuous surface across the entire vehicle’s length—stemmed from Savonuzzi’s drawings.

The involvement of Battista “Pinin” Farina was Piero Dusio’s idea. After all, Cisitalia was a new company, and the Pininfarina signature would give the 202 valuable cachet. But that’s not to say his name was the only thing the great master brought to the table—Pinin’s uncanny eye for proportion and detail polished Savonuzzi’s rough gem into a masterpiece that set the design template for the whole “Gran Turismo” genre.

Savonuzzi left Cisitalia in 1948. Various race car projects and collaborations followed, one of which brought him to Ghia in 1953. Conceived to take part in the Mille Miglia road race, the “Supersonic” was as Italian as lasagna but wouldn’t have looked out of place among the dream cars of GM’s Motorama shows.

Displayed at the 1953 Turin Motor Show, the “Supersonic” was based on a bespoke tubular chassis equipped with an Alfa Romeo 1900 Sprint engine and mated to a Lancia Aurelia transmission. What captured everyone’s imagination, however, was the car’s streamlined body, with its long hood, squat roofline, and taillight clusters that looked like jet afterburners. Orders for more Supersonic-looking cars quickly ensued, prompting Savonuzzi to modify the design to fit the newly launched Fiat 8V’s chassis. Over the next two years, Ghia would give the Supersonic treatment to fourteen Fiat 8Vs, three Jaguar XK 120s, and even an Aston Martin DB2/4.

The story of Ghia in the 1950s is inextricably linked to its role as the Chrysler Design Studio’s overseas prototype shop. Having become Ghia’s technical director in 1954, Savonuzzi oversaw the build of Virgil Exner’s “idea cars,” and that inspiration is evident in the fantastic “Gilda” streamliner from 1955.

With its semi-concealed wheels, impossibly long hood, and razor-sharp tailfins, the Gilda resembled a sci-fi movie prop more than an actual vehicle. Yet, there was a method to the madness: The Gilda’s striking design, inspired by watching ink blots blown onto a dart shape, stemmed from Savonuzzi’s experiments with scale models in the Turin Polytechnic University’s wind tunnel. A crowd favorite wherever it went, the Gilda would keep making motor show appearances until as late as 1960, but would also be one of Savonuzzi’s last stylistic feats.

His duties at Ghia meant Savonuzzi dealt with high-ranking Chrysler personnel in America on a regular basis. Due to his background in aircraft engineering, he was interested in Chrysler’s work on space and defense contracts and eventually joined the company in 1957 as a research engineer on the gas turbine project. While his name is listed on several patents related to turbine powertrains, little is known about the extent of his contribution to Chrysler’s turbine program. Nevertheless, Savonuzzi remained at Chrysler until 1969, when Giovanni Agnelli lured him back to Turin. Over the following years, as the Director of Research and Development at Fiat, he kept working on alternative propulsion systems until his retirement in 1977.

Giovanni Savonuzzi passed away in 1987. At this point, an article like this would end with a variation on the classic “gone but not forgotten” cliché. That would be disingenuous, because despite leaving a deep mark on the history of automobile design that any contemporary professional would die for, Giovanni Savonuzzi is not celebrated alongside other Italian masters like Bertone, Pininfarina, Gandini, and Giugiaro. I like to think I’m doing my bit to change that.

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Matteo Licata received his degree in Transportation Design from Turin’s IED (Istituto Europeo di Design) in 2006. He worked as an automobile designer for about a decade, including a stint in the then-Fiat Group’s Turin design studio, during which his proposal for the interior of the 2010–20 Alfa Romeo Giulietta was selected for production. He next joined Changan’s European design studio in Turin and then EDAG in Barcelona, Spain. Licata currently teaches automobile design history to the Transportation Design bachelor students of IAAD (Istituto di Arte Applicata e Design) in Turin.

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Corvette history is littered with fascinating one-off design experiments. Some, like the ’59 Stingray Racer, have remained etched into our collective memory. But many more faded into oblivion the moment the auto show’s lights switched off—very much the case for the Vettes penned by Italy’s most renowned design firms.

Pininfarina Rondine (1963)

Perhaps the best known of these so-called Italian Corvettes, the Pininfarina Rondine was a running prototype first presented at the 1963 Paris Motor Show.

Equipped with a 327 small-block V-8 and a four-speed manual transmission, the Rondine was built on the chassis of a brand-new 1963 Sting Ray (VIN number 99574) directly supplied to Pininfarina by GM. The idea behind the study, commissioned by Chevrolet itself, was to see an Italian take on the Corvette. But little did GM know that once the Vette arrived at Pininfarina’s workshop, the designer tasked with creating a new body for it was Detroit native Tom Tjaarda.

Whether Tjaarda’s elegant, smooth lines were an improvement over the iconic Sting Ray we know and love largely depends on individual taste. Still, GM’s top brass was reportedly satisfied with the exercise, including design supremo Bill Mitchell and Corvette’s chief engineer Zora Arkus-Duntov. Nonetheless, Pininfarina’s hopes for a production version were soon quashed, so the Rondine remained a one-off. The Turinese firm kept the Rondine in its company museum until financial difficulties forced it to put it on sale at Barrett-Jackson’s 2008 Scottsdale auction, where it fetched $1.6 million.

The name “Rondine” is the Italian for “swallow” and was inspired by the car’s peculiar rear-end design, vaguely reminiscent of the bird’s tail. But if GM did nothing with the Rondine, the visionaries at Pininfarina were never the ones to let a good idea go to waste. When Fiat came knocking at Pininfarina’s door for a spider derivative of the upcoming 124, Tjaarda skillfully adapted the Rondine’s design theme to Fiat’s small roadster, which went on to become a beloved Italian classic.

Bertone Ramarro (1984)

Presented at the 1984 Auto Expo in Los Angeles, the Ramarro (a little green lizard common in the Piedmontese countryside) was Bertone’s radical take on the recently launched C4 Corvette.

In fact, the donor car was the Vette from Chevrolet’s 1983 Geneva Motor Show stand, which GM gifted to Bertone after the show ended. Bertone’s designers knew that trying to improve upon the new Corvette’s very accomplished design would have been pointless. But they also knew that if their Corvette couldn’t be better than Chevrolet’s original, then it ought to be bolder. A lot bolder.

Created under the direction of Marc Deschamps, the Ramarro was an almost brutal wedge design. The sharply cut-off rear end was ten inches shorter than the donor ‘Vette and housed the engine and air-con radiators. That’s because their space at the front of the car was taken by the space-saver spare wheel to further lower the car’s nose compared to the original.

The C4 Corvette’s generous glasshouse was substituted by what looked like a jet fighter’s canopy: the entire roof was dark, with the pillars disguised by the smoked glass. Access to the cabin was via two large sliding doors, which revealed a cabin upholstered in leather whose color and texture were meant to evoke the lizard’s skin.

The Ramarro was a fully functional, running vehicle. However, once its motor show run was over, it mostly sat in Bertone’s museum until the firm’s bankruptcy in 2014. The whole collection was bought at auction by the Automotoclub Storico Italiano in 2015, and the Ramarro has since appeared in many events and exhibitions. But as Richard Corliss once wrote, nothing ages as quickly as yesterday’s visions of the future: The Ramarro has lost none of its shock factor, but it’s become more of a charming period piece than a design classic.

Bertone Nivola (1990)

Named after the legendary Italian racing driver Tazio Nuvolari, the Bertone Nivola appears on this list out of sheer completism more than anything else. That’s because it’s a “Corvette-engined” design study rather than a “Corvette-based” one.

The quad-cam LT5 V-8 from the Corvette ZR-1 was placed amidship in a tubular steel frame, mated to the ZF transaxle from the De Tomaso Pantera. But citing the Nivola as one of the many mid-engined Corvette concepts that paved the way for the current C8 generation would be a stretch. That’s because GM’s involvement with the project was limited to the engine supply, and the Nivola wore no Chevrolet or Corvette badges.

ItalDesign Moray (2003)

Presented at the 2003 Geneva Motor Show, the Moray was Giorgetto Giugiaro’s way to commemorate the Corvette’s 50th anniversary. That’s why, rather than an attempt to reinvent the Corvette, Giugiaro’s Moray was more of a loving tribute to the classic Vettes of yore.

Built as a fully functional prototype on a Corvette C5 chassis, the Moray’s sensuous curves harked back to the C3 generation and legendary show cars like the Manta Ray. Rather than a traditional roof, the Moray had two large removable glass canopies hinged on a central “spine” that can be read as a clever homage to the ’63 “split-window” Corvette. But my favorite part of the design is the front end, with its ultra-slim headlights positioned on the outer edges of the bodywork. This way, Giugiaro recreated the “eyeless” look of previous Corvette generations while doing away with the classic pop-up lights.

The name Moray (the English name for the eel-type fish Muraena Helena) was in itself another nod to the Corvettes from the Bill Mitchell era, whose shapes were famously inspired by marine creatures.

Bertone Mantide (2009)

Presented in 2009, the Mantide (the Italian word for mantis) was a one-off penned under the direction of Jason Castriota during Bertone’s twilight years.

Commissioned by a private collector, the Mantide was built on the chassis and running gear of the C6-generation Corvette ZR1. Thanks to the ample use of carbon fiber, Bertone claimed a 250 pounds weight saving over the donor Vette. On top of that, The Mantide’s somewhat contrived body design produced, according to Bertone, 25 percent less drag than the Corvette despite a 30 percent increase in downforce.

The Mantide was initially presented in red but later repainted in pearlescent white, which led some to speculate about a limited production run that never actually happened. What still wears the original red is the full-size styling model for the Mantide, which remained part of Bertone’s collection.

Much to the credit of GM’s designers, not even Italy’s greatest stylists ever managed to create a Corvette that looked better than the regular production models. But still, if you had to pick one, which of these Italian Vettes would you have liked to see in production? Drop a comment below.

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It’s easy to think of many modern cars as little more than domestic appliances, but luxury carmaker Iso really did start out making fridges. Founded in 1939, Isothermos was acquired in 1942 by auto enthusiast Renzo Rivolta. He renamed the company Iso Autoveicoli and in 1948 moved the whole works to Bresso, near Milan, with the intention of getting away from refrigeration and into building motorcycles for postwar Italy. It was a good decision, because by 1950 Iso was Italy’s third-largest motorcycle manufacturer, after Vespa and Lambretta.

Iso’s success came thanks to the superb engineering and exquisite build quality of its motorcycles. Despite being more expensive than the competition, Iso’s products were hugely popular, partly because Italy’s economy was struggling badly in the immediate postwar period and motorcycles provided cheap transportation compared to cars. But while motorbikes were affordable, they lacked practicality, so Rivolta decided to embrace a trend that was gathering momentum: the microcar.

In 1953, Iso unveiled the Isetta bubble car, a four-wheeled vehicle with a very narrow rear track, powered by a motorbike engine and with room for two adults and a bit of luggage. The endearing ultra-compact Isetta proved popular enough to inspire Rivolta to license production of his car to other manufacturers, the most high-profile of which was BMW, which produced the Isetta in huge numbers.

By the start of the 1960s, Iso’s motorbike sales were starting to dwindle, and microcars were falling out of fashion as levels of disposable income rose and people wanted something more luxurious. Having made plenty of money through licensing the Isetta, Rivolta decided to go all-out and produce a luxury grand tourer that fell at the opposite end of the spectrum from his quirky bubble car. By this point Rivolta had owned a succession of luxury GTs including Jaguars and Maseratis, and he wanted a slice of that pie.

Rivolta had started to think about the possibility of moving upmarket as early as the mid-1950s, but it wasn’t until late 1961 that he decided to bite the bullet and go for it. A visit to the Frankfurt motor show in autumn 1961 was the catalyst for his decision, when he spoke to numerous people about the idea of Iso building its own GT. Chief among them was Nuccio Bertone, who was commissioned to design the new car; within weeks Giotto Bizzarrini was signed up to engineer it.

By February 1962, a pressed-sheet steel rolling chassis had been built for the new grand tourer. In the nose was a proven, reliable, and affordable Chevrolet 327-cubic-inch (5.3-liter) V-8 borrowed from the Corvette. Buyers could initially choose between a four-speed BorgWarner manual or a two-speed automatic transmission; each of these gained an extra cog part-way through the production run, although just 23 cars would be fitted with arguably the best transmission of all: ZF’s five-speed unit.

The suspension was comprised of double wishbones up front, with coil springs and telescopic dampers; at the rear there was a de Dion axle with limited-slip Salisbury differential, located by twin parallel radius arms on each side and a Watts linkage, and once again there were coil springs with telescopic dampers. Disc brakes were fitted all around courtesy of Dunlop, complete with servo assistance.

Rivolta’s new GT was unveiled in June 1962. Named the Iso Rivolta, this elegant two-door coupé featured a luxurious four-seat cabin, described in period literature as having “Efficient functioning united to sober elegance.” The aim was to make 2000 Rivoltas each year, but with a hefty price tag, such a figure was always going to be pie in the sky. In 1965, the Rivolta IR300 was listed at £4360 (about $86,600 today), while the newly introduced IR400 was a strong £5060 (~$100,500); a Jensen CV-8, by contrast, was £3491 (~$69,350) and a Jaguar E-Type 4.2 coupé was £1992 (~$39,570), while the Aston Martin DB5 was £4248 (~84,390). However, other Italians were even more costly, with the Ferrari 330 GT at £6217 (~123,500) and a Maserati Sebring going for £5185 (~103,000).

Press reaction to the Rivolta was almost universally positive. When Autocar tried out one of the first right-hand-drive Rivoltas in 1965, it said: “Clearly the designer has achieved his main objectives, to produce an exceptionally fast and safe touring saloon, very enjoyable to drive, that readily adapts itself to such humdrum duties as short-distance commuting and shopping expeditions.”

Ultimately, the positive media coverage made little difference though, and by the time Rivolta production ended in 1970, just 797 examples had been sold. Meantime, Renzo Rivolta had died unexpectedly in August 1966, a year after the elegant Grifo grand tourer debuted. In Renzo’s absence, his 25-year-old son Piero took over the reins of the company, which unveiled the Lele in 1969, in readiness to replace the Rivolta the following year. By 1974, however, Iso had gone bust. The brand was revived in 2021 with the Zagato-styled Iso Rivolta GTZ, though just 19 examples were made.

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It’s Rome, 1962. No, not the romantic, silver-screen backdrop to Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn’s tour on a Vespa, but an ancient city in full color: the noise of the traffic, the smell of cooking wafting along narrow streets, a busy market, voices raised in argument, the acrid tang of two-stroke exhaust, life, bustle, crime.

On the surface, La Dolce Vita. Below, an underbelly of vice, violence, and theft. Towards the end of the 1950s, Italy has been experiencing an economic boom, and the newfound cash sloshing around has emboldened the criminal element. Armored car heists—in daylight. Bank robberies and shootouts. At his wit’s end, Italian National Police chief Angelo Vicari assembles his best men and demands to know what they need to fight this rising tide. Someone in the back speaks up.

“Di cosa abbiamo bisogno, eccellenza? Una Ferrari!” What do we need? A Ferrari.

The man’s voice carries authority. He is Brigadier Amando Spatafora of the Mobile Squad, and his service record shows dozens of arrests. Within the force he is known and respected for his dedication and his craft, and he has risen swiftly through the ranks. Spatafore’s swiftness behind the wheel of a Mobile Squad Alfa Romeo 1900 has earned him the nickname “The Lynx.”

Perhaps Spatafore spoke in jest, but the comment is received as wisdom. Spatafora will get his Ferrari, and in a short time the thieves and murderers of Rome will nervously whisper to each other, “Se vai in giro a tarda sera, occhio sempre alla Pantera!”

At night, beware the black Panther! Beware Spatafora!

And so, one of the great legends of modern Rome is born. No longer will the criminal underworld step into the light with impunity. Brigadier Spatafora and his Ferrari are on the case. Or at least, such is one telling of the story. In another, Spatafora and his flying squad comrades are so effective at fighting organized crime that Giovanni Gronchi, then president of Italy, arranges for the Ferrari to be presented to Spatafora as a gift.

Whatever the case, Italian officials reached out to Enzo himself with the request for a 250 GTE. Figuring he could sell a high-speed pursuit version of his V-12-powered 2+2 to other police departments in Europe, Enzo agreed to give the police two 250 GTEs. One was crashed before it could properly go into service, but the other survives.

Since this is a Ferrari story, it’s best to start with some Alfa Romeo origins. The Alfa Romeo 1900 police special was a quick little pursuit sedan, the predecessor to the Giulias of 1969’s The Italian Job. It had armored windshield glass, a rear sunroof that allowed the support officer to stand up and shoot from the car, and an 1884cc–1975cc twin-cam four-cylinder engine good for between 100 and 115 hp, depending on year and trim.

Not bad, but take a quick look at the tools used by the London gang who held up a payroll truck at Heathrow in 1962, who got away clean with today’s equivalent of more than a million pounds sterling. That outfit drove Jaguar Mk II sedans, each equipped with a straight-six engine that made nearly double the power of the little Alfa. It was the same story in Rome, where thieves would steal a Maserati or Jaguar as a getaway car, then scamper away from the bank before the police had a hope of catching them.

But the Colombo V-12 of a 250 GTE was up to the task. Producing 237 hp from 3.0 liters, and married to a racing-derived chassis, the GTE was more than up to the task of chasing down would-be bank robbers. The question, of course, was whether a driver could be found to handle the Ferrari at high speed.

Three of the best officers of the Mobile Squad were assembled at Maranello for testing, Spatafora among them. According to the legend, Enzo was there in person to observe, and Il Commandatore was so impressed by Spatafora’s skill behind the wheel that he offered him a position on the racing team on the spot. Spatafora turned him down, joking that it was safer to be a crime-fighter than a racing driver.

By the summer of 1962, Spatafora and 250 GTE chassis number 3999 were out on patrol in Rome. The car was black, like all Mobile pursuit vehicles, and on its fender was the image of a leaping panther. The wildcat is the symbol of the Mobile force, its name taken from the days of black Alfa Romeos.

One of the first outlaws bagged by the pair is another big cat, a Jaguar Mk II 3.8. Previously, this specific car had eluded police; finally, its driver languished morosely in the clink. As whispers about the new police Ferrari spread across the underworld, a few of the more brazen thieves thought they would still try their luck. They even called in and reported themselves, daring Spatafora to try to reel them in. He frequently did, in daring and well-publicized late-night chases—though always being sure to turn off his sirens when passing the Vatican so as not to wake up the Pope.

If you’re asking yourself, “Never mind all this Marvel superhero nonsense, where’s the movie about this?” then good news, because one actually exists. Released in 1977, Politziotto Sprint is a retelling of Spatafora’s story, with him as a grizzled older cop mentoring a young hotshot. It’s pretty formulaic action-movie stuff, but the stunts are pretty impressive, including one where a black 250 GTE chases the bad guys right down Rome’s famous early-18th-century Spanish Steps.

According to several stories about the real Spatafora, this event actually happened. There are two versions.

In one, a French gangster from Marseilles was in town on some bad business, driving a Citroën DS. With Spatafora in chase, the gangster pointed the car down the steps, figuring the hydropneumatic suspension would give him an advantage over the more powerful Ferrari.

In another version, the villains were two well-known car thieves nicknamed lo Zoppo and il Pennellone—the Cripple and the Brush. Prowling through Rome’s heart, Spatafora spots a stolen Alfa Romeo 2500 and gave chase.

In both cases, the Ferrari was badly damaged and the bad guys end up in handcuffs. While there’s no official police record of what actually happened, 250 GTE chassis 3999 is said to wear tell-tale scrapes underneath.

Spatafora and the Ferrari served Rome until 1967, after which the car was used as a high-speed inter-city courier for blood donations. It was retired in 1968, and eventually sold off at auction. Spatafora himself, by this time at the rank of Marshall, also retired and relinquished the spotlight.

Happily, the car was preserved by the Cappellis, a family of car collectors. They reunited Spatafora with the Ferrari 250 GTE in 1984 at the Coppa d’Oro delle Dolomiti, a vintage car race held in the Dolomite mountain range. Spatafore finished a very respectable second.

Sadly, his life came to an end just a couple of years later, and he died aged only 58. The 250 GTE, complete with original lights and sirens, has since been shown everywhere from the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance to Rome’s police vehicle museum. It is no longer in the possession of the Cappellis, but the Panther Ferrari is still well preserved.

Should you ever find yourself in its presence, get down on your hands and knees and take a peek underneath. Look for the battle scars, evidence of an Italian policeman who never held anything back in the pursuit of justice.

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Car enthusiasts constantly daydream about owning this car or that car. But what about owning a car factory? If a full-service plant, from production line to paint booth, has been your wish list, today is your lucky day. Strange as it sounds, Stellantis will actually sell you one.

And not just any car factory either: a Maserati factory.

Currently listed on a popular online Italian real estate portal, the 1.2-million square-foot complex on the outskirts of Turin was the production site for the Ghibli and Quattroporte between 2013 and 2021. After that, assembly of these slow-selling sedans was moved elsewhere, leaving only a few residual operations onsite. But now, with both models heading to the great scrapyard in the sky by this year’s end, it means lights out for a factory complex whose history stretches back to the golden age of the Italian coachbuilding industry.

The story of the former Maserati factory actually begins 100 miles away, at Alfa Romeo’s Milan headquarters, in 1953. Alfa’s engineers were busy working on the new Giulietta sedan, whose launch was scheduled for the spring of 1954. However, due to some resonance issues within the car’s steel unibody that were proving tricky to solve, it looked like the Giulietta’s debut would have to be delayed.

That simply would not do, for one critical reason: The Giulietta’s development had been partly funded through bonds issued by Alfa’s parent company—the state-owned conglomerate Finmeccanica. Said bonds were marketed to small investors with the promise that a few lucky subscribers, drawn by lot, would be gifted a brand-new Giulietta. The government had no intention of backing out of its obligations.

To get out of this tight spot, Alfa greenlit the creation of a small batch of coupés whose bodywork—conveniently—demanded styling and construction by an outside supplier. In this case, the Turinese coachbuilder Nuccio Bertone.

The result was the beautiful Giulietta Sprint, penned by Franco Scaglione and presented at the Turin Motor Show in the spring of 1954. The public immediately fell head over heels for Alfa’s sweet little coupé, leading to an influx of orders that subverted Alfa Romeo’s small-batch plans and put Bertone under severe pressure.

Remember—the Sprint was meant to be a short-lived stopgap. No investment existed for tooling to manufacture such a car at scale. Each Sprint bodyshell was created by Bertone’s workers the traditional way, using hand-beaten panels, as it was customary for low-volume production. But with Alfa Romeo now demanding over 30 Sprint bodies per day to keep up with demand, Nuccio Bertone had to do the impossible. So he did.

By outsourcing Sprint body panels to craftsmen scattered all around Turin, while also hiring hundreds of additional workers, Bertone pulled off a miracle that could only happen in 1950s Turin: genuine human craftsmanship on an industrial scale. Around 6000 Giulietta Sprint had already been produced by the spring of 1958, turning Bertone from a simple coachbuilding atelier into a proper industrial complex. The company could now invest in tooling and transition from hand-made panels to pressed ones, all while building a new factory on a large plot of land in Grugliasco, a suburb on the outskirts of Turin.

Bertone shifted all its operations to the new facility between 1959 and 1960, and the move marked the definitive transition to spot-welded and pressed panels for all Sprint bodies. These moves led to a sharp increase in productivity, and by June 1961, the Grugliasco factory celebrated the production of the 20,000th Giulietta Sprint bodyshell for Alfa Romeo.

The success cut two ways. Such contract manufacturing arrangements, while lucrative, also placed Bertone at the mercy of the automakers it served. The Turinese firm styled the Giulietta Sprint’s replacement, but Alfa’s decision to build the new Giulia GT in-house sent Nuccio Bertone scrambling to avert the loss in production. He managed it, and then some, by smooth-talking Fiat’s management into a spider based on the small 850 sedan.

Penned by Giorgetto Giugiaro and presented at the 1965 Geneva Motor Show, the 850 Spider was a smash hit for Bertone. Despite the car’s diminutive size, demand for the 850 Spider from the U.S. pushed the Grugliasco factory’s output to over 100 car bodies per day. By the time production ended in 1972, over 130,000 850 Spiders had been made, of which about 92.000 went Stateside.

The little Fiat’s has a big claim to fame nowadays, in that it shared its headlights and taillights with the Lamborghini Miura. Again, the Miura bodies were built, painted, and fully trimmed at Bertone’s factory before going to Sant’Agata Bolognese to receive their engine and running gear. But perhaps the product most strongly associated with Bertone and its Grugliasco factory is another pioneering mid-engined car: the X1/9.

Much like the 850 Spider it replaced on Bertone’s production line, the X1/9 proved much more popular in America than in its native country. So much so, in fact, that once Fiat left the States in 1982, Bertone brought the model’s entire production process in-house and sold it under its own brand until the end of the decade.

Fortunes changed, however, and the subsequent 1990s and early 2000s marked a steep downturn for the Italian automobile industry. This, along with the emergence of more flexible production methods that enabled automakers to produce different models on the same assembly line, made it increasingly difficult for Bertone’s factory to secure work.

In fact, the Grugliasco plant stayed in business mainly because of General Motors’ largesse; three generations of Opel convertibles were produced in Turin between 1987 and 2005. Once the last Opel rolled off the line, the fate of Bertone’s manufacturing business was sealed. Few things burn cash quicker than a large factory with nothing to make.

In 2009, the late Fiat CEO Sergio Marchionne took over the idle, bankrupt Bertone factory to turn it into the launchpad for Maserati’s bold, if ultimately fruitless, assault on the luxury sedan segment. With the Grecale and Levante SUVs representing the brand’s near-term strategy, the Quattroporte and Ghibli are no more.

If it’s bought and turned into some clothing or food factory, I’d rather not see it. I choose to remember these soon-to-be-empty walls for what they are: a monument to one man’s vision in an unrepeatable era of Italian motoring history.

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Matteo Licata received his degree in Transportation Design from Turin’s IED (Istituto Europeo di Design) in 2006. He worked as an automobile designer for about a decade, including a stint in the then-Fiat Group’s Turin design studio, during which his proposal for the interior of the 2010–20 Alfa Romeo Giulietta was selected for production. He next joined Changan’s European design studio in Turin and then EDAG in Barcelona, Spain. Licata currently teaches automobile design history to the Transportation Design bachelor students of IAAD (Istituto di Arte Applicata e Design) in Turin.

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In the fall of 1977, a young Robert Loglisci arrived in Italy to visit family and achieve a childhood dream. On his cap was the red-and-white maple leaf flag of his home country, Canada, but with a last name like Loglisci, you can guess that his Italian heritage ran deep. That hat ended up being more important than the teenage Robert could have guessed, leading to a memorable brush with greatness, a gift from the man they called il Commentadore, and a lifetime spent building and racing purebred Italian hot rods.

Today, anyone wanting to tour Ferrari’s factory need only buy a ticket. In the late 1970s, you needed a connection. Loglisci’s uncle knew someone who could arrange things, and the pair arrived at the door in Modena with great anticipation. And then they waited. And waited.

At last, the doors opened, the factory workers rushed out, and there stood the great man himself. Enzo Ferrari, a man not known to show much patience with actual paying customers, was a forbidding sight. But then Enzo clocked the flag on the young man’s hat.

The timing was perfect. Just one month prior Enzo had met this “piccolo Canadese” racing driver named Gilles Villeneuve, and he came away convinced that the French-Canadian could be the next Nuvolari. Ferrari would personally hire Villeneuve as a racing driver for the balance of the 1977 season, and on that autumn afternoon, he was inclined to treat another visiting Canadian with kindness.

To this day, Loglisci regrets that his uncle didn’t take a picture of the meeting (the uncle refrained, out of respect to Enzo). However, Loglisci did get his tour of the Ferrari factory, at the end of which Enzo Ferrari presented him with two gifts. One was an autographed copy of Il Libro Rosso, literally “the red book,” a history of Ferrari written by Enzo himself. The other was a bottle of il Commentadore’s favorite wine from a Maranello vintner.

“I drank the wine, of course,” quips Loglisci, “But I kept the bottle.”

Both items are normally tucked away in a study that is filled with mementos and racing trophies, but he brings them out and sets them gently on the back of his unusual 1967 Alfa Romeo Duetto Spider. He bought this car the year after returning from Italy, and you’d have to think Enzo would approve. After all, Ferrari got his start first driving and then managing racing Alfa Romeos. Loglisci’s ’67 is a road car, but under its hood is a 12V 3.0-liter Alfa Romeo V-6, a swap that he developed while racing another Alfa Spider, this one with a 24V V-6.

Loglisci’s racing history stretches back to pre-teen days building and competing in homemade go-karts. He wasn’t always the fastest kid on the circuit, but he won a race when his go-kart proved the most reliable; after all, to finish first, you must first finish. This opened up a pathway to a career as a mechanic. He worked on everything from Mercedes-Benzes to Lancias, and later struck out on his own, specializing in Italian marques.

At home, though, it was always Alfas. And while some Alfa Romeo owners wouldn’t dream of messing with the originality of their cars, Loglisci had a racer’s attitude toward his own. He wouldn’t dream of sullying them with parts from other marques, but under the Alfa umbrella was the opportunity for a wonderful recipe: Take the lightweight and nimble Spider and infuse it with a glorious Busso V-6. Presto! An Italian sports car with poise, a feisty power-to-weight ratio, and a soundtrack worthy of Pavarotti. Painted red, of course.

His first V-6–swapped Spider was a later 1991 model, completed about 20 years ago. The donor car was a 1994 164 sedan.

The swap took about two and a half years to complete, as no one had attempted a swap with the 24V yet. Loglisci took a painstaking approach, first assembling the engine and transmission pairing on a stand, then adjusting the body for clearances. Once everything was together, he performed the ultimate shakedown test by taking it racing. Over two years, he scored 11 podiums, including four first places.

Further modification involved adjusting the mounts and fabricating an oil pan to be able to return the Spider’s firewall to its original configuration. Loglisci did all the work himself, including paint and bodywork. The V-6 fit like it should have been an option from the factory.

The 1967 Duetto was completed more recently, fitted with a 12V engine and a four-barrel carburetor rather than fuel injection. Loglisci also updated the interior with many parts from a 1991 Spider.

The 1991 swap got a little attention when it was a featured car in European Car magazine, and Loglisci gets emails from time to time from people attempting similar builds. One recent missive came from none other than a couple of mechanics whose day job is on the McLaren F1 team.

Loglisci’s been back to Italy many times over the years, visiting the Lamborghini factory and the Alfa Romeo museum. He’s met Gilles Villeneuve and Mario Andretti. The Italian marque’s car community in Loglisci’s hometown on Vancouver Island is relatively small, but he does host semi-regular meets just down the road at a coffee shop that can do a proper Italian cappuccino.

There are great roads all around the island, properly windy stuff with mountain views or coastal vistas. The water is the Strait of Georgia, rather than the Mediterranean, but on a warm summer’s day you might be fooled by the sunshine. Especially at the wheel of an open Italian roadster with a thrumming V-6 responding to a prod of the throttle.

And then to come home, park your homebuilt Alfa Romeo in the garage, and retire to your study. Take down the red-covered book from the shelf, and leaf through the pages of a great marque’s history. An empty wine bottle, still filled with great memories. The remembrance of shaking hands with a legend, a gift from Enzo.

***

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Lamborghini’s unique breed of supercars has become part of popular culture. Its scissor doors make regular appearances in music videos and social media posts, the Countach earned a spot on the National Historic Vehicle Register, and the Aventador is present in nearly every toy store in the world.

It wasn’t always this way. Before the Miura, which created the template for the modern supercar, the company planted its stake in the gran turismo segment with a pair of coupes called 350 GT and 400 GT, respectively. GTs have since faded from the Lamborghini range, but they played a significant role in shaping the image and the values that characterize the company today.

Muting Ferrari’s chatter

Ferruccio Lamborghini diligently made a name and a fortune for himself by building tractors, but adding “carmaker” to his resume wasn’t as random as it might seem. He notably competed in the 1948 Mille Miglia with a barchetta based on the humble Fiat Topolino. While the little roadster dropped out of the race, Lamborghini didn’t lose his appetite for speed. His success allowed him to own some of the fastest and most expensive cars available in Italy, including models made by Ferrari. It was the Prancing Horse’s reliability-related problems (and, according to many accounts, Enzo Ferrari’s callous attitude towards customers who complained about mechanical issues) that led Lamborghini to start his own company.

Lamborghini founded Lamborghini in 1963, when there was no shortage of small, obscure carmakers looking to capitalize on a growing demand for fast cars on both sides of the Atlantic. His first concept, the 350 GTV, made its debut to the popping of flashbulbs at the 1963 Turin auto show. It remained a one-off, but it spawned a production model called 350 GT that was presented at the 1964 Geneva auto show.

This is where it all started: the first production-bound Lamborghini was born.

Young, passionate engineers like Paolo Stanzani and Giampaolo Dallara helped make the 350 GT a reality. On paper, the coupe featured a relatively conventional layout: it was powered by a front-mounted, 3.5-liter V-12 engine that spun the rear wheels. Italian coachbuilder Carrozzeria Touring built around 135 units of the first Lamborghini, which was an impressive figure for a small company peddling its first car.

There was one way to tell whether Lamborghini was on the brink of stardom or if it had experienced a bout of beginner’s luck: launch a second model. Released in 1966, the 400 GT landed as an evolution of its predecessor with a redesigned front end, a more spacious interior, and a larger, 3.9-liter V-12. Orders poured in, and production totaled approximately 273 examples. While that doesn’t exactly sound like a smash hit, three-digit production figures were fairly common in this sector of the Italian automotive industry during the 1960s; Ferrari built roughly 200 examples of the Pininfarina-designed 275 GTS from 1964 to 1966.

Several high-profile individuals purchased a 400 GT, including Paul McCartney, and a handful of examples were exported to overseas markets like Japan. In hindsight, one of the 400 GT’s fiercest competitors came not from Maranello, Modena, or Coventry but from Lamborghini’s headquarters in Sant’Agata Bolognese, Italy. The revolutionary Miura made its debut in 1966 as well and quickly overshadowed the 400 GT; it was arguably the first supercar, and it’s the car that made Lamborghini a household name.

Performance meets elegance

Lamborghini tossed me the keys to one of the last 400 GTs. Built in December 1967 and assigned chassis number 01324, it’s a Swiss-market car finished in Saint Vincent Gray with a tobacco interior, and it was ordered with a handful of options such as a heated rear window. Stepping inside is like discovering a new side of the company: luxury is the main theme in the cabin. There’s soft leather everywhere, a wood-rimmed steering wheel, and wood trim on the top part of the center stack. In the back, there’s a two-person bench seat that I wouldn’t mind having as a couch in my living room. It’s not that Lamborghini no longer dabbles in luxury, everything inside its current cars is nice to touch and look at, but even the Urus SUV feels like it was designed with a focus on performance. Not here; this is first and foremost a luxury car. If you want more proof, pop the hood: the underside of it is covered with square-stitched upholstery.

Reach past the wood shift knob to put the key in the ignition barrel, hear the fuel pump click a couple of times, start the V-12, and the luxurious interior becomes an interesting paradox. While you’re not sitting on a bucket seat and surrounded by a roll cage, the engine sounds like it belongs in a race car. Open the (power-operated!) window to let the sound in, close your eyes, and you may as well be at the 1967 Targa Florio. Luckily, the naturally-aspirated V-12’s roar still echoes through Lamborghini’s headquarters today. It’s a configuration that the company has pledged to keep alive for as long as regulations allow it.

It takes only a couple of miles on the roads that snake through the mountains separating Bologna and Florence to get used to the 400 GT. It’s a relatively smooth and easy car to drive: the steering is fairly light, not overly quick, and precise, the shifter’s throws are short and direct, and the power is always there when you need it. The 3.9-liter V-12 slurps fuel from a constellation of six carburetors to develop 320 horsepower, which was a monumental amount in the late 1960s; in comparison, a 1967 911 S used a 2.0-liter flat-six rated at 180 horsepower. With so much power on tap, and an engine that’s markedly more cheerful when the needle is hovering in the upper part of the tachometer, Lamborghini engineers gave the 400 GT relatively long gears and you’re not constantly shifting up and down to keep moving.

The V-12’s sound gets better as the pace picks up, and it’s accompanied by a subtle whine coming from the five-speed manual gearbox. One of the more fascinating aspects of driving the 400 GT is how effortlessly it keeps up with traffic. In a lot of cars from this era, you feel like you’re going fast even if you’re not. That’s the impression I get after driving, say, an Alfa Romeo Giulietta Sprint. Not here; the 400 GT moves with a real sense of urgency, and the brakes are powerful enough to keep the fun in check. While I wasn’t able to test this, Lamborghini tells me the coupe keeps going until its speedometer shows 155 mph. Put another way, you’ll (eventually) beat a BMW i4 in a pedal-to-the-floor race on the autobahn.

Although the mighty V-12 is the 400 GT’s soul, the chassis doesn’t disappoint. This is where the GT genes become dominant: the 400 GT behaves elegantly, even through hairpin turns, thanks to a chassis that strikes a balance between performance and comfort without leaving the realm of sportiness. The ride is never overly firm but body roll is never excessive, either. In this sense, the 400 GT is closer to cars like the current-generation Maserati Gran Turismo, for example, than to the Aventador. It’s happy to go along with whatever you’ve got planned as long as you don’t push it too far toward either extreme. This is part of what sets it apart from the Miura, which leans far more towards the performance side of the scale.

Ripe for revival?

The 400 GT retired in 1968 and passed the torch to the short-lived Islero, which featured a more angular design. That same year, the striking-looking Espada made its debut and remained in production for a decade. It wasn’t directly replaced, and Lamborghini exited the GT segment.

By the beginning of the 1980s, the extravagant Countach had become firmly embedded into the automotive landscape and the market for big, expensive coupes with four seats was coasting in neutral. No one has truly managed to jump-start it since, but Lamborghini hasn’t forgotten about the GT side of its heritage: its first electric model due out before the end of the decade will reportedly take the form of “a 2+2 two-door car.” Despite the future-focused push, the dream of a world-class GT car may soon resurface.

***

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The first members of the press just got to drive the hottest version of Acura’s reborn Integra. Though the new car is badged Type S rather than Type R, it smacks of the same simple, mechanical goodness as its ’90s predecessor. Here is a story, originally published on this site in June of 2018, featuring the O.G. hi-po Integra.

So much for that movie magic. We were on Terminal Island, part of the Ports of Long Beach and Los Angeles and the place where the final minutes of The Fast and the Furious were filmed. In that scene, a street racer and his undercover-cop nemesis engage in a quarter-mile race that finishes with both cars barely beating a speeding train across an intersection. This being the real world, however, our situation was different. To start with, the train had beaten us to the intersection, rather than the other way around, and it was in the process of slowing to a dead halt. Until this train resumed its motion, we weren’t going anywhere. “This road is not fast,” I said, “and it’s making me furious.”

Two cars—unrelated except that they are both from foreign lands, have four-cylinder engines, and roll on round wheels—waited for Walmart’s freshly imported stock to get moving on up the line. The Flamenco Black 2000 Acura Integra Type R, driven by owner Sterling Sackey, is a front-wheel-drive, five-seat Japanese hatchback designed, and mostly sold, in the past century. Meanwhile, people have cottage cheese in their refrigerators that is older than Bob Russell’s 2015 Alfa Romeo 4C Launch Edition. Yet these two cars currently command the same money—about $50,000—on the secondary market.

This is a stark but fascinating choice. You can be the umpteenth Porsche 911 driver at your local car show, or you can have a carbon-fiber, mid-engine quasi-exotic. Or you can have a limited-production street ninja that distills the essence of Honda’s seven-decade crusade to produce miniaturized perfection. Which will it be?

As you’d expect, the Acura all but disappears when parked next to that little red coupe from Alfa Romeo. Designed under the supervision of Lorenzo Ramaciotti, the man who also signed off on the Ferrari Enzo and Maserati’s 2007–19 GranTurismo, the 4C has some of that bulbous but sleek look that distinguished the old Ferrari F430 and 599 Fiorano, rendered in slightly busy fashion at approximately 7/8ths scale. It’s certainly a shock to the average American, for whom the Alfa Romeo brand is still closely associated with the boattail 1966 1600 Spider driven by Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. The company traded on that association in the lean years of the 1980s, going so far as to build and sell a low-cost variant of the Spider badged simply “Graduate.”

The 4C, like the Spider, is an Italian-built two-seat sports car powered by a twin-cam inline-four, but that is where the similarities come to an abrupt halt. The Spider traded on its looks and nostalgic appeal, particularly toward the end of its 28-year production run. This new Alfa, by contrast, is intended to be a technological cymbal crash, as modern as any of today’s renaissance exotics.

The core of the 4C is a carbon-fiber monocoque chassis weighing only 143 pounds, with aluminum subframes bolted to it front and rear. A 1742-cc, 237-horsepower turbocharged four-cylinder engine sits behind the occupants and drives the rear wheels through a six-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission. Unashamedly raucous, the fast-revving inline-four howls under acceleration and then delivers a sharp crackle and pop with each one of the transmission’s seamless shifts. It sounds exotic from a distance, and you can usually hear the Alfa long before you see it.

That’s doubly true when Bob Russell is behind the wheel. It’s the first new car he has ever owned, after a career spent maintaining high-value vehicle collections for other people. “She’s an Alfa Romeo, the first real Alfa sold in the U.S. in 20 years or better. I had to do it.” In the years since taking delivery, he and his wife have driven it all around California and beyond in search of twisty-road adventure. More than 36,000 miles of hard use have blasted their Alfa’s nose into a peppermint mix of red paint and white primer. “I don’t baby the car,” Bob says with a shrug.

Sackey’s Acura, by contrast, is nearly flawless, even at close inspection, which is what makes this, a car that often sells in the teens and 20s with higher mileage and a lot more flogging, possibly a $50,000 car. It’s not even the most collectible variant. That would be the 1997 introductory car, painted the Championship White associated with racing Hondas in general and the Type R models in particular. The first batch of 500 didn’t even have air conditioning or a radio, although subsequent limited runs in 1999, 2000, and 2001 had those refinements.

“There were about 3800 Type Rs imported during those four years,” Sackey notes, “but I’d say that maybe 10 percent of them are in unmolested condition.” The Integra was famous for being easy to steal, and the Type R was a particular target—not because it was desirable, although it was. Rather, it was because the 195-hp, 8500-rpm engine could be bolted directly into the lighter and smaller Civic from the same model years. If the B-series Honda engine is the small-block Chevy of the new street-racer generation, the B18C5 is its 1970 LT1. Nearly perfect from the factory, the B-series is capable of massive power gains with the right modifications.

A quick half-lap of Terminal Island in the Alfa’s passenger seat next to Russell shows that this particular 4C hasn’t lost a step since leaving Modena, where Maserati assembles the car for its corporate sibling. Thanks to an aftermarket chip, it’s probably a little faster than it was when new. Yet raw pace has never been the 4C’s problem. Alfa Romeo added a few hundred pounds’ worth of safety equipment and crash reinforcement for stateside sale, but at less than 2500 pounds fully fueled, this is still an extremely light and responsive sports car, not much slower in a straight line than a turn-of-the-century V-8 Ferrari.

Drivers who fit into the little Alfa—and that’s not everybody—will find plenty to appreciate, from the polished-aluminum switchgear to a steering rack that goes about its business without any power assistance. On the move, the 4C forces you to involve yourself in the experience. This is not an automobile in which you eat a fastfood lunch, partly because there’s no place to put the bag. Nor can you idly chat on a cellphone, because expansion joints require a two-fisted correction.

There’s one thing that might end up separating the Alfa from an assured place in the classic-car panoply: that dual-clutch automatic. This one has the latest software updates, thanks to Russell’s persistence and skill in getting the most out of his local dealer, but it’s still deeply ambivalent about its work. Left to shift for itself, it seems to be on a mission to choose the wrong gear at all times. Switched into “manual” mode, it can display a truculent attitude toward the driver’s commands. A paddle-shifted manumatic is now de rigueur everywhere from Formula 1 to your Hyundai showroom, and given enough time, you would certainly get used to it. Still, a good conventional transmission with a single foot-operated clutch would make the 4C just about the perfect pocket-size Italian exotic.

I know where Alfa Romeo could get one, or at least where it (and everyone else) could look for inspiration. The Acura Integra Type R has a legendary five-speed stick tucked into the parsimonious space between its front seats. “I think it’s the best shift feel in a Japanese car, maybe the best shift feel period,” Sackey says. He should know, at least regarding the first part of his assertion. His Southern California company, SW2 Japan Sports, scours the country for the best factory-original, unmodified, low-mileage Japanese sports cars money can buy.

I pop open the Acura’s flimsy driver’s door and settle into the supportive but comfortable seat. Almost immediately, I’m nostalgic for the contrasting-color stitching and careful detailing found all over the 4C’s cockpit. The Integra’s interior is no less black than its exterior, without a single bit of shiny trim or contrasting color on the hard-plastic dashboard to lighten the mood. My seating position is perhaps three inches lower than what you’d get in a modern compact car, yet the 47-inch-tall Alfa makes the Acura feel like a Honda CR-V by contrast

Although Acura was always meant to be an upscale brand, at least in theory, there’s nothing luxurious or interesting about the Integra’s cockpit. In Japan, this was but a Civic with a sleeker and heavier body shell, sold in Honda’s home-market Verno dealerships that typically handled offbeat fare like the Prelude. There’s plenty of headroom available, but two large-size adults sitting in the front seats will rub elbows. The center console is tucked under the dashboard in an attempt to create space. The switchgear is familiar from the Civic and other entry-level Honda products of the era, but in 1997, the Type R sold for more than $24,000.

There’s a payoff for the Acura’s prosaic accommodations. It weighs merely 100 more pounds than the carbon-fiber Alfa, despite having a big glass hatchback and a reasonably useful pair of rear seats. Honda made it light the old-fashioned way, by using the thinnest panels and the least material possible. Every body panel, including the rear quarter-panels, will flex under the pressure of a motivated index finger.

A unibody this ethereal is a poor platform on which to build a sporting proposition, so Honda took extraordinary measures with the Type R. It is famous for being seam-welded instead of spot-welded. Seam welding, a process typically reserved for race cars, joins the different stampings of a unibody car together with long, continuous welds. This makes the shell much stiffer than that of a standard production car in which the stampings are welded in discrete “spots” with room for flex and corrosion in between. It makes a difference. Factory seam welding is rare (although if you purchase a late-model Aston Martin or Lotus, you will get an adhesive-bonded chassis that accomplishes much the same goal).

I’m expecting great things from this Integra, and from the first fast corner it fails to disappoint me. At a time when most sports cars were already styling on 17- or even 18-inch wheels, Honda stuck with 15s for the Type R, mounted to extra-stout five-bolt hubs. Thus, the lead-booted sense of running-gear inertia that affects most modern sports cars, including the Alfa, does not affect this little hatchback. Authenticity without flash is one thing that makes the Type R so cool.

Like the 4C, the Acura has a control-arm front suspension and an eerie sense of connection with the road. You get the sense that you could distinguish individual bits of gravel beneath the front tires, and sure enough, when I hook a hard right from Cannery onto Tuna (yes, those are the real street names), I can feel a flicker of feedback as the left front wheel rolls over a few pebbles on corner entry.

On the way out of “Tuna Corner,” I pin the throttle and let the Integra wind up to that famous 8500-rpm fuel cutoff. Surprisingly, there’s a lot of flywheel weight to overcome, but when the VTEC variable timing kicks in after the “6” mark on the tach, there is a strong and steady pull to the redline. Even so, I can see why many of the Type R’s original owners spent serious money on engine tuning and modifications. The Alfa can run away from it without so much as a downshift, and the approximately three-second gap in quarter-mile elapsed time between the two cars contains everything from a 5.0-liter ’87 Mustang to the current Honda Odyssey minivan.

At the end of our day, both of our owners are effusive in their praise of the other car. “If I were a collector,” Russell, the Alfa owner, notes, “the Acura would most definitely be a keeper.” Meanwhile, Sackey, the Integra man, is completely taken with the 4C’s exotic looks and construction. “Seeing that carbon chassis when you open the door is worth the price alone.”

Which leads us to the $50,000 question: Which car offers the most satisfaction for the money? Buyers thinking about long-term appreciation might want to consider the Acura. The conservative choice, it’s a blue-chip member of an exclusive group of Japanese cars that will likely continue to gain value for years. The Alfa is a riskier bet. The collectors of tomorrow might not give it any more respect than they’ve accorded the Milano and the 164—or they might consider it the spiritual successor to the mid-engined Dino—a cheap Ferrari without a Ferrari badge. It’s a roll of the dice, and much of that roll depends on how posterity regards that fussy dual-clutch transmission.

If you’re thinking about the here and now, though, the 4C and the Type R are compelling propositions, albeit for different reasons. The Alfa is a cornucopia of engineering achievement, unfettered ambition, and sensuous styling that stumbles a bit in the execution. It’s also an Italian wildcat for a younger turbo generation that glories in flame-spitting Group B rally monsters more than the classic front-engine GTs of an earlier age. The Acura, meanwhile, demonstrates what can happen when you apply a Formula 1 team’s worth of engineering effort to a prosaic platform. It is a hero car to an even younger generation reared on front-drive hot hatchbacks and a street language laced with arcane product codes and Japanese hot-rodding slang. Yet both cars will attack a back road with infectious enthusiasm—and they’ll both draw a crowd at any Cars and Coffee event you’d care to attend.

When that Terminal Island train finally started moving about 20 minutes later, our little caravan was ready to uncork some nervous energy. From my perch in the photography van, I could see and hear both cars ripping away from us—the Alfa with its sonorous song and the clipped brutality of its instant shifts, the Acura wailing toward that improbable redline, its nose rising and falling in the short throw from second to third. I couldn’t help smiling at the thread of unbridled enthusiasm that connects these cars—across continents, across decades, and across cultures. In today’s drab crossover-centric automotive environment, the 4C and the Type R are heretical by their very nature, sisters in a subtle witchcraft. When you have that, who needs movie magic?

***

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Welcome to Lamborghini Legends, a series of stories to mark the Italian brand’s 60th anniversary. In each installment, our European correspondent gets behind the wheel of one of Sant’Agata’s all-time greats. This time it’s the Audi-influenced Gallardo. 

According to the Lamborghini’s dashboard display, today is September 4, 2003. The date is just a few weeks after the company unveiled this car, the Gallardo, to the public at the Geneva Motor Show. The vehicle had taken a long and winding road to get there.

Sixteen years earlier, Lamborghini began work on a successor to the V-8-powered Urraco (1972–79) and Jalpa (1981–88). “Project 140” was conceived with a V-10 engine, and, had it made production on the original timeline, would have been the first production car in the world to have such a layout, predating even the Dodge Viper.

The 72-degree V-10 developed by Massimo Ceccarani and Maurizio Reggiani was innovative, if impractical. For example, the gearbox was integrated into the oil-pan area. The configuration was a neat piece of packaging but raised the engine too high; the arrangement would mess up any car’s center of gravity. Development stopped. Lamborghini started shopping around for an off-the-shelf V-8 to use for the car, internally known as the “baby Diablo.”

In 1998 Audi bought the Italian supercar brand and immediately breathed new life into the project. Never mind using someone else’s V-8; when it was unveiled to the public as the Gallardo in 2003, the car used V-10 power and was built on an aluminum tubular spaceframe.

The five-liter V-10 engine was of Lamborghini’s own design, its two banks of five cylinders at a 90-degree angle. To reduce weight and cost, the crankcase was made with a hypereutectic aluminum, which allowed cylinder liners to be cast directly on the aluminum. This method shortened the distance between the cylinders and, in turn, the overall length of the engine. The block and crankcase would be manufactured by Audi. Engine assembly was the job of the Lamborghini artisans in Sant’Agata.

Lamborghini offered the Gallardo with a six-speed gated manual transmission, but the robotized E-Gear system proved the clear winner with customers. It’s estimated that only 15 percent of Gallardos left the factory with stickshifts. Also a rarity are two-wheel drive models. Only a handful were made, including 250 LP550-2 Valentino Balboni editions and a smattering of one-offs.

The Gallardo LP510-4 here is a perfect example of what is still Lamborghini’s most successful model. It’s a fabulous-looking thing; Luc Donckerwolke’s design is aging well. I’m particularly fond of the irregular, five-sided “nostrils” on the bull’s snout. Even in Giallo Midas yellow, the Gallardo is not exceptionally showy: The profile is classic supercar wedge and even the sizeable air intakes for the engine are unfussy. The louvered engine cover and vents are the best features of a rear end that’s otherwise a little plain, however.

Wide-opening, conventional doors reveal an interior to which the passing years have been less kind. There’s a notable contrast in quality between the areas that have been hand-stitched in grey hide and those that are made from plastic. Audi-sourced switches for the HVAC system are perfectly functional but just don’t feel special.

My biggest gripe is with the paddles for the E-Gear transmission. Firstly, they’re plastic, a choice which smacks of penny-pinching. Secondly, they’re set too high: With hands at quarter-to-three on the wheel, you have to reach up to shift gears.

The poor shifting ergonomics are a shame, because that 500-hp V-10 loves to be stretched right to its 8000-rpm redline. Clicking up and down with the paddles is fast and effective but hardly joyful. At low speeds, shifting can also be a bit herky-jerky, requiring very careful application of the throttle for smooth progress.

No Lambo likes to travel slow, and as last in the line of a fast-moving convoy of Sant’Agata classics, slow is not an option for me. The Gallardo might be down two cylinders on the V-12 cars ahead, but the slightly off-beat wail of the V-10 still goes down as one of the greatest automotive backing tracks ever made. I can’t resist downshifting a couple of times in a tunnel just to hear the sound amplified off the concrete walls.

Final Gallardo iterations would push out an additional 6o horsepower, but the first models were hardly under-endowed. From a standing start to 62 mph takes 4.2 seconds, with top speed pegged at 192 mph.

Beyond the sound and speed the Gallardo is, well, just rather easy to drive. Only parking potentially raises a problem, thanks to Lamborghini’s traditional view that what’s behind you simply doesn’t matter. The power steering is meaty enough without being taxing, the brakes seem more than up to the task, with four-pot calipers on the front and twin-piston ones at the rear. All-around independent suspension with deformable double wishbones provides tidy body control and a ride that one could live with on a daily basis.

Livability, of course, was the point of the Gallardo in the first place. Its arrival opened up an entirely new market for the brand: customers who wanted to drive their Lamborghinis, not wrestle them. 14,022 Gallardos were produced before the Huracán came along.

That relatively generous production run makes the Gallardo by far the least expensive way to own a modern Lamborghini today, with prices of daily-driver examples hovering around $80K. A price worth paying for the V-10 engine alone.

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Did you know that nearly 60 percent of Fiat’s X1/9 production was claimed by the U.S. market? Despite its popularity both in America and in its home country, Italy, few fully understand how (or why) this model name came to be. You can learn more about its genesis, history, and driving experience here. Our investigation today, in this article, is all about the X1/9 name itself. And if the nomenclature has always seemed a bit cryptic, well, that’s by design.

The name has its roots in Fiat’s project code convention—an internal numbering scheme that originated in 1946, when the company was establishing its postwar development strategy. Seeking to bring order to the ad hoc numbering of various models and designs, technical director Dante Giacosa determined that new vehicles would be identified by a three-digit number: 1 for cars, 2 for trucks, 3 for intercity buses, and 4 for urban buses. Later on, the number 5 was assigned to farm tractors and 6 to engines for special applications.

How exactly Fiat kept numerical track of its passenger car projects remained opaque to the outside world in the years that followed, but that changed with the arrival of the 124 family sedan. Launched in the spring of 1966 and elected European Car Of The Year for ’67, the Fiat 124 bore the very same commercial name as its original project code, inaugurating a practice the Italian company would follow for more than a decade, save for a few market-specific exceptions.

An unintended consequence of this continuity was that it telegraphed Fiat product development strategy. Once magazine journalists hunting for juicy new-product and test-prototype details got wind of one or more numbers in the product code, they could guess what Fiat was up to with relative ease, much to Giacosa’s annoyance. Fiat’s own marketing department suddenly had the same decoder tool. The division was often willing to step onto the technical department’s turf and influence product development, which must have been even more frustrating for Giacosa than journalists’ and onlookers’ unwanted attention.

So, in an attempt to confuse both camps, Giacosa resorted to the not-so-original idea of referring to future projects with the letter “X.” In his seminal autobiography from 1979, titled “I miei 40 anni di progettazione alla Fiat” (“My 40 years of design at Fiat”), Giacosa admits that inspiration for this approach came from Provslav Rakovic, the general manager of Yugoslavia’s Zàstava factory, home of Fiat models under license since 1954.

Rakovic used the letter “X” when discussing future models, and Giacosa began to call new engine projects “X0,” new car projects “X1,” and new trucks “X2.” The project “X1/1” eventually resulted in the Fiat 128—the marque’s influential front-wheel-drive family sedan launched in 1969. The Autobianchi A112 (project “X1/2”) debuted that same year along with the Fiat 130 flagship sedan (project “X1/3”), while the “X1/4” arrived in 1971 as the Fiat 127, the last project directly overseen by Giacosa before he reached the age of mandatory retirement.

Following Dante Giacosa’s departure (Fiat nonetheless retained his services as a consultant well into the 1980s), the use of “X” codes continued but became increasingly haphazard as the years went by. It’s worth pointing out that these “X” codes never entirely replaced the prior three-digit numbering system. Used early into a project’s run, the “X” code usually got replaced by a three-digit number as the vehicle moved closer to production.

Pinpointing precisely the moment in time when Fiat abandoned this practice for good may not even be possible. We Italians are much better at building things than keeping track of them, so I wasn’t surprised when Fiat’s historical archives couldn’t give a conclusive answer to my inquiry about “X” codes; a proper list of them doesn’t appear to exist and likely never did. However, period material suggests that production car projects were still issued “X” codes at least until the 1978 Ritmo hatchback (briefly sold in the U.S. as the Strada, without success), whose development began under the “X1/38” moniker before that was replaced by the “138” project number.

Beyond that, material evidence suggests that “X” codes were, albeit intermittently, still employed years later for advanced prototypes designed by Fiat’s research branch, known as Centro Ricerche Fiat. The fantastic Stellantis Heritage Hub collection in Turin even includes an intriguing CRF prototype for a highly fuel-efficient small car from the 1980s identified as “X1/75,” which is the highest code I’m aware of.

Ultimately, the X1/9 remains the only Fiat model whose “X” project code became a commercial name. Perhaps that outcome shouldn’t be all that surprising; although it suited the model’s exotic mid-engine layout, angular style, and technical advancement, the name was also kind of a mouthful. Especially when pronounced in Italian. Alas, now, next time you spot an X1/9 at a cars and coffee, you’ll know it owes its peculiar name to an unwitting engineer from socialist Yugoslavia and the shrewdness of Italian motoring journalists.

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Matteo Licata received his degree in Transportation Design from Turin’s IED (Istituto Europeo di Design) in 2006. He worked as an automobile designer for about a decade, including a stint in the then-Fiat Group’s Turin design studio, during which his proposal for the interior of the 2010–20 Alfa Romeo Giulietta was selected for production. He next joined Changan’s European design studio in Turin and then EDAG in Barcelona, Spain. Licata currently teaches automobile design history to the Transportation Design bachelor students of IAAD (Istituto di Arte Applicata e Design) in Turin.

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The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the word “exotic” thusly: Introduced from another country: not native to the place where found. Strikingly, excitingly, or mysteriously different or unusual.

On these shores, in the land of Harley-Davidson, hamburgers, and Hee Haw, many of us grew up believing that anything that wasn’t of American origin was “foreign.” Repair shops that serviced these foreign makes were in nearly every town. Americans equated German motorcycles with function and dependability, Japanese motorcycles with being inexpensive and disposable, French motorcycles with being weird and wonderful, English motorcycles with being sensible and familiar, and Spanish motorcycles with being built of lesser quality materials and best suited for off-road usage. Italian motorcycles? The best of them fit the very definition of exotic. Each of the Italian manufacturers has demonstrated the creativity and ability to reach for the impossible at some time in their past.

Benelli

Benelli has given us a number of exciting and interesting models since its 1911 inception in Pesaro, Italy. The six Benelli brothers opened their first shop to repair and service motorcycles—just a few years later, they created their own engines and complete motorcycles. Their first exotic and groundbreaking design was the 175-cc overhead-cam single-cylinder racer by Giuseppe Benelli, which was raced by brother Tonino to four national championships before his death in 1937.

They also created a number of 250- and 500-cc machines in the 1930s, with the most innovative being the 250-cc short-stroke, double-overhead-cam four-cylinder that was supercharged and liquid cooled. It was faster in testing than its nearest competitor by 16 mph, giving the firm confidence that it was a world-beater. Unfortunately, with the war approaching, the engineers were forced to abandon the race department and move their efforts to wartime production of airplane parts. The motorcycles were disassembled and stashed during WWII.

After the war, priorities changed. Benelli found success throughout the 1950s and 1960s in selling lightweight motorcycles not only in Italy but around the globe. The motorcycles were sold in America through Montgomery Ward department stores as the Riverside 125-cc two-strokes and 250-cc four-strokes. In the mid-1960s, Benelli had the funds to again reach for the stars with 250-cc and 350-cc four-cylinder grand prix racers ridden by Renzo Pasolini, Kel Carruthers, and Jarno Saarinen. After winning two world championships, Benelli was developing a 250-cc V-8 before a Fédération Internationale de Motocyclisme (FIM) rule change rendered that idea a nonstarter.

After Benelli’s acquisition by Alejandro DeTomaso, the company soon offered the world’s first six-cylinder production motorcycles, the 750 Sei, and the smallest production four-cylinder, the 250 Quattro.

Bimota

High-quality components and advanced engineering have long been the hallmark of motorcycles produced by Bimota of Rimini, Italy. The name is derived from the first two letters of each of the three founders’ names: Valerio Bianchi, Giuseppe Morri, and Massimo Tamburini. Bimota began by offering frames that provided superior handling for the new generation of big Japanese four-cylinder engines. The company created a market for consumers who wanted bespoke exclusivity and craftsmanship that previously did not exist. Bimota’s high-water mark was the Tesi 1D of the 1990s, which featured hub-centered steering and mono-shock rear suspension, as well as a fuel-injected Ducati V-twin engine combined with an advanced alloy-plate frame. All this futurism came at a cost, as slow sales nearly bankrupted the company. Despite changes of ownership, a modern variant of the Tesi formula is still available in 2023, a testament to the dynamic design of the original.

Ducati

Ducati’s roots lie in electronics, as it began manufacturing radios and cameras in 1926, until its factory was flattened during the bombing raids by Allied forces in 1944. Soon after, the company started to manufacture a small pushrod single-cylinder engine that was developed by SIATA and launched its own version of the Cucciolo model in 1950. Not long afterward, Ducati hired Fabio Taglioni, who would go on to utilize the desmodromic valve system on Ducati’s newest model, the 100 Gran Sport. The desmo valve actuation was more precise than traditional springs, allowing for more radical cam timing and higher revs. Success in Italian road races led to higher sales in showrooms as hoped, and performance became an integral part of the Ducati story thereafter.

Fast, single-cylinder machines of 125-, 200-, 250-, and 350-cc followed, but the next big breakthrough came in 1972 with the launch of the 750SS, which won the Imola 200 race. Street models such as the round-case 750 Sport and then the square-case 750SS and 900SS models were strong sellers that offered the “race bike for the road” feeling for which Ducati was best known. In the next 10 years, Ducati embraced change and brought liquid cooling, floating disc brakes, trellis tubular frames, dry clutches, fuel injection, and multi-valve engines, such as the Desmoquattro, Ducati’s four-valve V-twin.

These innovations put Ducati back in the winner’s circle in World Superbike competition. The 851 and 888 models were winners, but the 916 was a tour de force in the styling department, too. Once Ducati had momentum, it was rarely off the podium and eventually returned to grand prix racing, scoring its first world championship in 2007 with Australian Casey Stoner piloting the Desmosedici racer. Ducati eventually offered the Desmosedici RR, a road bike with real grand prix–level performance that no other manufacturer dared to match. In 2022, Ducati achieved a long-held dream and won another Moto GP World Championship, this time with Italian rider Pecco Bagnaia.

Gilera

Arcore, near Milan, is the home of Gilera, founded in 1909. The firm acquired the Rondine transverse four-cylinder concept from designers Carlo Gianini and Piero Remor. This design reached its apex in 1939 with the use of water-cooling and supercharging to power the four-cylinder racer to a top speed of 140 mph and the European Championship.

After the war, with the supercharger ban in effect, Gilera redesigned the double-overhead-cam engine and frame design to score numerous grand prix victories and 500-cc world championships in 1950, 1952, 1953, 1954, 1955, and 1957, before withdrawing from the sport. With the sudden death of Ferruccio Gilera in 1957, founder Giuseppe lost some of his passion for the sport of motorcycle racing.

Gilera created some very worthy overhead-valve single-cylinder winners, such as the popular Saturno and Saturno San Remo, a works special. These motorcycles featured novel rear suspension, with horizontal springs and friction dampers. While not winners on the international stage, they fared well at the national level. Trying to cut costs, Gilera turned its back on four-cylinder racers and sold inexpensive 106-cc pushrod singles distributed through Sears Roebuck department stores in the U.S. In 1969, Piaggio Group bought Gilera. Today, Gilera is known more for urban scooters than motorcycles.

Laverda

Laverda, from the Breganze region in northern Italy, was founded in 1873 and produced agricultural equipment exclusively until 1949, when it built its first motorcycles. Following the lead of other ravaged postwar manufacturers, small-capacity machines built by Laverda competed in Italian road races such as the Giro d’Italia and the Milan-Taranto. Laverda built its first twin-cylinder engines in the late 1950s and continued on that path while increasing capacity, eventually leading to machines like the brutish 750 SFC in Laverda’s signature eyeball-searing orange. The most audacious design would be a result of competing in the Bol d’Or 24-hour endurance road race. Laverda stunned the world with the V-6 racer. Although it did not finish the race, it spoke well of the creative minds at work back at the race shop.

Moto Guzzi

Moto Guzzi was the only manufacturer to have its own wind tunnel for testing the aerodynamics of its motorcycles. That should come as no surprise, given the founder’s background in wartime aviation. Located in Mandello del Lario, Italy, the firm found success early with rugged designs that were fast and handled well. In the years after World War II, Moto Guzzi’s 250- and 350-cc racers won eight world titles. It was the glamour bike of its era, the compact 500-cc V-8 designed by Giulio Carcano, however, that was the final statement in high tech. The teething problems would have been sorted, and the mighty V-8 would’ve enjoyed more success, but it arrived a little too late, as Guzzi withdrew from grand prix racing at the end of 1957. Moto Guzzi launched a transverse-mounted V-twin engine to power a series of sporting machines in the 1970s, such as the V7 and Le Mans models. These became the essence of nearly every successful Moto Guzzi in the years that followed.

MV Agusta

MV Agusta, created at the infancy of aviation, continues to this day in that capacity, building some of the world’s finest helicopters. However, it was the fire-engine red racing motorcycles that are perhaps the most successful of all the Italian exotics. The early adoption of the Gilera-Rondine transverse DOHC four-cylinder engine layout served the firm well in the 1950s. MV snatched up its first 500-cc world championship in 1956 and eventually scored 38 world championships before closing shop. Count Domenico Agusta ruled the two-wheeled world of racing much like his four-wheeled counterpart, Enzo Ferrari. Agusta did not suffer fools gladly. On the road, the count reluctantly agreed to sell the public motorcycles worthy of the MV name: the four-cylinder 600, 750 Sport, and 750 America. These hand-built machines were very costly, roughly three times the price of a Honda 750, and did not meet sales expectations to justify the effort.

Twenty years after the company ceased motorcycle production, it would make an astounding return under Cagiva ownership. The stellar 750F4 Oro, created by Massimo Tamburini, was the star of the Art of the Motorcycle exhibit at the Guggenheim Museum in New York upon its debut in 1999. The motorcycle, crafted of CNC-milled alloys that were combined with carbon-fiber bodywork and four under-seat exhaust pipes, also boasted a Ferrari-tuned engine that did not disappoint.

Exotic? Si signore.

The Italians long delivered on that promise and they continue today, whether it’s in architecture, automobiles, fashion, furniture, or food. Their rich and diverse heritage compels them to design with the head and, most important, the heart. That strong emotional attachment, la passione, is in the culture’s DNA.

Motorcycles: Exotic Italians is one of 20 classes to be featured at the 2023 Greenwich Concours d’Elegance, on June 2–4, 2023. Download the 2023 Greenwich Concours d’Elegance event program to learn more about Sunday’s other featured classes, Saturday’s Concours de Sport, our judges, sponsors, nonprofit partners, 2022 winners and more! 

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As Cole Porter might have put it: In the 1920s and 1930s, Alfa Romeo was The Top! Vittorio Jano was there, along with Gioacchino Colombo and Enzo Ferrari. Thanks to high-performance models such as the Zagato-bodied 6C 1750 GS, the 8C 2300 Le Mans, and the 8C 2900B—plus a host of world-class racing cars—Alfa Romeo was indisputably the grandest of Grand Marques, rivaled only by Bugatti.

World War II ruined all that. Completely controlled by Benito Mussolini’s government, Alfa’s factory in the Milan suburb of Portello was switched in 1940 from hand-crafting sports cars to assembling Daimler-Benz 34.0-liter V-12 aero engines under license. Flattened by Allied bombers in 1944, Alfa needed years to resume passenger-car production.

In the meantime, the automaker dominated early postwar grand prix racing with a prewar design. Two types of engines were eligible for Formula 1 in the post–World War II world: 4.5 liters normally aspirated or 1.5 liters supercharged. Designed in 1937, Gioacchino Colombo’s jewel-like 1.5-liter inline-eight could be supercharged to produce more than 420 horsepower, albeit while guzzling an explosive mixture of gasoline, methanol, and nitromethane.

In a competition career that stretched from 1938 to 1953, Alfa’s 158/159 Alfetta won a remarkable 47 grand prix races out of 54 entered, including back-to-back Formula 1 World Championships in 1950 and 1951 with aging prewar star Giuseppe “Nino” Farina and newcomer Juan Manuel Fangio. Today, only a few authentic Alfettas still exist, as well as two accurate replicas. If you’d like to buy one, the price for a genuine icon of racing history is going to be steep. Is $5 million too much? Maybe $10 million?

Though Alfa dominated Formula 1, it struggled with passenger cars. The 1946 Freccia d’Oro, derived from the prewar bread and butter 6C 2500, was a big, expensive Gran Turismo with coachbuilt bodywork; it was completely out of touch with economic conditions in war-ravaged Europe. Though few were sold, the 6C 2500 remained in Alfa catalogues until 1953. Today, 6C 2500 prices vary wildly, depending on condition, body style, and which coachbuilder built the body. Restoration projects start at less than $300,000; attractive, concours-winning convertibles can be worth more than $1 million.

Alfa’s first postwar design was the 1900, which appeared in 1950 and stayed in production until 1958. Some 20,000 were built, about as many as all the prewar Alfas put together. A new 80-hp, 1.9-liter dual-over-head-cam inline-four used chains rather than gears to drive the camshafts, but otherwise it was very similar to Vittorio Jano–designed engines dating back to 1924. The new engine went into a factory-made unitized body/chassis sedan that looked like a bread box.

There was also an alternate sports-car chassis with a conventional ladder frame, independent front suspension, huge drum brakes, and Borrani knock-off wheels. The 1884-cc Sprint and 1975-cc Super Sprint were the last Alfas supplied in bulk to carrozzeria. Most of these smooth and desirable coupes and spiders received bodies by Bertone, Castagna, Pinin Farina, Touring, Vignale, or Zagato.

Today, you can buy a 1900 coupe with attractive, batch-built coupe bodywork by Touring or Pinin Farina for roughly $300,000, while a one-off, Zagato-bodied 1900 CSS Berlinetta with racing history, celebrity ownership, and concours restoration is going to cost you at least $1 million … or even double that.

The 1900 was a start, but what really saved Alfa Romeo was the smaller Giulietta/Giulia series, which debuted at the 1954 Turin Auto Show and stayed in production for an amazing four decades. The Giulietta/Giulia had a unitized body/chassis, front-engine configuration, rear-wheel drive, independent front suspension, a rigid rear axle with multi-links, and coil springs all around.

The new DOHC inline-four was built in 1290-cc, 1570-cc, 1779-cc, and 1962-cc versions and drove through either a four-speed or five-speed gearbox. There were the expected sedans and wagons, but, more important for our story, there were two new sports cars.

The Giulietta 1300 began with the adorable Carrozzeria Bertone Sprint coupe in 1954; the equally attractive Pinin Farina Spider came along in 1955. Both grew into the Giulia 1600 in 1962. The larger 2000 inline-four and 2600 inline-six engines were put into a similar but bigger chassis to create an exclusive Gran Turismo, but the 2000/2600 was both more expensive and less attractive—it also wasn’t as much fun.

The little Giulietta/Giulia Sprints and Spiders have risen precipitously in value; the best ones are approaching $250,000, though good ones can still be found for under $100,000. Compared with a Porsche 356, however, a Giulietta or Giulia seems like a bargain. These are delightful little cars—the very definition of an Italian sports car. They will always be in demand, and guaranteed to put a smile on your face.

From 1958 until 1967, Bertone built exactly 1366 coupes with either 1300 or 1600 engines on short-wheelbase Giulietta chassis. Styled by Franco Scaglione and called Sprint Speciale, the SS has always been controversial. People who love the SS consider it to be an exquisite jewel, while people who hate the SS think it’s the visual equivalent of chewing on tin foil. There is no middle ground! Back at the peak of the collector-car market in 2014, prices approached $500,000, but have since fallen precipitously. A mere $150,000 will now buy you a great Sprint Speciale.

At the 1960 Geneva Salon, Zagato presented a lightweight, street-legal Giulietta coupe by young styling sensation Ercole Spada. With aerodynamic aluminum bodywork and Plexiglass windows, 217 copies of the Sprint Zagato were completed by 1962. Using the SZ, Alfa Romeo won the 1.3-liter category in the FIA Grand Touring Manufacturers Championship in both 1962 and 1963. These exquisite little coupes are now priced from $500,000 to $750,000.

Back in the 1930s, Dr. Wunibald Kamm had theorized that a car with a vertical flat tail would generate turbulence that would act like the pointed tail of a teardrop to increase aerodynamic efficiency. In 1963, Alfa replaced the SZ with the TZ, also styled by Ercole Spada and incorporating a truncated “Kamm tail.” Only 112 TZs were completed in four years, with Giulia 1600 running gear and lightweight Zagato aluminum bodywork. A TZ weighed just 1460 pounds, ready to race. Nowadays, a TZ is worth twice as much as an SZ, anywhere from $1 million to $2 million.

A more radical Kamm tail graced the 1965 TZ2. This used a fiberglass body instead of the TZ’s aluminum, which not only improved aerodynamics but got the weight down to 1370 pounds. With 175 horsepower from a Conrero-tuned, 1570-cc Giulia engine, a TZ2 could easily top 150 mph. Only 12 TZ2s were built, and it will now take roughly $3 million to park one in your garage.

Nowhere near as rare but just as collectible is the 1963 Alfa Romeo Sprint GT, designed by a very young Giorgetto Giugiaro for Bertone. Over the next 14 years, the GT was powered by every size of Giulietta/Giulia engine, turned into a variety of racing models, renamed Gran Turismo Veloce, and became a classic in its own right. The GTV has proved to be timeless and evergreen, one of the most beloved Alfa Romeos of all.

GTVs from the 1960s and 1970s are now in the $50,000 to $100,000 range for a good one, less than half the price of a Porsche 911 with which these Alfas originally competed. GTA and GT Trans-Am racers are going for astronomical amounts, but still significantly less than a Porsche 911 Carrera RS or RSR.

In 1966, the GTV was joined by an equally popular new spider designed by Franco Martinengo for Pininfarina. For the first four years, the spider had a distinctive rounded boat tail. This highly desirable model is now often called the Duetto and was made famous in the 1967 film The Graduate. Just 9000 were made. Prices are now in the $30,000 to $50,000 range, surprisingly less than the mechanically similar GTV.

In 1970, the spider was given a flat tail sort of like that on the TZ coupe. The timeless model soldiered on until 1993, just two years before new owner Fiat pulled Alfa out of the U.S. market. By then, Alfa had sold 110,000 Kamm tails. Run-of-the-mill Alfa spiders from the 1980s and 1990s can still be found for less than $10,000, and even concours winners are going for less than $50,000.

There is one postwar Alfa Romeo sports car that was never sold in the U.S. when new but has still become a significant collectible. At the 1967 Montreal Expo, Alfa exhibited a concept car with body by Marcello Gandini of Bertone on a Giulia Sprint GT chassis. This was put into limited production with a 2.6-liter V-8 derived from the Alfa Tipo 33 sports/racer.

Alfa built just 3700 Montreal coupes in six years, priced even higher than a Jaguar E-Type or Porsche 911. Thanks primarily to high maintenance and restoration costs, these rare machines are surprisingly inexpensive, averaging around $60,000 over the past five years, and less than $100,000 for the best of the best.

In 1986, Alfa Romeo was taken over by Fiat, becoming part of Gianni Agnelli’s “ladder of marques” that climbed in price and prestige: Fiat, Alfa Romeo, Lancia, Maserati, Ferrari. In 1989, Alfa stylist Antonio Castellana and Fiat stylist Robert Opron collaborated to design a limited-production sports car confusingly named SZ, like the totally different model from three decades earlier. The new SZ was based on the Alfa Romeo Milano 75 sedan that had finally replaced the Giulietta.

For the SZ, the Milano chassis was modified with a racing suspension; Koni shock absorbers; wide wheels wearing Pirelli P Zero tires; a 210-hp 2959-cc V-6; and a five-speed manual gearbox. Zagato built the SZ coupe and RZ convertible with unique injection-molded thermoplastic body panels. A total of 284 SZ and RZ models were completed over a period of five years. One of these Alfa SZs from the early 1990s will cost you between $40,000 and $100,000 depending on condition, but now that they are more than 25 years old and can be imported into the United States, prices are rising rapidly.

Every Alfa Romeo sports car ever built is being collected somewhere by a fanatical Alfisti. There’s a reason. Alfa Romeo embodies the timelessly iconic Italian sports car mystique: exciting, high-performance machines that are technically interesting, artistically beautiful, and fun to drive.

Postwar Alfa Romeos is one of 20 classes to be featured at the 2023 Greenwich Concours d’Elegance, on June 2-4, 2023. Download the 2023 Greenwich Concours d’Elegance event program to learn more about Sunday’s other featured classes, Saturday’s Concours de Sport, our judges, sponsors, non-profit partners, 2022 winners and more!

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Welcome to Lamborghini Legends, a series of stories to mark the Italian brand’s 60th anniversary. In each installment, our European correspondent gets behind the wheel of one of Sant’Agata’s all-time greats. Here he lives out a childhood fantasy in the last-ever Countach.

I have dreamed of this moment for 40 years.

Ever since I first hung a picture of a Lamborghini Countach on my bedroom wall, I’ve imagined myself getting behind the wheel of this, the definitive supercar of the 1970s and ’80s. In my mind I’d be storming through the desert at 180 mph, reliving the opening sequence of the Cannonball Run, although perhaps without state troopers in hot pursuit.

The reality looks set to be somewhat slower paced, but my drive does involve a chase, as I’m part of a procession of eight different Lamborghinis, brought together for a 60th anniversary celebratory drive across 150 miles of Italy’s Emilia Romagna region.

It was a be-winged 1979 LP400S that featured both on-screen and on my wall, but the Countach I’m to drive is devoid of the infamous appendage. Originally designed specially for F1 team boss Walter Wolf, the huge spoiler was not homologated and was therefore installed on road-going Countaches in the factory parking lot, making it an aftermarket part. The wing was also purely cosmetic, so it’s not like I’ll be missing any downforce.

This 1990 25th Anniversary edition actually did have a host of aerodynamic advances, courtesy of a young designer named Horacio Pagani, who was tasked by Lamborghini’s corporate parent, Chrysler, to give the Countach a new lease on life. It needed to tide the firm over until the arrival of a successor, the Diablo.

The Countach was the first Lamborghini to use carbon fiber to save weight, with sills and splitter made from the advanced material. Pagani’s design is a little fussier than the Marcello Gandini original, but Horacio succeeded in extending the Countach’s existence by 638 units and brought the grand total to 1999.

Painted in Argento Metallizzato, the car before me is the very last one made and was never sold. It is literally the ultimate Countach. Yet, from the moment the driver’s door scissors upwards, I sense that nothing about this experience is going to be dreamy.

I more or less fall into the driver’s seat in a reverse of Leonardo DiCaprio in that infamous scene from Wolf of Wall Street. Even sober this is a very tricky car to enter or exit. I hunt around for seat adjustments and discover they’re hidden beneath a flap on the driver-side door sill. With slightly sluggish whirrs, the seat slowly inches forward—but not enough. In order to fully depress the clutch, I have to hunker down into the grey leather.

Adapting to the driving position is a strange, spine-contorting experience. The pedals are pushed to the right by the intrusion of the massive wheel arch and they’re packed tightly together to avoid the center tunnel. Even if you’re wearing dainty driving shoes, you face a real danger of mashing all three pedals at once. Bigger-booted Countach drivers have been known to have to go barefoot.

The interior is all hard angles, as if it were designed in Minecraft and wrapped in acres of leather to soften the blow. The view reminds me of a marginally more sumptuous version of my Lotus Esprit’s cabin. I’m not so far off: the column stalks are exactly the same, also sourced from British Leyland.

Firing up the 5.2-liter V-12 takes a fair amount of cranking. No less than six Weber carbs work in unison to feed the internal-combustion beast. Like all iterations of Bizzarrini’s engine, the Countach’s is a quick revving motor with an eager throttle response. To deliver its 455 hp to the rear wheels requires a full 7000 rpm on the tachometer.

In order to make any progress in this vehicle, however, one must first engage gear. Pushing the clutch pedal requires effort typically reserved for leg day at the gym. I narrowly avoid selecting reverse before slotting the open-gated selector into its dog-leg position. The vehicle pulls away. Not stalling feels like a victory, but the rest of the drive will be a multi-bout cage fight.

At slow speed the steering is the heaviest of any car I’ve ever experienced. It does lighten a bit as the pace picks up, but the wheel has an alarming tendency to combat every input with a fierce self-centering action.

Selecting a gear while in motion is a little smoother, but there’s no let-up in the effort required to move the stick or to operate the clutch pedal. At least the weightiness of the brake pedal means the lower body gets an even-sided workout.

Meanwhile, I’m threading this low-slung automotive UFO down back roads. Forward visibility suffers thanks to that minimally adjustable seat, which forces me to slump. The side mirrors mostly display Pagani’s aesthetic add-ons.

Only on the occasional straight section of road do I extend the V-12 towards its upper limit. The Countach flies. In its heyday, this car would reach 60 mph from rest in less than five seconds.

A modern SUV can match that time without its driver breaking a sweat, but in the Countach there’s a very clear correlation between perspiration and propulsion. This is definitely not the dream drive I imagined: Frankly, driving this Lamborghini is exhausting.

When my time is up, I feel the intense relief of a fighter who has survived to the final bell in a contest he’ll never forget.

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Alfa Romeos have always been cars of commerce, sculpture, and competition. Before the First World War, it was the futuristic Torpedo—a streamlined, aerodynamic Series A 40/60 racer capable of 86 mph. A smooth, aero-friendly teardrop body by Carrozzeria Castagna set this Alfa apart visually from everything else.

Alfa made trucks and buses, but it was always the sporting cars and the racers that were its signature products. The cars from Lombardy would be the foundation of some of the most breathtaking coachwork of the 20th century.

Alfas were winners even before they were called Alfa Romeos. A.L.F.A. was the acronym for Anonima Lombarda Fabbrica di Automobili. The company’s first race was the 1911 Targa Florio and its first victory came later that year. The firm was acquired by Nicola Romeo in 1915 and from that moment the cars became known as Alfa Romeos.

The first victory came in 1920 when Giuseppe Campari raced his 82-hp Alfa Romeo 40/60 to victory on the Mugello Circuit near Florence. A second-place finish in the 1920 Targa Florio by a young aspiring racer named Enzo Ferrari driving a 4.1-liter Model 20/30 furthered Alfa Romeo’s growing competition résumé. Alfa’s first win through the Sicilian hills in the fabled Targa Florio came in 1923, when a 3.0-liter straight-six RLTF driven by Ugo Sivocci won the harrowing race at an average speed of 37 mph.

The First Grand Prix Champions

The hiring of designer Vittorio Jano in 1924 opened the floodgates of Alfa competition success. His 2.0-liter twin-cam straight-eight won the first time out in Europe’s most important and richest Grand Prix, the 1924 Grand Prix de l’ACF—the French Grand Prix—when Giuseppe Campari raced the new and revolutionary Alfa Romeo P2 to its first GP win in a fierce seven-hour-and-five-minute hammering around the 14.38-mile Lyon road course. In 1925, the mighty P2 won the Italian GP at Monza in the fastest grand prix of the season. Good enough for the firm to redesign its badge to crown Il Biscione (Alfa and Milan’s crowned serpent) with a gold wreath, celebrating its first Grand Prix World Championship.

Jano’s sports-car designs were as successful as his grand prix racers. Alfa’s 1500-cc and 1750-cc sports cars began their run of successes when Enzo Ferrari won the Circuit of Modena race in a normally aspirated 6C 1500. The first Mille Miglia victory came in 1928 with Campari’s 6C 1500. In just one extraordinary 24-hour period, the 1750 of 1929 won the Belgian Grand Prix, the 12-hour race at Brooklands, and the Mille Miglia. Maestro Tazio Nuvolari scored his first of two Alfa-powered 1000-mile victories with a 1750S in 1930. It was an avalanche in red: Alfa 6C 1750 GSs took first, second, third, fourth, eighth, ninth, and tenth place. Then Nuvolari followed up with another 6C 1750 victory in the Royal Automobile Club’s Tourist Trophy.

Alfa Owns Italy’s Open Roads

Alfa practically owned the Mille Miglia in the 1930s. Jano’s 8C 2300 won in 1932, heading an Alfa 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 sweep. Achille Varzi—Nuvolari’s great rival—took the ’34 Mille Miglia with an 8C 2600 Monza leading a four 8C Alfa train. A factory-modified, two-place Tipo B Grand Prix car won the race for Alfa in 1935, with a fleet of 8C 2600 and 2300s taking second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, eighth, ninth, and tenth place.

But the Great Depression soon caught up. Alfa was nationalized by the IRI (Institute for the Reconstruction of Italian Industry) in 1933 and competition responsibilities went to the newly formed Scuderia Ferrari. Alfa persevered with elderly Monzas as the Type B was withdrawn from GP duty. Scuderia Ferrari’s prancing horse replaced the signature Quadrifoglio insignia. But Portello and the decision-makers in Rome relented in August—just before the traditional date of the Italian GP—and the Alfa Type Bs were returned to competition. Luigi Fagioli scored first in the all-important Italian GP on September 10. Then Louis Chiron won at Brno in the Czech GP and at Lasarte in the Spanish GP.

Elegant Underdog & Sheer Genius

The new Tipo B swept the 1932 Grand Prix season, winning the Grands Prix of Monaco, Italy, France, and Germany. There were two more Monaco GP wins that decade, but the race from the Tipo B epoch that is still talked about is the 1935 German Grand Prix on the mighty 14-mile Nürburgring.

By then Alfa’s Tipo B was already in its fourth season. To complicate matters further, a new government in Germany had decided that motorsports success was a fine tool for propaganda intended to restore Germany’s post-WWI reputation.

The new German chancellor opened the state wallet and instructed Mercedes-Benz and Auto Union to dominate grand prix racing. Which they did, winning at Monaco, France, and Belgium. All was going according to plan until late July, when the grand prix circus moved to Germany and the most complex and demanding of the GP circuits: the mighty Nordschleife, or Nürburgring.

In a display of virtuosity that still astonishes nearly nine decades later, Tazio Nuvolari defeated the new silver cars of Germany with his aging Alfa Tipo B. He lost nearly two minutes to the Germans while waiting for new tires and fuel. He screamed instructions and encouragements and threatened mechanics with a hammer. What followed was a ruthless and manic drive at the thin edges of physics, metallurgy, and human reflexes. Nuvolari cleaved huge chunks of time from the silver cars in front, reducing the leader’s gap by as much as 15 seconds per lap.

When they placed the winner’s wreath around Nuvolari’s grimy neck, the stunned German GP organizers discovered they had no copy of the Italian national anthem to honor the winner. That’s when Nuvolari produced a 78-rpm phonograph record of the Italian national anthem, something he carried to all his races! Just in case.

Bimotore—a Radical Alfa Romeo as the First Ferrari?

The 1935 season also saw the creation of a pair of Alfa racers that some with a long view of history often consider the first Ferraris … even though they wore the Alfa champion’s wreath around their Il Biscione emblem.

Enzo Ferrari and company conceived a pair of twin-engine Bimotore Alfas for speed runs, the high-speed Avus Races in Berlin, and the Race of Millions on the lightning-fast Tripoli circuit of North Africa. Some very novel engineering was involved, and one of the front-and-rear eight-cylinder engine beasts was sent to the Autostrada between Brescia and Bergamo to see if the innovators at Scuderia Ferrari were indeed onto something.

The most enthusiastic driver for this exercise was, not surprisingly, the gifted Tazio Nuvolari. His first official two-kilometer run was calculated at 175 mph. But Nuvolari reported calmly that he had reached 5300 rpm. There was silence. That number equaled 200 mph on Alfa’s gear charts. That’s when the great racer said the Bimotore “drives like a Lancia Aprilia (Italy’s best small car) and that 5600 rpm should also be possible.” Another quick look at the Bimotore’s gear charts raised eyebrows again: 5600 rpm equaled 210 mph.

Alfa Comes to America

Great Depression or not, the Vanderbilt Cup of the early 20th century was revived in 1936 on a Long Island road course, designed by 1908 Vanderbilt Cup winner George Robertson. Alfa’s V-12 GP car would carry the greatest racer on the European continent to Vanderbilt victory.

Nuvolari raced his Scuderia Ferrari–entered Alfa 12C-36 with a 4.1-liter V-12, four-wheel independent suspension, and a five-speed transmission. It was capable of 170 mph. But on Roosevelt Raceway’s twisty course such speeds were impossible, and it wasn’t a fair fight against the American dirt trackers and Indy cars. One commentator wrote: “The Vanderbilt Cup was over when Tazio Nuvolari stepped off the boat.” It took him just over four hours to add Alfa’s name to American motorsport history.

Performance Precedent

Nicola Romeo’s cars occupy the spot of “first” in many categories: They were the first vehicles that many of us would call “Italian exotics.” They were the first cars to win the first World Championship (1925), the first to wear Scuderia Ferrari’s Cavallino Rampante, and, in 1931, the first Italian cars to win the 24 Hours of Le Mans. With record-setting style, the cars were also the first Le Mans winners to cover more than 3000 kilometers and the first to win all three Le Mans special victories: the overall distance, the Coupe Biennale, and the Index of Performance. Alfa won Le Mans four times in a row, before the world descended into the maw of World War II.

Alfa should have won Le Mans again in 1938 with the Speciale Le Mans coupe by Carrozzeria Touring. Its superleggera-bodied 8C 2900 B aerodynamic coupe was raced by double Le Mans winner Raymond Sommer and Alfa works GP racer Clemente Biondetti that June weekend. The Italian press called the coupe “Soffio di Satana” (devil’s breath). It crushed all comers for the first 20 hours.

The designers who created the “devil’s breath” understood that Le Mans was a different creature. Its geography and distance dictated its own demands; the Italians created, designed, and built accordingly, proving they had their sums right. That is, until just after noon on Sunday, June 19, 1938.

A blown tire slashed the aluminum of the Speciale Le Mans 2900 B. There was also engine damage. Sommer managed to keep the 8C on the road, getting back to the pits where the aluminum was repaired. Biondetti took over and returned to the race, still with more than a 100-mile lead.

The 8C coupe sputtered on; Biondetti made a series of diagnostic pits stops. He was finally stopped for good on the Mulsanne Straight, miles from help; he parked the 8C at the edge of the straight. Based on distance, it took a remarkable fourth overall.

The First Supercar

The 8C 2900 B had long legs. When the Mille Miglia returned to the international calendar in June 1947, it welcomed the ex-1937 Paris Salon 8C 2900 B show car of entrant Emilio Romano and Biondetti. A decade after its creation, it took Alfa’s 11th and final overall victory in the fabled 1000-mile tour of Italy. A year later, Frank Griswold’s 8C 2900 B made American road-racing history, winning the inaugural Watkins Glen GP.

Still Winning Eight Decades On

The 8C 2900 B was the last and the most spectacular of the prewar Alfas. At Pebble Beach, it has won Best of Show four times. In 2000, a 1938 8C 2900 B won Best of Show at The Amelia. In 2017, Amelia’s Best of Show Concours de Sport went to an 8C 2900 B Touring Spider. Amelia Concours chairman emeritus Bill Warner summed up the power and presence of Alfa Romeo’s prewar grand tourers: “The 2900 B is all but unbeatable on the concours lawn. It’s practically a guaranteed winner … unless there’s another prewar Alfa on the field.”

Prewar Alfa Romeos is one of 20 classes to be featured at the 2023 Greenwich Concours d’Elegance, on June 2-4, 2023. Download the 2023 Greenwich Concours d’Elegance event program to learn more about Sunday’s other featured classes, Saturday’s Concours de Sport, our judges, sponsors, non-profit partners, 2022 winners and more!

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You might think it strange that a rabid car enthusiast and a man of means from Italy would have no Fiats, Alfa Romeos, or Ferraris in his collection. But retired billionaire jeweler Nicola Bulgari’s driving interest makes perfect sense when you understand its origin.

In 1944, after Rome was liberated from Nazi occupation, young Bulgari marveled at a 1935 Buick 96S driven by American soldiers on the streets of his home city.

When he came to the States in the 1970s to develop his family’s jewelry business, Bulgari brought his deep love of classic American automotive elegance. This led to his founding of Allentown, Pennsylvania’s NB Center for American Automotive Heritage.

The private, 27-acre campus includes a working drive-in theater and a fully functional gas station with vintage pumps. It also boasts 2 miles of road, multiple restoration shops, a 24,000-square-foot lodge for car club functions, and buildings for storage and displaying the 192-strong collection central to Bulgari’s crusade—reminding Americans that they build the best cars in the world and always have.

That’s where the NB Center’s newest and youngest mechanic comes in, 21-year-old Anthony Maguschak. He helps restore the center’s cars—Oldsmobiles, DeSotos, Hudsons, Cadillacs, and Bulgari’s beloved Buicks—which form the backbone of the largest historical trust of American cars and information from the 1920s through the early ’50s.

“Three months before COVID hit, I was headed to Penn State to study wildlife technology,” Maguschak says. “Then I realized career opportunities in the field were scarce.” He sat down with his parents and told them that what he really wanted to do was work on cars for a living.

Once accepted to Penn College of Technology’s two-year restoration program, Maguschak spent the pandemic studying and working under the hood.

“I found everything interesting and fun—the mechanics, transmissions, chassis, bodywork, paint, and upholstery,” he says. While the rest of the world hit pause, the learning at Penn never slowed, and Maguschak was offered a three-month internship opportunity from Keith Flickinger, the NB Center’s curator and chief restorer.

“I am constantly visiting and working with America’s top restoration colleges, looking for young talent like Anthony,” Flickinger says, adding that there aren’t many like Maguschak. “Remember his name. He’s just a rock star—smart, dedicated, driven to learn. He’s an old soul way beyond his 21 years.”

Passion is what fuels the work at the NB Center, and it’s what Flickinger seeks most. “I can teach a skill set, and the RPM Foundation solves the problem of funding to cover lodging, meals—the things I don’t want students worrying about while they’re here learning and working with our professionals.”

Now employed full time at the center, Maguschak primarily works with a small team of seven restorers who maintain every car in “ready-to-drive” condition.

With a new visitors center and library, the collection will continue to expand with the goal of becoming a global destination. But Flickinger is quick to point out that Bulgari’s founding mission is about more than preserving old cars, documents, and photos.

“We like to say that we don’t need to restore another car. We just need to educate future generations with our facility. It’s about paying it forward, by teaching and inspiring young people who will go do the same.”

People just like Anthony Maguschak.

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The idea of a mainstream, production (as opposed to one-off) Lamborghini being forgettable (or at least forgotten) seems preposterous, but show 100 car fans pictures of the Islero, and the chances are the majority wouldn’t be able to identify it. Perhaps that’s not such a silly notion; the Islero was made in small numbers and it doesn’t have the visual drama of most Sant’Agata products, making it unusually understated—one of the reasons why Ferruccio himself drove one.

Everybody remembers the Miura, but the contemporary 400GT 2+2 has a much lower profile. This was intentional, as it was created for business tycoons rather than attention-seeking playboys. It was the same with the Islero, which was a reheated 400GT, using the same square-tube chassis and double-wishbone suspension, but with the track widened to make the most of the latest (wider) tires.

Fitted with the same 320-hp, 3929-cc V-12 as the Miura, which was mounted in the nose rather than behind the cabin, the Islero was unveiled at the 1968 Geneva Salon. It debuted alongside the Espada, a car which always had a higher profile and which as a result garnered more column inches. In period, the reality is that few people even knew of the Islero’s existence, and that’s the way things have stayed.

Taking its name from the bull that killed high-profile matador Manuel Rodriguez in 1947, the Islero was developed as a collaboration between Ferruccio Lamborghini and Marazzi, a coachbuilder that rose from the ashes of the defunct Carrozzeria Touring, which had gone bust at the start of 1967. Headed by Mario Marazzi, the new company employed several key people from Touring, with ex-Touring designer Federico Formenti reckoned to have played a significant part in the Islero’s styling.

Compared with its 400GT forebear, the Islero came with Campagnolo alloys instead of Borrani wire wheels and beefier antiroll bars. Otherwise, the new car was mechanically the same as the old. Where it did differ was in proportions. The length was increased by a couple of inches (to 178 inches) and the height by an inch (to 51 inches), yet despite sticking with an all-steel body shell, the curb weight was cut by around 400 pounds, to a claimed 2866 pounds.

Sharply (if conservatively) styled, the Islero was the perfect GT for those in a hurry who wanted to blend into the background. With its sextet of Weber twin-choke carbs, the Islero could sprint to 60 mph in just 7.5 seconds on its way to a 160-mph top speed. And yet when parked up, this hugely expensive 2+2 looked innocuous.

Cheaper alternatives didn’t come with the standard air-con of the Islero, though, which also featured electric windows. The problem was that neither of these features tended to work for very long, because the build quality was poor. Marazzi wasn’t really up to the task of producing such an expensive luxury car, and the quality of the early Isleros was poor, but things would improve later on. Not that this was much consolation to customers who had forked out the price of a decent house—roughly $121,500 today—to buy an early Islero.

Islero production started as the car was unveiled in spring 1968, and by May 1969 Marazzi had been able to produce 125 examples, which was pretty good going for such a low-profile and costly car. It was at this point that Lamborghini turned up the wick, with the introduction of the 35-bhp Islero S.

Given away by its flared wheel arches and quarter lights in the doors (as shown with the car pictured here), these later iterations of the breed were produced to a noticeably higher standard than their forebears.

Just two years after the Islero had made its debut, the final S edition rolled off the production lines when the Jarama picked up the baton. That’s another overlooked Lamborghini, so we’ll tackle it at a later date because let’s face it, you probably have no idea what a Jarama looks like, do you?

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Let’s get this out of the way: The Maserati Biturbo has a bit of a bad reputation. Well, that might be an understatement. Really bad is more like it. More than one Maserati mechanic of the 1980s and ’90s probably sent their kids to Harvard purely off the repair bills footed by Biturbo owners.

And yet, there are plenty of passionate enthusiasts out there who love these cars. Now values have been growing, too, including a whopping 44 percent in the last quarter.

In the early 1980s, turbocharging was still a relatively novel technology in production cars. Two turbochargers? Well, that was difficult. Remember that turbocharging setups in modern cars are managed by sophisticated computers and direct injection, neither of which were available in this era.

When Maserati strapped a pair of turbos to the aptly named Biturbo’s V-6 engine, the arrangement was a first for a production car—and for good reason. The company wrapped this drivetrain in a distinctive in-house design and presented the world with a relatively affordable (for a Maserati) luxury sports car.

The car was a strong seller initially. The North American–market 2.5-liter, all-aluminum V-6 produced 185 hp. Quite impressive considering that in 1984, the car’s first year in the United States, a Corvette made 205. Later Biturbos had 225 hp, benefitting from intercooling, fuel injection to replace a finicky Weber carburetor and a displacement bump to 2.8 liters.

With its unique looks and potent engine, the Biturbo offered a characterful alternative to the German sedans that were quickly grabbing U.S. market share. But it wasn’t long before consumers discovered the fly in the ointment: reliability.

Once again, context helps. At this point in the 1980s, a few years before the Japanese brands redefined the segment, consumer expectations for reliability in a sporty luxury car were still reasonably low. Italian sports cars on the whole are famous for being fiddly, and many are extremely rust prone to boot. So, the fact that these attributes apply to the Biturbo is not noteworthy. Where the problems are amplified, however, is the frequency at which issues can arise if cars are not religiously maintained.

Compounding the problem was the fact that the Biturbo was a “down market” model for Maserati, and many owners thus did not have wallets ready for the wallop of an Italian exotic’s repair bill.

That caveat is still relevant today when we talk about the Biturbo. A standard Biturbo Coupe can run as little as $12,000 for an exceptional example (and trust us, you really do want an exceptional example). A striking Zagato Spider will run you around $25,000 for a prime example. Considering the widespread appreciation for Radwood-era cars, that’s incredibly cheap—a contemporary Volkswagen GTI in top shape can stretch you closer to $30,000.

Consider that low entry cost the market’s attempt to price in the cost of ownership. The reliability issues that have plagued the Biturbo since new have been compounded by the difficulty of finding the necessary components to keep one in top mechanical shape. Sellers who know what they have are not likely to part ways with their parts cheaply.

So none of this deters you: Those boxy ’80s lines beckon, and you’ve found that you can’t resist the allure of an Italian car. You want a Biturbo. Hey, we get it—each of us at Hagerty has our own niche tastes, too. And judging by Biturbo’s recent uptick in value, for both Spyders and coupes, you’re not alone.

We’d simply say that the usual advice when shopping for a classic—buy the best and most mechanically-sorted example you can find—becomes an absolute must. Don’t settle. There are loving owners out there who have taken care of their Biturbos, and as a result have few issues with them. If you vet the seller as much as the car, you’ll have yourself a cool, reliable Maserati you can enjoy without breaking the bank.

Also know that you are investing in a car that is for your own enjoyment rather than something that will necessarily yield a return down the road. (This is always healthy advice, but it’s a bit amplified in this instance.) The big rise in value with these cars has more to do, we wager, with the market as a whole being up than what we would call a resurgence in interest.

The pace of appreciation we’ve noticed lately for this entry-level Maserati is unlikely to continue. What we can guarantee is that there aren’t that many ways to get a more exclusive car for less money. That in and of itself might just be enough.

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Italian roadsters offer the key to instant glamor in a way few other vehicles can match – and two of the greatest segment stars were the Alfa Romeo Spider and Fiat 124 Sport Spider, both of which debuted in 1966.

Similar on paper, these two cars are today significantly different in valuation, at least in their earliest (and some might say most desirable) iterations, with Alfa Spiders more than double the price of their Fiat equivalents.

While the Fiat, a celebrated classic in its own right, is far from an underdog in the traditional sense, it still has the potential to tempt someone out of their search for an Alfa. So with the help of Hagerty’s team of valuations experts, we’ve looked at what you can expect to find with an eye on this pair of Italian classics.

History: Alfa Spider and Fiat 124 Spider

You could reasonably argue that both these cars are icons, but twist an arm and you’d have to concede it’s the Alfa that best meets the definition, as both one of the definitive Italian shapes and one of Alfa Romeo’s most celebrated models.

The Spider formed part of Alfa’s 105 and 115 series cars alongside the 1962-on Giulia Berlina and the ‘63-on Giulia coupés, each respectively replacing their equivalent 1950s Giulietta lines.

While mechanically similar, fielding a range of twin-cam inline fours, and utilizing independent front suspension with a solid rear axle, Pininfarina’s 1966 Spider moved away from the more upright styling of its Fifties forbear with a sleek and seductive look now instantly recognizable as hailing from the era.

It’s these early cars with their curved boat tail that are most prized. While that distinctive styling cue was dropped in later series 2, 3, and 4 variants, those models gave the Spider a notably long life. The last Spiders rolled off the line in 1993, by which time the Mazda MX-5—itself inspired by 1960s roadsters like the Spider—was the dominant force in the roadster market.

Series 1 “Duetto” Spiders—the name chosen through a competition, but never officially applied to the model—were offered with first 1570cc then later 1779cc twin-cam fours, while an entry-level Spider 1300 Junior joined the range in mid-1968.

Fiat’s Spider arrived the same year as the first 105-series Alfa Spiders, and the similarities didn’t stop there. It, too, was designed by Pininfarina (the work of Tom Tjaarda, and initially built by the carrozzeria as well), and based on a platform shared with a saloon, a coupe, and an estate.

It used a combination of independent suspension (double wishbones in this case) up front and a live rear axle, while engines ranged from a 1.4-liter in the earliest cars to a 2-liter before it left the market in 1985. Interestingly, it was sold alongside another sports car, the mid-engined X1/9, for several years—those were the days, eh?

The 124 became wildly popular, particularly in the U.S., where it pretty much defined the Fiat brand in the same way the 1950s 500 did in Europe. Of the roughly 200,000 Spiders built—just shy of double the number of Alfas that found homes worldwide—around three quarters found their way to the U.S.

There is a shared footnote to the story of both cars: Back in the early 2010s, Alfa Romeo and Mazda announced a joint venture that would see a new Alfa Spider developed alongside the fourth generation of Mazda’s MX-5. The plans for the Alfa were abandoned when the late Sergio Marchionne, head of the Fiat Group, declared that an Alfa must be built in Italy—but there was no such stipulation for Fiat, which launched a new, Hiroshima-built 124 Spider in 2016, with styling inspired by Tom Tjaarda’s original.

Why you’ll want one

Even without prominent pop culture roles—everyone remembers the Duetto in The Graduate, but it’s also been virtually the default car casting choice for glamorous individuals in dozens of other TV series and movies—the Alfa Spider’s appeal is impossible to ignore. It’s one of the prettiest small roadsters ever built, from one of the most celebrated automotive brands, and like all 105-series Alfas, it’s renowned for the way it drives.

Key Alfa Spider characteristics are vocal, responsive, and lusty twin-cam powerplants, and a balanced chassis that suffers nothing in response or feedback for using a steering box rather than the typically more precise rack and pinion setup.

If you do find any aspect of the driving experience lacking, there’s a willing aftermarket only happy to change that too, with the likes of Alfaholics offering everything from improved components to incredible ground-up builds – though this can start to push the Alfa into the territory of true exotics, both in terms of price and performance.

The Fiat’s draw is that it offers all the qualities of a pert and pretty Italian roadster in a far more affordable package – one of the reasons these Spiders were so popular in the first place.

You still get a revvy, twin-cam four cylinder in any Fiat Spider rather than the more prosaic overhead-valve units used in regular 124s of the era. These units, the work of Aurelio Lampredi and often referred to as Lampredi engines, stuck around for decades. As a result, sourcing spare parts is generally not an issue, nor is finding specialists to work on them.

Which is prettier? That’s for you to decide, though we suspect the earliest cars of both the Alfa and Fiat will appeal to the eyes more than later iterations.

Values: Alfa Spider and Fiat 124 Spider

In many ways the comparison between the Alfa 1750 ‘round tail’ Spider and the Fiat 124 1.4 Spider is an unfair one, writes John Mayhead, Editor of the UK Hagerty Price Guide. The Alfa is arguably the best 105-series Spider there was, combining the elegance of the original design with the free-revving 1779cc engine and various other driving advances over the earlier Duetto including better brakes. Ease of adding upgraded parts thanks to the commonality of spares between 105-series models and the efforts of companies like Alfaholics and Classic Alfa make it a very popular car indeed.

On the other hand, the 124 Spider 1.4, although popular, has never quite attained the same adulation among buyers—and that’s reflected in the values, especially recently. Prices of both Spiders have risen significantly over the last few years and since 2013, with the Fiat up 69.8% and the Alfa has rocketed up 165.9%, much of which has come in the second and third quarters of 2022. What’s more, the 1969 Alfa 1750 commands another 3% on top of the aggregate 66-69 #2 value of $85,100.

What’s the outlook? 2023 ought to tell us if the Alfa’s recent spike is the new normal. Earlier Alfa Spiders such as the 1600 Giulia and 2000 (102 Series) cars have become seriously collectible; surely a good-quality, original 1750 Round Tail will find itself in that area soon given their relative rarity. We expect the Fiat to soldier on at or near its current values—it seems to have found its level. There are a lot of alternatives available on the market at the Fiat’s price point, especially when you include the broad range of British roadsters, and that may work against the 124’s values breaking out.

Who’s interested in these little lusty roadsters? For the Alfas, it’s primarily Boomers at 57%— their percentage of quotes outstrips their market share by 22 points. Gen X comes in just three points beneath their market share at 28%, with the remainder of folks having only nominal interest.

In contrast, the little Fiats are much more broadly appreciated. This makes sense given that even the best examples remain relatively attainable. Each generation’s interest in the 124 and its later Azzurra cousin is almost exactly proportionate with their market share. This bodes well for its value stability down the road.

Icon or underdog?

As with any duo in our Icon vs Underdog series, a car’s price will determine whether you can put an early Alfa Spider or 124 Spider in the garage. It comes down to whether you’re willing to sacrifice a bit of condition quality to go for the icon in this pairing. You can still find a #4 driver-quality early Alfa Spider 1750 for $42,800, while $37,600 will fetch you a concours-level Fiat. Driver-quality 124s can still be had for under $7 grand, a tempting number for entering into the Italian roadster club.

Should you though? The market is awash with options at the Fiat’s level, from the British equivalents, less pristine Duettos, or fresher examples of any of the later Alfa Spiders. With the Alfa, in contrast, we suspect more than a few potential owners would consider nothing else.

This makes our conclusion a little more clear-cut than most. Unless you have your heart set on the 124, it’s all too tempting to find a late series 2 Alfa Spider for similar money, and enjoy much of the experience, if not quite the looks, of those boat-tailed series 1 Alfas.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. 

Via Hagerty UK

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Volkswagen turned the original Golf (sold as the Rabbit in the United States) into a convertible in 1979 and alchemized the second-generation model into an off-roader called Country in 1990. While these two models should have co-existed without crossing paths, an Italian company named Biagini played a game of automotive “will it blend?” and fused the Cabriolet and the Country to create the eccentric Passo.

Biagini’s origins are as opaque as the blue smoke that comes out of a Trabant’s exhaust system. The firm was part of a group called Ali Ciemme that devoted a substantial amount of time and effort to modifying Romanian-built ARO off-roaders in the 1980s. When and why the Golf appeared on Biagini’s radar isn’t clear, but its engineers and designers took full advantage of the little hatchback’s Lego-like simplicity.

The brief was reasonably straight-forward: Take a Golf Cabriolet and fit it with the Golf Country’s driveline and suspension system. Biagini designed Y-shaped subframes in-house to make the swap work and dialed in 10.2 inches of ground clearance—that’s slightly more than a base 2022 Jeep Wrangler has.

At first glance, the Passo looks like a Golf on steroids. Biagini installed a beefier front bumper with a brush guard, flares over the wheel arches, and a rear-mounted spare-wheel carrier. The hood and fenders were redesigned to give the front end a more rounded look, and Biagini kept the Golf’s soft top but added a composite window. It also put “Biagini powered by Volkswagen Syncro” emblems on the B pillars to answer one of the many questions you’d have if parking next to a Passo at the local bar.

Zoom in and you’ll notice that the Italian shop raided the nearest parts bin. Up front, the Passo-specific grille is flanked by headlights sourced from the Fiat Panda. It’s a look that works better than you might assume, partly because Giugiaro designed both the original Golf and the original Panda. The vertical rear lights come from the first-generation Panda as well, and a tailgate provides access to the trunk.

While the Passo that’s part of the Volkswagen collection in Wolfsburg, Germany, was locked when I last visited, I can tell you that the interior is mostly standard Golf Cabriolet fare. There are two exceptions: The dashboard gains a grab handle that stretches from side to side, and the front seats are Recaro units.

The most common engine used was a Volkswagen-sourced, 1.8-liter four-cylinder that sent about 89 horsepower and 107 pound-feet of torque to the four wheels via a five-speed manual transmission. Some of the earlier units built benefited from a higher output because they weren’t equipped with catalytic converters, and Biagini’s marketing material notes a 2.0-liter was available in some markets (including Italy). Biagini retained the Golf Country’s four-wheel-drive system and doing so made the Passo eligible for Austrian citizenship: Volkswagen co-developed the hardware with Steyr-Daimler-Puch.

Production figures vary wildly depending on who you ask, and Biagini is no longer around to set the record straight. Some historians claim about 65 units of the Passo were built between 1990 and 1993. Others believe the correct figure lies in the vicinity of 100, while Volkswagen’s archives department states “around 300 four-wheel-drive Golf Country models were converted into convertibles.” Regardless of who you believe, you’re more likely to spot a Ferrari LaFerrari than a Biagini Passo on your next trip to Italy, especially since the one point no one disputes is that rust issues decimated the Passo population.

Biagini closed in 1993 so it wasn’t able to write a new Passo chapter when the third-generation, Golf-based Cabriolet began arriving in showrooms. Besides, Volkswagen didn’t develop a successor to the Golf Country; making a second-generation Passo would have required a much bigger investment.

Volkswagen’s droptops remained low to the ground until the T-Roc Cabriolet arrived in 2020. As for the Passo, it’s an obscure footnote in the Golf’s history that only the most hardcore enthusiasts remember.

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The steering wheel of Ayrton Senna’s 1988 World Championship-winning McLaren MP4/4 Formula 1 car was about 10 inches across. Now imagine that same steering wheel rendered as just one tiny, 0.2-inch part among 300 parts in a scale model kit of his McLaren that, when completed, is no more than four inches long. Believe it or not, there are people who build these for fun.

Most of us assembled a plastic car model (or three) as kids. That every town had a hobby shop and the aroma of Testors paints filled the basement seems today like a quaint amusement from the distant past. However, for a small but loyal group of hard-core hobbyists who are more like jewelers or watchmakers than modelers, car modeling remains a serious business borne of a rabid obsession for miniaturized realism.

For more than 40 years, one small Italian boutique, Tameo Kits, has fed the hobbyist’s habit with an extensive menagerie of metal kits, surviving against market changes and social forces that has thinned the ranks of modelers and model companies.

A peruse through Tameo’s catalog (available at the company website, tameokits.com), which the company playfully dubs “Turtle Soup,” is a stroll through some of the highlights of Formula 1 and sports car racing. Everything from the forgotten AGS Cosworth JH23 from the 1988 Monaco Grand Prix to Jody Scheckter’s 1976 six-wheeled Tyrell P34, to Alberto Ascari’s Ferrari 375 from the 1952 Indianapolis 500 are rendered in 1/43-scale kits that sell for $50 to $125 depending on the level of detail.

The kits are produced using a combination of old-world metal-casting techniques, modern photoetching, and 3-D printing, and they are shipped around the world in individual 3 x 5-inch cardboard boxes. “Since 1981 we have produced over 700 models that are always in the catalog and constantly in production,” says the company’s founder, Luca Tameo. “I think that Tameo Kits is the only company in the world that has kept the entire production in range without ever running out of a single reference.”

For modelers who work in the fiddly 1/43 scale, a relic of early 20th century model railroading that was later embraced by popular British toymakers such as Corgi and Dinky, the Tameo name is a gold standard. That’s partly because of the kit quality, partly because of the sometimes-obscure subjects that are not offered as models by any other company, and partly because of the Tameo’s longevity.

“Tameo is a survivor of the classic European model car companies,” says David Barnblatt, a model builder and Tameo distributor through his Venice, California-based company, Vintage 43. “During the 1970s, ‘80s, and ‘90s, there was a vibrant industry of 1/43rd artisan model car makers in Italy, Germany, France, and the U.K.. There were also a few in the US and Japan. Nearly all of the companies have vanished due to competition from diecasts and the readily available plastic model kits that are larger at around 1/24th scale. But Tameo stuck around because they specialized in Formula 1 models and they were also technically a few notches better than the rest in precision quality and ease of assembly.”

Tameo, who is now a very youthful 60, started the business out of his house when he was 16, building models on commission after his father, a manager at Fiat, bought him his first kit, a model of a Lancia Stratos rally car. He sold the finished model and used the money to buy two more kits, selling those as well. A lifelong fan of Formula 1, Tameo “felt the need to make something that was entirely mine,” and produced his first model from scratch, a 1978 Arrows Ford A1 which was an obscure gold-and-black F1 car sponsored by the German beer company, Warsteiner.

He subsequently met and befriended Andre-Marie Ruf, a French pioneer of small-scale metal car modeling who produced what are now highly collectible kits bearing his initials, AMR. Ruf taught Tameo the art of sculpting parts in wax as part of the prototyping phase of kit design, and in 1983 Tameo designed his first kit in 1/43 scale, Nelson Piquet’s 1983 Brabham BT53 F1 car.

“Ruf was a model-car maker who firmly held on to a certain sense of principles,” says Barnblatt. “One of the most important to him was that shrinking a car down 43 times smaller doesn’t always make a good miniature.  A sense of interpretation needs to happen when shaping the master pattern, where the ‘feeling’ of the shape of the car can be accentuated or improvised in such a way that the model takes on a life of its own.” There is no mistaking an AMR model, says Barnblatt. They can be spotted in a line up, and “Tameo took some of these principles to heart and developed his own style. Especially in his early model Ferrari kits, which are still available today.”

Nowadays, a staff of six employees at Tameo Kits S.R.L. operates out of a two-story, 8600-square-foot factory on northern Italy’s Ligurian coast, south of Turin and near the border with France. The company produces a range of kits, starting with its simplest SilverLine, which are mostly models of vintage Formula 1 cars that are oriented towards beginning builders with about 100 parts each. The typical kit includes a cast metal body and floor, plus wings, suspension pieces, whatever engine components would be showing around the closed bodywork, and wheels and tires. These kits sell for around $50.

At the opposite end of Tameo’s range is the WCT Line, which are no larger than the SilverLine kits at around four inches long but feature removable bodywork and exposed cockpits, chassis, and engines. They have around 300 parts and, in the hands of an expert builder, are the dazzling Fabergé eggs of the model world.

Compared to your typical plastic model, “Our kits aren’t exactly the easiest thing to assemble,” acknowledges Tameo. “It takes skill and excellent equipment to be able to make a finished model of good quality.” To aid builders, the company’s website features an extensive tutorial on building the kits. Some basic metalworking tools such as files, snippers, and tweezers are needed, as is good light and, especially for older folk, a jeweler’s magnifying glasses. The paints and glues also tend to be a little different from the plastic kits you may remember. A good place to start is an enclosed sports car like Tameo’s 1970 Ferrari 312P coupe, a relatively simple kit of few parts that only requires spraying the body with one color. Patience is a necessity, but compared to plastic kits, it’s easier to undo a mistake with metal and start over.

The main ingredient in Tameo kits is “white metal,” a relatively soft, pliable alloy of tin and copper extensively used in 1/43-scale kits today and which traces its hobby roots to toy soldiers. White metal remains popular with modelers because it’s easy to cut and file and it gives an unexpected heft to an otherwise tiny model.

Internet research, graphic computer modeling, and 3-D printing now stand in for hand-sculpting wax masters from grainy photos in magazines and books. Tameo has spent 30 years perfecting a centrifugal casting process that involves cutting the shape of a kit’s parts into a matched pair of plaster discs, then spinning the discs at speed while molten metal is poured into the center. The centrifugal force pushes the liquid metal into fine crevices and cavities, meaning Tameo can cast the parts with more precision. They emerge from the separated discs as giant metal snowflakes of tiny suspension and brake components. The snowflakes are then cut up, the individual parts going into small baggies for the kits. Much of the excess metal “flash” is recycled for further use.

It takes Tameo about two months, “if we focus,” to design and engineer a new kit. “The choice of the models to produce is always very difficult because it is a question of ‘guessing’ whether a new kit will be successful or not,” he says. “Of course, if the choice falls on the big teams like Ferrari, Lotus, or McLaren, the guarantees of a good sale are greater. I must say that lately we have been registering great interest in minor Formula 1 cars. That is, those cars that have never won or that have distinguished themselves only for very particular designs or captivating decorations.”

Other considerations, such as steep licensing fees, has meant that Tameo now shies away from newer F1 cars and produces mainly models of historic race cars. However, that means wading into the morass of tobacco sponsorship on older race cars. The regulatory agencies of many countries lump in model kits with toys under a blanket ban against tobacco advertising. That forces Tameo to ship its kits without tobacco logos, meaning modelers demanding perfect accuracy must go online for aftermarket decal sheets that contain the right logos.

While Tameo sells to more countries today than ever before, the overall market has been in decline for several years, he says. That’s partly because of an invasion of finished models from producers in China that offer highly detailed diecasts for the same or less than a Tameo kit. “To survive we decided not to compete with them, but to find our market niche by turning to model makers who do not like the diecast model but prefer quality, detail, and the almost total absence of compromises,” says Tameo. “I must say that, even in the face of constantly decreasing numbers, this way to produce models has proved to be a winner for us and has guaranteed us, until now, our survival.”

Another problem is that modeling hasn’t made the generational jump from older builders to younger people, who are more attracted to electronic entertainments. Says Tameo: “There are still model makers who have followed Tameo Kits since the early ‘80s, but we can’t see the right generational change because young people are no longer interested in modeling but prefer other leisure activities.”

The company has spent a lot of time updating its older catalog listings, redesigning kits from the 1990s using new technology and materials. It has also begun producing a range of accessories, such as more accurate tires and detailing bits, that modelers can use to dress up their kits.

Barnblatt hopes more collectors will be willing to venture into attempting a model kit, “which would easily become the centerpiece of their collection.” It’s one thing to have a wall of model cars, quite another to say that you built some of them yourself. Says Barnblatt: “There is a world of interesting artisan model cars out there, old and new, that can contribute to an already impressive diecast car collection.”

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Think DeTomaso and you probably think V-8, with a fabulous exhaust note and huge reserves of performance. But that’s not how things began for this enigmatic Italian brand, because its first car featured nothing more glorious than a Ford Cortina‘s four-cylinder. Sure, the Kent lump was mounted in the middle and the Vallelunga looked exotic, but this was still a car with a mere 104 hp on tap. However, the Valleunga was compact (149 inches long and 43 tall) and weighed just 1543 pounds. Plus it was fabulously slippery, so it was still capable of a claimed (but perhaps optimistic) 130 mph.

Born in Argentina in 1928, Alejandro DeTomaso started out racing Maseratis and OSCAs in the 1950s, before moving into building single-seater racing cars in 1959; he would go on to try his hand at making F1, F3 and even Indianapolis racers. Then, in 1962, he decided that it was time to move into road-car production, and his first effort was a car that could have laid claim to being the first mid-engined production sports car, if it hadn’t been for the arrival of the Bonnet Djet in autumn 1962.

Named after the Rome-based circuit at which DeTomaso did much of his testing, the Vallelunga arrived in ’63 and, in some respects, was advanced in its design. The four-cylinder engine and four-speed gearbox (soon upgraded to a five-speeder) acted as load bearers for the whole of the back end of the car. Bolted to the engine was an upturned U-section chassis, which opened out at the front of the car to carry the suspension.

Borrowed from the Cortina 1500GT, the 1498-cc four-cylinder engine sported a pair of Weber 40 DCOE carburetors, and for those who wanted some extra pep there was a 133-hp option. That power was sent to the back wheels via a modified Volkswagen gearbox fitted with Hewland gears. Across the top of the transmission sat a crossmember which carried the top mounts for the rear suspension; this wasn’t a car over-endowed with refinement.

There were disc brakes and independent suspension fitted front and rear, along with rack-and-pinion steering. The suspension was by unequal-length wishbones and coil springs with telescopic dampers, with an antiroll bar at each end. Everything was rose-jointed and, to top things off, DeTomaso even commissioned Campagnolo to cast some magnesium alloy wheels specially for the Vallelunga.

Making its debut in open-topped form at the 1963 Turin Salon, the Vallelunga roadster would remain a one-off. The next year a coupé made its debut, and it was this body style that would account for all of the cars made apart from that initial prototype. While the roadster and first three (some claim five) coupés were bodied in aluminum, most Vallelungas featured a one-piece fiberglass body shell which was made by Ghia. Engine access was via a lift-up Perspex rear window and a removable plywood decklid.

In this definitive production form, the Vallelunga’s dry weight distribution was 47/53 front/rear, but once the aluminum fuel tank in the nose was filled and two occupants sat in the cabin, the weight distribution was a perfect 50/50. This, allied to its advanced mechanical specification, ensured that the tiny DeTomaso was a blast to drive, if unrelentingly noisy.

It was almost inevitable that the DeTomaso Vallelunga would be built in small numbers, since it was a costly and compromised machine from an unknown brand. By the time the final Vallelunga was made in 1965, just 50 had been made by Ghia along with three aluminum-bodied protoypes and five alloy-bodied competition cars.

Just one of the Vallelungas made was right-hand drive and it was produced for Colonel Ronnie Hoare, Ferrari importer for the U.K. His plan was to fit a 148-hp Lotus twin-cam engine to create a true pocket-sized road rocket, but he found the Vallelunga simply too under-developed to be viable. He then sold the car on in 1970, by which point DeTomaso was on the verge of unveiling his best-known car, the Pantera.

Rare and obscure, Vallelungas are the most valuable vehicles in the DeTomaso legacy. Though a museum-grade (#1 condition) Mangusta specced with the higher-output engine and built between 1967 and 1970 tops out at $325,000, a Vallelunga in such better-than-factory condition is worth $390,000. For a driver-quality example with a few scuffs and bruises, you’re looking at $245,000—more than $80K more than the most valuable Pantera (a 1988 GT model in #1 condition). The first of the DeTomaso road cars hardly ever pop up for sale, either.

While imperfect at its debut, the Vallelunga established the formula of mid-engine Ford power under striking Ghia body work that the later Mangusta and Pantera would render in greater size and production count. Four years after the roadster debuted at Turin, DeTomaso would attract the eye of Lee Iacocca, then Ford’s executive vice president, and leverage its Lincoln-Mercury dealer network for less delicate, more accessible offerings. As a statement of DeTomaso’s wild, original vision, however, the Vallelunga will always stand apart.

Via Hagerty UK

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Many of Jaguars’ designs are routinely honored as classics. However, their sultry sheetmetal didn’t stop Italian coachbuilders and styling houses from attempting to improve upon British perfection.

The movement began as far back as the early 1950s. The 1960s and ’70s, in particular, witnessed the release of several memorable makeovers, some of which had arbiters of beauty championing their cause far and wide. Others, by contrast, were poorly received— often with good reason. Yet none were boring, which gives car enthusiasts like us plenty to talk about.

What follows is a rundown of the better-known Giaguari Latini, and a few that have long since been forgotten by history. The real shame is that Italian coachbuilding is now facing extinction, so there may never be another masterpiece of this kind. The cars featured here serve as a reminder of how good—or, at the very least, memorable—it was while it lasted.

Frua E-Type, 1966

Frua’s best-known Jaguar remodeling was more of a restyle than a complete overhaul. It was completed at the behest of well-known dealer John Coombs. The sometime-race entrant envisioned selling specially tailored Jaguars to a discerning clientele, the prototype being displayed at the 1966 British International Motor Show at Earls Court.

Some 250 mm (9.8 in) was removed from the nose, while the power bulge was replaced with an air scoop. A new grille was also substituted. The rear end was similarly truncated. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the popularity of the standard E-Type, there were no takers and accordingly the car remained unique, much like the Frau S-Type (below). It was later lightly modified by Italsuisse—a firm with whom Frua collaborated closely—which added a rather boxy, full-width rear bumper. The car was offered recently on the auction platform Collecting Cars, but the auction ended with the car unsold.

Frua S-Type, 1966

Pietro Frua’s bulging resumé included several landmark classics. Milan Jaguar concessionaire, Faltori and Monanti, commissioned the build of a custom-bodied S-Type in 1965. A rolling chassis was dispatched to Turin in December of that year, and remarkably the prototype was completed in time for its big reveal at the March 1966 Geneva motor show. Whether it was always going to be a one-off, or if Frua’s intention was to create replicas, is a source of debate among historians. What is beyond doubt is that the car remained unique. The Frua S-Type remained unsold for several months until it was acquired by the Italian gentleman Francesco Respono. He, in turn, moved it on to former motorcycle racer Hans Haldemann.

Bertone FT, 1966

Following up a XK150 rebody was no easy task, and Bertone’s next “boutique” Jaguar was surprisingly sober-looking by comparison. The marque’s Italian concessionaire, Ferruchio Tarchini, commissioned the Turinese styling house to construct a four-seater Gran Turismo based on the 3.8-liter S-Type saloon in time for the 1966 Geneva motor show.

Marcello Gandini was tasked with creating an all-new outline, the intention being to create a car for the Italian market only. Tarchini would be the sole distributor for this coachbuilt strain that was to be dubbed “FT” in his honor. However, it wasn’t warmly received following its unveiling. Nevertheless, Tarchini pressed ahead and commissioned a second car, this time based on a 420 platform.

Bertone Pirana, 1967

The next Bertone Jaguar was infinitely sexier and well-publicized in period. That is understandable given that it was conceived by The Weekend Telegraph’s editor, John Anstey, and his staff. It presented their idea of the perfect GT car. Nuccio Bertone was quick to come onboard, agreeing to complete the coachwork in time for the Pirana’s debut at the October 1967 British International Motor Show.

Bodied in steel save for the aluminum bonnet, and styled by Gandini, the resultant creation cost a rumored £20,000 to build—nearly £400,000 today (over $500,000). There was never any intention of building even a small run of replicas. The Pirana’s outline proved influential, however, in that it provided reference points for the Lamborghini Espada.

Bertone Ascot, 1977

Gandini’s follow-up was diametrically opposed in terms of styling. The shy artiste was at the height of his “folding paper” powers when he styled the brutally angular Ascot. Based on a shortened XJ-S platform, complete with 5.3-liter V-12, it was created at a time when Bertone was pitching to shape mainstream production cars for Jaguar.

What the creative types in Browns Lane made of the Ascot remains unrecorded, but this most serrated of big cats was nothing if not noticeable. Sharing styling cues with another Gandini creation, the Ferrari-based Rainbow, it was unveiled at the 1977 Turin motor show. The public greeted it with muted praise, which would explain why the Ascot remained a one-off.

Bertone B99, 2011

Scroll back to 2011 and Bertone had been in a precarious state for much of the previous decade. The arrival of this beautiful concept car at that year’s 2011 Geneva Motor Show proved that this hardy legend still had the ability to surprise. What’s more, it was styled by a Brit—the talented Adrian Griffiths.

While Jaguar was keen to distance itself from anything remotely retro, here was a styling masterclass that appeared classic without being clichéd. The B99 concept was also touted as a hybrid, with both a combustion engine and electric motors. Not only that, it was displayed next to a mocked-up racing version, complete with the mother of all rear spoilers. However, it came to nothing.

Italdesign Kensington, 1990

Styling great Giorgetto Giugiaro had high hopes for the Kensington when it was released in 1990. The Italdesign principal opined in period that Jaguar was too rooted in the past, and that he was keen to move the marque’s design language forward.

The most controversial part of the XJ12-based Kensington was the high-sited rear three-quarter treatment, but it proved influential. Many well-known designers freely admit to having been inspired by this one-off, but Jaguar, which didn’t sanction the build, was sniffy about it. Giugiaro has rarely been one to let things go to waste: He subsequently reworked the outline for several Italdesign-shaped cars wearing Lexus and Daewoo nameplates, among others.

Pininfarina XJ Spider, 1978

Of the many 1970s concept cars, few tugged on the heartstrings quite like this exquisite XJ-S-based creation. This shapely machine was strictly a standalone gig with no official factory involvement save for the contribution of a well-used XJ-S test hack which acted as a donor car. By the time the Turinese artisans were finished, all that remained was the bare floorplan, the new body being fashioned in metal and aluminum under the direction of Lorenzo Ramaciotti.

First seen publicly at the 1978 British International Motor Show, it caused a furor, but sadly, tragically even, it remained only a prototype. Pininfarina was responsible for the third-generation XJ6/12 makeover, though.

Pininfarina XJ220

The most recent Pininfarina Jaguar remains shrouded in mystery. It wasn’t publicized by the firm in period, that’s for sure, nor does it appear in most books on the subject. The Sultan of Brunei was once a highly valued customer, and in 1995 he requested a customized XJ220.

The regular car’s outline, the work of Keith Helfet, remained, only with fixed headlights in place of the concealed items, the rear end being reworked to accommodate different light clusters and a larger spoiler. The interior was also altered. However, the task of building the car was subcontracted to Sergio Coggiola’s eponymous carrozzerie. Whether the Italian reinterpretation was an improvement over the Coventry original depends on your artistic bent. [Ed: You know the drill … Let us know in the comments below.]

Zagato Jaguar XK140/XK150

Milanese coachbuilder Zagato created several significant designs during the 1950s, but its take on the XK-series remains a subject of confusion and conjecture. It was once widely held that three cars were made, but some historians have adopted the view that only two were so bodied.

The first example was built on an XK140 platform at the behest of Italian playing card manufacturer, Guido Modiano, who had crashed the donor car. The finished article was displayed at the 1957 Paris motor show. A second example, based on XK150 running gear, was then fashioned for a Swiss Jaguar dealer and exhibited at the 1958 Geneva Motor Show. A third car was purportedly built, based on an XK150 SE.

Via Hagerty UK

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Few coachbuilders have such a rich back catalogue as Zagato. Fewer still exist in the here and now. At a time when most styling Italian styling houses have gone to the wall, this most characterful of Italian carrozzerie is still rustling up new designs. It has shaped cars during a century of continuous existence, foregoing the occasional, cough, “reorganization” period.

What’s more, while at one point it chased volume production of niche vehicles for major manufacturers (along with most other prominent Italian coachbuilders), it never lost sight of its roots. Zagato has always been open for business should customers desire something that bit more … tailor-made. Gathered here are a selection of our favorites, some of which are bound to raise eyebrows.

Zagato Ferrari FZ93

It would be hard to label this one-off a work of great beauty, but it wasn’t without influence. Built in 1992–93, the Ercole Spada-styled TZ93 didn’t bear even trace elements stylistically of the car that bore it—the Pininfarina-designed Testarossa.

For starters, the signature side cooling strakes were denuded, the center section now featuring a pronounced waistline, but the really controversial bit was the front end. The nose incorporated a pronounced step and air intakes that mimicked the frontal outline of the Tyrrell 019 F1 car. The TZ93 wasn’t highly regarded by many in period, but styling cues subsequently filtered down to umpteen supercars, not least the Ferrari Enzo.

Fiat 8V

The Fiat “Otto Vu” was something of a cuckoo in the nest because the Turin giant didn’t really ‘do’ exotica way back when. However, the eight-cylinder GT served its purpose as a halo car, Zagato crafted its first outline for the range-topper in 1952. A year later, it created an open barchetta variant before putting its fixed-head design into series production (and “series” here really is a relative term).

With an air of predictably, no two Zagato 8Vs were ever truly alike, the front and rear styling treatments sometimes varying in detail, while some cars boasted the corporate “double bubble” roof treatment.

Alfa Romeo Giulietta SZ

It was a long time coming. Zagato’s take on the Giulietta theme was exhibited at the 1960 Geneva Motor Show as an official Alfa Romeo model. However, variations on the theme had been accruing silverware in small-displacement classes of motor racing for the past four seasons.

The Franco Scaglione-designed, Bertone-built Giulietta SS had been created as the works-sanctioned competition model. However, it proved too heavy and was largely uncompetitive. The pert Sprint Zagato, by contrast, was so successful that Alfa Romeo was obliged to adopt it into the fold. The Milan coachbuilder followed through in 1961 with the longer, lower and wider “Coda Tronca” Kamm-tail version (pictured).

Aston Martin DB4 GT Zagato

Zagato and Aston Martin have enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship for more than 60 years, even if not all Zagato Astons were actually designed by Zagato. The first of the breed was, though. The template-establishing DB4 rebody represented a styling masterclass, even if the nature of coachbuilding ensured that each car made differed in detail.

DB4 GT Zagatos were campaigned in period by a roll-call of legends, from Stirling Moss to Bruce McLaren via Roy Salvadori and, most famously, Jim Clark. Only 20 of the originally mooted run of 25 cars were reportedly made in period (two of which shared the same chassis number). However, considerably more survive all these years later …

Maserati A6G/54

Zagato and Maserati’s relationship stretched back to before World War II. It still endures, but arguably the most strikingly beautiful Maserati shaped by the Milanese atelier was this offering from the mid-1950s. Distinct from other A6G/54s shaped by other styling houses such as Frua and Allemano, Zagato’s offerings were decidedly racer-inspired.

Save for a lone Spider, all were closed GTs, with significant detail differences (some had slightly flared rear arches, others broader hindquarters and larger back windows). Of the 60 super-exotic A6G/54s made from 1954–56, 21 were crafted by Zagato.

Alfa Romeo Giulia TZ1

One of the prettiest sports-racing cars ever made, the TZ1 (the “1” part was added retrospectively) represented the culmination of the experience gleaned from the SZ. It had a bespoke tubular chassis, running gear robbed from the 105-series Giulia, and an outline penned by Ercole Spada (the design was rooted in a never-produced Abarth project).

The TZ1 won first time out at Monza in October 1963 and it owned its class during the following season. It bagged category honors in the Sebring 12 Hours, Le Mans, Nürburgring 1000-km race and Targa Florio, not to mention umpteen sprint races. The Spada-styled, fiberglass-bodied TZ2 arrived midway through 1965.

Lancia Hyena

The 1980s wasn’t kind to Zagato, nor was the early ’90s for that matter. However, the arrival of the Hyena at the January 1992 Brussels Motor Show represented a return to form for the storied coachbuilder. Conceived and commissioned by Dutch Lancia concessionaire/noted collector Paul Koot, this shapely Delta Integrale-based machine featured Lancia badges and corporate grille after its parent company, Fiat, lent support.

However, a changing of the guard saw that patronage withdrawn, and Koot was obliged to purchase complete Integrales from dealers to act as donors. The end cost rose dramatically so the project was axed in 1993, by which time only 25 cars had been completed.

Alfa Romeo TZ3 Stradale

This is bound to be a controversial choice, and understandably so. For starters, it wasn’t really an Alfa Romeo despite the badging alluding to the contrary. There had been talk of a TZ3 as far back as the mid-1990s. The one-off TZ3 Corsa was completed in 2010, and strictly speaking it was a reclothed Gillett Vertigo.

The Stradale, by contrast, arrived a year later and was substantially bigger. That was because beneath the Norihiko Harada-penned outline were the contact points of a Dodge Viper ACR-X, plus a V-10 engine. Cue much head scratching among the Alfisti. Dodge was part of Chrysler Corp., which now formed part of Fiat, which owned Alfa Romeo … it made some sense, anyway. Nine cars were purportedly made.

Alfa Romeo Junior Zagato

Yes, it’s another Alfa Romeo, but what a thing. Styled by future BMW design chief Ercole Spada, and yet another official model in the 105-series Alfa range, its wedge-shaped outline wasn’t universally well-liked when first seen in 1969. As Spada is wont to say, his designs tend to be appreciated in retrospect. If praised is heaped upon them, he gets nervous.

Offered in 1.3- and 1.6-liter forms, the lightweight Junior Zagato remains a brilliant driver’s car. Intriguingly, a mid-engined version was constructed ahead of a possible motor racing campaign, but it remained a prototype. Oh, and Honda appropriated the Junior Zagato’s outline for the first-gen CRX. Just sayin’…

Ferrari 250GTZ

There have been several Zagato-bodied Ferraris, from the sublime to the bizarre and all things in between. The 250-series GTZ for 1957 belonged firmly in the former camp. It represented a styling masterclass, the outline having been retrospectively attributed to Fabio Luigi Rapi who is perhaps better known for shaping Fiat’s own-brand 8V coupé. It remains a favorite of third-generation studio principal, Andrea Zagato, too.

Only five cars were built in the late-1950s, the first being arguably the prettiest of the breed. However, as is so often the way with these things, a few more have appeared subsequently. As a footnote, Zagato had bodied a mere ten Ferraris to 1973.

Rover 2000 TCZ

And now an even more leftfield choice. Remember when Zagato bodied a Rover? First seen at the 1967 British International Motor Show at Earls Court, the TCZ echoed styling themes long established by Zagato’s chief designer, Ercole Spada. Based on a 1965 Rover P6 2000S donor car, complete with an experimental 2000TC engine, it emerged 230 mm (9 in) shorter, the wheelbase having been abbreviated by 30 mm (1.2 in). It was also 20mm (0.8 in) wider, and 13 mm (0.5 in) lower.

The conundrum for marque historians is whether or not Rover was involved in the project. Given that it was based on a development chassis, there is every reason to be believe there was a link. Either way, only one car was made; more’s the pity.

Via Hagerty UK

The post 11 of Zagato’s greatest hits appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Fifty years ago, Italy’s design houses came up with a new angle. Forget freehand sketching—1972 would be the year of the protractor and ruler. Geometry teachers the world over rejoiced.

Straight lines and acute intersections would show the progress of technology, leap away from the sensuous curves of the Sixties, and follow the sharp shapes of Marcello Gandini’s ground-breaking Lamborghini Countach.

Everyone was at it, from Pininfarina to Bertone to Giugiaro and Ghia for Fiat, Ferrari, Lancia Maserati, and De Tomaso. The result was a run of angular Italian automobiles that remain as striking today as they did five decades ago.

Ferrari 365 GT4 2+2

Ferrari’s replacement for the swoopy 365 GTC/4 was a stark contrast to its predecessor. Literally the only curves to be found were the compulsory wheel arches, with the rest of the car designed around the straightest of lines by Leonardo Fioravanti at Pininfarina. This four-seater coupe sat on an extended version of the GTC/4’s tubular steel chassis and came with a 4.4-liter version of the famous Colombo V-12 fed by no less than six carburetors. Quirks? The body was steel but the floorpan was glass fiber and the rear suspension featured a hydraulic self-leveling system. It was also the first Ferrari available with an automatic transmission, but, launched mid oil-crisis, the 365 GT4 2+2 wasn’t officially sold in the U.S.A. Nonetheless many were imported and a #3-condition (Good) car would be worth $54,500 today—making it one of the most affordable classic Ferraris around.

Lancia Stratos

Legend has it that Bertone persuaded Lancia to build the Stratos after turning up at the factory and driving under the barrier in the Stratos Zero prototype. That car would be revealed to the public at the 1970 Turin Motor Show, and a year later the prototype Stratos HF was unveiled. Penned by Marcello Gandini the Stratos would take over rally duties from the successful Fulvia HF with the first testing of prototypes taking place during 1972 (our excuse to include it here). Power came from a 190-hp Dino Ferrari V-6 and 500 cars were to built to meet homologation requirements, although the final number fell slightly short thanks to a change in regulations. Road versions would accelerate from 0-62 mph in just 6.8 seconds and reach 144 mph flat out while on the rally stage the Stratos was a stormer, winning the 1974, 1975, and 1976 World Championships driven by Sandro Munari and Björn Waldegård. Rallying never looked so stunning and probably never will again.

Fiat X1/9

Gandini really was the wedge wizard, and thanks to Fiat his design was democratized in the form of the inexpensive X1/9. Gandini had sown the seeds with his 1969 Autobianchi A112 Runabout concept car, but it would be Fiat that put it into production as a two-seater targa-topped sportster. It looked a million dollars, but the genius was using the engine and transmission from the Fiat 128, mounted transversely amidships to keep the price down to just $3917. The little 1.3-liter engine produced just 67 hp but the X1/9 was light and agile which elevated the fun factor. Fiat built 160,000 X1/9s, most of which will sadly have rusted away by now. As a result, a Good-condition (#3) car now costs an average of just $8500. The best examples in the world command $28,300.

Maserati Merak

Giorgetto Giugiaro’s design for an entry-level Maserati was a little softer than those of his hard-edged rivals. Based on the earlier Bora, the biggest styling difference was the replacement of the glass fastback with a flat rear deck and flying buttresses. Mechanically the changes were more significant, with the Merak using the 3.0-liter V-6 engine developed for the Citröen SM, as well as hydropneumatic systems for the brakes, pop-up headlights, and the clutch. Just as in the SM, this combination of Italian and French engineering philosophies was fabulous in theory but not always so effective in practice. As Citröen shed Maserati from its stable, so the Merak would become more conventional over its 11-year lifespan. The Merak remains something of a steal compared to the Bora, and Hagerty values a #3 car at a rather reasonable $39,000.

De Tomaso Longchamp

It’s fair to say that many De Tomaso owners have a love/hate relationship with their cars. Elvis Presley famously shot his Pantera, of course, while the handling of the Mangusta was plain terrifying. The Longchamp of 1972 was a development of the unloved Deauville sedan, fitted with the 330-hp 351 cubic-inch Ford V-8 from the Pantera. Its styling by Tom Tjaarda at Ghia certainly embraced the straight lines of the Seventies, albeit rather less successfully than rivals. It therefore won’t surprise you to know that not very many were sold, despite production continuing well into the Eighties. It’s estimated that just 395 Longchamps coupes and 14 Spyders were built.

The post 1972 birthed a new angle for Italian sports cars appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Anyone in the restoration business knows that, when the phone rings, you never really know who or what will be on the other end of that line. Even when those magical words—“barn find”—enter the conversation, there’s no telling if it’s going to be a gem or a dud. When Across the Pond Restoration of Willoughby, Ohio, got wind of a story concerning an old Italian race car tucked away for 50+ years, practically right under their noses in Northeast Ohio, the team didn’t know what to believe.

When you’ve got a lead on rare Italian royalty like a 1955 Siata 300 BC, however, you hustle—layers of ambiguity be damned. When the call came in, Levi Nolan and his brother Jesse, co-owners of Across the Pond, raced across town to the spot to investigate further.

“She [the owner] called it a 1955, and originally thought it was actually a 208S,” recollects Levi. “So I’m racing to the shop thinking it was a 208S too, like, ‘oh my gosh, Jesse, we’ve got to call this lady back right away ‘… You get a hundred calls a day for cars we don’t work on, so to get a [special] once-in-a-while call, it’s very exciting.”

Upon arrival, they soon realized that they were not dealing with the mother of all Siatas, a 208S, which would have meant a seven-figure sales tag. The 208S was a little sports car from a little Italian tuning company, but it made a big impression on the high-end automotive world when it arrived for 1953. The combination of its coachbuilt Motto aluminum-alloy body and torquey V-8 engine made it appealing to serious enthusiasts like Steve McQueen, who famously bought a ’53 208S that he dubbed his “little Ferrari.” Instead, the Siata in question was a 300 BC, a 1955 model. It’s still a six-figure beauty but a little more common than the 208S (one of 50 versus only 33), and less powerful (inline-four vs Fiat V-8).

After explaining the situation to the owner, who was bequeathed ownership of the car from her husband, there was a minor a tinge of disappointment on both sides. But that didn’t overshadow the incredible fact of this car’s discovery in a little town outside of Cleveland, and that it had been hidden there for so many years.

“This is the last place on earth you’d think it’d be,” Levi adds.

Siata is an acronym (S.I.A.T.A.) standing for Societa Italiana Auto Trasformazioni Accessori. If that was too much Italian for you, just know Siata had been a small tuning outfit for Fiat, and that a guy named Tony Pompeo was the importer largely responsible for Siatas in America—more specifically, the 300 BC. Though these cars most often came equipped with 750cc Crosley four-cylinders, many of these cars were shipped to the U.S. without engines, and upon landing, they occasionally received something a little beefier in anticipation of racing in various displacement classes on up the chain.

Later examples—such as this car, ST444BC—rolled off the line with a Fiat 1100 engine with Weber carbs. 300 BCs were bodied by Motto at this later point in the production run, rather than by Bertone, which built the earlier ones. Records suggest that, after being purchased new from Pompeo, this car was raced in the mid-1950s by an Ernst Ruffini, a Cleveland native, who frequented many of America’s iconic racing haunts such as Cumberland, Lawrenceville, Watkins Glen, and Road America. As the story goes, ST444BC could no longer remain competitive in Ruffini’s desired class and he decided to sell the car. It then traded hands several times in Cleveland’s enthusiast circle, last doing so in 1960, and eventually landing in its current place of rest.

Fate will decide where exactly this 300 BC will go from here, but things are looking up. There’s a hefty load of back-end legwork that Across the Pond has to tackle first, though.

“We’re establishing values, collecting paperwork and documentation on the race history. Once we have everything, we’ll reach out to our customers who have shown a little bit of interest,” says Levi.

A pharmacist by trade, Levi finds himself typically filling different kinds of orders these days after helping Across the Pond get up and running back in 2015. His brother Jesse is a Navy veteran and fabrication whiz. A third valuable member of the crew is Pat Slayton, a Marine Corps veteran and Ohio Technical College graduate in classic car restoration—the same program Jesse attended. As the business grew, their checklist of European projects has blossomed. Current projects going on in the shop include an Aston Martin DB5, Ferrari 330 GTC, and BMW 3.0 CSL “Batmobile,” and a Gullwing that just arrived in early December.

Given the amount of labor, Levi is understandably now only a part-time pharmacist.

Across the Pond has also partnered up with McPherson graduate and RPM Foundation scholarship recipient Randy Elber. For the last three years, Elber’s been running R&R Automotive Restorations out of Mount Kisco, New York, and routinely working in tandem with the Nolan brothers, each doing what they do best.

“911s are our bread and butter. Since we’ve connected with Randy in New York, we’ve gotten into more exotics. Expanded our palette,” Levi says. “Typically, we get the engine and drivetrain out and send it up to him [Elber]. Then we do the paint and bodywork and meet in the middle on the install.”

208S or not, this 300 BC is a hell of a find, and not just for niche Siata fans. The importance of preserving a vehicle of this caliber before it’s lost forever should not go understated. Not to mention that the degree of skill and effort that goes into researching, valuing, and restoring a car like this is immense. There have been hurdles, too, beyond unavoidable global supply-chain issues. The big one is a titling snafu (another 300 BC restoration without numbers was already titled ST444 before the find), but the team is still forging ahead to take this job to completion.

“I can’t wait to get it out of the spot and get going on it,” says Nolan. Neither can we.

The post Rare barn-find Siata ends 50+ year slumber with hope for restoration appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Adam Driver and Lady Gaga may get top billing in Ridley Scott’s House of Gucci, but we think the cars are the real stars.

The Gucci story of ambition, betrayal, revenge, and murder is based (loosely) around the lives of Patrizia Reggiani; her husband, Maurizio Gucci; and their complex relationship with the famous fashion dynasty. As their wealth accumulated, so did Maurizio’s car collection, which in real life often bore the plates “Mauizia.”

“Money cannot buy happiness, but … it’s much better to have money than not to have it,” Patrizia famously declared. Then, proving to have not only a passion for the cash that came from fashion, but also the vehicles that followed, she added, “It’s better to cry in a Rolls-Royce than be happy on a bicycle.”

 

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Here’s a quick rundown on the movie’s key players and their cars:

Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver)

Maurizio’s Maserati is the young Gucci’s first taste of automotive excellence. Later, celebrating a huge investment in the business, he gets behind the wheel of a Lamborghini Countach. Perhaps the most important vehicle turns out to be a two-wheeler, however, as Maurizio makes a daring escape on his Ducati.

Patrizia Reggiani (Lady Gaga)

More Adam Driver and Lady Gaga today sighted again filming “House of Gucci” in Milan, Italy.
More ? #HouseofGucci ? https://t.co/TnKI7EHVDU#AdamDriver #LadyGaga pic.twitter.com/PuV1RtjX7t

— Getty Images Entertainment (@GettyVIP) March 13, 2021

Patrizia’s trucking company boss father may not have the wealth of the Guccis, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t without a stylish ride. Patrizia drives a Fiat 124 Spider before swapping it for a life of chauffeur-driven luxury.

Aldo Gucci (Al Pacino)

Talking of chauffeurs, patriarch Aldo Gucci prefers to be driven rather than sully his hands with a steering wheel. We see him with a wonderful Heckflosse Mercedes-Benz fintail in Italy and a Lincoln Continental in New York.

Paolo Gucci (Jared Leto)

Maurizio’s cousin Paolo’s flamboyant fashion sense is matched by the wonderful pasha interior of his Porsche 924.

Domenico de Sole (Jack Huston)

Gucci family advisor Domenico is another Porsche fan, turning up in his slick black 911 Targa.

Read more about the connection between cars and Gucci

The post What’s better than <em> House of Gucci </em>? Garage of Gucci appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Whether it’s because Americans are seeking more versatility from their classics or simply are under the spell of decades of Canyanero-style advertising, older SUVs and trucks have become incredibly popular. The 1984–91 Jeep Grand Wagoneer was one of the first “comfort SUVs” to gain attention, sharply increasing in value in 2018. A few years later, Range Rover Classic values doubled, and the Toyota FJ80 Land Cruiser is following in its footsteps.

Feel that you’ve missed your chance to buy a comfortable, older SUV at an attainable price? Take comfort, because there is one you are forgetting: The Laforza. Infinitely more rare and half the price of the other options in its segment, a good Laforza can still be bought for around $10,000, even though values have doubled in the last year.

If you haven’t heard of the Laforza, don’t worry—no one did when they were new, either.

The Laforza started life in the mid-1980s as the Magnum, a Tom Tjaarda (he of De Tomaso Pantera fame)–designed SUV built by Rayton-Fissore, an offshoot of Italian Carrozzeria Fissore. The Magnum was marketed as a luxury SUV, a segment whose sole occupant, at the time, was the Range Rover.

Boasting Italian leather and an array of small, fuel-efficient engines (including turbodiesels), the SUV was tailored for the European market. In 1989, however, Rayton-Fissore began to eye the burgeoning SUV market in America. Since Americans weren’t as concerned about fuel economy, the company gifted the Magnum a V-8 and renamed it the Laforza. From 1985 to 2003, Rayton-Fissore built around 6000 Magnums, but only about 1200 of them were produced for the U.S.-market. That explains why you’ve never seen one.

Similar to the arrangement with the contemporary Cadillac Allanté, the Laforza’s body and interior were finished by Pininfarina in Italy and then shipped to Detroit for final assembly, although Rayton-Fissore passed on the specially equipped transport-duty Boeing 747s. Once in America, the Laforza was given a Ford 5.0-liter V-8, a four-speed automatic transmission, and a high/low 4x4 transfer case from Chrysler.

In 1998, the Laforza received an updated 5.0-liter V-8 from the Explorer along with a more modern full-time 4WD system (albeit without low gears). An optional Eaton supercharger bumped out from 215 to 320 hp. Torque stood at a burly 350 lb-ft. Car and Driver managed to squeeze a sub-10 second 0-to-60-mph time and a (limited) 125-mph top speed. Not bad for a full-size SUV from the 1990s. Coming to a stop, on the other hand, took some planning, as the front disc and rear drum brakes lacked ABS.

What ultimately killed the Laforza wasn’t its performance—or lack thereof—but rather its cost and the obscurity of the badge on its hood. The base price was over $60,000 in 2000, and that was before the $7000 supercharger option. Adjusted for inflation, the Laforza cost Cadillac Escalade money. Critically, however, the Laforza could not boast Escalade status. The Laforza’s creators, who were ahead of their time in anticipating the demand for a luxurious plus-size SUV, couldn’t have known how much their audience would crave brand recognition and over-the-top styling. Can you imagine paying six figures for a vehicle no one has ever heard of, and then taking it to a Ford dealer for maintenance?

It didn’t help that the Laforza soldiered on into the 2000s without any major updates from the 1980s. The ride was incredibly stiff, thanks to a torsion-bar-sprung front and a leaf-spring rear suspension. It had the dubious distinction of being the last new vehicle offered in the United States without airbags. But there was some cool optional equipment, like a factory-installed radar detector built into the dash. In peak 1990s style, Laforza planned on building a limited "No Fear"–branded edition with four bucket seats, four-wheel disc brakes, and a $100,000 price tag.

That last fact I found on a Silicon Valley investment forum, which promoted Laforza stock as a good buy in 1999. It wasn’t. The Laforza struggled to take hold, even as luxury SUVs began dominating mall parking lots. Rayton-Fissore went through a couple restructurings before ultimately closing shop in 2003.

Today, ironically, the Laforza is a lot of car for the money. And I mean a lot of car. The Laforza was a monstrosity. At 79 inches wide, the Laforza was 9 inches wider than a Range Rover Classic. So wide that three full-sized adults can fit comfortably on the Laforza’s rear bench—and they each get a headrest! The 18-gauge steel body helped tip the scale at more than 5200 pounds.

The Italian leather and interior wood trim is of a higher quality that what you’ll find in a contemporary Range Rover, although the Fiat parts-bin switches remind you that Laforza was a boutique manufacturer that needed to cut corners. If you can forgive the large panel gaps, the styling remains handsome, if in an understated way. All told, not bad for $10,000.

On the spectrum of Italian-designed classics with an American powertrain, the Laforza sits closer to the Allanté than a Pantera or Iso Grifo. Perhaps this is why values only recently started rising. As the whole classic SUV segment has caught fire, though, collectors are starting to look for rare, undervalued, oddballs. The Laforza may yet have its day.

The post Rare and obscure, the Laforza is your $10K ticket to vintage SUV ownership appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Josh Rogers has vivid memories of the first time he saw a Vespa and, years later, of the first time he rode one. His initial introduction to the iconic Italian scooter sparked a need to know more; his second, more hands-on encounter sealed the deal and ignited what has become an insatiable passion.

Although there are larger Vespa collections in the world, Rogers’ enthusiasm for the scooters is as dynamic as any you’ll find in the United States.

A notice to readers: Comments on new Hagerty articles have been disabled due to technical issues since July 29th. Don’t worry, the comments are coming back soon, and when they do, we’ll have a contest or giveaway to reward our readers for their patience. Never stop driving! — Jack Baruth

“The first time I saw one, I was like, ‘What is that?’” says Rogers, who knows he wasn’t the first to ask the question. “A lot of people know Vespas without really knowing them. If you watch film—especially something filmed in Europe—you’ve seen one. They’re relatively cheap and simple, but Hollywood has used them a lot. Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck rode one in Roman Holiday. They’ve been in many other movies. So when you think of a scooter, most people think of a Vespa.”

Rogers, 47, has 14 scooters—mostly Vespas—packed into his small garage in San Jose, California. Vespa memorabilia and reference materials fill the shelves and cover the walls; there’s even some pasted on the ceiling. Rogers refers to this treasure trove as “our collection”—referring to himself and his wife, Jen—but it’s easy to see who drives this two-wheeled obsession. “Jen speaks Italian and I love Vespas, so it just kind of works,” he says. “I don’t know why else you’d marry a guy like me.”

It all began in 1990, when Rogers was in high school. He grew up in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and every summer his family would travel to visit his grandparents in Rockford, Illinois. On the way there, they’d drive through Chicago.

“That’s where I saw my first Vespa,” Rogers recalls. “I didn’t know what it was, and it took time to find out, because there was no internet then. At the time, the only way to connect with other Vespa people or get parts was through a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who had a photocopied price list of parts you had to mail away for. That’s how archaic it was.”

After Rogers moved to California to attend San Diego State, he visited First Kick Scooters in Berkeley. One of the shop mechanics was selling a Vespa, and the owner’s girlfriend took Josh for a spin. Rogers admits he “was totally hooked,” and he bought the scooter on the spot—without even driving it. “When I graduated [high school], my family gave me money to do something productive with, and I bought a Vespa. Probably not how they were hoping I’d use it,” he says, smiling. “To get it home I stuck it in the trunk of my Honda CRX—it really didn’t really fit—and after I unloaded it, I drove it for the first time.”

Rogers, who now serves as president of the Vespa Club of America, pauses to think about his earliest encounters with the iconic scooter. “The first time I saw one was in Chicago. The first time I felt one was the day I took a ride,” he says. “There was no turning back after that.”

(Sadly, Rogers’ first Vespa was stolen about 15 years ago. He says he once thought he’d found it on Craigslist, and he went to meet the seller with an attitude—and a baseball bat, just in case. “I was ready to break a kneecap if I had to,” he says. Turns out the Vespa wasn’t his.)

Introduced in 1946, Vespa—the Italian word for wasp—was so named because the scooter’s rear resembles that of the flying insect. The scooter provided a small, inexpensive mode of transportation as Europe recovered from World War II. The idea came from industrialist Enrico Piaggio, who commissioned engineer Corradino D’Ascanio to make it a reality. Piaggio is the parent company; Vespa is the brand.

D’Ascanio later designed a three-wheeled commercial vehicle called the Piaggio Ape (pronounced Ah-pey, the Italian name for bee).

Some 16 million Vespas have been sold in the 75 years since its introduction. Rogers has plenty of examples, including his pride and joy: a pea green, first-series 1946 Vespa 98, body #1641—the 641st Vespa ever produced.

“It cost 55,000 Lira new, which is about $95,” says Rogers, who knew of the Vespa for years before he ever owned it himself. “It really has no business being in America. The founder of our club, Rolf, was working for Piaggio in Costa Mesa [California]. One day, while loading new bikes in the warehouse, a guy came by and said, ‘I’ve got one of those,’ and he gave Rolf his card. Rolf went to see it, and the man said he’d gotten it in trade for electrical work he’d done 10 years before. He was asking $350; Rolf offered $250, but the guy stood firm. I have the canceled check that Rolf wrote for $350.”

After Rolf restored the rare Vespa, Rogers featured it on the cover of the Summer 2004 issue of Scoot! magazine, a quarterly publication that he produced for 10 years. Rolf later sold the Vespa to an enthusiast in San Diego, and Rogers eventually bought it from him. Similar-era Vespas have been valued at $170,000 or more, but Rogers says, “I don’t want to get rid of it because of its historical significance, but if somebody offered me stupid money …” He’s quick to point out that first-series Vespas carry a significantly higher value that the scooters that follow. “You can buy most vintage Vespas for $1000–$6000,” he says.

Rogers has plenty of those, as well as scooters from other manufacturers. His scooter collection includes:

A 1956 Piaggio Ape, which was offered in four forms: “a box with doors, a truck, a dump truck that could handle a one-ton payload, and a wooden rickshaw, which is the rarest.”

A 1961 Cushman GS that “I bought off a clubmate. It drives like a dream. In the late 1950s-early ’60s, Cushman had a marketing deal with Piaggio. The Vespa GS or Vespa Cushman or Sears All-State, they’re essentially the same scooter, just rebadged.”

A 1981 Piaggio P200E, the most-produced Vespa. Although this is one of Rogers’ newer Vespas, it has definitely been well-used.

A 1955 Goggo-Roller 200cc. Built in Germany by Has Glas, fewer than 50,000 Goggo-Rollers were produced in the 1950s. The ’55 model had new front and rear suspension with hydraulic shock absorbers to improve handling and ride.

An orange 1974 Piaggio Vespa 125 Primavera that has been painted to honor Jen Rogers’ favorite team, the Giants. Mind you, she loves the San Francisco Giants. Josh painted it to reflect the Japanese professional baseball team, Tokyo’s Yomiuri Giants, which sport the same colors. “It’s the only Vespa here with a name, Tokyo Drift.”

A 1966 Lambretta 125, “Lambretta’s answer to the Vespa small-frame.”

A 1966 Ducati Brio 100. “You take one to a Ducati show and some will people say, “Heeeeey,” like it isn’t really a Ducati. But some people geek out on it. It depends on where you are in your motorcycle journey.”

A 1947 Salisbury Northrup (Pomona). “They built somewhere between 700 and 1700 over three years (1946–48). It has a constant velocity transmission—it’s super simple … just go and stop. You’ve got to be careful when you work on it. When the magneto fires, you’ll feel it. It’ll give you a jolt.”

A 2017 Vespa. “Vintage Vespas can go 35–65 mph, stock. Modern ones will do 80.”

Rogers says if he adds a scooter to the collection, he has to sell one to make room for it. “We have a rule that they can’t spill out into the driveway,” he says. “It’s a good rule. I don’t like playing Tetris.”

Josh and Jen Rogers don’t have any children of their own, so Josh says he doesn’t know who will inherit the collection. Early money is on his nephew, Ezra. “He’s only four months old, but he already has three Vespas.” They’re all plastic toys, but the kid has to start somewhere.

If little Ezra emulates his uncle’s passion for Vespas, he’ll have plenty of company. As the 75th anniversary of Vespa’s launch drew near this summer, Vespa reached out to notable marque aficionados and asked them to record video messages that could be used in the celebration. Among those on the list were celebrities like Jay Leno, Jerry Seinfeld, Justin Bieber, Gwyneth Paltrow, Bill Murray, Mickey Rourke … and Josh Rogers. “I couldn’t believe it,” Rogers says with a laugh. “I had to frame it. That’ll be the only time I’ll be included in that crowd.”

One thing is certain, Rogers’ love for the legendary Italian scooter is not a secret. In fact, he wears his heart for Vespa not just on his sleeve but everywhere … sometimes, literally. On one of the walls in the garage is a pair of pink-painted Vespa side panels, displayed in the shape of a heart. Josh and Jen bought the art at a fundraiser for Breast Cancer Research.

“I definitely have a lot of stuff,” Josh admits, then he jokes, “I often refer to myself as ‘king of a pile of s**t,’ because in the end, it’s just stuff, right? And to a lot of people, maybe these scooters don’t matter much. But to me, Vespas are art—rideable art. And there’s no arguing that there’s something about them that’s irresistible.”

Certainly irresistible to Rogers.

The post This Vespa lover’s passion is bigger than his collection—and that’s saying a lot appeared first on Hagerty Media.

If an engineer or designer created a vehicle that stayed in production for three-quarters of a century, selling millions of units in the process, you could safely assume they’d want such a model to headline their list of accomplishments. We aren’t pulling that example out of thin air, either, because this year marks the 75th birthday of the Vespa, which has sold over 16 million units. In designing this iconic Italian scooter, engineer Corradino D’Ascanio helped create an entire sector of the transportation industry. He had a hand in designing not only the original Vespa but also the first Lambretta motor scooter. Come to think of it, D’Ascanio helped create two transportation sectors; he also designed the three-wheeled Piaggio Ape commercial vehicle, the inspiration for millions of auto-rickshaws on Asian roads.

Surprisingly, though, the Vespa was not D’Ascanio’s proudest achievement. In fact, the little scooter’s success embarrassed him a bit.

D’Ascanio would rather be remembered for his work in aviation, such as designing one of the earliest successful helicopters or developing variable-pitch propellers. However, in many ways his use of aircraft technology was the very thing that made the Vespa such a success.

Inventors generally take pride in their inventions, but the Vespa wasn’t even D’Ascanio’s idea. In fact, he particularly disliked motorcycles, with their grease-flinging, exposed drive-chains and hard-to-change tires. The concept of the Vespa is attributed to industrialist Enrico Piaggio, who commissioned D’Ascanio to work on the little “wasp” and filed a patent for the Vespa on April 25, 1946.

Piaggio’s family’s firm was founded in 1884 to make wooden fittings for the marine industry. In time the company moved into the production of marine vessels and then into aircraft, which is how D’Ascanio ended up at Piaggio in the early 1930s. The Piaggio company eventually supplied Mussolini’s fascist government with military equipment, and D’Ascanio’s contributions to Italian aviation were great enough that he was given the rank of general in the Italian air force.

Following the end of World War II Piaggio was banned from military work and had to find new markets to ensure his company’s survival. Following the example set by Messerschmidt and BMW after the war, firms upon which the Allies placed a similar ban, Piaggio decided to focus on basic motorized transportation.

Ironically, Piaggio’s competitor Ferdinando Innocenti first hired d’Ascanio to design a motor scooter. Italy was devastated after World War II, with little surplus cash and a desperate need for transportation. Though Innocenti and Piaggio are said to have been inspired by the little Cushman scooters air-dropped for American paratroopers during the invasion and occupation of Italy, a number of domestic Italian scooter designs were probably more direct inspirations.

Innocenti’s design brief for D’Ascanio detailed a two-passenger vehicle that had to be reliable and economical. It had to be simple to operate by both men and women. In addition, the cabin-less scooter had to shield its driver (and their clothes) from dust, gravel, and sludge.

Leveraging his background in aircraft design, D’Ascanio drafted a stamped spar-frame that incorporated stressed external steel body panels. Most of the controls, including the gear shifter, were mounted on the handlebars. (For context, consider that contemporary Harley Davidsons had foot-operated “suicide” clutches and hand shifters that required the driver to take their hand off the handlebars.) The scooter’s engine and transmission were mounted directly to the rear wheel, and the whole assembly was suspended on a swing arm, an arrangement that eliminated the dirt-slinging drive-chain and associated maintenance. The front suspension was an aircraft-style trailing-arm, not a telescoping fork. Both front and rear suspensions were “mono-arm,” giving free access to the wheels in case of a puncture. D’Ascanio even included a spare wheel-mounted tire.

D’Ascanio’s revolutionary design was apparently too revolutionary for Innocenti, whose company also produced rolled tubing. Ferdinando wanted to use a tube-based spaceframe, not a unibody. When Enrico Piaggio solicited D’Ascanio to design a scooter, the engineer already had a fully fledged proposal in his back pocket.

D’Ascanio was likely influenced by the 1944 scooter prototype built by Piaggio engineers Renzo Spolti and Vittorio Casini. While its official designation was MP5, for Moto Piaggio #5, it was nicknamed “Paperino,” or Duckling. It had fully enclosed bodywork that was straddled by the rider, handlebar-mounted controls, small-diameter wheels, and a tall splash guard that flowed down from the handlebars and under the rider’s feet. Enrico Piaggio, though, was unhappy with riders having to straddle the scooter. He argued that the arrangement would be troublesome for women wearing skirts or dresses and engaged D’Ascanio to redesign the vehicle. The use of a unibody spar-frame allowed D’Ascanio to outline a stiff structure that allowed a step-through design.

By 1949, the Vespa was popular enough that Piaggio started publishing a magazine. In its premiere issue, Corradino D’Ascanio penned his own account of the Vespa’s creation. Interestingly, he avoids any mention of his work for Innocenti or the Paperino and other early Italian scooter concepts.

“Not knowing motorcycles, I was in an ideal position to create a vehicle without precedents. [Enrico] Piaggio was counting on this. “Only you can tackle the problem with a wholly new outlook,” he told me.

I followed intuitive criteria. I felt that machine should serve those who, like me, had never ridden a motorcycle and hated the machine’s lack of maneuverability. I thought it over for a while and one Sunday the basic idea came to me. The most important factor was being able to mount the vehicle comfortably, something that had already been resolved with the ladies’ bicycle. So I started out with the concept that is fundamental in the ladies’ bicycle. I felt that a seated position was more comfortable and more rational that having to straddle the frame. Then we had to make it as maneuverable as possible. We had to take into consideration its urban use. It had to be ridden without taking one’s hands from the handlebars. How could this be done? Simple, I put the gearshift on the handlebar.

Another thing: it should not dirty hands and trousers, one of the most conspicuous inconveniences with motorcycles. My motorcycle therefore had to have a covered engine isolated from the rider: a single assembly with the rear wheel. As a consequence I created a transmission with no chain, the inline gearbox being incorporated in the engine-wheel assembly.

Another feature was dictated by my aeronautical experience: the mono-strut support for the front wheel rather than the bicycle-derived fork. Moreover, I introduced an innovatory monocoque body, eliminating the tubular system.

In aeronautics there is a dogma among designers: Lightness does not prejudice strength, as long as you do not go too far.

Another requirement, the spare wheel. Remembering that on many occasions, traveling by car, I had seen motorcyclists at the side of the road struggling with a punctured inner tube removed from a wheel, I decided that all-in-all, a mere puncture should not be a problem requiring a mechanic. I wanted my motorcyclist to have something in common with car drivers. In short, I was trying to build the machine as simply as possible.

As the legend goes, when Enrico Piaggio first saw D’Ascanio’s MP6 prototype, with its bulbous rear bodywork connected to the front end via a narrow “waist,” he exclaimed, “Sembra una vespa!” (“It looks like a wasp!”).The name stuck.

The first Vespa was powered by a single-cylinder, two-stroke engine displacing a grand 98cc and producing 3.2 hp at 4500 rpm. It went on sale in 1946 and was an immediate success. Over its lifetime, displacement was increased to 125cc, the headlight was moved from the front fender to the handlebars, and eventually the two-stroke engine was replaced with a more eco-friendly four-stroke. 75 years later, however, the basic design of the Vespa hews closely to D’Ascanio’s original concept.

It’s rare that a product stays on the market for the better part of a century without major redesigns. Sometimes, as with the Zippo lighter and Fender Telecaster, the original design was so well-conceived that it simply doesn’t need any major changes. Corradino D’Ascanio’s Vespa deserves to join that select group.

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There are a few versions of the well-known yarn about how Ferruccio Lamborghini got in the car business. Some say he was personally insulted by Enzo Ferrari. Some say il Commendatore never granted him an appointment. In a 1981 interview, Lamborghini said that he had owned three Ferraris by the early 1960s. They were always wearing out their clutches, and when he took them back to the factory, Enzo told him: “‘You don’t have the slightest idea how to drive a Ferrari. You’d rather drive your tractors.’” Spurned, Lamborghini supposedly tore back up the road to his tractor and home-heater factories in nearby Cento, determined—as only a hotheaded Taurus can be—to crush Ferrari.

Those who knew him say Ferruccio never worried too much about whether a good story was true or not. Even if this legendary encounter happened, financial logic and incremental thinking were what drove Lamborghini’s attempt to try to skim a profit off of Ferrari’s apparent disdain for his customers. Before he would lay out for a car, the tractor baron wanted to see if he could first produce a satisfactory car engine. What resulted ended up being the Chevy small-block of Italian V-12s, adapted to an astounding variety of vehicles both on land and on water for nearly half a century.

Ferruccio had always loved engines, had been tinkering with them since he was a farm boy in northern Italy. When it came time to create his own, though, the stout, square-shaped Emilian chose to hire others. Unlike Enzo, he was, in the words of Road & Track correspondent Griff Borgeson, writing in 1964, “one of those rare Italian executives who do not have an instinctive aversion to the delegation of personal authority.”

His first hire was Giotto Bizzarrini. The Tuscan son of a wealthy landowner, Bizzarrini had served as an engineer at Alfa Romeo during its postwar revival glory and had also worked at Ferrari on the 250 GTO. In late 1961, at 36, he was swept up in a mass walkout/firing of disgruntled engineers that rocked Maranello (if Enzo was indeed huffy with Lamborghini, perhaps this was the reason), and he was looking for work for his fledgling engineering consultancy, Societa Autostar.

The physics of a reciprocating-piston engine dictate that an inline-six offers the most inherent balance, as the primary vibrations generated by piston motion cancel each other out. The concept of joining two such engines at the crankshaft to make lots of sublimely smooth power has been attracting upscale automakers since Packard pioneered the V-12 in 1915. A four-stroke V-12 supplies a power pulse every 60 degrees of crank rotation, creating such a rapid cadence of pulses that when accompanied by other build choices, such as making the block vee angle 60 degrees, the vibrations are minimal.

Lamborghini had another reason to want a V-12: He loved to flaunt his wealth. Italy’s oppressive taxation of engine displacement meant anyone jockeying a V-12 was the undisputed king of the autostrada—and had definitely come a long way from the farm. Besides, Ferrari had made V-12s an Italian specialty since Enzo became enamored with the Packard in his youth. Ferrari’s illustrious Colombo- and Lampredi-designed 12s, including the 2953-cc unit from the 1962 GTO, were the reigning gold standards of Italian racing and road engines.

Lamborghini commissioned Bizzarrini to do the groundwork, his stipulations being simple: a V-12 with four cams, six carburetors, and an oversquare configuration, meaning a bigger bore relative to the stroke. The wider bore enabled larger valve openings for better breathing, while the shorter stroke permitted higher revs due to the reduced inertial forces of the pistons and rods in motion. The wail from such engines has long been identified as the mating call of an Italian exotic on the run.

Bizzarrini asked to be paid a fixed fee to match the Ferrari’s 300 horsepower, plus a generous bonus for every pony his engine produced over that. It might have seemed like a good deal to Ferruccio at the time, but it meant he didn’t get the exact luxury GT engine he wanted. Bizzarrini focused almost entirely on peak horsepower. In his back pocket was the design for a V-12 screamer sized at 1.5 liters to meet the then-standard for grand prix racing, but it took some finessing (and a lawsuit) to get there.

As with the Ferrari, Lamborghini’s engine used a 60-degree vee angle with a block and heads cast in aluminum, but the similarities largely ended there. Enzo’s engines mainly employed single-overhead camshafts, as did other great V-12s of history, including the Rolls-Royce Merlin. However, Lamborghini wanted double-overhead cams, a mandate that may have been pure vanity. “I think Lamborghini’s thought was, ‘I want it bigger and badder than a Ferrari,’” says Los Angeles-area Lamborghini specialist Robert Huber. “‘If they have three carbs, I want six. If they have two camshafts, I want four.’”

The double-overhead-cam design did allow for more freedom in the valve angles and plug placement, without requiring the extra complexity of rocker arms. It’s a freedom Bizzarrini exploited to construct a deep, semi-hemispherical combustion chamber that had plenty of room for the larger, opposed valves the engine required to breathe efficiently at high rpm. Going with four cams from the start also made the engine’s adaptation to four-valve heads much simpler when they finally arrived in the mid-1980s.

Bizzarrini needed to upsize his 1.5-liter design for the much-heavier GT car Lamborghini hoped to build eventually. The bore and stroke increased to 77 millimeters and 62 millimeters, respectively, making for an initial displacement of 3465 cc, or 212 cubic inches. At not quite 2.5 inches long, the Lambo’s stroke was a compromise between achieving durability and reasonable torque production and making possible engine speeds above 7000 rpm, which was the only way he could beat the Ferrari engine on horsepower. Each of the 289-cc cylinders were capped by relatively large induction and exhaust valve diameters of 42 millimeters (1.66 inches) and 38 millimeters (1.49 inches), respectively, the valves snapping down on soft bronze seats.

The forged-aluminum pistons sported domed crowns with inset cavities to give clearance for the valves. The domes pushed up the compression ratio, but at the expense of obstructed breathing and flame propagation—one reason you don’t commonly see domed pistons today. They ran in iron liners pressed into the block so as to stand proud off the closed deck by a few thousandths of an inch; this pinched the steel-ringed head gasket for optimum sealing.

The crankshaft started life as a 204-pound billet of SAE 9840 nickel-chrome-silicon alloy steel that was machined, polished, and balanced into a beautiful rotating sculpture of counterweights and journals. The V-12’s bottom end had to be strong to keep the long, heavy rotating assembly from bending in the middle at higher revs. Within the deep-skirted crankcase, seven forged-aluminum bearing caps were lined with British-made Vandervell bearing inserts and solidly fixed in place by four studs each.

The Ferrari engine used a single timing chain for both of its cams, driven by a sprocket on the end of the crankshaft. Bizzarrini developed a more complex arrangement for the Lamborghini. Instead of a chain sprocket, he placed a pinion gear on the end of the crank to drive two large helical gears, each sized to turn at half-crank speed on a pair of ball bearings and short axles pressed into the block just above the crankshaft. These gears had incorporated sprockets that each drove a separate timing chain for the cylinder heads.

Bizzarrini packaged this hybrid of a chain-driven and geared-cam arrangement, which obviously needed constant lubrication, all inside the block. That greatly reduced the amount of sealing surface—and potential leak points—at the front of the engine, versus Ferrari’s solution of a separate bolt-on timing-chain case. Dividing the cam-drive duties among two chains meant the accumulated stretch of the chains over time was less than that of a single long chain, so a mechanic wouldn’t need to go in and re-tension the system as often.

Variable valve timing and lift didn’t exist then, so engine designers were stuck choosing one timing and lift profile for the camshafts. High revs or a smooth idle—take your pick. In the Lamborghini, Bizzarrini chose high rpm, grinding the hollow, internally lubricated camshafts with a deep lift and a healthy overlap between the intake and exhaust that let the cylinders breathe at revs. It also produced a lumpier and fairly pungent exhaust at idle from all the unburned fuel escaping while both intake and exhaust valves were open. The cams pushed on flat lifters shaped like inverted cups—the original Italian shop manual refers to them as bicchierini, or “shot glasses”—under which were solid shims for setting the valve lash.

The choice of quad cams resulted in big and bulky cylinder heads, with barely enough space between the heads to slide a hand down. That meant there was no room to put the intake ports in the vee, where they are on comparable Ferrari engines. Instead, the intake ports were incorporated into the crowded valley between the cams, along with the spark plug holes and the head studs.

Although this meant a less-straight path for air flowing down into and across the cylinder, it also made possible the fitting of horizontal sidedraft carburetors (and their associated filter boxes) as well as vertical downdraft carburetors, which is partly what made the Lamborghini V-12 so versatile in the years to come. A six-pack of sidedraft dual-choke Weber 40DCOE carbs, operated in mechanical chorus by an elaborate cable-crank-pushrod system that requires a heavy right foot, is found under the hoods of Lamborghini’s earlier front-engine cars. The sidedraft carbs allowed the company to explore lower hoodlines and more modern, folded-paper shapes in the late 1960s, when Ferrari was still squeezing downdraft carbs under the bulging, big-headlight curves of an earlier era. Indeed, it wasn’t until 1971 that Ferrari responded with its own sidedraft, four-cam 4.4-liter V-12 for the low-slung 365 GTC/4 coupe.

Bizzarrini’s other departures from contemporary mass-production engines included placing the water pump and the oil pump entirely outside the block, the former turned by a cam-chain sprocket, the latter by a keyed notch at the tip of the crankshaft.

Mounted to the company’s new Schenk dynamometer in May 1963, fitted with downdraft carbs, and with a compression ratio in the range of 10.5:1, the first prototype made 360 horsepower once the test engineer eventually cranked it up to 8000 rpm. Bizzarrini put his hand out for his cash, but Lamborghini refused, saying he effectively had a racing engine that would only make 360 horses in an unrealistic test. The two lawyered up and words flew, but, according to the current head of Lamborghini’s historical department, Paolo Gabrielli, Ferruccio probably just paid off Bizzarrini. They parted ways permanently in 1963.

Lamborghini’s next hire was Gian Paolo Dallara, a tall and bespectacled sprig three years out from Politecnico di Milano, where he had been studying aeronautical engineering. Despite being 25, Dallara already had an impressive résumé, having gone first to Ferrari to help launch the company’s initial forays into wind-tunnel testing, then to the Maserati racing program. At Lamborghini, he went to work designing a car for the engine while Paolo Stanzani, another Maserati alum who was working in Ferruccio’s tractor business, got the job of taming Bizzarrini’s engine for road use.

Stanzani dialed back the cam profiles to reduce the horsepower to about 325 but also to raise the midrange torque and improve the idle. He relocated the twin horizontal distributors, each one delivering spark to six of the V-12’s cylinders, from the back of the engine where they would bump into the firewall of any future GT car, to the front where they would run off the exhaust cams. He ditched the dry sump, adding an expansive finned sump that held more than 12 quarts. That vast quantity was a measure to improve cooling as it let oil sit in the underbody airstream for longer to shed heat. Later versions of the engine held as much as 18.5 quarts at a time when most cars got by with 6 or fewer.

With the engine thus showing promise, Lamborghini commissioned the then-relatively unknown designer Franco Scaglione to draw a prototype car and another obscure shop, the Sargiotto Bodyworks of Turin, to quickly gin together a non-running showpiece in time for the 1963 Turin Motor Show. The resulting emerald-green 350 GTV had the face of a whale shark, batwing fenders, six peashooter exhaust pipes, and Lamborghini’s garish signature across both the nose—and, in case you missed that, the rump. It drew smirks, but the Cavaliere was undaunted. Enough forward-looking elements were present that when the more prestigious firm of Carrozzeria Touring got involved, the 350 GT that evolved from the prototype was a car that Ferruccio was willing to put into production.

Everything was done in a rush in those early days of Automobili Lamborghini. Not even two years had passed since Dallara signed on, and finished cars (granted, a mere 13 that first year of 1964) were rolling out of what had a year earlier been an empty farm field near the village of Sant’Agata. The cars as well as their new V-12 were in metamorphosis immediately. After a run of 120 copies of Lamborghini’s initial 350 GT model, the V-12 was bored out to 82 millimeters by substituting the 350’s iron liners for ones with thinner walls. This increased the displacement to 3929 cc.

Dallara upsized the head studs and corrected a problem with Bizzarrini’s original design, likely stemming from its origins as a racing mill. On initial start-up, the engine piped cold, semi-coagulated oil to the cylinder heads where it pooled, reluctant to dribble back to the sump through the six small 10-millimeter drain-back holes. That was fine for a racing engine that’s carefully run up by mechanics so that the oil rises in temperature and thins out before the engine is called on for duty. Demanding the same patience from a civilian blue blood was a recipe for disaster, so Dallara opened up the drain-back holes so that Lamborghinis forced onto the road while still cold wouldn’t starve for oil.

The front of the engine likewise became a game of musical chairs as the 350 GT gave way to the 400 GT, which then led to the increasing complexity of the Islero, Espada, and Jarama models. The two distributors became a single large one, the alternator moved around and then split into two alternators, and a hefty York air-conditioning compressor joined the crowd—as did, later, a power-steering pump.

Racers at heart, Dallara and his cohorts, including New Zealand mechanic and test driver Bob Wallace, wanted to see their V-12 move behind the seats. A longitudinal layout such as that of a Ford GT40, in which the engine and transmission sit on the centerline of the vehicle, would make for a very long car and compress the cockpit space, unless the wheelbase was stretched to an ungainly length. Brainstorming in mid-1965, Dallara, Wallace, and Stanzani threw the company’s V-12 engine, a five-speed transmission, and a differential on a chassis table in the factory and literally moved the components around by hand, arguing and taking measurements.

They realized that their compact little V-12 was just 21 inches in width. Inspired by the transverse-engine, front-drive Austin Mini (as well as Honda’s RA271 grand prix car of 1964, which had its tiny 1.5-liter V-12 mounted sideways, motorcycle-style), the team decided to rotate the V-12 by 90 degrees and drop it in sideways behind the seats. The transmission and differential would sit within a modified engine-block casting, their internals lying parallel to the crankshaft along the engine’s aft side and with a shared oil sump. Besides neatly concentrating the powertrain’s mass in the center, turning the V-12 sideways (which meant running it backward, or counter-clockwise) allowed space within the short, 98-inch proposed wheelbase for a two-seat cockpit to sit fully behind the front axle for better foot room. And it would finally allow Dallara to use racing-style vertical downdraft carburetors, as their height would be tucked in behind the cabin of whatever body the designers drew to clothe the chassis.

Bertone’s newly promoted chief designer, a young Marcello Gandini, took up the project with gusto. The resulting finished car, named after champion fighting-bull breeder Don Eduardo Miura, appeared at the 1966 Geneva show. Buyers swarmed, and over the next five years, the company produced 764 Miuras, the horsepower rising to 380 in the final P400 SV due mainly to a 10.7:1 compression ratio and revised cam timing.

Ferruccio got in the car business to produce luxury front-engine GTs, but the stunning Miura came to define his company’s image. When it came time to replace it in 1972 with the even more outrageous Countach, Stanzani—who took over from Dallara when he left in 1969—once again rotated the V-12 another 90 degrees, now to face rearward. The transmission slotted beneath the seats under a broad tunnel that made the Countach singularly terrible for in-car canoodling, but it concentrated more weight on the car’s roll axis, which improved the handling. Additionally, it meant that the driver shifted gears directly, no cables or linkages required. From the end of the gearbox, a prop shaft ran aft through the engine’s sump to the differential, which was also in the sump.

Backward to go forward

1. When it came time to replace the Miura with the even more outré Countach in 1974, Lamborghini rotated its engine 90 degrees once more and installed it backward. The V-12’s flexibility was again proven with the Quattrovalvole of 1985, which added 48-valve heads to the now-5.2-liter block to produce 420 horsepower in the federalized, fuel-injected model.
2. Out-of-the-box thinking saw the rear differential incorporated into the engine’s sump, just below the water pump, distributor, A/C compressor, and other accessories normally found at the “front” of an engine.
3. Dished pistons and four-cam heads were new in the Countach QV, but the block was much as Bizzarrini had designed it in ’63. An E ticket for drivers, it was a nightmare for mechanics.

Such inverted thinking proved the best way to power a lunatic vehicle that was more art than automobile, even if the long stack of transmission, engine, and differential needed to be stuffed through the Countach’s small porthole of an engine hatch at an almost vertical angle at the factory. The design forced a switch back to sidedraft Webers, albeit with larger throats sized at 45 millimeters, which cut the first Countach’s rated horsepower down to 375.

Ferruccio Lamborghini sold his last stake in the company in 1974, leaving further development of the V-12 to a series of pie-eyed investors who lined up to be bled dry by the needs of a boutique automaker facing the onslaught of increasing regulations. Tight finances meant continuous life extensions for the aging V-12, and it grew in the Countach—first to 4.8 liters, then to 5.2, the latter getting the four-valve cylinder heads and Bosch K-Jetronic fuel injection to make 455 horsepower.

Desperate for cash, Lamborghini’s management branched out, bidding on a series of engineering projects, including building a military vehicle for the Saudi army. When that project fell through, Lamborghini put the LM002 truck into production in 1986 as a luxury off-roader using a version of the 5.2-liter V-12. Lamborghini’s association with another alternate form of transport, boats, dates back to 1969, when Ferruccio installed a pair of the company’s V-12s in his personal Riva Aquarama speedboat. So, in 1984, Lamborghini began supplying engines to offshore powerboat racers, the displacements rising to 9.3 liters and the output to around 900 horsepower.

Lee Iacocca became the company’s next angel, ordering Chrysler to purchase Lamborghini in 1990 and flushing it with money. The resulting Diablo replaced the 16-year-old Countach and added computer management to the now-5.7-liter V-12 to make it compliant with U.S. emissions and onboard diagnostic rules. The block grew upward with the increased displacement and also split around the bottom. A bolt-on girdle with integrated main-bearing caps was tied together in one casting for greater strength, replacing the original’s individual bearing caps. Programmed in-house—long a source of pride for the company—the Lamborghini Injectione Electronica (LIE) modules gave the V-12 precise control of the spark timing and port fuel-injection system with circuit boards sourced from an Italian supplier that made computers for gym equipment. The Diablo’s horsepower (472) and torque (428 lb-ft) rose accordingly.

Eventually, the Diablo’s V-12 punched out to 6.0 liters and made 550 horsepower with help from a two-stage variable-cam-timing mechanism. But Chrysler walked—no, ran—away in 1993, leaving Lamborghini in the hands of an Indonesian conglomerate that barely kept the company afloat until it was scooped up by Volkswagen’s Audi subsidiary in 1998. Still, the last remnants of the old V-12 design—mainly its upper crankcase—soldiered on for another dozen years, through the introduction of yet another new scissor-door Countach descendant, the Murcielago. The final 6.5-liter iteration in the Murcielago LP670-4 SV finished the engine’s long run making 661 horsepower, more than twice the output of Lamborghini’s first V-12.

The original V-12 (and its descendants) outlasted its patron, who died in 1993. His engine owed its longevity to its flexibility—to some extent a byproduct of early decisions that may have been entirely ego-driven—as well as a chronic lack of funds for replacing it.

The engine in all its forms went into just over 12,000 cars, and the factory has put many parts back into production to make it easier to keep running the 85 percent of them thought to still be roadworthy. The Cavaliere never did crush the Commendatore, but Ferruccio Lamborghini firmly inscribed his name into automotive history, a name often spoken in reverence to the music of 12 trumpets wailing.

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The life and times of Tazio Nuvolari—nicknamed the Flying Mantuan to honor his speediness and his hometown of Mantua, Italy—are littered with shattered car parts, empty champagne bottles, and insightful anecdotes. The most telling story is from Enzo Ferrari’s autobiography Le Mie Gioie Terribili (My Terrible Joys):

One day in 1931, during practice for the Circuito delle Tre Province, I asked [Nuvolari] to take me along with him for a while on the 1750 Alfa that my Scuderia had allotted him. It was the first time Nuvolari had competed in the race, and he was a little diffident because he had seen me at the wheel of a new Alfa 2.3-liter eight-cylinder that was more powerful than his own car. Anyway, he made no objection to my request and told me to get in.

At the first corner, I was certain that Tazio had taken it badly and that we were going to end up in the ditch; I braced myself for the shock. Instead, we found ourselves at the beginning of the straight with the car pointing down it. I looked at Nuvolari: his rugged face betrayed not the slightest emotion, not the slightest sign of relief at having avoided a 180-degree skid. At the second bend and again at the third, the same thing happened. At the fourth or fifth, I began to understand how he managed it, for from the corner of my eye I noticed he never took his foot off the accelerator, but kept it pressed flat to the floorboards. Bend by bend, I discovered his secret. Nuvolari went into the bend rather sooner than would have been suggested by me by my own driving instinct. But he went into it in an unusual way, this is to say, suddenly pointing the nose of the car at the inner margin just where the bend started. With the throttle wide open—and having changed down into the right gear before that frightful charge—he put the car in a controlled four-wheel skid, utilizing the centrifugal force and keeping the machine on the road by the driving force of its rear wheels. Right round the whole of the bend, the car’s nose shaved the inner margin, and when the bend came to an end, the machine was pointing down the straight without any need to correct its trajectory.

Despite my more powerful engine, Nuvolari won our race. I came in second, 32.9 seconds after him. Tazio said to me afterward, ‘I’ve never worked so hard in my life!’

Ferrari’s testimony affirms that Nuvolari invented the four-wheel drift. The year after their epic lapping, Ferrari retired from driving with 11 Grand Prix wins to his credit to concentrate on a grander calling: managing Italy’s most successful racing team.

Nuvolari, also nicknamed Nivola, was born on November 16, 1892, near Mantua in north-central Italy to affluent parents. His uncle Giuseppe was a champion cyclist and his first mentor. As with most successful racers in the early 20th century, Nuvolari began his career on motorcycles. In spite of two World War interruptions, he earned 15 motorcycle and 55 car victories over the span of three decades.

Nuvolari received his motorcycle-racing license in 1915 but didn’t begin competing until 1920 at the Circuito Internazionale Motoristico in Cremona where he failed to finish. The following year he started racing cars, scoring a victory in the Coppa Verona reliability trial. By the mid-1920s, he had won championships in 350cc and 500cc motorcycle classes and victories in 1.5- and 2.0-liter sports cars.

That success caught Alfa Romeo’s eye. Seeking a replacement for Antonio Ascari who perished on July 26, 1925, Alfa gave Nuvolari a test drive at Monza. Unfortunately, transmission failure resulted in a major crash. The up-and-coming driver sustained a serious back injury and wasn’t picked for the team, though that didn’t slow Nuvolari down. Two weeks later, he had his doctor wrap his torso so he could mount a motorcycle. His mechanics hoisted him aboard his Bianchi 350 with a pillow cushioning his chest. Following a push-start, Nuvolari won the Nations Grand Prix at Monza in the rain.

This was hardly the last time Nuvolari raced impaired. After breaking two ribs racing his motorcycle in the summer of 1929, he finished second in the Coppa Ciano driving an Alfa with his chest secured within a plaster corset. In 1934, he finished fifth at Germany’s AVUS Rennen with his right leg in a cast and his Maserati 8CM rigged so he could operate all three control pedals with his left foot. In 1936, after being thrown from his Alfa and sustaining cracked vertebrae, Nuvolari scored an eighth-place finish at Tripoli. In 1938, he struck a deer practicing for the Donington GP and broke a rib; the next day he won the race in his Auto Union D-Type. Nuvolari’s Alfas caught fire at speed in 1937 and ’38.

While leading the Coppa Brezzi in 1946, the steering wheel of Nuvolari’s Cisitalia D46 came off in his hands. Frantically waving the errant wheel to alert his mechanics, Nuvolari completed the lap before pitting by grasping the steering shaft with his free hand. After repairs he returned to the race to finish 13th. When he resumed racing after World War II, Nuvolari steered with one hand, the other holding a bloody handkerchief over his mouth. His lungs had been damaged by the toxic fumes he had breathed while closely trailing the prewar German Silver Arrow racers. At some point in his career, Nuvolari lost an index finger and one leg was more than an inch shorter than the other. However, even his sacrifices pale in comparison with the fates of fellow drivers who gave their lives for the sport.

Proving his tactical skills, Nuvolari switched his headlamps off to sneak up behind his teammate Achille Varzi, who was leading the 1930 Mille Miglia in his Alfa 6C 1750. A few miles before the end, he switched his lights on and flew past Varzi to victory. Another ploy was dispatching his riding mechanic under the dashboard to lower his racer’s center of gravity. One such helper reported spending an entire race as Nuvolari’s hidden ballast.

Nuvolari drove Bugatti Type 35s he owned from 1927 through 1929 to five major victories. He piloted Alfas from 1930 through 1937. In 1931, Nuvolari finally parked his motorcycles to focus on four-wheeled racers. The following year, Italy’s beloved poet Gabriele D’Annunzio invited him to his estate to present a golden turtle badge inscribed with “To the fastest man in the world, the slowest animal.” That keepsake became Nuvolari’s good-luck charm, which he carried in his pocket at all times. He also embroidered the turtle image on his racing jerseys and personal stationery along with stylized initials. The bright-yellow jerseys and blue slacks Nuvolari wore made him the most eye-catching driver on the grid.

The Alfa Romeo factory relinquished all of its racing efforts to Scuderia Ferrari in 1933. After Nuvolari’s victory at Le Mans that year, disagreement with Enzo prompted his move to Maserati 8CMs. Nuvolari’s victories continued at the Belgian and Nice Grand Prix events and the Coppa Ciano.

Thanks to intervention by Il Duce—Italy’s prime minister, Benito Mussolini—Ferrari and Nuvolari reconciled before the beginning of the 1935 racing season. Their renewed collaboration yielded eight victories in Alfas that year, followed by seven more in ’36 and ’37.

Nuvolari’s most memorable win came during the 1935 German Grand Prix at the Nürburgring. Driving an outdated Alfa P3, he faced five Mercedes-Benz W25s and four Auto Union Type Bs, all factory backed. On the rain-slick, 14.2-mile, 174-turn Eifel mountain track, Nuvolari mercilessly hounded the Mercedes-driving leader, Manfred von Brauchitsch, until the German wore out his tires. In spite of one long pit stop caused by a broken refueling pump, Nuvolari won the four-hour race by more than two minutes. Officials of the Third Reich were mortified when 300,000 spectators cheered his success.

By 1938, Nuvolari was tired of racing uncompetitive Alfas against state-of-the art Silver Arrows. After Auto Union hired him to replace their fallen star Bernd Rosemeyer, Nivola returned the favor with two victories in 1938 plus a win at the 1939 Belgrade, Yugoslavia, Grand Prix—just two days after the Nazis invaded Poland.

Nuvolari competed in 33 more races and hill-climbs after the war in spite of his deteriorating health. His final stint at the wheel was the 1950 Palermo-Montepellegrino hill-climb, where he won his class in an Abarth-tuned Cisitalia Spyder.

Following two paralyzing strokes, the great Italian maestro died in bed at home in 1953. Thousands of friends and fans attended his funeral. Ferdinand Porsche offered the most succinct eulogy, calling Nuvolari “the greatest pilot of the past, the present, and the future.”

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We don’t know what, if anything, Francesco Zefferino Sbarro adds to his tea, but the Italian mechanic-turned-quasi-coachbuilder has come up with some of the most outlandish creations over the years—and some might say that the Sbarro Super Eight tops the lot.

Franco Sbarro has been creating cars since walking away from his job with Scuderia Filipinetti, a high-profile Swiss motor racing team founded by Georges Filipinetti, which counted the likes of Jim Clark, Phil Hill, Jo Siffert, and Mike Parkes as drivers. Sbarro set up on his own in 1968 and, well, let his creative juices flow.

The Sbarro Super Eight is the perfect example of just how creative Franco could be. It was created for the 1984 Geneva Motor Show, and while it could pass for a humble hatchback of the ’80s, it is actually a mid-engine Ferrari beneath the surface. And the good news is it has come up for sale.

Just one was built, and at its heart is a transversely-mounted, 2.9-litre V-8 from a Ferrari 308. Driving the rear wheels through a Ferrari-sourced, manual five-speed gearbox, the mid-engine hatchback is just the thing for those that find the Renault 5 Turbo I or II a wee bit too predictable. Which, of course, is almost everyone—said nobody, ever.

With 260 horsepower on tap, it is fast enough to get its driver into trouble. Especially given there wasn’t an electronic driver aid in sight in those days, and the mid-engine configuration was just waiting to punish any driver that failed to adhere to the slow-in, fast-out time-honored cornering technique. (Just ask any owner of a Ferrari 308.)

Much of the Ferrari switchgear is carried over to the Super Eight’s cabin, which is a perfectly preserved time-capsule of 1980s taste. Brown leather and velour stretches as far as the eye can see and the stack audio system suggests that the car was specified to make a nightclub owner feel at home.

It is said to have only travelled a 27,243 kilometers (16,928 miles) in its lifetime. And now it’s looking for a new home. A Belgian classic car dealer, Speed 8 Classics, is selling the Sbarro Super Eight for €155,000 ($183,143). As indulgent playthings go, they don’t get much more leftfield than this.

(From Hagerty UK)

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Located on the outskirts of Turin, Italy, Fiat’s heritage collection is full of what ifs.

What if the carmaker known for peddling pocket-sized city cars had made a Hummer? What if it had brought a ForTwo-like two-seater to the market over two decades before the Smart brand appeared? Or, what if Lancia had been given the opportunity to continue racing prototypes in the World Rally Championship?

The fascinating answers to these questions are housed in a 161,000-square foot warehouse that’s part of Fiat’s Mirafiori engineering complex. Some of the 300-plus cars displayed are regular-production models—like the last 126 ever made—but it’s the prototypes, the one-offs, and the concepts that caught my eye during a recent visit. Here are some of the stand-out vehicles in the firm’s Heritage Hub.

Fiat 100 (1951)

One of Fiat’s best-selling models, the 600, was the product of an extremely challenging design brief. Officials asked chief engineer Dante Giacosa (1905–96) to develop a four-seater that both weighed and cost less than the original 500 (also called the Topolino)—while offering better performance in a similarly compact package. These basic guidelines shaped Italy’s automotive landscape for decades.

Giacosa knew he couldn’t start with the familiar front-engined, rear-wheel-drive configuration. He experimented with front-wheel drive, but the layout was too complex to fine-tune. He instead moved the engine and the transmission to the back of the car to reduce the size of the front overhang.

Built in 1951, this 100 prototype is shockingly close to the 600 released in 1955. Its headlights are integrated into the hood rather than mounted on the fenders, and its rear lights are higher than the production car’s; but key points like its silhouette, dimensions, and basic mechanical layout remained unchanged.

Lifting the engine lid reveals one significant difference: While the 600 launched with a water-cooled four-cylinder engine, the 100 was powered by an experimental air-cooled twin whose cylinders were set at a 150-degree angle, so it wasn’t completely flat. Giacosa even tested prototypes equipped with a semi-automatic transmission originally sourced from a Cisitalia single-seater race car, but he ultimately fitted the 600 with a conventional four-speed manual.

Lancia Loraymo (1960)

Coca-Cola’s 1955 bottle has one thing in common with the 1960 Lancia Loraymo, and it’s not a tendency to spray out its contents after it’s been shaken. Both were sketched by Franco-American designer Raymond Loewy (1893–1986), who also styled the Studebaker Avanti and various trains, tractors, Greyhound buses, stamps, light switches, corporate logos, refrigerators, and numerous other household products.

Starting with a Flaminia Coupe, an upmarket four-seater that was rebodied by dozens of coachbuilders, Loewy penned a futuristic design characterized by an almost retro-looking front end, full wheel covers, and a wrap-around rear window. It stood proud at the unlikely intersection of timeless Italian elegance and the aerospace-inspired design that spread across the United States in the 1950s. It looked markedly different than a vast majority of the other coachbuilt creations built on the Flaminia’s bones.

Turin-based coachbuilder Rocco Motto built the Loraymo’s body out of aluminum, according to Lancia’s archives department, and Nardi increased the 2.5-liter V-6’s output from 119 to about 150 horsepower. Loewy named the coupe after himself (LOewy RAYMOnd) and displayed it at the 1960 Paris auto show. He then used it as his personal car, first in Europe and later in the United States.

Fiat ESV 1500 (1972)

Fiat participated in the Experimental Safety Vehicle (ESV) project announced by the United States government in 1968. Lawmakers were genuinely worried about the rising number of traffic-related deaths recorded in America annually (52,725 people died in 1968; for comparison, 2018’s figure was 36,560). They hoped encouraging car companies to develop safer models would reverse the trend.

Prototypes were organized into four weight-based categories: 1500 pounds, 2000 pounds, 2500 pounds, and 4000 pounds. Each one was assigned a specific set of goals that companies needed to meet. For example, some ESVs needed to keep passengers alive in a 50-mph head-on collision with a solid obstacle, withstand side impacts at up to 30 mph, and survive two full rollovers at about 65 mph. Handling also factored into the equation: Prototypes had to stop from 60 mph in 155 feet, so carmakers couldn’t simply transform an economy sedan into an armored tank and call it a day.

Fiat’s entry into the 1500-pound category was based on the humble, rear-engined 500 released in 1957, though parts like the doors came from the then-new 126 and it wore a three-box design like the 850. It received massive rubber bumpers on both ends, black paint around the windshield to reduce glare, and a padded dashboard that gave the front passengers something reasonably soft to crash into, among many other modifications. The ESV 1500 performed well in most tests, and it earned high marks in the pedestrian safety category, but it was 252 pounds heavier than the 1500-pound limit. 13 prototypes were built, and most ended up stuffed into walls.

Fiat ESV 2000 (1972)

Fiat’s second ESV prototype was a highly modified evolution of the innovative 128 built for the 2000-pound category. Like the ESV 1500, it looked nothing like the model upon which it was based; engineers couldn’t create an ostensibly death-proof car and make it look sexy. There was no easy, elegant way to hide the giant bumpers and the plastic cladding above the rocker panels. Everything inside was padded to increase the odds of surviving a high-speed crash.

Power came from a 1.3-liter four-cylinder shared with the 128, but the carbureted engine had a lot more weight to wrangle. While the regular-production sedan weighed about 1670 pounds, the ESV 2000 tipped the scale at 2563 pounds, meaning it landed well outside of the 2000-pound category. In Fiat’s defense, it’s worth noting that nearly all of the manufacturers who participated in the ESV program struggled with the weight cap.

None of the ESVs built during the 1970s directly spawned a production car, though Volvo, whose revenue streams were not heavily dependent on design, boldly integrated many of its prototype’s features into the 200 Series launched in 1974. Some of the lessons learned from Fiat’s projects later permeated the Ritmo, which was sold as the Strada in the United States. It was released on the European market in 1978 with plastic bumpers that were unusually large and also featured recessed lights on both ends.

Fiat X1/23 (1972)

Fiat introduced the X1/23 at the 1972 Turin auto show to demonstrate how it could fill the sliver of space that separated a Piaggio Vespa from the pocket-sized 500. Essentially a bubble car for the 1970s, the X1/23 was a two-seater that stretched 104 inches from bumper to bumper, 59 inches across, and about 58 inches tall. For context, it was about the same size as a first-generation Smart ForTwo.

Engineers integrated a full safety cell into the body to protect the occupants if the X1/23 was involved in an accident with a much larger and heavier car—like, say, an Autobianchi A112. Its interior was an exercise in minimalism that put the driver in front of a single-spoke steering wheel (Fiat was getting cozy with Citroën at the time, after all) and a small instrument cluster with five gauges. Because its door windows were fixed, it was equipped with an air conditioning system. Fiat kept technical specifications under wraps, but the star of its stand was undeniably futuristic.

No one expected to see the X1/23 after the Turin show closed its doors. Nothing suggested it would influence a production model, let alone reach showrooms without any modifications. Still, Fiat unveiled the X1/23 again in 1974, and the red paint denoted the presence of an electric powertrain that consisted of a nickel-zinc battery pack installed over the rear axle and a 13.5-hp motor that zapped the front wheels into motion. It had a top speed of about 45 mph and could travel for approximately 31 miles on a charge, figures that were sufficient for city driving in the 1970s.

Neither version of the X1/23 received the proverbial green light for production, though its hemisphere-shaped exterior door handles later ended up on the Ritmo. Fiat stayed out of the minicar segment—it replaced the 500 with the 126 and chose not to go any smaller—but it timidly ventured onto the electric car scene when it a battery-powered version of the original Panda in small numbers starting in 1990.

Fiat-Abarth 131 Diesel (1977)

Fiat instructed Abarth, one of Italy’s best-known purveyors of all things fast, to transform the 131 into an endurance racer capable of at least surviving—and, hopefully, winning—the 1977 edition of the London-to-Sydney rally. Company founder Carlo Abarth must have laughed at such an easy request, until someone at Fiat clarified he needed to start with the then-new diesel-powered variant of the car.

Abarth had put his name on dozens of models since its inception, and none ran on diesel. Nevertheless, because the London to Sydney rally wasn’t a flat-out race, the firm decided to make only minor modifications to the stock 2.4-liter four-cylinder engine. Stout, basic, and naturally-aspirated, it sent 72 hp and 108 lb-ft of torque to the rear wheels. Abarth added a pair of lights to the front end, plus hood pins, mud flaps, a full roll cage, and and grafted on wheels from the successful, gasoline-burning 131 Abarth rally car.

Four diesel-powered 131 racers were built and three were entered in the London to Sydney race. Two made it all the way to the Australian capital via Milan, Athens, Istanbul, Teheran, Kabul, Singapore, and Perth. They finished 15th and 23rd overall, respectively, but more importantly they placed first and second in the diesel category. They covered nearly 19,000 miles (often on unpaved roads dotted with potholes big enough to boil a lobster) in merely 45 days. Fiat often highlighted these results in its late-’70s marketing material as buyers pivoted towards fuel-sipping diesel engines.

On a secondary level, the 131’s diesel engine went on to have a surprisingly successful career. Dubbed 8140 internally, it was developed by Società Franco Italiana Motori (SOFIM), a joint-venture created by Fiat, Alfa Romeo, and Renault. Different iterations powered sedans like the Fiat Croma, the Lancia Thema, and the Renault Safrane, plus a diverse array of commercial vehicles including the Alfa Romeo AR6, the Iveco Daily, the Renault Master, and the Saviem SG. It remained in production until 2006.

Lancia Trevi Bimotore (1984)

Lancia is currently following the grim path blazed by Autobianchi, one that leads straight to the pantheon of automotive history. Its line-up has been reduced to a single model (the 500-based Ypsilon) that’s sold exclusively in Italy, and its future is uncertain at best. In brighter times, it stood proud as one of the most successful names in rallying thanks largely to the Stratos and the 037. Audi’s four-wheel-drive Quattro threatened its glory in the early 1980s, so Lancia began experimenting with four-wheel drive to fight back.

Giorgio Pianta, a test driver who worked as Abarth’s team manager, turned a Beta-derived Trevi into Lancia’s first four-wheel-drive car simply by installing a second engine in the space carved out for the rear seats. It was a supercharged, 2.0-liter four-cylinder identical to the engine found under the hood, and it was tuned to send about 150 hp to the rear wheels via a manual transmission.

Although the engines operated independently, the gearboxes were connected so the driver could shift both simultaneously by using a single lever and one clutch pedal. Interestingly, the accelerator pedals were linked by software that delayed power delivery to the rear axle to reduce the two-headed Trevi’s tendency to oversteer. After replacing the speedometer with a second tachometer, Pianta got behind the wheel of the 300-hp Frankensteined sedan and put it through its paces.

Lancia’s archives department notes the extra engine made the Trevi Bimotore fabulously quick, and the layout improved its weight distribution. It also added an unacceptable amount of weight, and the car had a tendency to overheat in spite of the air vents cut into its welded rear doors. Rigorous testing convinced Pianta that four-wheel drive was the right way forward, but that the twin-engined layout was the wrong strategy. Instead, Lancia made a four-wheel drive Delta, which won six consecutive WRC titles.

Lancia ECV 2 (1988)

As early as 1985, World Rally Championship (WRC) officials planned to supersede Group B with an even wilder category called Group S. One of the most important differences between the two classes was that looser homologation requirements promised to make racing in S much cheaper while encouraging carmakers to experiment with innovative, high-tech ways to gain a competitive edge. Many companies began dabbling in then-cutting-edge composites in order to make their cars lighter and quicker.

Lancia built the Experimental Composite Vehicle (ECV) 2 prototype to gain knowledge about materials like carbon fiber and Kevlar. It saved money by chopping up the original ECV prototype (which was later recreated) and using its chassis as the new project’s foundations. Manufacturing components like the body, the driveshafts, and the rims with composites made the ECV 2 about 20 percent lighter than a Delta S4.

While the Delta S4 was vaguely shaped to look like the regular-production hatchback, the ECV 2 was designed as a rally beast that had to prove its mettle on one of the highest echelons of racing. It was fitted with a twin-turbocharged, twin-intercooled 1.8-liter four-cylinder engine that put approximately 600 hp under the pilot’s right foot. The mid-mounted four-pot sent the ECV 2 to about 175 mph.

Group S cars were scheduled to make their competition debut during the 1987 WRC season, but they wouldn’t have been able to score points; they were supposed to take their first real shot at the championship in 1988. Lancia should have battled against Audi, Ford, Mazda, Peugeot, SEAT, and Toyota, among others, but WRC’s sanctioning body abruptly canceled Group B and Group S in late 1986 due to safety concerns. The decision created such an uproar that Peugeot sued the FIA—and lost.

Fiat Oltre (2005)

In 2005, when the Bologna auto show still appeared on the industry’s radar, Fiat traveled to the event to make a splash with a concept named Oltre. Its off-road capacity was at least on par with the Hummer H1’s, and its bling quotient easily surpassed the H2’s. Don’t let the Cinquecento-sourced rear light lenses fool you; nothing under the body came from the Fiat parts bin. Instead, the Oltre got many of its mechanical parts from the Iveco Light Multirole Vehicle (LMV) used globally by over a dozen armies.

Power came from a four-cylinder, 3.0-liter turbodiesel engine tuned to 185 hp and a stout 336 lb-ft of torque. It spun the four wheels via a six-speed automatic transmission, and it propelled the Oltre (which weighed about 7000 pounds and was considered a heavy-duty vehicle) to a top speed of about 80 mph. In hindsight, the reasons that led Fiat to introduce this slab-sided, blue-windowed monster truck are a little but murky, but what’s certain is that its life was unusually eventful.

Although it made its global debut on SEMA-approved 26-inch chromed alloys, it later received a set of steel wheels wrapped by chunky Pirelli tires and was let loose in the Alps. It was a concept, and not a very realistic one, but its oily bits came off a production line and the high-riding beast was fully functional. Various members of Fiat’s executive team took the Oltre off-roading near an Italian ski resort named Sestriere before deciding to steer clear of the military-spec, street-legal off-roader segment and focus on smaller cars.

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Pininfarina has an extensive collection of cars from its 90-year heritage. We asked Paolo Pininfarina, grandson of the founder and current manager of the design business that bears his name, to select some of his favorites. Here are his picks and commentary:

1951 Nash-Healey Spider

“This is marketing Italian design for the American market. My grandfather was very ambitious. He said, ‘I want to become an international designer for the world, so I want to have a partner in the U.S.’ He succeeded with Nash, and he became the master architect in the world of Italian great design.”

1955 Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider

“This is affordable luxury, the industrial realization of something that is luxurious but maybe affordable for thousands of people. The Cisitalia [1947 Cisitalia 202 Berlinetta] is for 10 people. The Nash is for 100 people. The Alfa is for 20,000.”

1968 Ferrari P6

“This is a concept, the pre-cursor to the 365 BB, the first mid-engine 12-cylinder Ferrari. It is not evaluated by the critics as much as it should be, because it’s a concept. But it was pushing the limits of the new, the architecture. The production car is better than the concept because it is real—the daughter is prettier than the mother—but this is more important.”

1983 Pininfarina (Fiat 124) Spider

“The Spider is timeless. If you look at it, you couldn’t say if it’s 1960 or 1990. We made 200,000 of these. If they made the new [Fiat 124] more similar to this, if it had been designed by Pininfarina, it would’ve been better.”

2008 Sintesi

“I am attracted by the Sintesi because it is a car of the ’30s—the 2030s. When we released it, everybody said it’s too advanced, it’s too far in the future. But now, we’re in the 2020s, and we need to reconsider the Sintesi. It reminds me of the Cisitalia in the ’40s. It is the Cisitalia of its time, a radical new shape.”

We also asked Paolo to pick some designs that were less successful. He had a harder time with this task, but eventually he settled on a few.

1968 Alfa Romeo P33 Roadster/1969 Fiat Abarth 2000

“These are a couple cars from the 1960s era that I don’t think are so much in line with the Pininfarina DNA. I think these cars are a little bit too much following the trend of the wedge design that was more in the DNA of our competitor. We should always be Pininfarina.”

1970 Ferrari Modulo

“It is fantastic, but it’s not a car. It’s a piece of radical, contemporary, futuristic art, and it’s not dynamic. It reminds me of something landing on the moon, vertically, not moving horizontally. Mr. Martin, the stylist on the Modulo, said that the owner [James Glickenhaus] should not have put in the powertrain and have the Modulo moving because it had to remain a dream, static.”

The article first appeared in Hagerty Drivers Club magazine. Click here to subscribe to our magazine and join the club. 

The post Paolo Pininfarina’s favorite designs from the family archives appeared first on Hagerty Media.

At 90, the design house famous for creating some of the most beautiful Ferraris is at a crossroads. We sit down with scion Paolo Pininfarina to hear his plans for taking the family firm to 100.

“Italian design is light, lightness,” says Paolo Pininfarina as he walks us through the headquarters of the company his grandfather founded. “Simple, essential, elegant, novel. But, more than all, light.”

Paolo Pininfarina is the fourth member of his family to run the business founded by his grandfather; Paolo’s father, Sergio, and brother, Andrea, preceded him, before their deaths. And though the company has been majority-owned by the Indian industrial conglomerate Mahindra since 2015, the role and legacy of the Pininfarinas remain key as the firm, following a separation from Ferrari, faces the daunting challenge of expanding its reach beyond its roots in the auto industry.

Pininfarina S.p.A. turns 90 this year as perhaps the best known of the famed Italian carrozzeria, or coachbuilders. The company was founded by Battista “Pinin” Farina in 1930, near Turin, close to local automakers in the Terra dei Motori, Italy’s so-called “Motor Valley” in the industrial north of the country, where many car companies, from Fiat to Ferrari, were born. Before the war, the practice for many manufacturers was to deliver to customers a rolling chassis—engine, transmission, frame, wheels, suspension—and then allow the buyers to select either an off-the-shelf or custom body from one of the carrozzeria.

The company got its start creating bodies for luxury brands such as Hispano-Suiza, Alfa Romeo, Cadillac, Rolls-Royce, and Isotta Fraschini, as well as the more affordable local marques of Fiat and Lancia. But it really came into its own in the post-WWII era, when it developed a partnership with Ferrari, a union that resulted in Pininfarina essentially becoming the exclusive design vendor for the Prancing Horse brand. This collaboration resulted in some of the most famous Ferraris of the mid-20th century, including the 275, 330, 365, 308/328, and 288 GTO. With the aid of the films of Federico Fellini, the clothing of Oleg Cassini, and the furniture and architecture of Gio Ponti, it also helped to bring the notion of “Italian Design” to the world.

“Pininfarina has always represented the best of a kind of timeless modernism, this kind of sporting elegance that maybe at the time doesn’t seem to be the most advanced, but as the years go on, it has this undeniable staying power,” says designer Jason Castriota, who is now global brand manager of Ford’s electric vehicles but got his start in the 2000s working for Pininfarina. “And I fully believe it stems from the Pininfarina family. There is an elegance to the family, in how they carry themselves, and they instilled in us a discipline of creating things that were Pininfarina. And that meant that it had to be beautiful and elegant, and it had to have staying power. It was just part of their company’s DNA.”

In later years, the designers at Pininfarina worked with dozens of car manufacturers and even expanded into outsourced automotive manufacturing, building low-volume models for Alfa Romeo, Mitsubishi, and others. The 1986–93 Cadillac Allanté luxury convertible is the one most people remember. Specially equipped Boeing 747s dubbed the “Allanté Air Bridge” flew GM parts 4500 miles to Turin, where they were assembled into car bodies at a new factory north of Turin built for the project. The trimmed and painted units were then packed 56 at a time into the planes for the journey back to Detroit for final assembly.

However, the brand took on too much capacity and fell on extremely hard times in the years preceding the 2008 financial crisis. Some of this strife seemed to be based in a conflict with its marquee client from Modena. “I started at Ferrari in 2002, and Ferrari didn’t have a design department then. I had to rely 100 percent on Pininfarina,” says Frank Stephenson, who was lead designer at Ferrari (and then McLaren) before starting his own design consultancy in 2017.

“Luca di Montezemolo, who was leading Ferrari at the time, was just not happy with the design quality from Pininfarina. That’s why they hired me,” says Stephenson. “They didn’t have anybody inside of Ferrari that could critique or judge or accept or deny a design from Pininfarina. Basically, they paid Pininfarina for a design, and they got back what Pininfarina gave them.” This was problematic for a number of reasons. “It seemed, for a period of time, they [Pininfarina] had slacked off a little bit and were concentrating on a lot of projects that left them a bit thin,” Stephenson says. “So we had to put the pressure on them to concentrate a bit more on making Ferraris look more like Ferraris.”

Unfortunately, at that moment, Ferrari was in the process of shifting its idea of what a Ferrari was meant to look like. The brand had made large investments in its Formula 1 team and technology, and Montezemolo wanted to see these cutting-edge advances reflected in the road cars. “So there was an interesting kind of tension,” Castriota recalls of that time, “between the desire to have what was always a Pininfarina Ferrari—something very beautiful and almost sensual, but always with some tension to it—and this more brutal, performance-oriented technology with a more aggressive aesthetic.”

This struggle lasted for years, and it eventually resulted in Ferrari bringing its design department in-house in 2012. The F12berlinetta, a two-seat front-engine GT built from 2012 to 2017, was the last production Ferrari to wear a Pininfarina badge. With a Prancing Horse-size gap in its portfolio, Pininfarina found itself foundering and required loans, debt restructurings, cash infusions, bailouts, and sales of increasingly larger shares of the business by the Pininfarina family. The company’s fiscal troubles did not truly abate until the 2015 purchase of a controlling stake by deep-pocketed Indian megalith Mahindra, which hopes to capitalize on the brand’s design, engineering, and manufacturing knowledge to help bring its own rudimentary vehicles into the modern era.

With Mahindra providing necessary funding, Pininfarina is now expanding into some new arenas, including, for the first time, developing its own car company. Automobili Pininfarina will focus on luxury and electric-powered vehicles. It has already unveiled its first planned production car, the $2.5 million Battista, of which only 150 will be made. Additional models, including a $250,000 SUV, a smaller crossover, a coupe, and a two-door convertible, will follow.

“This car, the Battista, is the future,” Paolo tells us, standing in front of the new car—and a selection of heritage vehicles—in the lobby of Pininfarina headquarters. “I’m reluctant to say that around these old masterpieces, but we need to focus on the future.”

Accolades have come in for the design of the first car, especially for its refinement and elegance in light of the more outré styling of other boutique electric super-car manufacturers like Rimac, Karma, or Lagonda. (“The Battista has that Pininfarina look, which is a bit of a Ferrari look,” says Stephenson.) And it appears possible to turn a profit in this elevated slice of the marketplace. James Glickenhaus, a film producer, car collector and builder, and owner of Scuderia Cameron Glickenhaus, which produces limited-edition, mid-six-figure super-sports cars, attests to this. “If we get to 300 cars a year, worldwide—which is certainly possible with the demand we’re seeing—we’ll be very successful,” he says. “And we’ll be able to keep developing product and keep racing and enjoying ourselves.”

But with Ferrari, its biggest design client, gone, and with the industry entering a moment of great consolidation and uncertainty, Pininfarina must stake out new territory in order to survive. It has already expanded into other fields of industrial design, including public transportation, construction equipment, architecture, vending machines, and even toilets. And though it seems, with even small-scale manufacturers like Bugatti or Lamborghini housing their own design departments, that automotive work might be drying up, Pininfarina is still exploring myriad other opportunities.

One growth area for the company is in Asia, where there is a host of new—or newish—automotive brands in emergent markets, especially in Korea, China, and India. These companies are seeking the imprimatur and status of a brand with some history and quality. “There are many car companies throughout the world that don’t really have a long history of designing beautiful cars and could use some help,” says Glickenhaus. “I think that’s an incredibly viable business they have, helping other manufacturers with design.”

Paolo Pininfarina endorses this assessment, slyly. “I like to say that we are designing for the world. And the world is different now, and the players are different, and the markets are different, and those kinds of partnerships with mature brands have faded a little,” he says. “But we are here, and we are continuing to work and develop partnerships with new players.”

Pininfarina feels that its participation may be of particular service, correctively, when a new company finds itself chasing eyeballs or clicks, simply to garner a reaction. “The Tesla truck, for example, is just a provocation,” Paolo says, citing a particularly egregious example. (Stephenson called it “an abomination.”) “It was designed just to go on the media, to break the media,” he says. “And it’s so different from my feeling of Tesla design, because Tesla design is quite conservative. They have a novel package, but the exterior is conventional. This [the Cybertruck] is not the right thing to develop coherent brand strategy. It’s a little bit out of the track. The truck is out of the track.”

This same type of service is offered by Pininfarina to more “mature” brands. However, the work typically occurs behind the scenes. “Where consultancies have found their space today is to be provocative sparring partners for internal design teams,” says Castriota. “And I think they offer tremendous value, because it’s often that when you read the page too close, you no longer see the words.”

A car company’s design essence could get muddled in conversations between internal design and marketing departments, in their efforts to follow trends or chase niche consumers. A brand will thus invite Pininfarina into its design process as an external set of for-hire eyes, to insert what Castriota calls “a redacted, pure version of the brand.”

“Personally, I am a strong believer in contamination like this,” Paolo says of the process of becoming a kind of design sparring partner. “Because there is a risk, when continuing to design internally—without the provocation, without the benchmark, of a design office. And the risk is that you become too conservative.”

The company thus acts as a safeguard against group-think or brand dilution. This is especially relevant in an era in which car designers move from job to job, and country to country, with alacrity, which runs the risk of watering down or universalizing brand specificity. “You see this massive kind of globalization of design, and I think car companies can very easily lose a bit of who they are and their own personal identity, their national identity,” says Castriota. “Pininfarina will kind of strip this back and say, ‘This is what we love about the brand as an outsider, about what it represents, and here’s our interpretation of that with a Pininfarina twist.’”

Another potential avenue is the creation of singular or small-batch vehicles based on existing platforms. This process harks back to the brand’s raison d’être, but it has come back into vogue. Witness the recent growth in extremely limited-edition seven- or eight-figure vehicles like the Ferrari Monza, Bentley Bacalar, Aston Martin V12 Speedster, and Bugatti Centodieci and La Voiture Noire.

James Glickenhaus commissioned just such a vehicle from Pininfarina back in the mid-2000s, based on the Ferrari Enzo hypercar. “I wanted to make it an homage to my P3/4, but Andrea [Pininfarina] convinced me that it should stand on its own and not simply be a replica,” Glickenhaus says. “And I think he incorporated a lot of design DNA from other great Ferrari race cars. The rear window is a modification of the 512S. There’s some Dino Competitzione lines in it.”

Glickenhaus purportedly spent $4 million on the car, which was well received when it was shown at the Pebble Beach Concours in 2006. This was especially true in contrast to the rather technical, F1-inspired appearance of the Enzo on which it was based. “I’m personally sad that fewer people did not follow in my footsteps,” Glickenhaus says of his one-off commission, which he calls the Ferrari P4/5 by Pininfarina. “I think part of the reason is that when Ferrari saw the incredible response to it, they took all their special projects completely in-house—frankly, because they want to keep all the money.”

With the advent of the integrated battery pack and motors that make up the “skateboard” that underpins many electric cars, as well as technology like 3D printing, the creation of new, bespoke bodies could become simplified and turn into a growth industry, accessible to consumers with less than seven figures to spend. However Pininfarina’s leaders decide to focus their efforts, for now, the brand is attempting to remain optimistic about its uncertain future while projecting an air of refinement and beauty onto every consumer product that it touches.

“What is the best project for Pininfarina?” Paolo says at the end of our discussion. “The next one.”

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The latest round of the Concours Virtual Presented by Hagerty in aid of UNICEF produced a Post-War Grand Tourers battle between Britain and Italy.

In the 1945-1959 class five coachbuilt Ferraris, including three by Vignale and two by Touring, were up against rivals from Jaguar and Bentley. In the 1960-1969 class another five Ferraris, plus cars from OSCA, Lancia, Alfa Romeo and Abarth, competed against vehicles from Aston Martin, Roll-Royce, Alvis, Jaguar, and Jensen.

The judges gave victory in the earlier class to a 1955 Bentley R Type Fastback (top), while the people’s vote went to a 1953 Ferrari 250 Europa Vignale.

The 1960s class was won by the 1961 Geneva Motor Show Jaguar E-Type Coupe. The public again backed a Ferrari, picking a 1961 400 Superamerica SWB Coupe Aerodinamico.

A third class was a tribute to Sir Stirling Moss and featured cars from his exploits at Bonneville, on rally stages, in Formula 1, and endurance racing. It’s no surprise that the 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR 722 that Moss drove to victory in the Mille Miglia took the honors.

The Concours Virtual Presented by Hagerty attracted entries from 200 of the world’s most incredible cars, divided into 17 different classes and judged by a group of 40 experts including Pink Floyd drummer Nick Mason and Goodwood chief the Duke of Richmond. The online event aims to raise £100,000 ($131,000) for UNICEF and finishes on 9 August so there’s still time to have your vote count.

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You’d be forgiven if you saw a Monteverdi and came up empty trying to name it. It could best be described as a Plymouth Roadrunner that spent a few years abroad, since there’s a Chrysler 440 V-8 under its sleek Italian body. That’s the main reason Jay Leno loves his.

Jay gave a rundown of his 1970 Monteverdi High Speed 375S in the latest episode of Jay Leno’s Garage, and the details are fascinating. For starters, the man behind these cars, Peter Monteverdi, built his first car at the ripe ol’ age of 16. The Fiat 1100-based custom was constructed in the back corner of his father’s garage business and set Monteverdi on a high-speed path.

He continued to build racing cars and eventually turned to importing Ferraris to fund the effort. The importing business grew to include BMW, Lancia, and Rolls-Royce marques. Monteverdi had a fallout with Enzo Ferrari in 1967 and decided to build what he thought would be a better Ferrari.

Interestingly, he didn’t take the Lamborghini route in this challenge. Rather, Monteverdi decided to assemble a hybrid—but not the hybrid you’re thinking of. In the ’60s, a hybrid meant the combination of what amounts to a multinational car. Monteverdi sourced the engine from Chrysler in the U.S., the bodywork from Carrozzeria Fissore just outside Turin, Italy, and assembled the whole outfit in Switzerland.

The final result is what Jay thinks is a best-of-all-worlds car: the reliable, low-maintenance power of the 440 in a tailored suit of Italian coachwork. The Chrysler-sourced air conditioning is a particular strength in Jay’s eyes, as his experience says European A/C just doesn’t work as well. On the road, the driving characteristics shine. It is a sleek grand touring car, and Jay’s is just one of a handful with the four-speed manual transmission.

To us, we think Jay is right in calling this Monteverdi a best of all worlds. Unfortunately, we are unlikely to find one in our local classifieds.  The gas crunch in the early ’70s caused Monteverdi to shift from luxury sports cars to luxury SUVs. Annual production for the sports cars likely never exceeded 100 units, so seeing one of these mishmashed cars is all that more special.

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This livestream originally aired at 1 PM ET on Wednesday 17 June – you can view a recording of the broadcast here.

So much has been lauded about Italian design and their cars are no different. Join Contributing Editor, Brad Phillips and Autosport Designs owner, Tom Papadopoulos, as they offer their list of favorite Italian cars. There will be showstoppers, underdogs, and dare we say…some Italian Stallions!

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All F40s are pretty special, given that Ferrari’s 40th anniversary series represents a zeitgeist that just can’t make a comeback. The F40 is the closest thing to a road-going prototype race car with an ultra-low weight figure to match, a Ferrari designed by Pininfarina and the second-to-last production car officially approved by Enzo himself.

Yet of the 1311 produced, it’s hard to name more than a few unique F40s. There were eight prototypes with no catalytic converters (obviously) and the non-adjustable suspensions. Pininfarina built ten right-hand-drive cars for the Sultan of Brunei, some complete with Testarossa interiors. There are also the hardcore racing LMs made by Michelotto Automobili for IMSA, Japan’s JGTC, and the British BPR Global GT Series.

On top of that, the question usually revolves around whether an F40 is an early car with the slide Lexan windows, no catalytic converters on the twin-turbo V-8, and the standard suspension; or a later car with the goodies of the ’90s.

What you may not know, then, is what a certain Casare Bagni had to do with Enzo Ferrari’s most cherished cars. As a composite specialist, Bagni helped out Ferrari by supplying the factory with lightweight bodies for prototypes, like the Ferrari 312 PB, and then for the 712 production fiberglass 308 GTBs built between 1975 and ’77. Bagani also came up with the Kevlar-intense composite bodies of the 288 GTOs as well as the succeeding F40s and F50s.

Despite living a modest life, on April 2, 1990, Casare Bagni ordered his personal F40 direct from the factory. Wearing the Reggio Emilia plates RE-599600, Bagni’s F40 hasn’t seen a lot of use and was later factory-upgraded with the adjustable suspension, as well as the shift knob of an F50. Anything for a friend of the former il Commendatore.

Maintained by Michelotto and Autofficina Bonini Carlo, Bagni’s personal F40 was purchased from his family by Ferrari specialist DK Engineering in 2018. This British team may have sold quite a few F40s by now, but never anything quite like this unique piece of Ferrari history. Now serviced and ready to go, Bagni’s F40 awaits its next owner with under 2500 miles on the clock. And the price of such a well-preserved machine? We can only guess…

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Between 1929 and 1933, Alfa Romeo built a total of 2635 6Cs with the bigger, Vittorio Jano-designed 1752-cc inline-six engines. As custom in the period, most were sold as rolling chassis, only to get bodied by coachbuilders such as Zagato, Touring Superleggera, Carrozzeria Garavini, or even British companies like James Young Limited and the Hoyal Bodybuilding Corporation.

However, this particular 6C 1750 SS was bodied by Stabilimenti Farina. The coachbuilder was run by the brother of Battista “Pinin” Farina, and in January, 1930, the car was sold to none other than Benito Mussolini. The fascist dictator known as “II Duce” paid 60,000 lira for his brand new sports tourer and was photographed driving it on the 29th of April, 1931.

Back then the 6C was still in its original state, but in 1937 the prime minister sold it to a man called Renato Tigillo, who shipped his Alfa to Eritrea, which was an Italian colony at the time. In northeast Africa, the 6C was adopted for the local hill climbs and street races, and it’s that stripped-out body that it wears to this day.

After inspecting the car in the United States, British specialist Thornley Kelham found that Mussolini’s Alfa Romeo features its period Stabilimenti Farina carrozzeria badge and, in addition, its original chassis, rear axle, and gearbox. However, the rest of the surviving pieces include a different grille, and only a few cut-up body panels. Now, as the car’s new owner commissioned a nut-and-bolt restoration of the Alfa’s 1930 appearance in concours condition, the British team is looking at several thousand hours of fabrication, engineering, and assembly work. A great tribute to Stabilimenti Farina, a coachbuilder that closed its doors in 1953.

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Is there anything with which Bertone hasn’t dared to experiment?

The storied design house is arguably best known for styling Italian cars, including several hugely desirable Alfa Romeo models, but in its heyday it dared to dabble in everything ranging from a boat-like, motorcycle-powered Suzuki off-roader (that actually floats) to a Lamborghini-powered minivan.

Bertone reluctantly sold its trove of historic concepts after it filed for bankruptcy in 2015. Automotoclub Storico Italiano (ASI) purchased a lot of 79 cars after promising the Italian government to keep them in Italy and under the same roof. While they’re normally housed in a museum located next to the Milan airport, ASI received permission to ship some of the most fascinating models in its collection to Paris for Rétromobile 2020.

Autobianchi Runabout (1969)

The Marcello Gandini-designed Autobianchi Runabout created an unlikely bridge between power boats and city cars. It was loosely based on the A112, the Fiat-owned firm’s long-lived answer to the original Mini, but it took the form of a mid-engined two-seater roadster that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an episode of Speed Racer. The short, wraparound windshield and the hemisphere-shaped speedometer mounted in the middle of the dashboard added a nautical flair to the concept, while headlights installed behind the front occupants, on the same level as the headrests, were just plain cool.

Abarth hadn’t gotten its hands on the A112 yet, and the 850-sourced 903-cc four-cylinder engine was deemed far too anemic to power such a wild-looking concept, so Bertone plucked a 1.1-liter four from the 128 parts bin and mounted it right behind the seats. It spun the rear wheels via a four-speed manual transmission. The head-turning Runabout made a big splash (pun intended) at the 1969 Turin Auto Show, so Bertone somewhat unexpectedly began the process of turning it into a production model.

Autobianchi didn’t want it, the A112 was never offered as a roadster, but Fiat knew it would need to replace the 850 Spider (which was also designed by Bertone) sooner or later and company boss Gianni Agnelli was hooked on the idea of releasing a toned-down version of the Runabout. The project was called X1/9 internally, and it retained this designation when it reached showrooms in late 1972.

Citroën GS Camargue (1972)

Inimitable Gallic quirkiness distinguished the Citroën range in the early 1970s, but the company’s lineup suffered from a severe lack of sexiness. Bertone hoped to change that when it unveiled the low-slung, wedge-shaped GS Camargue concept to the popping of flashbulbs at the 1972 Geneva International Motor Show.

The coupe looked almost ready for production, it wasn’t as wild as some of Bertone’s earlier (or later) concept cars, and nothing about its exterior design revealed it was based on the humble GS released in 1970. It would have looked like an alluring UFO in a Citroën showroom. Oddly, the most unusual parts of the interior were standard-issue GS components, like the rotating drum-style speedometer, the single-spoke steering wheel, and the funky, horizontal parking brake lever that dove deep into the dashboard.

It wasn’t as quick as it looked because power came from the same 55-horsepower, 1.0-liter flat-four engine found in the GS. However, the shared underpinnings suggest the concept could have easily received the 107-horsepower twin-rotor Wankel engine that Citroën put in less than 1000 units of the ill-fated GS Birotor starting in 1973. I doubt the Camargue was ever a serious candidate for production, though.

Citroën was in bad shape during the early 1970s. It had wasted a fortune on the aforementioned Wankel engine via a joint venture with NSU named Comotor, gotten side-tracked by working on other projects like a helicopter, and taken far too long to fill the gap between the 2CV and its numerous derivatives and the bigger models like the DS and SM. Fiat was extremely interested in purchasing Citroën from Michelin at the time, so finding a new home for the loss-making brand was exponentially more important than teaming up with Bertone to bring a low-volume coupe to the market.

And yet, the GS Camargue was mass-produced—sort of. French toy manufacturer Majorette offered a 1/55-scale version of the coupe in several colors between 1974–1981.

Suzuki Go (1972)

Boats again influenced members of Bertone’s styling team when it started designing the Suzuki Go. Envisioned as a four-wheeled, go-anywhere Zodiac boat, it was unusual because it wasn’t based on an existing car. Instead, it was created from scratch and powered by a three-cylinder, 750-cc Suzuki motorcycle engine mounted behind the driver’s seat. The instrument cluster sheds light on its two-wheeler roots.

Nothing stopped the Go. While it was happy to remain on the pavement, it tackled snowy trails with ease thanks to a set of aggressively-tracked tires, and users could take it on a lake by strapping an outboard motor to the back end. Alternatively, the tailgate doubled as a ramp on which to load a motorcycle or a snowmobile. It’s astonishing to think such a simple car could perform so many tasks.

Bertone unveiled the Go at the 1972 edition of the Brussels Motor Show. It remained a one-off; it likely could have been made street-legal with minor changes, but Suzuki had no interest in it.

Ferrari 308GT Rainbow (1976)

Bertone was likely shocked to receive a call from Ferrari asking for a mid-engine coupe; Pininfarina had historically been the company’s preferred and privileged design house. The catch was that Bertone’s Marcello Gandini needed to stay close to Ferrari’s design language as he drew the Dino 308 GT4 unveiled at the 1973 Paris Motor Show. 

The 308GT Rainbow concept, introduced three years later, showed how Gandini imagined a sports car with a Prancing Horse emblem on its nose when he didn’t have to follow Ferrari’s strict guidelines or worry about making the car feasible for regular production. It was considerably lower and sharper than the 308 GT4 and instantly recognizable as a Bertone design.

The 308GT Rainbow’s most innovative feature was its roof. The one-piece panel rotated up by 90 degrees and neatly slid into a compartment wedged right between the mid-mounted, 3.0-liter V8 and the passenger compartment. Ferrari didn’t want the car or its roof, but it’s difficult not to draw a parallel between Bertone’s 1976 concept and the 458 Spider introduced in 2011 with a power-folding roof.

Volvo Tundra (1979)

In the late 1970s, Volvo asked Bertone to help it shed its solid-but-staid image. The partnership spawned the 262C, which was a stylish and luxurious evolution of the 260, but executives thought they could take it a step further by asking the design house to create a car from scratch. Marcello Gandini alchemized the rather awkwardly-shaped 343 into a concept named Tundra that broke all ties with the ode to boxiness that Volvo called its design language. Only emblems revealed the hatchback’s Swedish roots.

Some of Volvo’s decision-makers loved the Tundra, and they already imagined how it could influence an entirely new generation of models during the 1980s; but the company ultimately ruled it too flashy. Instead, Volvo asked its design department to give the entire 300 range an unadventurous mid-cycle facelift.

Meanwhile, Citroën had asked Bertone to draw a replacement for the GSA, an aging mid-range model getting pelted in a highly competitive segment, and the Tundra was exactly the kind of forward-thinking car it had in mind. Volvo’s rejected hatchback heavily influenced the BX released in 1982.

Chevrolet Ramarro (1984)

Bertone stepped outside of its comfort zone when it transformed a fourth-generation Chevrolet Corvette into the Ramarro. Though Bertone turned the Corvair into a voluptuous coupe in 1963, the company wasn’t known for using Chevrolet models as a blank slate and had never modified a Corvette. The end result put a more exotic, European-flavored spin on one of America’s most-loved sports cars.

Stylists reinvented the Corvette’s proportions by reducing the size of the overhangs and making the front end lower, a modification which required moving the radiator to the back of the car. The V-8 engine remained untouched. Sliding the front doors forward revealed a completely restyled interior that hinted at the meaning behind the name: ramarro is the Italian word for a type of green lizard.

Catching and skinning lizards would have been too labor-intensive, so Bertone settled for a type of green leather that resembled reptile skin. The Corvette’s individual seats were replaced by a wide bench and a tall, rectangular center console housed all of the switchgear. This represented a stunning display of foresight—it’s a solution nearly every automaker adopted during the 2010s.

Bertone introduced the Ramarro at the 1984 Los Angeles Auto Show, about a year after the fourth-generation Corvette began arriving in showrooms. It was never a candidate for production.

Citroën Zabrus (1986)

The sleek, understated GS Camargue didn’t convince Citroën to add a mid-range coupe to its line-up. Bertone gave the idea another shot in 1986 when it unveiled the Zabrus concept at the Turin Auto Show. The proposal was worthwhile: Citroën and Bertone enjoyed a burgeoning relationship at the time, and the Paris-based carmaker stood on much more stable financial footing in the middle of the 1980s than in the early 1970s.

The Zabrus took the form of a two-door shooting brake (an unusual body style for Citroën) with thin headlights connected by a horizontal crease that wrapped around the entire body. Scissor doors and pivoting seats gave the front passengers easy access to the cabin, where they sat in front of a digital instrument cluster that took up almost all of the space beneath the windshield. The electric Honda E released on the European market offers a similar layout, though screens replace individual gauges.

Bertone made the Zabrus even quicker than it appeared by using rally-proven mechanical components sourced from the BX 4TC. Power came from a turbocharged 2.2-liter four-cylinder engine that channeled 200 horsepower to all four wheels via a five-speed manual transmission.

However, Citroën again turned down the project; it didn’t need a coupe. Some of the styling cues inaugurated by the Zabrus resurfaced on the Bertone-designed XM introduced in 1989, and they trickled down to the smaller Xantia—the design house’s last series-produced Citroën—released in 1992.

Lamborghini Genesis (1988)

Lamborghini released an off-roader, the LM 002, well before its rivals planted their flags in the segment and, by doing so, proved its image was more elastic than Ferrari’s. Could it be stretched wide enough to reach the minivan segment dominated by Chrysler in America and Renault in France? Bertone defiantly argued “yes!” when it unveiled the Genesis at the 1988 Turin Auto Show—and what a van it was.

Large glass surfaces and McLaren-like butterfly front doors characterized its cab-forward design. Conventional rear sliding doors opened to reveal a cavernous cabin with two front-facing seats and a single rear-facing chair right in the middle. The front occupants could face backwards by moving their seat cushions, which was a clever alternative to the pivoting seats found in some vans during that era.

So, what makes this a Lamborghini? Fire it up, and you’ll know immediately. Bertone dared power the Genesis with a 455-horsepower, 5.2-liter V-12 engine normally found in the Countach Quattrovalvole. It shifted via a three-speed automatic transmission provided by Chrysler, which owned Lamborghini at the time, so it likely couldn’t match (let alone beat) the Countach’s 4.8-second sprint from 0–62 mph.

For better or worse, there’s no indication Lamborghini considered adding the Genesis to its portfolio.

BMW Pickster (1998)

Bertone reveled in its ability to create the unexpected by rummaging through a company’s parts bin. Introduced at the 1998 Geneva Motor Show, the Pickster concept looked like a futuristic alternative to the car-based utes that ruled Australian roads, yet everything under the body came from BMW.

Its prototype-building team started by taking an E39-generation 528 sedan and dropping a 3.2-liter straight-six from the M3 into the engine bay. Designers topped the running gear with a muscular pickup body characterized by vents, scoops, scallops, and a spoiler that today looks like it belongs on a record-breaking Koenigsegg. An intriguing, almost Pontiac-like interpretation of BMW’s twin-kidney grille, Subaru SVX-esque side windows, and bullet-shaped wheels added a finishing touch to the look.

BMW had zero interest in bringing the ultimate hauling machine to the market so the Pickster remained a one-off concept. Crossovers and SUVs make up a significant chunk of its sales in 2020 but it continues to steer clear of the pickup segment, though it turned the mammoth X7 into a one-off truck in 2019.

If you had to pick one, which of these wild concepts would you put into production? Let us know in the comments section below.

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I drive an Autobianchi A112. By now, my ’85 oddball packs a built Abarth engine with a bigger Weber, plus a lowered suspension with sticky Yokohamas, just to make sure I can keep up with modern traffic. However, right when I first hopped into its less-focused version seven years ago, it was clear that such a noisy troublemaker deserved a decent steering wheel in place of the factory polyurethane affair. Franky, even when bone-stock, most pre-airbag cars do. Once swapped, your hands and eyes will equally appreciate the upgrade.

Cash-infused Instagram propaganda will tell you that a Momo Prototipo is the alpha and omega of vintage steering wheels. As pretty as it may be, that hype is why Porsche’s favorite dashed and drilled three-spoke design feels so worn out by now. When it comes to the vintage field, there are a number of smaller manufacturers worth looking out for, including Formuling France, Izumi, Raid, and Italvolanti.

My personal choice is the Italian company behind Emerson Fittipaldi’s steering wheel design, the “Fitti.”

Personal is a mysterious manufacturer that’s been connected to the world-famous Nardi brand since 1968. History tells us that, having been established in the early ’60s, Personal bought the rights to the Nardi name just two years after Enrico Nardi died from blood poisoning caused by exhaust gases. In 1990, Nardi Italia S.p.A. popped up as a completely new company, only to be reunited with Personal under both companies’ new management in 2005. Today, the company is called Nardi-Personal.

Everybody knows Nardi for its wooden wheels, but Personal kept a low profile, despite supplying the Williams, the McLaren and the Benetton Formula 1 teams for over two decades. Between 1980–1997, ten drivers scored fifteen championships by turning Personal steering wheels at braver angles than others.

In order to stay in business for almost six decades, Personal must have also been a major OEM supplier, hidden behind those generic “Made in Italy” stampings. Apparently, one of its known clients was Romano Artioli’s Bugatti, who ordered some plush leather-wrapped three-spokes for those mighty quad-turbo EB110s.

Staying at a much lower price range, I have yet to learn what year my four-spoke, black leather Personal was made. Sometime in the ’70s or ’80s. Yet what’s certain is that it’s a rare piece by now. Momo, Sparco, OMP, Nardi, and Personal all stopped making four-spoke designs a long time ago, and if you’re looking for a vintage four in leather, your options include a Nardi Gara 4, a Momo Ghibli 4, a Raid Dino 4, or perhaps an even more obscure Formuling France four-spoke. However, as far as I can tell, Personal’s equivalent is nowhere to be found—except for the one in my A112.

Seven years ago, this black-spoke 350mm medium-dish piece came from the Hungarian equivalent of Craigslist, sold to me by an older guy whose son bought it ages ago, only never to put it in a car. It was cheap, with tight stitches that were once white, a few minor scratches in the leather, and a factory Personal horn button that’s now connected to what is the most ineffective sound-making device Magneti Marelli has ever produced.

My vintage steering wheel is not one of Personal’s collectible helmet-badged Fittipaldis. Those you can buy. It must be said that my budget Nardi also continues to be dusty from the missing headliner I have yet to fix. On the plus side, as long as it suits my driving style this well in my current quintessentially manual deathtrap, or the next, this four-spoke remains an absolute keeper.

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In 2020, Lamborghini will go even more hardcore with its smaller supercar, launching the Huracán Evo RWD as a 3062-pound enthusiasts’ special. Those brave enough to floor the loud pedal will get 602 horsepower at 8000 rpm, along with 413 pound-feet at 6500 rpm for a top speed of 202 mph. With its exciting naturally-aspirated V-10 in the middle, this new rear-wheel-drive Lamborghini will also sprint to 60 mph in 3.3 seconds, while packing reprogrammed nannies that “improve corner-exit traction by 20 percent and enhance oversteer by 30 percent” compared to the 2016–19 Huracán RWD. Expect the smell of sticky Pirellis smoking regularly, despite contact patches measuring a whopping 11 inches at the rear.

Starting at $208,571 in the United States, the 2020 Huracán Evo RWDs will differ from their all-wheel-drive siblings visually by having a new front splitter, as well as even larger air intakes at the front that sport vertical fins. Changes at the rear include a bumper in high gloss black with a more aggressive diffuser, which looks rather good paired with Lambo’s new shade of yellow called Giallo Belenus.

Inside, drivers will still find an 8.4-inch touchscreen in the center console, while on the steering wheel, your ANIMA button will encourage you to go into Corsa mode—but will still offer the slightly-less-manic Sport and buttoned-up Strada modes as well. If you plan on hitting the tracks hard, note that although the new Huracán Evo RWD comes standard with 19-inch Kari rims and cross-drilled steel brakes, 20-inch wheels and carbon-ceramic brakes are also available.

The rest is business as usual. Dry-sump lubrication for track reliability, a 40/60 front-to-rear weight distribution with a limited-slip differential for endless slides, and a dry weight of 3062 pounds, so you can remain 234 pounds heavier than your equally-sized neighbor in a McLaren 720S.

That weight differential doesn’t bother us one bit—Lamborghini had us at 30 percent more oversteer.

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The story of what we know as the Maserati Quattroporte III began with then Maserati-owner Citroën being both too cool and way too innovative for a world entering the recession period in the mid-1970s. The path out of bankruptcy led to Maserati seeking refuge under Peugeot’s umbrella, whose bosses demanded loss-making Maserati to be folded straight away. Looking at some 800 jobs at immediate risk in Modena, the Italian government stepped in, purchasing Maserati with the help of Alejandro de Tomaso. Modena’s often-mocked immigrant didn’t get a majority in the brand, but bought just enough of its stock to become its chairman.

The first De Tomaso-era Maserati was the Kyalami grand tourer, which was developed from the De Tomaso Longchamp, with a new Frua body and Maserati’s V-8. Then came the equally V-8-powered Quattroporte III, which was basically a De Tomaso Deauville re-bodied by Giorgetto Giugiaro, first shown in 1976 and entering production in 1979. Proving de Tomaso’s vision throughout the 1980s, this sedan became the default choice for high-profile industrialists in Italy and beyond.

Giugiaro’s Quattroporte was boxier and thus a lot more formal than the first two generations, yet it also maintained the brand’s sporty image by packing a 4.2-liter V-8 with 255 horsepower, which later became a 4.9-liter motor with 280 hp, allowing for a top speed of 137 mph.

In 1982, just three years after it hit the streets, the Italian president’s General Secretariat placed an order with Maserati for the construction of an armored Quattroporte for the president’s use. Sendro Pertini’s Quattroporte came in the shade “Dark Aquamarine,” with a beige velvet interior and a large ashtray with a pipe holder between the rear seats, requested by the President himself.

The state limousine also featured a bar cabinet, a telephone system, and an intercom. More importantly, the cabin was completely armored with high-strength manganese steel plating, as well as 31mm-thick polycarbonate power windows. As you’d expect, the roof could also be opened above the rear seats, allowing the President to stand up and greet his people. But one man just wouldn’t greet him next to his Maserati:

“The Head of State used the Quattroporte third-generation on all public occasions, including his historic visit to the Ferrari factory in Maranello on 29 May 1983. On that occasion, ceremonial etiquette demanded that once the car had entered the plant, the host, Enzo Ferrari should approach the presidential vehicle. However, Ferrari remained motionless about 30 feet from the car. The elderly President Pertini got out of the Quattroporte and walked over to the Ferrari boss.”

Prancing Horses ran into trouble with Tridents before.

While Maserati four-doors have always been popular with state officials, their popularity with artists wasn’t far behind. Modenese tenor Luciano Pavarotti is one of the most famous former Quattroporte drivers, who was once photographed enjoying his luxury car outside La Scala in Milan.

In 1986, likely to keep up with the Germans, Maserati launched the “Royale” version of the Quattroporte, which featured softer leather seats and all the walnut veneer a V-8 could carry. For this model, the 4.9-liter was tuned to 300 horsepower, which promised 143 miles per hour.

Between 1979–1990, Maserati built 2145 Quattroportes, of which only 51 were Royales. Today, this one resides at a cheese farm as part of the Panini family’s collection:

The Italian president rides in a Quattroporte to this day, propelled by a twin-turbo V-8 producing 530 horsepower and 479 lb-ft of torque in 2019. Its color is known as “Blu Istituzionale,” and this sixth-generation model is probably a whole lot safer than the 1983 edition was.

We’re only scratching the surface here, but the fact remains that Alejandro de Tomaso (and the government) saved Maserati, keeping the flame alive with cars like the Quattroporte and its two-door V-6 sibling, the mighty Biturbo. Fiat took over in 1993, and today, Maserati is looking ahead with higher ambitions than in many years. This is their latest mid-engined prototype, and once this new Maserati supercar hits production, we’d appreciate a photo of it parked next to a mint Quattroporte III Royale. Worlds apart, yet very much connected.

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There is a Euro-spec F355 Berlinetta heading to auction at this Saturday’s RM Sotheby’s auction in Abu Dhabi that’s mighty special. It’s a 1997 model, and one of the 3829 Berlinettas equipped with a gated six-speed manual shifter. The rarity, however, is exponentially compounded by the fact that it’s also finished in a green paint known as Verde Mugello, with a Beige Tradizione cabin. Drool.

RM Sotheby’s says just 1 of these green ones were delivered to the UK, while in the U.S., that number plummets to around just 10 known examples. This one was originally delivered to Venezuela.

The good news is that UK Ferrari specialist DK Engineering went through this one, after it’s been parked for a while with just 13,700 miles on the clock.

DK’s team has stripped it down, and went for a full-body respray in its original Verde Mugello hue. Then came the removal of the engine and the gearbox, followed by a major service replacing all coolant hoses and cambelts, plus all the driveshafts, seals, fluids, badges and rubbers that were in a bad shape. What’s more, the alternator and ABS pump got overhauled as well, and the seats got retrimmed in their factory material. Invoices state a sum of $58,000 spent on the car, yet in Abu Dhabi this Saturday, this F355 Berlinetta will go under the hammer at no reserve, for an estimated $100,000 – $130,000. That’s not bad for one in rare Verde Mugello, and regardless of the color, you know the hardtop drives better than a Spider.

Soon enough, the market may render this another car that costs “more than you can afford, pal.” As Hagerty’s valuation experts note, in 2016, someone paid $211,750 for a limited edition Spider Serie Fiorano, which appears to be the all-time auction record for the F355. Meanwhile, in Monterey last August, another Spider sold for $196,000, which is the second-highest price for one yet.

Now, let’s talk maintenance. Rumor has it that you need to replace the heads every 15,000 miles. That sounds shocking, but there’s more. The interior is full of Fiat plastics (not exactly poster children for durability), the “adjustable” shocks will fail to adjust, and the list goes on and on. Because this is, after all, a Ferrari from 1994.

However, having driven a heavily-modified F355 with a manual, I can tell you that it’s the right size for a sports car. It can drive like a happy go kart if properly coaxed. Add in the gated manual experience and the F355 Berlinetta becomes something very endearing indeed—a car you’ll want to drive over and over again.

A GP2 team principle friend of mine who also raced at the 24 Hours of Le Mans once told me that in stock form, a Ferrari F355 Berlinetta flexes so much under heavy load that paint starts cracking off the body. Most people won’t push their F355s quite so far, but a V-8 Ferrari with a manual nevertheless remains a good choice for tuning. Given its rarity and superb condition, though, you may want to keep this particular F355 stock. Don’t want to crack that green paint.

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Technically, the LM002 and Urus are both Lamborghini SUVs. They both sport the black and gold “raging bull” insignia that lends a reputation of supercar performance. Owning one comes with a curb swagger that you see often only in Beverly Hills or Dubai. That’s pretty much where any and all common ground end. 

When Lamborghini announced the Urus, a lot of people thought the idea of an SUV from Sant’Agata Bolognese was blasphemous. How can a company that makes some of the most exotic supercars on earth build something on a shared VW Group platform that comfortably tote a pee-wee soccer team around the ‘burbs? 

The Urus isn’t the Raging Bull’s first official foray into SUVs, however. That honor belongs to the LM002, a chunky 1980s off-roader that was more desert brute than family hauler. Nevertheless, to experience just how much has changed in the ensuing 30 years, we had to arrange a visit between the original bull that raged off road and Lamborghini’s latest high-riding offspring.

The LM002 is one of the rarest and most exotic factory off-roaders ever built. Born from an unsuccessful bid to win a contract to build an off-roader for the United States military—which ultimately went to the prototype that led to AM General’s Humvee—Lamborghini’s initial prototype was dubbed the Cheetah and built in California in 1977. With its rear-mounted Chrysler V-8, the only example of the Cheetah ever built met its demise in a crash.

Lamborghini didn’t stop the project there, though, deciding to press on with a production version it could sell directly to customers. After an initial LM001 prototype in 1981 at the Geneva show, Lamborghini returned to Geneva in 1982 with the LM002 that would ultimately reach production. Out of concerns for handling and stability, Lamborghini relocated the engine from the rear to the front and added a set of doors, as well as the latest creature comforts available in the 1980s—like air conditioning, a premium radio, power windows, and Italian leather rich enough to make a Versace coat jealous. 

Revealed in final production form at the Brussels Auto Show in 1986, the LM002 was a hugely imposing, Hummer-esque symbol of 1980s excess. Only 328 examples of the so called “Rambo Lambo” were ever built. Under its boxy and expansive hood sits a 5.2-liter 450-hp V-12, with 368 lb-ft of torque, lifted from the Countach. Unsurprisingly, the brash machine caught the eyes and deep pockets of some of the world’s most affluent clientele—or at least, the sort you’d expect would find the LM002 appealing.

In 1986, such figures were mind-blowing in a Countach, let alone a giant leviathan like the LM002. The LM002 tips the scales at a chunky 6780 pounds, despite its use of fiberglass aluminum body components. 

Despite its imposing looks, it’s rather easy to egress into the LM002’s purposeful confines. You sit high, propped up on the bucket seats, and the dash and center console sit high, likely a result of the giant prop shaft and transfer case lying beneath.

Instead of a 21st century array of high-definition LCD touchscreens, you have classic analog gauges, controls for the car’s integrated winch system, and other rather enigmatic push-button controls for the HVAC system and auxiliary lighting. Tumble the starter by inserting its one-edged key upside down, which seems more fitting for a bicycle lock, and the LM002 whooshes to life, hunting for a stable idle as it warms to reaching optimal running temperature. Having driven less than a few thousand miles, this specific LM002 sat for most of its life as a display car, meaning everything is nearly as fresh as when it came off the assembly line in Sant’Agata Bolognese. The doors click open and close with a resounding metallic thud, and the leather remains rich, supple, and free of cracks.

Although our time was extremely limited to a brief sprint around the local streets and driveways of a deserted corporate parking lot just outside Princeton, New Jersey, we didn’t need much to get an immediate impression of the way the LM002 drives. Needless to say, the LM002 is a bit, well, taxing, requiring a considerable amount of manhandling at low speed. Despite having power steering, the LM002 requires equal parts upper body strength and focus to alter the front end’s direction from anything but straight, especially around parking lots where the LM002 clearly had the turning radius of a semi hauling a space shuttle.

Getting the LM002 to move from a standstill also requires full attention. With a dog-leg long-throw five-speed and a clutch that hadn’t been bled in years, the LM002 struggled to get its nearly 3.5-ton mass out of its own way without billowing a cloud of clutch and smoke from underneath. But once going, the V-12 whirred smoothly as it climbed through its rev-range with nary a vibration through the chassis.

The V-12 doesn’t sound nearly as good in the Countach. In fact, it sounds industrial and almost unremarkably heavy-duty, but that’s in part due to the design of the intake system, which features barreled catch-can filters designed to filter and keep all sorts of fine silt, sand, and dust from entering the intakes, should the LM002 find its way trekking across the Sahara or the Gobi, which it is very much designed to handle. When new, the LM002 was capable of hitting 60 in just seven seconds and a top speed of 120 mph.

In comparison to its distant relative, the well-proportioned Urus appears somewhat more restrained. That said, the bonkers performance you’d expect from a modern Lamborghini is there in spades. It’s not a V-10 or a V-12 like in the Huracán or Aventador, but the Porsche-sourced twin-turbocharged V-8 in the Urus has a hefty 641 hp and 627 lb-ft of torque, which dwarfs the LM002’s output. On top of that, the Urus has no aspirations to be a rock-crawling desert runner to compete with the Mercedes G-Wagen or Land Rover Defender. It’s extreme, but the Urus is very much a road car, and such high-powered SUVs that can storm the Nürburgring are hardly novel in today’s market. Between the Range Rover Sport SVR, Porsche Cayenne Turbo, BMW X5 M, Mercedes-AMG GLE 63, there’s a now competitive category in place where the Urus neatly nestles. In its day, the LM002 really stood alone.

As you’d imagine, life behind the wheel of the Urus was quite a bit more polished than in the Rambo Lambo. With its underpinnings from Porsche and an interior that feels lifted straight out of the Audi Q7, the Urus felt somewhat neutered in comparison. That is, until you mashed the throttle. Floor it and the Urus whips you backward into its sport bucket seats, until you stomp on the massive carbon-ceramic brakes (17.3-inch rotors with 10-piston calipers up front and 14.5-inch rotors with six-pistons at the rear) that feel strong enough to bring a freight train to a brisk halt.

While performance figures differ greatly, they’re reminiscent of the vastly different eras from which both cars came to fruition. The LM002 is a relic of the 1980s, but it’s also from an era where Lamborghini was trying to emerge from years of business struggles and didn’t have the support it currently enjoys as a member of the larger VW Group. One thing they do have in common is that they are both seriously expensive. When new, the base-price for an LM002 was about $120,000, or roughly $282,000 in 2019 dollars, compared to the $200,000 starting sticker for an Urus (before destination fees). Today, the LM002 is worth around $280,000 in #2 (Excellent) condition, which means it hasn’t even depreciated.

In a world where exotic high-performance SUVs are popular well beyond the paramilitary warlords and Middle Eastern oil baron demographic, the Urus was never going to be as wild as the LM002. Seeing the two side by side is a testament as to how far the SUV market has come, as much as it is evidence of how incredibly capable today’s manufacturers can engineer SUVs. This apple may have fallen very far away from the tree, but its taste is certainly suited to a much broader palate.

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Cue the trumpets—Maserati is teasing its mid-engine halo car, but so far it does not have an official name or any clear specs. However, given what this car represents for the future of the storied Italian brand, we are paying close attention.

Maserati has released photos of its camouflaged, mid-engine sports car roaming the streets of Modena. The prototype indicates a departure from the classical Maserati style cues the GranTurismo made familiar. The car ditches the wide, oblong grille for a more compact snout framed by deeply recessed headlights that are much more oval and upright than the menacing beams of recent Maseratis, Levante included.

Though Maserati previously confirmed production plans for the Alfieri concept car back in March of 2019, the final rendition won’t debut until March 2020 at the Geneva Motor Show. It’s possible that the front-engined concept will take shape as a new, electrified GranTurismo; and that leaves the halo slot to be filled by this high-performance, mid-engine model. We also know that a hybrid-powered Ghibli sedan is on deck for 2020 and that pure BEV models will follow.

Maserati boasts that this test mule’s in-house powertrain “will be the forefather of a new family of engines integrated exclusively on the vehicles of the Brand.” The camo is a papier-mâché-style layering of XXMM (Roman numerals for 2020), heralding May 2020 when all shall be revealed. Driving data gleaned from this test run on the street will be integrated into the virtual simulator that we visited at Maserati’s state-of-the-art Innovation Lab.

Since Maserati’s contract with Ferrari expires either 2021 or 2022, the special-edition, tri-tone GranTurismo Zéda is the swan song of Ferrari-sourced engines powering Maserati’s Modena-built cars. Ferrari’s recent IPO means it technically broke off from FCA, leaving Maserati as the historic Italian jewel of the auto group. Maserati, with its own, in-house powertrain nestled in this camouflaged test mule, seems poised to step out from Ferrari’s shadow and into the spotlight.

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“If one likes supercars,” esteemed travel writer Peter Orosz once wrote, “a first visit to Modena is loaded with subtle anticipation.” Those words hold as true as ever in the last half-century.

Once I checked into rain-soaked Modena on a cold November day, however, a quick look at the map next to my official Maserati schedule led to several bitter conclusions. Namely, that I wouldn’t have time to visit Museo Enzo Ferrari, and there was no point walking to the gates of Ferrari in Maranello either. And I really shouldn’t expect to run into Horacio Pagani at a nearby café in the old town, since the week was so hopelessly wet that even nearby Venice was suffering through its worst flooding since 1966. Also, all stores selling cheese stay closed until 2:30 p.m., because siesta times are sacred, come rain or shine.

As a car nut, the situation left me disappointed and with the sole option of walking around.

Most call Modena the heart of the Italian motor industry, others prefer to focus on its outstanding cuisine. No matter what your reason for visiting, parked in front of the 17th-century buildings in Modena’s center you’ll find the usual run-of-the-mill European cars. The vast number of subcompact hatchbacks made me wonder why FCA is abandoning this segment, but the overall situation is similar to what you’ll experience in all the wealthier cities up north: The old junk is just gone from these streets.

After seeing two equally beaten Peugeot 205s, a couple of boxy Fiat Pandas, and a kitted-out Chrysler Crossfire that must have been created as some sort of a Lancia joke, it became more and more certain that the only real score that day would be the three pounds of decent Parmigiano-Reggiano in my bag. Then a man opened a large wooden gate, preparing to leave in style in his orange Citroën Méhari. I had to delay this process with my questions.

As evidenced by his 2CV/Dyane 6-based beach car’s plates, our man came from Padua, and he was ready to leave on this 50ºF afternoon before learning that I am familiar with both the qualities of Méhari’s ABS (thermoplastic) body, and the origin of Citroën’s double chevron logo. This granted me not only a friendly smile, but also at least another minute or so of conversation, during which he revealed that the Méhari’s body is original but got resprayed and that he also has three more Méharis in storage, which are destined for his three sons—aged 14, 24 and 26—the oldest of whom works in London.

By then, both cylinders of his Méhari were at their optimal temperature range.

Not everybody can drive a Ferrari, Maserati, De Tomaso, Pagani, or even a Bugatti EB110 prototype around Modena. And since the Emilia-Romagna region is mostly agricultural farmland full of happy cattle, nor should they. Instead, I’ll always be happy to run into a Méhari man.

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If you were fortunate enough to be in the market for a brand-new Ferrari in 1975, you probably would have walked into the dealership, looked at what they had to offer, and walked out to go buy something else.

What you would have seen was the only car Ferrari officially brought to the U.S. that year—the Dino GT4. Powered by a new 2.9-liter V-8, the Dino GT4 wasn’t a bad car by any means, but being a 2+2 with Dino badges and Bertone styling, it was nowhere near as good as the 246 that came before. Simply put, it wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

The following year, however, Ferrari came back with the much more exciting two-seat 308, which would go on to become Ferrari’s high-volume sports car for a full decade. While a used 308 became one of the few affordable ways to get into vintage Ferrari ownership, that all changed a few years ago when most Ferraris, even the cheap ones, got pricey again. Though 308 prices have taken a step back in 2019, they are still highly collectible, refreshingly analog sports cars that look much pricier, and much quicker, than they really are.

Ferrari introduced the 308 GTB at the Paris Salon in October 1975 to be built alongside the Dino 308 GT4 and share its engine. The new two-seater would also wear Ferrari badges, only with no Dino script anywhere. Still, it was the true successor to the original Dino of the ’60s. For one, the 308 was penned by Pininfarina’s Leonardo Fioravanti, the same designer responsible for the original 206/246. It also has styling elements of the old Dino, like the long air intakes, circular taillights, and recessed rear glass. The body’s shape, meanwhile, retains some classic curvature while still conforming to the wedge styling so in vogue in the ’70s.

When introduced, the 308 was the very first production Ferrari to wear fiberglass (vetroresina in Italian) bodywork, but despite the material’s light weight and the high quality of the shells Ferrari used, the company quietly switched to steel bodywork after late 1976 on U.S. market cars and mid-1977 for European market cars. Just 712 of these 308 “Vetroresinas” left the factory, including 154 in right-hand drive. Early U.S. 308 GTBs came with a wet-sump lubrication system and 255 horsepower, while the Euro cars came with a dry sump and are a little quicker. Regardless of market, however, the 2.9-liter V-8 breathes through a quartet of Weber carburetors and shifts via a full-synchromesh five-speed gearbox with the famous open-gate shifter plus a dog-leg first gear.

After the move from fiberglass to steel, the next big development in the 308 story was the introduction of a Spider version called the GTS in late 1977. Really more of a targa than a Spider, the new 308 GTS came with a black vinyl-covered removable roof panel that could hide behind the seats or just stay in the garage. The spider version beckoned to everyone who needed to be seen in their Ferrari, from wealthy playboys to Magnum P.I., and in the 308’s later years the GTS outsold the GTB by a margin of four to one.

The next big change for the 308 came in 1980, and it was not for the better. Ever-stricter U.S. emissions regulations continued to strangle performance across the car world, and even the Prancing Horse couldn’t outrun American legislation. For 1980, Ferrari was forced to ditch the tried and true Webers for Bosch K Jetronic fuel injection, and power eventually wound down to a disappointing 205 horses in the newly dubbed GTBi/GTSi.

By 1983, Ferrari nabbed back most of the performance lost with fuel injection with the introduction of four-valve heads on the 308 that brought a welcome jump in both horsepower and torque. The new QV (for Quattrovalvole, which means “four valve” in Italian) lasted until 1985, when the successor model called the 328 brought an extra 258cc of displacement, more power, more refinement and more-rounded bodywork with color-coded bumpers.

Ferrari built about 12,000 308s over a 10-year period—for the world’s most famous maker of expensive sports cars, a remarkably large number of cars and a remarkably long production run. But even though the 308 changed little visually, the evolution outlined above means that different versions are weighed very differently in the eyes of the collector car market.

In general, euro-market cars carry some notoriety here in the States because of their lighter weight (not as much bracing to meet American safety rules), smaller bumpers, and, on early cars, dry-sump system. Fiberglass 308s also have rarity, unconventional bodywork, and the cachet of being the first of the first, which makes them stand out to collectors in a mass-produced (by Ferrari standards, anyway) series of cars. A European market fiberglass 308 GTB is therefore top dog in 308-land, but any Vetroresina is still a highly valuable car, with values ranging from $108,000 in #4 (fair) condition to $199,000 for a best-in-the-world condition #1 (concours) car.

Early steel-bodied GTBs are next on the ladder with a #2 (excellent) value of $113,000. The GTS, despite being more popular when new, is actually worth significantly less than the GTB coupe, given that the GTB is much more rare. For example, 1977–79 carbureted GTBs carry a $103,000 condition #2 value and the GTSs has a $76,500 #2 value. Regardless of body style, though, the better sound and more raw driving experience of a 308 with Webers outweighs the convenience and reliability of injection, which the prices reflect.

Skipping past the two-valve 1980–82 cars for a moment, the four-valve, injected 1983–85 GTB QV ranges from $72,000–$75,000 in #2 condition, and the GTS QV comes in at $67,000. Least desirable (and most affordable) are the 308 GTBi with a #2 value of $47,000 and GTSi with a #2 value of $43,000.

No matter the flavor of 308, if you were shopping for one 10 years ago it was still among the handful of “cheap” Ferraris. You could easily find a decent one for less than 30 grand. You can probably guess what happened a few years later. Classic car prices in general, and Ferraris in particular, rocketed upward from 2012–16, and 308s all of a sudden got cool again. The period from mid-2013 to mid-2016 was the craziest time for 308s, with #2 values growing between 125–280 percent, depending on the model.

More recently, Ferrari prices have softened. This trend extends down to 308s, which are still at the lower end of the collectability spectrum in Ferrari-land. Values were down 3–7 percent with the latest update of the Hagerty Price Guide, and, on average, 308s are down 20 percent over the past year.

Let’s not think the sky is falling for 308, because these cars have so much going for them. They’re instantly recognizable ’80s status symbols and wear the most premium badge in the business. No driving aids or even power steering can get in the way of enjoying the open road. They’re great tour cars and boast an open-gate gearbox—both increasingly obscure qualities in modern sports cars.

And by Ferrari standards, a good 308 should be relatively easy to live with. The service intervals are shorter than most cars on the road, but the 2.9-liter V-8 is robust and coughs up few issues—you won’t be paying the shop to yank the engine out every couple of years like you will with a 355.

Lastly, yes, a 308 is slow by modern exotic standards. And because it’s a Ferrari and it looks fast, every other kid will want to race you between the lights. But even though you’ll soon be looking at the taillights of that new Mustang GT or tuned Subaru, it’s likely you’ve never looked so good losing.

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The Alfa Romeo Giulia is a great sports sedan that managed to break down under journalist drivers one time too many (although I must say that my test car and its Ferrari-sourced twin-turbo V-6 worked flawlessly, even in the wet). Yet no matter how enjoyable Alfa’s sedans may be to drive, they are far from being cash cows for the company. The same can be said about the Stelvio SUVs, which also offer superior handling and looks compared to most of their competitors, but can’t seem to attract enough of the luxury market’s rather conservative buyers.

Enter Alfa Romeo’s solution, the compact Tonale SUV.

Previewed as a concept at Geneva this year, it seems that Alfa held an internal comparison test with the production version parked next to most of its rivals, from which event the following images were leaked. Unsurprisingly, the Tonale will have to pick up the gloves against other premium compact SUVs like the BMW X2, Audi Q3, and the Range Rover Evoque.

Compared to the concept, the Tonale gets bigger light units front and rear, as well as more robust bumpers. However, Alfa’s unusual integrated exhaust apparently made it into the final cut. Now, the only question on Alfa Romeo’s mind must be: What do you think?

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Racing car and later Tucker designer Harry A. Miller liked his aluminum pistons just as much as W. O. Bentley did in England, and by 1920, he came up with a concept for aluminum alloy wheels as well. Miller made it as far as patenting his idea, but didn’t produce any wheels. 

Then came a certain Italian called Ettore Bugatti, who developed molds that could cast aluminium wheels, spokes and brake drums at his company’s foundry in Molsheim, France. 

In May 1924, Bugatti registered a patent for “Improvements relating to vehicle wheels with cooling discs.” From that moment on, Bugatti’s most famous racing car, the Type 35, built the legend using cast aluminium wheels featuring eight flat and wide spokes instead of many thin ones, plus a removable wheel rim and an integrated brake drum.

It wasn’t a smooth ride. On their first outing at the Grand Prix in Lyon on August 3, 1924, several Bugattis retired. Yet it wasn’t the wheels, but the tires’ incorrect vulcanisation that led to the tread separating from the fibers and thus the end of Bugatti’s race.

Of course the Type 35 had more than some fancy lightweight wheels up its sleeve. Its 2.0-liter overhead-cam straight-eight engine used a crankshaft supported by two roller bearings and three ball bearings, so that it could run at speeds of up to 6000 rpm. Twin carburetors pushed it above 90 horsepower for a top speed of 120 mph, while the supercharged, 2.3-liter-powered Type 35 B version had 135 horsepower and a top speed exceeding 130 mph. Ettore’s jewel of a racing car also came with a hollow, forged front axle with sealed ends—which, together with the innovative cast aluminum wheels and integrated brake drums, helped to push the Type 35’s race-ready weight down to 1650 pounds.

Up until the early ’30s, Ettore’s Type 35 variants were absolutely unstoppable. Yet if we jump ahead in time, it also must be said that the last Bugatti racing car was Martino Finotto’s EB 110 LM at the 24 Hours of Daytona in 1996. These days, Bugatti’s racing glory has faded.

Instead, Bugatti is all about trying to end the top speed challenge. Its most direct competitor, Sweden’s Koenigsegg, produces hollow carbon fiber wheels and is also looking into ways of entering the 2020/2021 World Endurance Championship.

However, there’s at least one alloy development going on at Bugatti related to wheels—its 3D-printed titanium brake calipers. And if anything, Ettore Bugatti would have loved the idea.

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Maserati has yet to roll out a new product worthy of its undeniably impressive racing heritage—but 90 years ago the picture was somewhat different. In 1929 Enzo Ferrari had just founded Alfa Romeo team Scuderia Ferrari—and Maserati chief Alfieri Maserati had sent his team to set a new benchmark during the “Giornata dei record,” a time trial on the flying 10 kilometres (6.2 miles).

Maserati’s tool for the job? The Maserati Tipo V4, a car combining two straight-eight engines to make up a V-16. Maserati’s pair of Tipo 26B engines was mounted side by side and connected by a single crankcase containing two crankshafts. Each of the two sets of cylinders had its own magneto ignition, carburetor, and supercharger. As a result, Maserati’s 25-degree, four-liter V-16 was good for anything between 280 and 305 horsepower.

Maserati factory driver Baconin Borzacchini wasn’t messing around with the Tipo V4 on the dead-straight 6.2-mile section of Autostrada 10 between the town hall at Gadesco Pieve Delmona and Sant’Antonio d’Anniata. After all, he needed an extra 1.86 miles of distance on top of the average speed trial for the flying start… and to slow down that V-16.

He covered the uphill leg in 2:25.20, with an average speed of 154.058 mph. Downhill, he needed three seconds more, bringing his overall average time to 2:26.30—figuring out to a speed of 152.9 mph. It was a world record for class C (from 3000 to 5000 cc), previously held by Ernest Eldridge’s 1927 run at Autodrome de Linas-Montlhéry in France with a Miller special. Having set that record, Eldridge then lost an eye in a crash triggered by front axle failure.

With a dry weight of 2314 pounds and a four-speed gearbox, the twin-supercharged Maserati Tipo V6 was geared for a top speed of 162 mph. Yet, when Baconin Borzacchini died four years later in 1933, his daily driver was an Alfa Romeo.

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Racing was in Carlo Abarth’s blood. In 1933, the 25-year-old engineer designed a sidecar in which he beat the Orient Express train in an epic, 800-mile race from Vienna, Austria, to Ostend, Belgium. That was only the beginning.

Abarth moved to Italy in 1934, where he met Ferdinand Porsche’s son-in-law Anton Piëch and eventually married Piëch’s secretary. Abarth didn’t just find love in Italy; he forged a friendship with Ferry Porsche that ultimately led to the creation of the company that bears his last name. Seventy years after Abarth hung an open-for-business sign in 1949, the company with the scorpion logo was in the spotlight (again) at the Geneva International Motor Show.

When an accident ended Abarth’s racing career in 1938, he joined Ferry and fellow engineers Rudolf Hruska and Piero Dusio to create Compagnia Industriale Sportiva Italia (CIS Italia, later becoming Cisitalia). Eleven years later, Abarth left ailing Cisitalia to start his own company with driver Guido Scagliarini.

Abarth initially specialized in making race cars and high-performance mufflers for production cars, but the release of the Fiat 600 in 1955 opened a world of opportunities for the then-young company. Abarth quickly identified a market for a quicker, sportier version of the car that remained reasonably affordable, and he channeled the lessons he’d learned from years of racing and making mufflers into the Fiat-Abarth 750. Coachbuilders like Zagato and Allemano made the model even more alluring by turning it into coupes and convertibles.

Abarth’s star power continued to rise during the 1960s, as the 750 piled up wins and set several international speed records. “Win on Sunday, sell on Monday” held true, and the sales of Abarths sky-rocketed.

Like Amedeo Gordini, Carlo Abarth became a god-like figure in the world of racing. The clout he carried helped him sell his company to Fiat in 1971. By then, Abarth’s best days were behind it, and it oscillated between quiet and dormant until Fiat resurrected the name as a performance sub-brand in 2007.

Abarth turns 70 in 2019. With a lot of empty floor space to fill due to major brands (like Ford) staying home, the Geneva International Motor Show’s organizers asked noted Swiss collector and former Abarth factory driver Engelbert Möll to display his personal collection of classic Abarth models in the Palexpo Convention Center. We’re glad he agreed; his collection is one of the most impressive ones around, and the Abarth brand did nothing to celebrate its own 70th anniversary at the show.

Crowd pleasers like the 500-based 595 SS were present, but the display also featured many rare, lesser-known models from a company whose history is more diverse than many enthusiasts realize.

1949 Abarth 205 A

Carlo Abarth began working on the 205 A immediately after he left Cisitalia. Michelotti designed the coupe’s curvaceous body, while coachbuilder Vignale manufactured it out of aluminum in order to keep the car’s weight around 1750 pounds. It was powered by a Fiat-sourced, 1.1-liter four-cylinder engine that Abarth upgraded with a redesigned intake manifold, two Weber carburetors, and an exhaust system designed in-house. The modifications increased the four’s output to 83 horsepower, which was impressive for such a small engine.

In 1950, Guido Scagliarini drove the original 205 A to a first-place finish in the 1100-cc category of the Coppa Intereuropa held on the Monza track. The car participated in other competitions during the early 1950s, including the Mille Miglia, and it turned heads at the 1950 Turin Auto Show.

The 205 A cost as much as a Ferrari with a 2.0-liter engine, so sales were low. Abarth only built three examples of the car, including an upmarket variant that Carlo daily-drove. Surprisingly, the three cars managed to survive 70-year beating of road and track use.

1957 Abarth 500 Coupe

Abarth and Zagato envisioned the 500 Coupe as a cheaper, less powerful alternative to the emblematic 750 with the famed double-bubble roof. Both cars looked a lot alike, but the 500-powered model received a smooth roof panel, and its smaller engine didn’t require extra air intakes on top of the deck lid to breathe. Its wheels kept the 500’s wide bolt pattern, which was one of the few visual links between Fiat’s mass-produced, entry-level model and this hand-built, race-ready coupe. The rear license plate light housing was another.

Power came from an Abarth-tuned version of the 500’s 479-cc, two-cylinder engine. The air-cooled unit made 26 horsepower, a massive increase considering buyers of the 500 settled for only 13 hp in 1957.

Abarth’s record keeping was approximate at best, but most historians agree about four examples of the 500 Coupe were built during the late ’50s. In contrast, the number of 750s built lies in the hundreds. The 500 Coupe is largely forgotten in 2019, though Abarth and Zagato paid a vague homage to it in 2011 when it unveiled the Fiat 500 Coupe by Zagato during the Geneva show.

1957 Abarth 750 Spyder

While the race-winning 750 remains one of Abarth’s best-known classic models, the Spyder version of the car is as unknown as if it had never existed. Abarth and Zagato built approximately six drop-top 750s during the late 1950s in a bid to reach a wider audience. The hardtop 750 was built to race; the Spyder was more of a celebrity-friendly boulevard cruiser with the soul of a race car. It received a more stylish design with mini tail fins cribbed from much bigger American convertibles, more chrome trim for an upmarket look, and a better equipped interior.

Like the 750, the Spyder was based on the 600. It used a 747-cc evolution of the 600’s water-cooled, four-cylinder engine whose output grew from 23 to 44 hp. British magazine Autocar tested a 750 Spyder in 1958 and reached the hair-raising speed of 95 mph.

Historians disagree on why Spyder production remained in the single digits. Some claim Zagato struggled to keep up with demand for the hardtop 750 and didn’t have the production capacity to make more convertibles. Others believe Carlo Abarth didn’t like the Zagato’s design, which would explain why he later handed the task of making a top-less 750 to Allemano.

1958 Abarth 500 Record

In the 1950s, Abarth saw no limit to the pocket-sized Fiat 500’s performance potential. The firm tuned the standard model a few months after its introduction and sent it straight to the Monza track, where the records it set helped kick the car’s career into high gear. It quickly turned it into the aforementioned coupe, but the most extreme 500-derived model was the streamlined, single-seater record car designed with input from Pininfarina.

The 500 Record shared precious few components with the humble 500; it was built on a tubular chassis. Pininfarina put a tremendous amount of effort into making the body as light and as aerodynamic as possible. The driver entered the tight cabin through a front-hinged hatch that incorporated a wrap-around windshield for improved visibility. Pininfarina drilled holes through the hinges to keep weight in check, and it installed covers over the four wheels to reduce turbulence in the wheel wells. Engineers achieved a 0.25 drag coefficient, which places the car nearly on par with a 2019 Hyundai Ioniq (0.24).

Abarth installed a 500-sourced, 479-cc two-cylinder engine rated at 36 hp, which was a lot considering the Record weighed a scant 815 pounds.

Sent to Monza, the Record covered 28,000 kilometers (about 17,000 miles) in 10 days at an average speed of 116.38 kph (about 72 mph). This was an incredible feat for Fiat, Pininfarina, and Abarth.

1963 Abarth Simca 1300 GT

Abarth made a name for itself by tuning small, rear-engined Fiat models, but it also worked with other car manufacturers, including Simca. The fact that Fiat still owned part of Simca at the turn of the 1960s facilitated the collaboration. Henri Theodore Pigozzi, the man who helped Fiat create Simca and ran it for decades, allegedly contacted Abarth in the months leading up to the 1000’s release to ask for two high-performance variants of the car. The first one needed to be a hotter version of the regular-production model. The second one was a coupe based on the production car, but fitted with a racing-specific body, and upgraded with a wide array of mechanical modifications.

The Simca-Abarth 1150’s promising career was cut short when Chrysler began buying into Simca and Pigozzi quit. However, Abarth received a shipment of bare 1000 chassis to turn into race cars. After experimenting with a 1.0-liter engine, Abarth adopted a 1.3-liter that delivered 128 hp thanks in part to a pair of big Weber carburetors. The four shifted through a Simca-sourced four-speed manual transmission, but clients could order an Abarth-designed six-speed manual at an extra cost.

Abarth entered four 1300 GTs in the 1962 edition of the 24 Hours of Le Mans. One car finished 14th; the other three dropped out of the race. The model fared better in 1963, when it stunningly earned 90 first-place finishes at a wide variety of events, including the 12 Hours of Sebring.

1965 Abarth 2400 Coupe

In the late 1950s, Abarth mostly made small, high-performance cars either based on an existing Fiat model, or built using Fiat-sourced components. The company also quietly dabbled in stately grand tourers, like the 2400 Coupe, that were equal parts quick and luxurious.

Like the firm’s smaller models, the 2400 Coupe started life as a Fiat. It traced its roots to the high-end 2300 Coupe. Abarth raised the straight-six engine’s displacement from 2279 to 2323 cubic centimeters to obtain 157 horsepower. The brand also installed three Weber carburetors, lighter pistons, and a brand-new exhaust system. Michelotti designed an elegant, well-proportioned coupe body that could nearly pass as a member of the Ferrari family, and Allemano handled production.

Abarth’s records indicate a few dozen 2400 Coupes were built. They were hand-made, so no two cars were exactly alike. The aluminum-bodied example in Engelbert Möll’s collection was Carlo Abarth’s personal car. The grandiose coupe illustrates a rarely-seen facet of the Abarth brand, one it later gave up on to focus entirely on flat-out performance.

1965 Abarth Simca 2-Mila

Abarth’s bet had paid off. Even with little support and almost no enthusiasm from Simca, the 1000-derived 1300 GT had become a force to be reckoned with on race tracks around the world. The company’s ambitions didn’t stop at the 1300-cc category. In 1964, it stuffed the OT 2000’s 177-hp, 2.0-liter four-cylinder in the engine bay, and made the coupe more stable at high speeds by extending its rear end and integrating a spoiler into the decklid.

The modifications transformed the 1300 GT into a monster of a race car that required serious driving skills to tame. Abarth named it 2 Mila, a name which means “two thousand” in Italian, and refers to the engine’s displacement. Brave and determined customers could order a 192-hp version of the engine, and the 2 Mila’s output later grew to 202 hp thanks in part to bigger carburetors.

Simca severed ties with Abarth in 1965, and it ultimately founded an in-house racing department which created the race-winning 1000 Rallye. Abarth continued building—and racing—Simca-based cars for several more years, however.

1966 Abarth OT 2000

Abarth tried replicating the success of its 500- and 600-based models by releasing hotter variants of the Fiat 850 introduced in 1964. The strategy should have worked, especially because the coupe and convertible variants introduced by Fiat in 1965 gave Abarth a full catalog of volume-produced models to build on without having to knock on a coachbuilder’s door.

One of the most extreme 850-based models was the OT 2000 presented during the 1966 Turin show. Based on the 850 Coupe, it received a 185-horsepower version of the 2 Mila’s 2.0-liter four-cylinder engine with more torque to make it more usable on public roads. The four spun the rear wheels through a five-speed manual transmission, and it sent the 1500-pound OT 2000 to a top speed in the vicinity of 150 mph.

It looked like a 150-mph car, too. Abarth added fender flares to cover the wider wheel and tire combination. It also re-located the radiator from the engine bay to the trunk, which required stuffing the spare tire horizontally in a storage compartment chiseled into the front end. The long, straight exhaust pipe that extended the car’s length by a few inches removed any lingering doubts about its identity. It wasn’t a run-of-the-mill 850.

Abarth’s 850-based models weren’t as successful as the company’s earlier cars. In hindsight, they were too expensive, which alienated many potential buyers, and their mechanical components—which often came straight from the pit lane—were too delicate to withstand the hustle and bustle of life off the track. Only five examples of the OT 2000 were built.

1968 Abarth 1000 TCR Radiale

On paper and in the metal, the Abarth 1000 TCR Radiale stands out as the most extreme evolution of the Fiat 600, a model introduced in 1955 to put Italy on wheels. The 108-hp, 1285-pound TCR was built to compete in the Group 5 category, where relatively loose regulations allowed a wider scope of mechanical modifications. Abarth took advantage of the permissive rules by dropping the engine to lower the car’s center of gravity in order to improve handling.

The 1.0-liter four-cylinder received a head with hemispherical combustion chambers (so, yes, Mopar fans, that thing’s got a hemi). It was developed in-house by Abarth, and it wasn’t found on any series-produced Fiat model. Given a long enough stretch of tarmac, the TCR could reach a top speed of about 124 mph. Suspension modifications helped pilots make the most of the engine’s grunt while keeping the front end pointed in the direction of travel.

Registered in Venezuela, the 1000 TCR Radiale displayed in Geneva won the 500-kilometer race held on the Nürburgring in 1968.

1970 Abarth 595 SS

Abarth introduced the 595 as a homologation special at the 1963 Turin show. Starting with a Fiat 500, a car that was anything but sporty in its standard configuration, the firm fitted a 594-cc engine (hence the name, rounded up) rated at 27 horsepower, a nearly 50-percent increase over the regular-production model. It could reach 74 mph, which surprised more than a few Alfa Romeo and Lancia drivers on Italy’s autostrada. The SS variant released in 1964 boasted an 80-mph top speed thanks to a 32-hp evolution of the twin.

Abarth built its first 500-based models by purchasing complete cars from Fiat and modifying them in its workshop. Starting in late 1963, Fiat agreed to provide Abarth with partially-assembled cars. The deal streamlined the production process. Customers could either buy a finished 595 from Abarth, or purchase wooden crates containing all the parts needed to turn a homely 500 into a hot rod.

Production of the 595 ended in 1971. In Europe, where Abarth operates with considerably more independence than in the U.S., the brand resurrected the 595 SS nameplate for its version of the modern-day 500. The American-spec model is known simply as the Fiat 500 Abarth.

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Paris classic auto show and auction venue, Rétromobile, is set to have some truly killer offerings for their 2019 event, including RM’s “Youngtimers” collection, a pair of 1980s racing Ferraris, and a number of delightfully-odd French cars. However, the stage just became a bit more crowded, as Polo Storico, Lamborghini’s in-house restoration department, has announced the debut of their latest project—a stunning, gold-over-Rosso-Corsa Lamborghini Miura SV.

While itself not for sale, the 1972 supercar is certainly something any collector would be proud to house in his garage—this one’s already been spoken for by current FIA president Jean Todt. The full restoration lasted 13 months and required the car to be completely dismantled. Polo Storico took special care to preserve as much of the originality as possible, going so far as referencing assembly books from the company archives. The effort paid off, as the photos show a car that appears absolutely showroom-fresh a full 47 years after rolling off the assembly line.

The success of this project shows Lamborghini’s interest to expand their ongoing operations in the ever-growing market for factory-sanctioned, in-house restorations. More recently, companies such as Jaguar/Land Rover, Porsche, and even Mazda have begun offering programs to keep customers’ classics on the road. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the raging bull crashed the party.

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On this gray morning, workers from auction house Artcurial unload treasure after treasure bound for the auction block on February 8 at the Rétromobile classic car show in Paris. Among the stars of the show, one car stands out: an unrestored survivor with fading paint and a constellation of dents betraying the lightweight construction of its body. Already partially disassembled, it exhales faint fumes of old petrol, grease, and dirty oil.

Up to this point the property of Count Volpi, founder of the manufacturer and race team Serenissima, this 1966 Serenissima Spyder appears to have been wheeled straight into storage after the ‘66 Le Mans 24-hour race. The Serenissima hasn’t suffered the patched-up race damage, bodywork alterations, engine swaps, and fumbled restorations which have sullied many other vintage race cars. It is the only surviving Spyder of the pair that were built, and Artcurial’s pre-sale estimate for the car is €1.3M – €1.3M ($1.48M – $2.05M). The car raced just once, at Le Mans in ‘66, and has remained untouched ever since.

In that famous race, all eyes were on the battle of the egos between Henry Ford and Enzo Ferrari. The two automotive titans had spent months negotiating a deal whereby Ford would buy the Italian company so the former could go endurance racing, but Ferrari pulled out at the last minute, unhappy about losing control of his beloved racing team. In truth the Commendatore probably never envisaged his company under the control of the Americans; he wanted to force Agnelli, owner of Fiat, to invest in his firm. Ford hit back with a vengeance, not just aiming to embarrass, but to destroy Ferrari at their favorite playground—Le Mans. For the 1966 race, almost a third of cars entered were Fords, flush with high expectations despite the fact that all of the GT40s had retired from the previous year’s race.

Count Volpi had previously campaigned Ferraris, Maseratis, and a few Porsches wearing his coat of arms. In 1962, however,  his relationship with Ferrari soured when he agreed to finance a fifth of a company called ATS. The firm in question was created by some of Maranello’s pariahs following an internal schism at Ferrari 1961 when a number of senior figures departed after serving Enzo an ultimatum: either his wife (who had been involved in running the company) went, or they did. Needless to say, Ferrari stopped providing race cars to Volpi once he cast his lot with ATS.

Volpi’s relationship with the new company would not last the year, but this impassioned lover of beautiful machines had now caught the scent of glamour which can only attend respected constructors. He had an itch to build something of his own. Girolamo Gardini, who had been Ferrari’s commercial and sports director until he left as part of the 1961 scandal, went to Volpi with designs for a passenger car engineered by Alberto Massimino, whose career had led him from Alfa Romeo to Ferrari via Maserati. In nine months a newly-conceived 3.0-litre V-8 was coming together on the workbench. Three months later, the Serenissima’s wheels turned for the first time.

Massimino designed the tubular chassis and all the mechanical parts, including the gearbox, while the body was penned by Franco Salomone. Following standard practice of the era, the first car was built as a draft, a kind of working prototype and design study. It quickly became a donor for the cars that followed. The second Serenissima, the 308V Jet Berlinetta fashioned by carrozzeria Fantuzzi, was more successful and gave birth to two Spyder variants, one of which is the car headed to Rétromobile. For Volpi, Serenissima was a laboratory, and its road models were capable of being driven by everyone (hence the synchronized gearbox).

The Serenissima Spyder sporting number 24 (with the numbers still visible on the white roundels) entered the ‘66 race at Le Mans with two Frenchmen at the helm, Jean-Claude Sauer and Jean de Mortemart. More than a half-century later, the Dymo labels are still stuck below switches and rockers in an astonishing state of preservation, with each function typed out in French. Unfortunately the adventure was cut short; the Spyder had to bow out of the race with a broken transmission after five hours.

Despite its poor performance, this Serenissima deserves attention. It’s a rare survivor from this largely forgotten manufacturer. The brand and the racing team disappeared in 1970, as competition became more professionalized and rising operational budgets prevented Volpi and Serenissima from being able to keep up with the big teams.

The sale of this Spyder this February is a reminder of how small companies could still compete in racing 50 years ago, one that feels particularly timely in light of the Automobile Club de l’Ouest’s efforts to rein in the outrageous budgets needed to effectively compete at Le Mans. Always rare, the Serenissima has now been transformed by time into something else: precious and serene, indeed.

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Italian design house Bertone is well known for its over-the-top concepts featuring futuristic, wedge-shaped styling. But of Bertone’s early-1990s creations might have hit the mid-engined nail on the head when it came to the future of America’s sports car—the oft forgotten 1990 Corvette Nivola concept.

The late-1980s and early ’90s marked an important turning point in Corvette history. The sports car was finally regaining its footing as a true performance machine after the Malaise Era crippled the late-C3 with fuel economy and emissions regulation. It wasn’t until the birth of the ultra-’80s, fuel-injected C4 that this trend began reversing itself. With improvements in both power and performance each year, it paved the road to the 375-horsepower ZR-1 for 1990.

Bertone’s Nivola concept, also released in 1990 at the Geneva Motor Show, showcased just how far into supercar-dom you could take the fourth-generation Corvette’s parts with some careful rearrangement and re-imagination. Unlike the neon-green Ramarro of 1983 that preserved the front-engined layout, the Nivola moved the powerplant to the middle, providing the car with Lamborghini-like proportions with shorter overhangs and a wider stance than its ZR-1 contemporary.  

The looks weren’t the only exotic part, either. Underneath the all-steel body (in contrast to the C4’s fiberglass construction) was the Lotus-designed, DOHC LT-5 V-8 mated to a five-speed ZF transaxle, the same gearbox used in the DeTomaso Pantera. Popular Mechanics claims the engine’s output matched the ZR-1’s at 375, however other outlets reported the use of twin-turbos to send as much as 650 horses to the 315-section rear tires.

Bertone’s original design called for a complex retractable hardtop, but it settled on a simple removable targa roof to get the job done. Then there’s the interior—oh-so-’90s purple leather with light-green accents envelop the cabin and all-digital, early-C4 gauges complete the psychedelic alien motif.

The concept served as an homage to famous 1930s and ’40s Italian racer Tazio Nuvolari (who’s nickname was Nivola) and its bright paint job was a throwback to his signature yellow sweater. And while this car was a look back at automotive history through a famous name, it was also a fairly accurate glimpse into the future of the Corvette.

The next-generation C8 is rumored to not only share the mid-engine layout, but also house a new turbocharged DOHC V-8 and a retractable hardtop, akin to what was envisioned for Bertone’s Nivola 30 years prior. Whether these rumors actually come to fruition won’t be known for months, but it’s certainly worth taking the time now to appreciate how advanced and just-plain-cool the 1990 Nivola concept was, and still is today.

The post Bertone’s Nivola concept was a ’90s bellwether for the mid-engine Corvette appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Life often gets in the way of our beloved car dreams. We’ve uncovered enough stalled projects on Barn Find Hunter to know that even the best laid plans can get derailed, sometimes for decades. A car gets left in a garage, or in a barn, and suddenly enough time has passed that letting the project sit for months or years longer becomes an easy excuse.

But sometimes the reason is more explicit—like how a broken elevator in Turin, Italy, apparently trapped this stunning 1962 Alfa Romeo Giulietta SZ underground for 35 years.

According to the Alfa Romeo Giulia & 105-series Facebook page, the Giulietta SZ was found last November. It was owned by a mechanic who, presumably, was unable to get the car out of the basement, opting to just leave it there for more than three decades. Once the mechanic passed away and there was no will to determine the car’s fate, it reportedly went to government auction this morning, where it sold for almost $650,000 (€547,000).

The SZ, or Sprint Zagato, was the pinnacle of performance for Alfa’s humble Giulietta. After a Sprint Veloce crashed in 1956 and was sent to Zagato to be rebodied, the resulting lightweight “SVZ” showed that a lighter and more aerodynamic Giulietta was capable of serious performance. Alfa put the idea into motion, and in 1960 the Giulietta SZ appeared at the Geneva Auto Salon with a breathtakingly curvy body designed by Bertone’s Franco Scaglione and handbuilt by Zagato from aluminum panels.

The SZ’s rounded form was attached to a spaceframe chassis adapted from the shorter Giulietta Spider, and Alfa used Perspex windows and a spartan interior to reduce weight further. Under the hood sat a highly-tuned version of Alfa’s 1.3-liter, twin-carbureted four-cylinder, making 115 hp. These cars were campaigned by private racers for several motorsport events, including the 24 Hours of Le Mans.

Effectively a super-hot race car for the street, Alfa did not produce the SZ in large numbers. Most estimates peg total production at just north of 200 cars, with the final 40 or so wearing a unique Kamm-back rear designed for improved aerodynamics. These final cars—which also got front disc brakes—are known as the SZ II, or “Coda Tronca.”

This 1962 example found in the basement, with the original “Coda Tonda” rounded rear, must have been one of the final cars built before the switch.

Considering it’s been in a basement for 35 years, the Turin car is in surprisingly great condition, and it appears totally complete. With any luck, it’s found a loving new home and soon will be back on the road and singing its four-pot heart out across the Italian countryside.

The post 1962 Alfa Romeo Giulietta SZ rises from the dead after 35 years in a basement appeared first on Hagerty Media.

In Yokohama, a wolf roams free at midnight. It howls along the elevated highways, strobing between the streetlamps, crimson-hued from jaw to flank. It is the first of its kind. It is the rarest of the breed. It is a Lamborghini Countach, one born under the sign of the Wolf.

Every Countach is special, but only three are this special. Handmade for Austrian-Canadian businessman Walter Wolf, this red 1977 LP400 is now owned by Eiichi “Eddie” Okado, who runs a small Lamborghini specialist shop in Japan. Despite the fact that the first Wolf Countach is extremely valuable, he drives it on the street regularly.

Raising of the Wolf

Any telling of how a prototype Countach wearing the Canadian maple leaf flag ended up cruising around Japan’s highways must begin with Walter Wolf himself. If Wolf is no longer quite a household name with Canadian gearheads, he should be, since he makes the Dos Equis “Most Interesting Man In The World” look like Charlie Brown. A self-made man who emigrated from post-war Austria with essentially nothing, Wolf worked first as a diver repairing oil rigs, then eventually moved into oil speculation and importing. When the first oil crisis of the 1970s hit, he had sunk his money into a ship that just happened to be between ports. He made $100 million in profit overnight. That figure is not adjusted for inflation.

Wolf was a deep-sea diver, a helicopter pilot, an experienced motorcyclist, and a former rally car driver. He had his own range of Wolf-branded cigarettes and cologne. He lived in the south of France, and was friends and neighbors with F1 racing driver Gilles Villeneuve. He owned his own Formula 1 team, which won at Monaco in 1977, and the result earned him a Ferrari 512BB via a handshake bet made with Enzo himself. The world was Walter’s oyster, and money was no object.

The perfect car for a life lived at full speed? Why, a Lamborghini, of course. Wolf had dozens of them over the years, including multiple LM002s (which he hated), and several Miuras. For the latter, one of the last-ever Miura P400SVs was specially built for him out of unused parts, after the factory officially ceased production.

Developing the Countach

However, it is the Countach that is most closely associated with the name Walter Wolf. All through the 1970s, he kept the company afloat through infusions of cash, made mostly off the books. As a result of this patronage, and as a result of his inner-circle access to the world of Formula 1, several very special pre-Countaches were made, each one a snapshot of the Countach’s future.

The first pre-prototype is not really counted by most Lamborghini historians, but its genesis is typical of the way Wolf went about things. The original 1975 Lamborghini Countach LP400 came equipped with 225-series tires, which weren’t up to the task of putting down V-12 power. Wolf’s solution was to call legendary Lamborghini engineer Gian Paolo Dallara up one evening, and drive down to bolt the spoiler from one of the Wolf team’s F1 cars to the Countach’s roof.

That didn’t really work either, and the idea for a properly aerodynamic Countach was hatched. Dallara sketched out flared bodywork and the huge rear wing that would become an iconic feature of the Countach; Wolf called up Pirelli and demanded it produce a world’s-first 345-series road tire. It did.

This first prototype is the car Okado-san pilots around the city of Yokohama today, its quad-carbureted V-12 handbuilt and tuned by Dallara. It looks almost identical to the production LP500S, but at the time everything about this car was a first for Lamborghini. Each of the Wolf prototypes can be seen as the first steps in the evolution of the Countach.

The second prototype featured an enlarged engine—as Walter noted his first prototype now had grip more than equal to engine power—with the third prototype bored out even further. This final, third prototype was painted a dark blue and fitted with the gold accenting that became a feature of the Wolf Racing livery. It is an incredible machine, with a 7:1 steering ratio, nearly 500 hp on tap from its 5.0-liter V-12, eight-piston cockpit-adjustable front brakes, and a completely reworked suspension.

The third car can also be found nearby in Tokyo, where it is part of a large collection belonging to Shinjirō Fukuda. Fukuda-san is an enormous Walter Wolf fan and has had his Vector W8 and Maserati MC-12 painted in the Wolf Racing livery. He also campaigns a Wolf-liveried 911 in the Japanese Porsche GT cup series, for which the entire team dons Wolf Racing branded coveralls. There is no copyright infringement here, as Walter gave his blessing to the effort when he visited Japan two years ago.

Wolf under the rising sun

Wolf’s Countaches have a long history in Japan, and are woven surprisingly deep into the car culture here. Tribute cars are common, and any Japanese car enthusiast can immediately identify the Wolf insignia. In fact, if you head to any Tomica shop (the Japanese equivalent of Hot Wheels) and purchase a 1/64th-scale toy Countach, it wears the maple-leaf livery of the second prototype.

The reason for the Wolf car’s adopted Japanese home is due to the lasting effects of Japan’s bubble economy period. Walter never kept his cars for long, and replaced the third prototype with an incredible street-legal Porsche 935. The first prototype soon ended up in Tokyo as part of a supercar show. Unique to the period in Japan, and very popular, these travelling shows allowed young visitors to get a close-up glimpse of their hero cars.

Both Fukuda-san and Okado-san remember seeing the Wolf Countaches in their childhood, and both became obsessed with them. Fukuda-san founded a successful engineering firm, and thus has the wherewithal to amass his Wolf collection. Okado-san’s passion is what led him to open his Lamborghini specialist shop; when the first Wolf prototype crossed his path, he stretched everything to buy it.

When he was a boy, Okado-san’s father took him to that supercar show, and paid the extra fee so they could both sit in the first Wolf Countach. Now, he owns it. The hour is late. The garage door opens. The Wolf goes free, into the night.

The post Wolf Countach: The global ambassador of prototype Lamborghinis appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I was on a trip to Italy in 1971 when I visited the Ferrari and Maserati factories in Modena, both on the same day. I was a 24-year-old hot rodder at the time, but what I saw at the Maserati factory blew me away. I was hooked, and in 1976, I founded the Maserati Club International. I’ve been back to Modena every year for the past 40.

[This article originally ran in Hagerty magazine, the exclusive publication of the Hagerty Drivers Club. For the full, in-the-flesh experience of our world-class magazine—as well other great benefits like roadside assistance and automotive discounts—join HDC today.]

In 2010, I was on the lookout for an early roll-up-window, carbureted 3500GT. I saw an ad in Hemmings for this 1959 model, serial number AM101.708, and moved quickly. My initial attraction was because it looked to be an honest, complete, all-original 3500GT. I was surprised to learn how original it was and thrilled to discover it had a known history from the day it was ordered on November 14, 1959.

This includes a letter to the factory by the initial owner—an American Maserati “super fan” who penned it on his Roman hotel’s stationery—requesting a color change from the planned Grigio Fumo (smoke gray) to the rare Grigio Nembo (nimbus gray). There’s a service record from the third owner’s stewardship, handwritten by him on two sheets of legal paper. I found them tucked into the original owner’s manual. The records begin in May 1962 at 13,000 miles and conclude in May 1978 at 36,650 miles, after which the 3500GT sat unused for the next decade. The car remained in the man’s family, at their Renaissance-style mansion in San Francisco or at a winery in Napa, until it was offered for sale in late 2010, when I bought it. From the time it was taken off the road in 1978 to that day, it had gained only another 25 miles.

I’ve done some small fiddly stuff to the car, like servicing the brakes and radiator, adjusting the valves, and changing all the fluids. I installed a new-old-stock stainless exhaust system. The 3500GT shares garage space with a fully sorted 1959 Maserati 3500GT Vignale Spyder and a Ferrari Daytona Spider.

My original 3500 isn’t a garage queen by any means, although I am careful about how I use it. I generally drive it on summer evenings, after traffic dies down. I’ve discovered that, in heavy traffic, people tend to take pictures with their phones as they drive. That’s a bad mix with an old car you cherish.

One of my favorite drives is to head east from my home on Mercer Island, taking Interstate 90 up into the flanks of the Cascade Mountains and then looping back on rural state highways. I’ve taken the 3500GT on vintage rallies, too, and in 2012, it returned an amazing 26 mpg on the 1000-mile Northwest Classic Rally in Oregon. In 2013, it was accepted in the Postwar Preservation class at the Pebble Beach Concours.

The engine always runs cool and in the normal heat range, even on hot days. When I store the 3500GT over the winter, I mix leaded racing fuel with non-ethanol gasoline, which the car loves. As the Maserati approaches 40,000 miles, I have no plans to change anything. I just want to drive it when I can and enjoy the noises it makes.

The post This 60-year-old Maserati 3500GT survivor is aging gracefully appeared first on Hagerty Media.

A century ago, aeronautics expert Ugo Zagato applied the light-but-strong aluminum-frame construction methods used to build airplanes to the heavy, bulky cars of the day. And with that fateful decision, a star was born.

The list of Zagato masterpieces built in the 100 years since the Italian coachbuilder opened for business in 1919 is both long and admirable. But Zagato claimed he never designed a car based on style alone. “Great designs don’t come from wanting to produce a good shape,” he once said. “They come from making cars faster and more intelligent.”

In celebration of Zagato’s centennial anniversary, here are our selections for the most iconic Zagato designs from each decade.

1920s: Alfa Romeo 6C 1500

With a potent 1500-cc six-cylinder engine that produced 46 hp, the 6C already had the heart of a race car. And although Alfa Romeo manufactured its own bodies, many chassis were farmed out to coachbuilders like Zagato—a frequent choice of owners interested in a little competition. Alfa and Zagato have maintained a partnership, and it’s easy to see why. Zagato’s style and craftsmanship were first-rate from the start.

1930s: Lancia Aprilia Sport

Commissioned by Lancia dealer Enrico Minetti, the Aprilia Sport personified Ugo Zagato’s belief in aerodynamic design. The 1938 original was destroyed during World War II, but to celebrate Lancia’s Centennial, Ugo’s grandson Andrea decided to recreate his own Zagato-bodied Aprilia Sport.

Working from two faded monochrome photographs, the results were astonishing. In fact, a description of the car on conceptcarz.com could have been written in the 1930s: “The sheet metal of the bodywork was skillfully handcrafted by master panel beaters, working on a solid, machined buck. The final result is a symphony of perfectly taut lines and seamless highlights.”

1940s: Ferrari 166 MM Panoramica

Ferrari’s Zagato connection began when Enzo Ferrari drove for Alfa Romeo and later served as head of Alfa’s race team. When Ferrari left Alfa to build his own cars, several buyers requested Zagato bodies, including racer Antonio Stagnoli. His 1948 Ferrari 166 MM Zagato Panoramica (chassis #0018M) was the first Ferrari-Zagato collaboration.

Built on a 166 MM chassis (an upgraded version of the 1948 Mille Miglia winning 166 S), the Zagato Panoramica featured an odd-looking shape and Plexiglas side windows that curved with the roof to maintain the car’s rounded, aerodynamic styling. Stagnoli asked Zagato to transform the car into a spider in 1950, and after some racing success #0018M was lost, including its original body. Ferrari recreated the coupe in 2007 to celebrate its 60th anniversary.

1950s: Maserati A6G/54

Zagato scored again by creating alloy berlinetta coachwork for 20 Maserati A6G/54 models, creating lighter and more dynamic race cars that proved successful on the track. So successful, in fact, that the Zagatos propelled Maserati to the 1956 Italian Sports Car Championship.

One sold for $4.5M at RM Sotheby’s 2018 Monterey sale, another went for $4.4M at Gooding & Company’s Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este Auction in 2014.

Because details and trim continually evolved, none of the 20 Zagatos were identical, and one even had a double-bubble roof more common to Zagato-bodied Fiat Abarths. That Maserati failed to sell at Gooding’s 2018 Pebble Beach Auction.

1960s: Aston Martin DB4 GT

The Aston Martin DB4 GT was a shorter and lighter version of the DB4 road car, aimed at the newly popular GT class. It wasn’t as competitive as Aston had hoped, so off it went to Zagato, which produced an exceptionally good looking car. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t competitive enough against the stiff competition that came from the Jaguar E-type and Ferrari 250 GTO.

Although the DB4 GT Zagato didn’t become the race winner that Aston and Zagato had hoped it would be, the car marked the beginning of a long-standing and successful collaboration that continues to this day.

DB4 GT Zagatos routinely sell for more than $10M, with a record-setting $14.3M paid for this stunning 1962 model at RM Sotheby’s Driven by Disruption sale in 2015.

1970s: Lancia Fulvia / Alfa Romeo Junior Z production cars

In the mid-1960s and into the ’70s, Zagato experimented with producing cars in volume.

The Lancia Flavia Sport Zagato, launched in 1963, saw production of about 625 cars before the Lancia Fulvia Sport Zagato launched two years later. First built with an aluminum body but changed to steel in 1970, Fulvia production jumped to more than 7000.

The Alfa Romeo Junior Z, based on the shorter-wheelbase 105-series Alfa Romeo Spider, was available in 1300-cc guise for from 1969–71 and 1600-cc from 1972–75. Production numbers are up for debate, but we’ll say this: good luck finding one. In fact, it has been nearly four years since the last 1600-cc was offered at auction; a 1973 model sold for $74,800 at Bonhams’ Quail Lodge Auction in 2015. According to Bonhams, it is one of only 12 known to exist in the U.S.

Fun fact: The Junior Z’s Zagato design was the inspiration for the Honda CRX.

1980s: Aston Martin V8 / Nissan Autech Stelvio

Reprising their Aston Martin DB4 GT Zagato collaboration of the 1960s, the Aston Martin V8 Zagato was launched at Geneva in 1986. Once again combining lighter weight, more horsepower, and original design, the angular Zagato was a hit. Exclusivity also returned, as 52 coupes and 37 convertibles were built from 1986–90.

In something of a 1A selection, the Nissan Autech Stelvio pushed the aesthetics boundary more than most Zagato designs. Featuring wing mirrors housed in an aerodynamic blister on the wing/fender, the cars were built in a joint venture with Nissan subsidiary Autech and launched in 1989. If you’ve never seen one, you have to check it out.

1990s: Alfa Romeo SZ / Lancia Hyena

The Alfa Romeo SZ and the later RZ convertible are based on the sophisticated Alfa Romeo 75 platform, which was known as the Milano in the United States. Following the usual Zagato formula of less weight and more power, the lightweight two-seater incorporated the Milano’s 3.0 V-6 transaxle platform, and the result was an exciting performance vehicle. While Zagato built the cars, the design is credited to Robert Opron and Antonio Castellana of Fiat Centro Stile.

The Lancia Hyena, another home-market collaboration for Zagato, also deserves mention. Based on one of the hottest five-door hatches of all time, the all-conquering Lancia Delta Integrale Evo, Zagato came up with a lightweight two-door version of the all-wheel-drive four-cylinder turbocharged car. Sadly, Lancia and parent Fiat never gave Zagato the opportunity to buy unfinished cars from the factory, so only a handful were built using finished (and often crashed) Lancia Delta Integrales.

2000s: Aston Martin DB7 / Bentley Continental GTZ

By the 2000s, Aston Martin’s successful reach into more affordable production cars (with the DB7, launched in 1994) was getting a bit dated. But after Andrea Zagato and Aston Martin CEO Ulrich Bez had a chance meeting at Pebble Beach in 2001, the two hatched a plan to produce 99 DB7 Zagatos. Launched in 2003, the car more closely resembles the DB4 GT Zagato of 1961. While the DB7 Zagato coupe wasn’t available in the United States, the DB AR1 roadster was produced only for the U.S.

Zagato continued to produce very limited series cars in the 2000s, with models like the Bentley Continental GT and the Ferrari 550/575/599. Only nine Bentley Continental GTZ examples were produced, and once again they were the result of a chance meeting at Pebble Beach—this time in 2006—between Andrea Zagato and Bentley boss Franz-Josef Paefgen. They’re breathtaking.

2010s: BMW Zagato Coupe / Porsche 356 Carrera Speedster Sanction

While Zagato and Aston Martin have continued to team up on limited production models, in 2012 BMW approached Zagato to build a concept Z4. A coupe version was first shown at the Villa d’Este Concorso in May 2012, with a roadster unveiled at Monterey in August 2012. Some of those design cues appear on the 2019 production model.

Zagato also worked on a Porsche 356 Carrera Speedster model. Based on a one-off that was destroyed in 1959, nine examples have been built.

The post 100 years of Zagato: The best of each decade appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It looked so sweet in the Craigslist ad. But if I’d known what I was in for when I signed the title and strapped the bike into the truck, I never would have bought that Gilera. I went through 18 months of old Italian motorcycle ownership, survived, and came out wiser—and a little more humble.

Here are four lessons I learned:

Do your research

I purchased a 1967 Gilera 106SS on an impulse. It looked cool and I could afford it, so I went for it. I should have taken a few minutes to poke around online and investigate if parts were readily available, how much knowledge was out there, if it actually held the value that I was purchasing it for. Turns out that undoing some of the hack work done by the previous owner required fabricating parts because finding original parts was a royal pain in the ass. Tuning the small four-stroke single engine was also a hassle; I only had the Italian service manual to look at, and I can’t speak or read Italian. There were a few online sources for help, but mainly just photos of motorcycles, and not much of a community to assist.

Ride it, but not too far (wear comfortable shoes, just in case)

The Gilera is 106cc four-stroke single, meaning it had about as much power as a motocross bike designed for 10 year old. It was good around town, but 45 mph was asking a lot with a grown man on top. I tried to ride it as much as I could, because my commute is relatively short. Since I was riding it often, it quickly earned its nickname—One Way. Between carb issues, constant plug fouling, and the throttle cable breaking, I found myself walking home no fewer than a dozen times. At the end of my ownership I had it running more reliably than ever, but I still never rode farther than I was comfortable walking.

Know the history

The vast majority of times that I took the Gilera out of the garage, someone asked me about it. It was a motorcycle they hadn’t seen before and weren’t familiar with, and they wanted to know more. Slightly customized, it confused some folks who thought it was a factory build. Being able to talk about how Gileras were sold through the Sears catalog and about some of the fun little details, I looked like an expert even though I certainly was not.

Make sure it looks good in the garage

If your experience is anything like mine, this lesson is extremely important. The bike had better look good in the garage because that’s where it will spend most of its time. You know, sitting in a corner leaking from a different gasket each week. I don’t have an excess of garage space, so in the winter I wrestled the bike into my basement, where I couldn’t help but stare at it every time I needed to do laundry—wishing, of course, that it was running like it should.

This is just my anecdotal experience, so take it with a grain of salt. Buy the motorcycle you like, ride it as often as you can, and enjoy the adventure it brings. Mine just happened to be learning to fabricate parts rather than exploring new roads with friends.

Now the Gilera is gone and a different motorcycle has taken its place. A new adventure is on the horizon, but if I ever need to fabricate parts again, I’ll have my crappy Italian bike ownership to thank for learning how to do it.

The post 4 lessons I learned from my 18 months with a ’60s Italian motorcycle appeared first on Hagerty Media.

We said it before and we’ll say it again—the new Lancia Stratos has a massive reputation to live up to. And make sure you throw on those headphones, because now we’ve had a chance to hear its Ferrari-sourced V-8 at full tilt on a dyno.

The video comes from Youtube user NM2255 and shows a blue Stratos strapped down on the rollers for testing. With blowers for fresh air and some type of sniffer in each of the dual tailpipes, it certainly appears that there is some some real testing going on here.

Although short, the nice clip gives us a not only a bottom-to-top pull but also a few shifts through the gearbox. Much of the running gear and chassis hail from the Ferrari F430 Scuderia—not a bad foundation—but the engine has a sound all its own in the Lancia.

While it might be some time before we see one on the road, watching those wheels turning on the dyno is just one step closer to hearing and seeing a Stratos coming around the bend flat out. That’ll be a memorable day, indeed.

The post Treat yours ears to the V-8 wail of the new Lancia Stratos appeared first on Hagerty Media.

How does an Alfa 6C-engine end up inside a sleek mahogany boat? Hot rod culture thrived in post-war America. As G.I.s returned home they took their passion and mechanical know-how to turn 90 horsepower flathead V-8 engines into 150-mph salt flat race cars. (This was also the period where some Americans had the bright idea of installing 1710 cubic-inch Allison V-12 aircraft engines into race boats, Miss Golden Gate III being the first example, turning hydroplanes into single-engine, 2000-hp sea-missiles.) But this need for speed wasn’t exclusive to just the States, or even to solid ground. Europeans and South Americans also wanted to go fast on the water.

One such example is for sale at Bonhams’ Padua auction this upcoming weekend. The boat, named Marea (which translates to “tide”), is a hydroplane with the heart and soul of an Italian war vessel. Businessman Miguel Lattes had Marea commissioned and built after a visit to Italy. And judging by the similarities in hull design to that of the Italian Royal Navy’s self-destructing MT boats of the second World War, one might assume the inspiration for his race boat came together on that trip.

The MT, or barchino, was a quick, 18-foot vessel essentially designed to function as a manned torpedo. Italian operators would drive towards their large, warship targets, arm the explosive charges, and bail out before impact via a James-Bond-esque ejector seat. A marinized version of Alfa Romeo’s 6C 2500 four-banger provided 95 horsepower and pushed the floating bombs to a 38-mph top speed.

Marea’s builder, the Astilleros Regnicoli shipyard near Buenos Aires, took the lessons in speed and agility from the little war boat, and wrapped them up in a beautiful aluminum and mahogany package. Measuring in at 15 feet, the hydroplane utilizes a 1942 version of Alfa’s 6C 2500. No top speed is provided, but with its smaller size, and lack of armaments and explosives, my best guess would place it in the 50- to 60-mph ballpark.

According to the auction house, the boat was campaigned in the Turismo Carretera racing series by Lattes from 1949 to 1952, but other details on its ownership remain scarce. The seller of the boat has owned it for the past 15 years, providing Marea with a complete mechanical and cosmetic restoration. Bonhams estimates that the hydroplane will sell for somewhere between $57,000 and $70,000, which sounds downright cheap for a one-of-one Alfa-powered gem with racing heritage. With its period-correct Alfa Romeo script and all-important cloverleaf adorning the cockpit, this boat sure looks the part—all you’ll need to do is buy it and find a lot of open water.

The post This Alfa-powered race boat has an explosive WWII bloodline appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Bob Boniface is the son and brother of surgeons, so no one in his big Catholic family from Ohio would have been surprised if he’d gone to medical school. Instead, he went into finance, landing a job in Boston after attending Vanderbilt University, but he soon tired of spreadsheets and realized he wanted to make a career out of his family’s shared passion. Not medicine—automobiles. Bob’s dad, Raymond, is a serious car guy, particularly an Italian-car guy, and all of his kids caught the bug. Even though cars became a lifestyle for most of them and their families, Bob, the youngest of eight children, decided to make cars a vocation.

In 1989, he packed up his Alfa Romeo GTV6 and headed to Detroit to study automotive design at the College for Creative Studies. After graduating, Bob joined Chrysler, the hottest design shop in Detroit at the time, where he helped design the second-generation Dodge Intrepid sedan, the first Jeep Liberty, and the Stow ’n Go fold-into-the-floor seating in Chrysler minivans. During this period—12 years in all—Bob restored a 1960 Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider his dad had bought for $300 as a parts car. “I repainted it myself in my driveway,” Bob says. “It’s a ball to drive. The steering is sublime.”

Today, the two Alfas are part of a collection of Italian cars—four Alfas, two Ferraris, one Lancia—stuffed into Bob’s two garages. Bob joined GM Design in 2004, and the ATS coupe sitting in his driveway on this warm spring afternoon is a product of his recent stint as head of the Cadillac exterior design studio. We’re on his big back lawn, where he’s artfully arranged his fleet, each car a reflection of his tastes and his sense of product design and mechanical beauty. You might be wondering how a man who makes his living designing American cars has no collectible American iron. When asked whether this has ever been an issue, Bob shrugs. “No one’s ever said anything about it.”

Nor should they, because Detroit designers have looked to Europe, especially Italy, for inspiration since the days when Harley Earl established the Art and Colour Section at GM. Any automotive designer who doesn’t understand the grand traditions of Italian automotive design is akin to a chef who doesn’t appreciate the fundamentals of French cuisine. Bob, who headed the team that designed the 2006 Camaro concept car, speaks passionately on the subject. “Pininfarina understood the ratio of wheels to body,” he says, pointing at the Giulietta. “They always had a wheel-opening shape that was sympathetic to the wheel.”

But it’s not all Italy for Bob, who acknowledges a hankering for an air-cooled Porsche 911. “The Germans have a more cerebral way of designing than the Italians,” he observes, then pivots to the Chinese, who, he says, are making huge strides in their auto industry. Bob is currently the director of exterior design for Global Buick, which is a big player in China, so it’s his job to keep tabs. “The quality of the interiors at this year’s Beijing auto show,” he says, “was amazing. And now many [Western] designers go straight to China out of design school.”

The conversation returns to Italy, and Ferraris, and Alfas. “My father bought a 250 Lusso for $9000! It was the best one in the country. I still think it is the most beautiful Ferrari ever made. It’s painfully pretty.” Bob’s father also bought a 1962 Ferrari 250GTE that was originally owned by actor Peter Sellers. “I still remember the day it showed up at the house, in 1973,” Bob recalls. He was eight years old, so you can imagine the impression this sleek coupe made on him. “My dad drove it to work and occasionally on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. He had it for two years and sold it for $4800 in 1975.”

A few years ago, Bob decided to find the Sellers 250GTE and began asking around in Ferrari circles, but no one knew its whereabouts. In December 2016, he posted on the Ferrari Chat forum and a few weeks later received a message from the car’s owner, Mike Bodine, who lived in Joplin, Missouri.

“Who tipped you off that I was looking for the car?” Bob asked.

“Nobody,” Bodine replied. “I haven’t shown it since the late 1970s. No one knows I have it. I don’t drive it anymore and decided I wanted to sell the car. I joined Ferrari Chat, and there you were.”

Kismet. The two struck a deal, and now the 250GTE, which was originally white but was painted red long ago, is sitting on Bob’s lawn. He opens the hood to reveal a tidy bay and the 3.0-liter V-12, then describes in detail the Rube Goldberg setup for the brake booster, which increases the pressure on the front wheels by acting as a proportioning valve. Bob hasn’t done much to the car other than add new Pirelli Cinturato 185 tires, but he’s girding himself for the inevitable. “A Ferrari is like a free horse,” he jokes. “You’re just getting started.”

Bob’s other Ferrari is a 1988½ 328GTS, which his 23-year-old son occasionally sneaks out of the garage. The young man clearly has good taste, like his father. A 1982 Alfa Spider, mainly used for errands, is the most modest car in the collection but is attractive with its ivory paint over brown interior. A 1991 Lancia Delta HF Integrale 16V, a recent addition, is a touchstone for any car enthusiast Bob’s age (52). “It was the coolest performance car in the world,” he remembers. “Amazing chassis, 0 to 60 in 5.0 seconds. And talk about a design solution! Here’s an econobox. How are you going to integrate all the performance functionality—the flares, the vents? Design is not all about beauty. A lot is about presence. The Integrale has stance.”

Speaking of stance, Bob spent a lot of time getting his 1975 Alfetta to sit just so on its Ronal wheels, endlessly tweaking the torsion bars. “The front one has 36 splines and the rear, 37. It was difficult to fine-tune, but I’m a stickler for ride height,” he says. “This is probably the nicest Alfetta sedan in America,” Bob jokes. “And of all my cars, this one gets the most attention. It’s very nonthreatening.”

But it’s the car of his youth that is the most valuable to Boniface: the 1984 GTV6, modified with a 3.0-liter engine from an Alfa Milano Verde in place of the stock 2.5-liter. “If I had to sell every car but one, I’d keep the GTV6,” he says. “I bought it in October 1988 in Boston for $5400, and it was my daily driver for three years.” A parking permit for the 1990–91 school year at CCS is still visible in the hatch glass, evidence of a young man’s crucial decision to toss aside one life plan for another. Worked out pretty well for him, we’d say.

The article first appeared in Hagerty Drivers Club magazine. Click here to subscribe to our magazine and join the club. 

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Few people are able to use the words “Ferrari” and “affordable” in the same sentence, but Maranello has indeed produced a number of sports cars that are easier on the wallet than you might expect.

A panel of experts discussed some of those “affordable” gems in a recent Hagerty seminar, at the 54th annual Ferrari Club of America International Meet in Corning, New York. Panelists included Dave Kinney, car collector and the publisher of the Hagerty Price Guide; Tom Yang, a noted Ferrari restorer and mechanical expert; renowned detailer Tim McNair, owner of Grand Prix Concours Preparation; and Stephan Markowski, of RPM Motors in Vermont.

The panelists brought their own Ferrari ownership experiences into the mix. Kinney has a 612 Scaglietti, Yang is still driving the 1963 330 GT America he’s owned for 20 years, Markowski brought along his slightly hot-rodded 1975 308 GT/4, and McNair has been over and under every type of Ferrari you could imagine. Obviously “affordable” means different things to different people, particularly in the world of Ferrari. So keep in mind that we’re talking in relative terms–a few of these cars are already expensive. That said, let’s dive in.

Ferraris on the rise

Ferrari 330 GT 2+2

Ten years ago, you could buy a 330 GT 2+2 grand touring car for $65,000. Today a #2 (Good) condition Series II is normally in the $280,000 range, a pretty huge jump. But it could go higher. Everyone noted that most any 12-cylinder Ferrari is special, and long gone are the days when people would buy these cars only to put the V-12 into a more valuable model. Could this still represent a buying opportunity? The panelists thought so.

Ferrari 400 and 412

The grand touring V-12 parade continued with Ferrari 400 and 412. The panelists agreed that these cars are going to continue to rise in value. Time has been kind to this design, and people tend to see the wedgy shape and say, “Hey, why didn’t I like about these before?” Both can be found between low $30K and low $40K, with a premium for the more-desirable five-speed manual transmission. There was a time when maintenance was likely deferred on these cars, so get those service records. These are very capable and powerful cars and values will continue to rise as collectors get over this car’s old stigma and accept it as a legitimate stablemate to the other prancing horses.

Ferrari 308 GTB and GTS

Another Ferrari rising in value are the carbureted 308 GTB and GTS models. There’s something about that little 2.9-liter V-8 with its quartet of carburetors that people find more appealing (and valuable) these days. In the last 10 years, the 308s have risen from around $31K to more than $114K for a #2-condition car.  I’ll admit, after driving a carbureted 308 back-to-back against my injected version, there is a difference. The carbureted 308s offer an experience that’s a little more raw than the injected versions. They sound better, too.

Ferrari 275 and 330 GTS

The 275 and 330 GTS, have erupted in value during the past decade or so. In the early 2000s you could buy one in the $125,000 range, and now they’re in a different realm. The 1966 275 GTS, for example, has seen recent sales from $1.6M–$2M. That’s a wee bit of appreciation. As someone who’s been involved in selling these models for a while, Markowski was particularly adamant that this car be on the list.

Ferrari Dino 308 GT4

In a bit of a surprise to the seminar audience, last in the “remember when” section of the seminar: the early Dino 308 GT4. The design of this model was an outlier for Ferrari, which used the Bertone styling house instead of Pininfarina. These cars were wider than the later 308s and had a small 2+2 capability, longer wheelbase, and more luggage capacity. Why did they remain unloved for so long? In today’s light, they are outstanding cars and a better choice for many American-sized drivers. The Dino 308 GT4 has the same 2.9 liter V-8 as the later carbureted cars, same five-speed transmission, and the same sounds. Buy one before it’s too late, as these are starting to sell in the $50,000–$75,000 range at auctions around the world.

Relatively affordable Ferraris… for now

1989–93 Ferrari Mondial T

First up, the 1989–93 Ferrari Mondial T. Who remembers when Mondials were known as the bottom of the barrel? While still the most affordable Ferrari available today, the prices have risen and the panelists believe they will continue to do so. They used to be sub-$40,000 cars in #2 condition 10 years ago, but now they’re trading regularly for more than $50K. Why the change? Well, like the earlier 308 GT4, the Mondial has all the mechanical goodness of the sportier 328, but in a more accommodating package. The coupe, in particular, has aged well. But the convertible also has its charm.

2004–10 Ferrari 612 Scaglietti

Next on the list is the grand touring-focused 612 Scaglietti. Really nice examples can be found on either side of $100,000, and they will likely rise. Front-mounted V-12, 2+2 seating, in a thoroughly modern car? Sure, why not? Built from 2004–10, all are true 200-mph cars, and you can get them with either a manual or an automatic.

Ferrari 330 GT Series I 2+2

The replacement for the 250 GTE is still affordable in the realm of V-12 Ferraris. There are two distinct headlight treatments on these cars, and the earlier version with four headlights is less expensive, with the same furious 12-cylinder sound. It’s interesting how much styling cues from one generation can affect values, but a recent sale of an earlier ’62 for $225K is about half price on what a later one goes for.

Ferrari 365 GT 2+2

Seeing a theme here? Grand touring V-12 Ferraris are making a big comeback. The “Queen Mother” of all Ferraris is now at $260,000 and rising; it was $80K a decade ago. Yes, this falls into the “relative” category of affordability, and only treated as such because the panel thought this will get even more expensive in the years to come.

Ferrari 550 Maranello

Last up is the 550 Maranello, an outstandingly drivable 200-mph grand touring car. Prices have cooled a little over the past few years, and one can be found in the neighborhood of $100K. Yes, that’s a lot of money, but they were a lot more than that recently.

A final note

Several cars were discussed for both lists, including the Mondial T, the early carbureted 308 GTB and GTS models, and the 308GT4. These cars seem to have moved swiftly through “affordable then” to “affordable now” with only a brief pause at “you missed it.” The general feeling here is that these are great cars and are only now getting a lot of attention. People are also beginning to maintain them properly again, which means there are more on the road to look at and appreciate.

Happy hunting!

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Lamborghini’s institutional memory resides in an enthusiastic 59-year-old engineer named Maurizio Reggiani. He is the company oracle, and a bit of a celebrity at the factory whenever he walks the halls.

Reggiani learned to make supercars from the masters. “I come from the area of Modena, and studied close to there,” he says. “It’s where, within 20 kilometers, we have all the super sports car companies in the world.” (Sorry McLaren.)

Paolo Stanzani, a father of the Lamborghini Miura, was a mentor. It was Stanzani who hired Reggiani away from his first job designing turbocharged engines for Maserati to work at Bugatti on the fledgling EB110 project.

“I think I was (Bugatti) employee number two… I asked Stanzani where I should start, and he told me, ‘Start where you want, we don’t have nothing.’”

Today, Reggiani is Lamborghini’s chief technical officer. He joined the company in 1998.

Reggiani can tell you, for example, that Muammar Gaddafi and Saddam Hussein approached the company and wondered “if it was possible to have a super-fast SUV that can move at more than 100 km/h on the sand and go mainly straight. They wanted to have a car that was really fast to control the borders. It’s clear, if you see the borders of Libya, it’s really straight for kilometres and kilometres on the desert, and only a vehicle that can be faster than anything else could do that job.”

Luckily, Reggiani added, that project didn’t go forward. It did, however, result in the LM002, nicknamed the Rambo Lambo.

“Everything was done, let me say, in a crazy way,” Reggiani says, speaking of the old days. “At this time, there was no simulation tools like today… It was a puristic approach: welding tubes, welding suspension arms, to build something that was really a kind of war-machine.”

Today, LM002 values are already on the rise. In 2013, #3 (Good) condition examples were going for $87,000. As of May 2018, they’re trading at $238,000.

“I know that due to the launch of the Urus, the value of LM002 exploded,” Reggiani says. “What we take in inspiration from the LM002 is that a brand like Lamborghini can do everything and can have excellence in everything.”

For those of us who missed the boat on the LM002, what does Reggiani think will be the next highly collectable car from Lambo’s back catalog? “The Diablo GT will be the car. Like the LM002, it’s also a limited production.”

Only 80 Diablo GTs were produced following its launch at the 1999 Geneva Motor Show. It was a road-legal version of the Diablo race car, featuring rear-wheel drive instead of all-wheel drive, new suspension geometry, lots of carbon-fibre, and an enlarged 6.0-litre V-12 engine breathing through 12 individual throttles fed by a roof scoop. Lamborghini claimed it was the fastest car in the world.

Owners who paid around $500 million Italian lira (just under $300,000) for a 1999 GT also got a matching carbon-fibre briefcase.

“Diablos generally have been on the rise over the past couple of years, with the best and lowest mile examples getting the most attention,” says Andrew Newton, Hagerty’s auction editor. He says several factors work in its favor: it’s a limited-production, V-12 supercar with a manual gearbox. “The Countach that preceded it has already had its time in the sun with a big run up in value over 2014–16, but prices have actually dipped since 2017.” In other words, it’s the Diablo’s turn.

In fact, it seems like word is already out among collectors. In 2015, there was one Diablo GT for sale with an asking price of $489,888. In 2016, the price of a GT had risen to around €720,000 (about $836,000). And earlier this year, at the Sotheby’s Monaco Auction, a mint 276-km GT sold for €815,000 (nearly $950,000).

The car is close Reggiani’s heart. He helped to convince Audi brass—who had just bought the company—that Lamborghini should make the special limited-edition Diablo. It wasn’t easy, he remembers. But, he says its success paved the way for the hyper-expensive limited editions that followed: Reventon, Veneno, Centenario.

“It’s the first (Lamborghini) where the price was completely beyond every kind of number,” he says. “When we launched the car, it was sold out immediately.”

The Diablo GT also has the distinction of carrying Reggiani’s favorite engine of all time. “With 12 single throttles, one for every cylinder, it had a response that was fantastic! It’s not the most powerful, it’s not the most clean, but it’s the most emotional… This engine was cool.”

If it’s good enough for Reggiani, it’s good enough for us.

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Even Hagerty’s own Barn Find Hunter would be awed by the recent discovery of containers full of Italian car parts in the U.K.

Coys of Kensington is pulling and cataloging rare Ferrari, Maserati, and Abarth parts from the storage containers, once owned by a private collector, and will auction the treasure trove on June 29. The parts are reported to be in excellent condition, with some still in their original wooden crates and maintaining new old stock packaging.

According to Coys, the parts range from race speedometers to a new-in-box windscreen for a Ferrari P3. Photos shared by the auction company offer a small peek of the large collection: containers stacked full of wire wheels, a pallet holding crankshafts and cylinder heads, and a box of ring and pinion gears.

Coys of Kensington Managing Director Chris Routledge estimates the containers hold £1 million ($1.33 million) worth of spare parts, although the auction house has not released a comprehensive list of what is included. The stash includes parts for many significant cars, including Ferrari 250 GTO, 250 SWB, 275, Daytona Competizione, F40, and 512LM, and Maserati 250F.

Routledge told British newspaper The Telegraph that the discovery is comparable to finding treasure in “Alladin’s cave” or “uncovering Tutankhamun’s tomb,” and the auction offers collectors a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

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The March 1966 debut of the Lamborghini Miura set the tiny Italian speed salon on the path it follows today: purveyor of outlandish mid-engine attention hogs, built for the most dedicated extroverts. The Miura begat the Countach, which begat the Diablo, which begat the subsequent Murcielago and Aventador, as Lamborghini steadily departed from its founder’s original plan of producing faster and better GT cars than his rival in Maranello. Instead, Lamborghini has been focused for the past 50 years on trying to one-up itself with increasingly more freakish two-seat screamers.

And while the Miura was a tough act to follow, Bertone chief designer Marcello Gandini succeeded with the 1974 LP400 Countach. The 150 examples of this original “periscopo” Countach, so nicknamed for a periscope-style roof-mirror concept which was intended but never realized in production, now routinely trade for more than $1 million. Later Countaches have also picked up in recent years, with the LP5000 S of 1982–85 and the four-valve, 455-hp LP 5000 QV (for Quattrovalvole) of 1985–88 reliably trading for somewhere between $250,000 and a half-million. Examples of the final Countach, the strake-smeared 1988–90 25th Anniversary Edition, of which 650 were made, can be found for less than $200,000, though mileage and overall condition are big factors.

Long lurking in the Countach’s wedgy shadow has been its successor, the 1991–2001 Diablo. Again, Lamborghini tried to outdo itself with an incredibly wide and aggressively macho design. But the constraints of new safety and emissions regulations and the smoothing hand of actual wind tunnel work—a new concept in aerodynamic efficiency for Lamborghini—are evident in the rounded bumpers and softer features. Lamborghini’s then-owner, Chrysler Corporation, which purchased the company in 1987, wanted the Diablo to emerge as fuel-efficient as possible for a car with a 492-hp V-12 and fully legal for sale in every major market, something the Countach never was.

However, while Countach prices have slipped significantly, losing about 24 percent in the past year, Hagerty data shows Diablo average values gaining almost 18 percent in the same period. A few Diablo sales at Scottsdale prove that Lamborghini’s 202-mph size-EEE super-wedge has likely bottomed out and is finally on the upswing. Prices that had over the past decade slipped under $100,000 are now comfortably over that mark, with the cleaner examples going for closer to $200,000. A red, 2236-mile ’91 traded in Scottsdale for $190,400, while a white 1991 model with the early unloved dash—but with less than 600 miles showing, one owner for the past 25 years, and the rare optional Breguet chronometer, a $10,500 bauble fitted to just 21 Diablos—gaveled at $217,250 at Gooding & Company. We’re betting this same car will fetch a much higher price in a short time, as unmodified, low-mileage Diablos (in non-crazy colors) can be hard to find.

Lamborghini’s first computerized car has a well-earned reputation as a money pit, especially as the internally developed LIE engine management computers are all but unobtainable and problems with them have forced many an owner to swallow expensive solutions such as converting the cars to run on aftermarket MoTec controllers.

Then there’s the rubber in the bushings and engine mounts, which never last more than a few years. And the fact that you have to pull the engine to replace the starter. And the heavy and clunky all-wheel-drive hardware on VT models that many owners rip out.

Still, Diablo sellers seem to be bullish and willing to wait for buyers to pay their price. Of five Diablos offered in Scottsdale, two were no-sales, including a black ’92 with 26,839 miles that stalled at $125,000, and a 2001 VT 6.0 that peaked at $260,000. Earlier auctions in 2017 show a number of no-sales as Diablo owners wait for more buyers to wake up to the awesomeness of Lamborghini’s scissor-door V-12 devil.

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Precious few examples of the rambunctious Alfa Romeo SZ trickle to U.S. shores, so whenever there’s a public sale, it draws a lot of eyeballs. The most recent of these boxy beasts to cross the auction block was last week on Bring a Trailer, where the top bidder scored a 40,193-mile 1991 example for $65,000.

When the Italian press dubbed the hunkered-down, slab-sided Alfa Romeo SZ “Il Mostro” (The Monster), it was not necessarily considered a compliment. But the late 1980s and early ’90s were a time when Alfa Romeo wanted to prove itself, and getting attention was part of the plan. The high-performance SZ was its chance to show that despite being acquired by Fiat, Alfa could do something aggressive and worthy of the historical racing heritage of the brand.

The Experimental Sports Three-Litre (ES-30), as it was known internally, was a collaborative project between Alfa, Fiat, and Zagato. Although Zagato was known for its design prowess, the famed carozzeria ended up primarily lending its expertise in injection-molded composite body work. Final design and styling honors went to Fiat Centro Stile’s Robert Opron and Antonio Castellana, and the first concept bowed at Geneva in 1988.

“It got called Il Mostro, but Alfa chose it because it was bold and different,” Opron told Octane in the UK magazine’s November 2017 issue. “Our model was chosen above rival proposals from Giugiaro and others, and I believe it changed the way of doing things at Fiat. We had a 1:1 physical model made in wood in about 15 days. I’m proud of that.”

Intended to be a fresh take on the Sprint Zagato of the early 1960s, the two-seat SZ took its basic underpinnings from the front-engine, rear-wheel-drive Alfa Romeo 75 sedan. The 75 (or Milano, in the U.S) provided the rear transaxle and de Dion rear end, along with its five-speed manual transmission and 3.0-liter V-6 engine. Alfa turned things up to 11, however, cranking the humble 170-horsepower, two-valve-per-cylinder SOHC engine up to 210 hp with a host of upgrades. According to the Lane Motor Museum, it received uprated cams, cooling, valves, and larger intake and exhaust manifolds. And as the Lane and RM Sotheby’s note, racer and factory driver Giorgio Pianta tuned the suspension with Group A racing specifications in mind. In the end, the SZ also benefitted from upgraded braking, Pirelli P Zero rubber, and a hydraulic adjustable height system.

Zagato built 1,036 examples before production ceased in 1991; the recent BaT car is #946. It was recently imported from Japan and shows service records that include a new exhaust, as well as replacement taillights. Overall the condition looks to be very good, especially the interior.

Whether or not you believe an Il Mostro is worth $65,000, Hagerty auction editor Andrew Newton thinks it was a solid buy. Recent auction results have been mixed, but most hover around $75,000–$80,000, despite an outlier that went for $108,245 in 2015 in London. “You can’t really be picky if you want one of these in the United States,” Newton says. “But it doesn’t seem like outrageous money if you consider the SZs that have recently sold in Europe. Even with 40,000 miles, it’s safe to say this was an appropriate result.”

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Lamborghini’s history is full of ups and downs, ownership changes, and off-the-wall projects. But when you think about Sant’Agata Bolognese’s most out-of-left-field idea, the LM002—that hulking beast-box of an off-roader—is the clear champion. As Lamborghini prepares to introduce the Urus SUV, let’s dig in and remember the bonkers bull that first blazed the trail.

The genesis of the LM002 begins in the late 1970s, when Lamborghini was chasing a contract from the United States military to build a next-generation off-roader. The resulting prototype, developed under U.S.-based Mobility Technology International and built in California in 1977, was a brutish-looking monster with a rear-mounted Chrysler V-8. It used a fiberglass body and a three-speed automatic transmission. Despite being named the Cheetah, the all-terrain prototype was, nonetheless, too heavy, slow, and clumsy to win the contract that eventually would go to AM General and its now-iconic Humvee.

Undeterred, Lamborghini funneled its resources instead into a production model. Four years later, a concept was ready, spearheaded under the supervision of engineer Giulio Alfieri. This time turning to an AMC-sourced V-8, Lamborghini unveiled the LM001 concept at the 1981 Geneva auto show. The buzz was huge, but there was still a problem—the rear-engine layout continued to constrain handling behavior.

In preparation for the ’82 Geneva show, Lamborghini got to work on the LMA002 concept. Starting with clean-sheet chassis design, engineers moved the engine up front, and for good measure, chucked the V-8 in favor of the Countach’s 450-hp V-12.

It was time to start cooking with gas. By the time the production model launched in 1986, Lamborghini had worked out the kinks. For the body, the production LM002 used aluminum and fiberglass panels. And the driveline was off-road-ready with a five-speed manual transmission, four-wheel-drive transfer case, and three self-locking differentials. Pirelli supplied specially developed Scorpion tires. The Italian monstrosity, bodied in a facility outside of Bilbao, Spain before final assembly at Lambo’s Sant’Agata Bolognese home, could accelerate to 62 mph in 7.8 seconds on its way to a staggering top speed of 130 mph. At the same time, gradients greater than 120 percent were no obstacle.

Test drivers at the time loved it. “There were no rivals on the street for this kind of vehicle…it was extreme,” recalls development driver Cosimo Nasole, in a statement. “You could go in and out of ditches and into country fields and go on having fun. It transmitted emotions, pure emotions. [It was] a real Lamborghini, full stop.”

Between 1986 and the end of production in 1992, 300 LM002s rolled off the line, according to Lamborghini. While tough to find in the wild, there is always one LM002 at the Lamborghini Museum in Sant’Agata, chassis #12231. To this day it remains one of the most outrageous avenues Lamborghini has ever pursued, and that’s saying something from the company that brought us the Countach and the Diablo.

Rage on, LM002. May the Urus be even a tenth as absurd.

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Here’s one to stump a car buddy: name a late-1960s coupe wearing a sharply creased fastback body on a chassis with leaf spring rear suspension, a racing-derived high-torque 5.0-liter V-8 under the long hood, and an “SS” badge on the rear.

Is it some Australian concoction? Perhaps some mutation of the Monaro GTS from GM’s Holden operation?  Well, it’s not American, that’s for sure. But it isn’t from Down Under, either, unless you’re talking about down under France and Switzerland.

It’s the 1967–73 Maserati Ghibli, a semi-exotic that seems to have as much in common with a Mustang of the period as a Ferrari. Surprisingly, the Ghibli has something else in common with classic Mustangs: price. Well, it does if we’re talking about the Boss 429, which has a similar value profile to the Ghibli Coupe (although you’ll pay considerably more for a Ghibli SS). And then there’s this: Henry Ford II owned a Ghibli.

Not just hot air

Named for a North African wind (coincidentally the same wind that gave the Volkswagen Scirocco its Mediterranean moniker), the Maserati Ghibli blew through the ranks of Italian GTs as a 150-mph instant classic and—to most eyes—one of the most beautiful cars ever made. There is no questioning the original Ghibli’s place in the pantheon of motorized Italian masterpieces. Today, the badge adorns Maserati’s midsize sport sedan, a marketing choice that has in no way dimmed the original’s glow.

While values of the original Maserati Ghibli have risen considerably over the past few years, prices still significantly trail two Italian supercars often mentioned in the same sentence: the Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona and Lamborghini Miura.

Unlike Ferraris and Lamborghinis of the period, which had independent rear suspension, the Ghibli used a simple leaf-sprung solid rear axle. It was a holdover from earlier Maserati models, and it worked. Ultimate handling was not the Ghibli’s forte, but rather long-distance high-speed comfort with outstanding everyday handling. In that regard, the Ghibli was a standout.

An artist’s masterwork

Here’s another Mustang connection: The 1967 Maserati Ghibli sprang from the prolific pen of Giorgetto Giugiaro, who was with Carrozzeria Ghia at the time. While working for Bertone, he had already created such masterpieces as a one-off Mustang commissioned by the publisher of Automobile Quarterly, plus the Iso Grifo–the Italian GT powered by Corvette engines, and later, the Mustang’s 351 Cleveland.

The Ghibli is said to be Giugiaro’s favorite design from that period. It’s easy to see why. At first glance, the Ghibli displays the angular theme that would come to define Maseratis of the 1970s. Upon close inspection, however, the body reveals its many sublimely subtle curves. Giugiaro seems to have perfected the fastback form on the Ghibli, with its roof being one exquisitely clean arc from windshield header to trunklid tip.

Torque, American style

The 1967 Maserati Ghibli retailed for $19,000 when new (that’s almost $140,000 today). Henry Ford II was reported to have bought the first one imported to America, and that car has been accounted for. While Hank the Deuce had an eye for Italian beauty, he would have no doubt recognized a couple of similarities to sporty American cars of the era, including, of course, the Mustang. For one, the Ghibli was powered by a V-8 rather than the V-12s found in rival Ferrari and Lamborghini models.

Descended from the Maserati racing engine of the 1950s, the 4.7-liter Ghibli V-8 used aluminum construction, double overhead cams, dry-sump lubrication, and four twin-barrel Weber carbs. While its engine was far more exotic than the typical American pushrod V-8, the Ghibli burbled like a muscle car at low speeds, but the sound turned into a mesmerizing howl as revs climbed.

Interestingly, the Maserati Ghibli’s V-8 was not a high-revving engine. With a relatively long stroke of 85mm, it redlined at just 5,500 rpm. The Ferrari V-12 could spin to 7,000 rpm, and even some American V-8s could rev past 6,000 rpm. The payoff is that the Ghibli out-torques a Ferrari V-12 of the period: 340 lb.-ft. versus about 280 lb.-ft. for the Ferrari 330 GTC. That’s more torque, by the way, than the Camaro Z/28 or Mustang Boss 302. As an added bonus, the Maserati V-8 has a distinctly muscular V-8 sound. It used a 90-degree crankshaft, like American V-8s.

That kind of twist was a very American characteristic, and so was the optional three-speed automatic transmission, although most Ghiblis had the standard five-speed manual. In 1969, the Ghibli SS appeared with a 4.9-liter, 330-horsepower version of the engine and a top speed of around 165 mph. Built from steel, the Ghibli coupe weighed about 3,600 pounds.

In all, 1,170 Ghiblis were produced from 1967–73, including 125 Spider convertibles. Each is pure Italian thoroughbred … with North African name and American personality.

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Pininfarina. Ghia. Bertone. Touring. Zagato. They were the couture of the automotive world. When carmakers wanted something special in their lines, they turned to these Italian designers and coachbuilders.

The decades-long relationship between Pininfarina and Ferrari yielded some of the world’s most beautiful GTs and sports cars. Ghia created concept car masterpieces for Chrysler. From Bertone came the Iso Grifo, Alfa Romeo Montreal, Lamborghini Miura, and Countach.

Fortunately for collectors of less-affluent means, those same design firms and coachbuilders created a slew of far more-affordable models. You could pay hundreds of thousands—even millions—of dollars to get a genuine Pininfarina, Bertone, or Ghia design. You could also pay only a few thousand. Here’s a look at some tasty genuine Italian dishes from the affordable side of the menu. (There are certainly others, including the Cadillac Allante, so feel free to name more.)

Alfa Romeo Spider, 1966-1993
One of Pininfarina’s longest-lasting designs, the Alfa Romeo Spider debuted in 1966 and was built into 1993 with relatively minor nipping and tucking over the decades. Successor to another Pininfarina design, the Giulietta and Giulia, the Spider sported a boat-tail trunk and, like numerous Pininfarina Ferrari designs, it had covered headlights. Pininfarina also built the bodies and assembled the car. The Spider gained widespread fame as Benjamin Braddock’s graduation gift in the 1967 hit film The Graduate, starring Dustin Hoffmann. (That pairing was so successful, in fact, that Alfa Romeo issued a Graduate edition in the 1980s.) A chopped-off “Kamm tail” rear and exposed lights arrived for 1970. Engines ranged from 1.6- to 2.0-liter DOHC fours. Some 110,000 were built over 27 years, an incredible production run. The last couple hundred were sold in the U.S. as 1994 models.

Fiat 124 Spider, 1966-1985
The Alfa Romeo Spider had a competitor in the Fiat 124 Spider, another Pininfarina design, for much of its run. The design actually came from American Tom Tjaarda, who also designed the de Tomaso Pantera while with Ghia. (Tjaarda passed away last month). Down in power and performance compared to the Alfa, the little Fiat had plenty of charm on its own. Some 200,000 were built through 1985, with about three quarters of those exported to the United States. By then, Fiat had left this market and the Spider, built by Pininfarina, was sold here by automotive entrepreneur Malcolm Bricklin as the Pininfarina Azzurra Spider. The 124 Spider was revived for 2016 as a joint venture with Mazda and is essentially a rebodied Miata with a turbocharged Fiat engine.

Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, 1955-1974
Built on a wider VW Type 1 (Beetle) chassis, the Karmann Ghia took its name from the German coachbuilder that assembled it and the Italian design company that designed its pretty lines. The car was introduced as a coupe in 1955, with a convertible added in 1957. Both were built until 1974. The low-powered Karmann Ghia was more “sporty” than sports car, but its perky style, reliable powertrain, and easygoing road manners made it popular around the world. Volkswagen made about 445,000 of them. Fans of the 1960s TV show Get Smart will remember the Karmann Ghia’s appearance in the opening credits of seasons three and four, when Volkswagen sponsored the show.

Fiat X1/9, 1972-1989 (U.S. 1974-1989)
The wedge-shaped, Targa-top Fiat X1/9 had all the looks of an exotic at a fraction of the size and price—but, of course, also with a fraction of the performance from its 63-horsepower, 1.3-liter four-cylinder engine. The X1/9 was, like the Porsche 914, a mid-engine design using passenger-car components, in this case from Fiat’s 128 front-driver. It later had a 75-hp, 1.5-liter engine with fuel injection, and the X1/9’s 2,000-pound weight made it agile even on tiny 13-inch tires. Bertone built the body and shipped it to Fiat for completion. Fiat left the U.S. market in 1982, and Bertone assumed X1/9 production in 1983. It returned to the U.S. with a Bertone badge, sold by Bricklin’s International Automobile Importers until 1987. A Bertone dealer in California took over through 1989. Altogether, about 160,000 were built. Care to guess how many rusted away?

Volkswagen Scirocco, first generation, 1974-1981
Giugiaro ItalDesign, founded by famed designer Giorgetto Giugiaro (Iso Grifo, Maserati Ghibli, and too many others to list), helped Volkswagen modernize its line and image with the 1970s front-drive, water-cooled models. Giugiaro’s Golf became the template for hatchbacks to follow, and from the chassis he also created the Scirocco sport coupe. The name came from a Mediterranean wind. (If wind names worked for Maserati, why not VW?) The edgy, wedgy shape was quite distinctive, and the lightweight Scirocco gave fun performance with a 75-hp four. The Scirocco reached the U.S. for the 1975 model year, and only detail changes were made to the design over its production run. This was one of Giugiaro’s most elegant designs. Unfortunately, Sciroccos were notorious rusters. The second-gen car was designed by VW and lost much of Giugiaro’s sharp lines.

Isuzu Impulse, first generation, 1980-1990
Isuzu already had an Italian-designed coupe in its line, the 117, back in 1968, but it was not imported to the U.S. Penned by Giugiaro for Bertone, the 117 has its own cult following today, and some have made their way here. When Isuzu asked for a successor, Giugiaro designed a concept car called the Ace of Clubs. Public reaction at the 1979 Tokyo Auto Show spurred Isuzu to produce the car, with relatively minor changes, as the Piazza in 1980. When it arrived in the U.S. in 1982, badged Impulse, Car & Driver called it a “rolling piece of art.” Impulse underpinnings came from the lowly General Motors T-car platform (Chevette), although Lotus suspension tuning helped later. The Impulse came fully equipped as a luxury model, and a turbo version livened up performance considerably. Good luck finding a good one today.

Volvo 780 (aka Bertone Coupe), 1987-1991
When you say “Volvo Bertone coupe,” you’re actually talking about two very different cars. The first model, the kludgy 1978-1981 262C, was basically a three-inch roof chop on a V-6 coupe, with a wide C-pillar inspired by the Continental Mark IV. The follow-up in 1987, the 780, was far more elegant. Multi-link independent rear suspension came for 1988, and Volvo’s excellent turbocharged 2.3-liter four-cylinder engine gave better performance than the V-6. The 780 came fully equipped and featured a dashboard with 11 separate layers of hand-rubbed lacquered beech wood, as one advertisement detailed. It was expensive—upwards of $40,000—at the end of its run in 1991. With 5,700 imported to the U.S., the 780 is not rare, and that’s what helps make it so affordable today.

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Indecisive design hobbled the Corvette at its introduction in 1953. Chevrolet timidly attempted to interpret European trends while giving the car a distinctive American identity. Fortunately, designers eventually found their groove and established a signature style whose cues carry through to today’s Stingray.

That hasn’t stopped Italian design firms from offering their own interpretations of the Corvette over the years. Results, as the saying goes, were varied.

Scaglietti Corvette (1959)
Texas Chevrolet dealer and racer Gary Laughlin hatched the idea of building a sleek, lightweight coupe around a powerful but affordable foundation: the 1959 Corvette. Laughlin brought two fellow Texans, Carroll Shelby and Jim Hall, into the project. (Shelby won the 1959 24 Hours of Le Mans for Aston Martin.)

Three 1959 Corvette chassis were shipped to Carrozzeria Scaglietti, the coachbuilder for many Ferraris. One had the fuel-injected 283-cid V-8, and the others used dual-quad versions of that engine backed by automatic transmissions.

Scaglietti’s craftsmen hand-crafted aluminum bodies, and the finished cars were lighter than the ’Vette by some 400 pounds. The cars looked nearly identical to the Ferrari 250 GT Tour de France model Scaglietti was also building, reportedly drawing the ire of Enzo Ferrari.

General Motors wasn’t overjoyed with the idea of an Italian-bodied Corvette, either. Just three were made; only the first received a Corvette chrome-tooth grille. Shelby went on to create the Cobra with Ford, and Hall built and drove Chaparral race cars.

Mike McCafferty of San Diego once owned the Scaglietti Corvette originally built for Shelby. “I bought it to vintage race, but it was a beast to drive, so it became a trailer queen.” McCafferty exhibited the car at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in 1998, where Sergio Scaglietti, Shelby, and Hall signed their names under its hood.

McCafferty sold the Scaglietti Corvette in 2000 at a Barrett-Jackson auction; the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles bought it, and it is currently in the museum’s Vault collection.

Pininfarina Rondine (1963)
Pininfarina, renowned for its design work for Ferrari, clothed a 1963 Sting Ray chassis in an elegant steel body bearing no resemblance to Chevy’s own styling. The designer was an American working for Pininfarina, Tom Tjaarda.

“The Corvette Rondine was a project that Pininfarina did for the 1963 Paris Auto Show on speculation only,” Tjaarda wrote in an email from his home in Italy. “GM did not embrace this design because they judged it too deviant from the Corvette brand.”

Tjaarda would go on to adapt the Rondine’s basic design theme for the 1966 Fiat 124 Spider. Later, working for Ghia, he also designed the Ford-powered De Tomaso Pantera.

In 2008, after four decades in Pininfarina’s museum, the Rondine was sold at a Barrett-Jackson auction in Scottsdale, Ariz., where a Connecticut collector bought it for $1.76 million.

Bertone Rammaro (1984)
Chevrolet did commission another famed Italian styling studio, Bertone, to create a design study around the 1984 Corvette. The result was a lime green doorstop of a car, called the Rammaro, named for a small green lizard. The Ramarro’s doors slid forward on tracks, like minivan doors but in reverse. The seats were swathed in green leather, meant to look like a lizard’s skin. This is one you might wish you could unsee.

Italdesign Moray (2003)
Italdesign-Giugiaro has created dozens of production cars, mostly European, from exotics like the Maserati Bora to workaday Volkswagens. At the 2003 Geneva Motor Show, the firm presented its homage to the Corvette’s 50th anniversary, a slinky concept called the Moray, named for the eel. The Giugiaro Moray was designed to resemble a “moray ripping through seawaters,” according to an ItalDesign news release. The domelike roof featured two “wings” that could be removed to transform the Moray into a semi-roadster.

The post How Italians design Corvettes appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I am a new Ferrari owner. And only four days after joining the club, I am dismayed and embarrassed to admit that I may not be suited for club membership.

The Ferrari 360 Modena pictured is the realization of a dream that began when I was three or four years old. My cousin showed me an issue of Road & Track with a Ferrari 308 on the cover. Silver, red interior. Looked like a bullet. That was all it took. Eventually I came to know what the car was—a mid-engined V-8 Ferrari—and have since lusted for one. This one is painted Giallo Modena (Modena Yellow).

Four days ago, on a frigid February morning, the 360 arrived at my home in Michigan, having been trucked all the way from Arizona. As soon as I saw the large orange transporter outside my window, I sprung into action. Jacket, hat, gloves and out the door. I spent about 30 minutes in purgatory while the driver unloaded two other cars in order to get to mine.

The driver returned to the cab and emerged with his blonde wife. “Are those your Ferrari-driving boots?” her husband chided her. She giggled and turned to me.

“I’ve got my own CDL. We drove together for years, but these days I stay on the farm in Michigan most of the time. But it was February and your car was in Arizona, so I was game.”

She climbed a ladder to the upper level of the transporter and swung open the Ferrari’s door. Her knee-high boots with four-inch heels matched the car’s black leather interior. I hoped they wouldn’t damage the carpet as she backed the car onto the truck’s ramp, ten feet off the ground.

Once the 360 was safely unloaded, the driver asked me to sign the bill of lading and handed me the Ferrari key. Then it was the moment of truth: I would finally get to drive my very own Ferrari. Not very far though.

Michigan roads get caked with Bonneville levels of salt each winter, so there would be no Cannonball Run today. I plopped into the seat and looked around. Gray carbon fiber, soft black leather, shiny gated six-speed with the famous ball-topped gear lever.  Then I saw the tachometer, dead center in front of me, resting at a steady 800 RPM. The water temperature, oil temp, and pressure gauges were arranged to the tach’s left and the speedo sat to its right.

I depressed the clutch and slipped the transmission into first gear, hearing my first “tink” when the lever hit its metal home. I fed a bit of gas, let the clutch out, and headed toward the garage. I turned off the engine, found the battery disconnect switch in the front trunk, and turned it clockwise into the “off” position. The tough part would be waiting three months for the snow and salt to fade away

But later in the day I decided that I’d shoot some photos the following morning, Saturday, because the bright blue sky and snowy landscape were beautiful. I thought the car would look especially great in the winter dawn. I charged my camera in preparation.

The sky was still dark the next morning when I excitedly hurried to the garage. The garage door opened, shattering the pre-dawn peace. The bright yellow Ferrari crouched, awaiting its photo op. I opened the door, slid in and removed my shoes. I still hadn’t discarded the protective plastic seat cover or floor mats that the shippers used.

A small carbon fiber panel protects the trunk and fuel door releases in the center console, just aft of an ashtray embellished with crossed Ferrari and Pininfarina flags. I flipped it open and pressed the trunk switch.

Nothing happened.

“Of course,” I realized. It was electrically operated, and I’d disconnected the battery. Surely there must be a mechanical pull somewhere for amusing incidents like these.

I reached for the glovebox. No owner’s manual. I later discovered that it, too, was in the trunk – of course – strapped in with a fine brown leather belt. Perhaps the mechanical release was under the front bumper? Nope. The aerodynamic undertray prevented that possibility. Outside the sky was gorgeous, orange and purple with scattered pink, billowing clouds. The window of opportunity for my sunrise shoot was closing.

Defeated, I went back into the house. My wife asked why I wasn’t shooting. I explained the situation, telling her I was going to consult FerrariChat.com. “Why don’t you just google it?” she said. Within a minute she had the solution: the emergency release is under the passenger-side dash. I was elated. Except that 20 minutes later, with my head on the footwell’s thick carpet and my legs sticking over the doorsill, it was clear that the release was either missing or Google was wrong. The sun had now cleared the horizon.

“It’s not there,” I told her, “Trust me.” Searching online again, we learned that the pull was under the driver-side dash, left of the steering column. I found it in 15 seconds and reconnected the battery. That Italian molehill conquered, I had lost the morning’s perfect light. I decided to wake up early on Sunday.

The next morning, wearing my pajamas, winter jacket and wool cap, I strode confidently to my garage. I dropped into the seat and felt the key slide through the ignition cylinder’s pins. I turned it one click and the instrument panel illuminated like the Griswolds’ house during Christmas.

The small status display in the tach read, “Check OK” in green letters. I took a breath and turned the key to Position III – as the owner’s manual calls it – ON.

Nothing happened. Again.

The Ferrari’s engine didn’t sputter, let alone start. How could the battery be dead? The dash was lit. I tried the radio. It didn’t work either, but that’s because the battery had been disconnected and I still needed to input the anti-theft code. I decided to try again. I spun the key to OFF and back to ON. Check OK. And…

Flat. In fact, I didn’t even hear the starter whirr. I humbly returned to Google. What could I have missed now? I found that you had to let the key sit in the accessory position for 10 seconds so that the electronics could reset.

All ready again. And once more nothing. Back to FerrariChat, where I threw up my arms virtually. “I’m a new owner. What am I doing wrong?”

One guy recommended depressing the brake while cranking. “Obviously I had mashed the brake,” I thought, rolling my eyes, “everyone knows that.” Another suggested that I “press the fob button and listen for a double beep.” Hmm. I guess the alarm system had to identify me too.

Back to the garage. The sun had risen long ago, its soft light now gone. And it was now cloudy.

I hesitantly approached the Ferrari, opened the trunk and checked that the battery was still connected. (It was.) I extended my thumb and pressed the orange key fob. One beep, then a second. The door swung open as I pulled the handle, and I slowly, deliberately sat down. I was moving in half time, going through the pre-launch checklist religiously. I spun the key to accessory – Position II – with reverence. The instruments responded to my faith positively. Light! I waited through 10 full Mississippis and turned the key farther.

A full 40-valve, eight-cylinder orchestra awoke behind me.

“YES!” I sat, contented, and listened to the symphony. I had missed my window for photography and it was too icy to drive the car, but at least it was running, the flat-plane V-8 thrumming behind my head. Once the engine was warm, I revved it to 3000 RPM a couple of times, let the sounds wash over me and bounce off the garage walls, then shut down. Yes, I disconnected the battery again, also.

I wonder if Enzo Ferrari himself would be able to start one of his modern cars without instruction. Or maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better. Regardless, knowledge is power or something and the photos you see here are from the following weekend, when, I’m proud to report, I again successfully started the 360 Modena’s engine.

I look forward to actually driving my Ferrari soon. After all, how hard could it be?

Postscript: This article was written a few weeks ago and there’s obviously no snow in the photos. Unfortunately, it melted and never returned. Instead, I present the 360 Modena on a misty Michigan morning.

The post Why I may not be suited for Ferrari ownership. appeared first on Hagerty Media.

We’re constantly monitoring the market to see which vehicles are gaining popularity, losing momentum or treading water. Based on historical market data gathered by Hagerty and reflected in the most recent Hagerty Vehicle Rating, here’s a look three Italian performance cars from the 1990s to buy, sell, or hold.

The post Buy, Sell, or Hold: ‘90s Italian Cars appeared first on Hagerty Media.

“Hybrids!” shouted a friend looking over the rumbling queue at a collector car auction we attended recently. “I’m looking for hybrids.”

What kinds of hybrids might interest a collector?

“I’m not talking about green cars, or a Prius, or anything like that, when I say I’m looking for a hybrid,” my friend explained. “I’m talking about those hybrids that have an Italian body with an American V-8 under the hood.”

Specifically, my friend had his eyes on a 1964 Intermeccanica Apollo, a remarkable mash-up of Italian design and Buick mechanical parts created by a team of dreamers that included a European-born Canadian couple, Frank and Paula Reisner. Intermeccanica, the company they started in 1959 in Turin, Italy, while living out of a Fiat 500, has endured to this day. Their son Henry is now in charge, and it continues producing hand-built classics and replicars from its base in Vancouver, BC.

“We’ve never been a big volume business,” explained Henry Reisner, while on an Intermeccanica owners’ outing on Vancouver Island this summer. “We build classic cars for people who want to enjoy them.”

The voluptuous Apollo, which first appeared in 1962, has proved to be an enduringly classic design, combining visual cues from Ferraris and other classic Italian sports cars of that era. It would remain available, in various guises, for more than a dozen years. Yet, continually stymied by undercapitalized partnerships, underfunded marketing and negligible distributor, dealer and service support, the Apollo has remained an object of automotive desire.

The Reisners got their start building performance parts, and then whole cars, for formula and rally racing. Frank Reisner’s real passion, however, was to create a hand-crafted Italian sports car powered by a reliable American V-8. He thought it would resonate with enthusiasts, especially in the United States.

Power for the Apollo would come from a new aluminum 215-cid Buick V-8 (initially, anyway. Intermeccanica later switched to the Buick 300). The body was designed by another Canadian transplant, Ron Plescia, with fine-tuning from the estimable and prolific Franco Scaglione of Bertone, the Italian design firm.

The body for the sleek car was built in Italy, and final assembly took place in California. The Apollo rode on Buick mechanicals that were engineered by Milt Brown and Newt Davis of Oakland, Calif. (Many of the surprisingly utilitarian Buick parts and pieces would also be used on Rover, Vauxhall and Jensen-Healey cars of the day.)

A prototype was shown at the 1962 New York auto show, where it was a hit. A few dozen Apollo coupes and convertibles were produced, but the Reisners needed wealthy partners to help take the enterprise to the next level. Such partners would prove almost impossible to find, so failure was almost inevitable.

Frank Reisner tried selling through partnerships in California, Texas, North Carolina, New Jersey and Europe.

The Apollo project gave way (in no particular order and under various owners) to the Vetta Ventura, the Griffith, the Omega, the Indra, the Italia and the Torino. Reisner revised the Apollo as a 2+2, but it never went into production.

In the mid-’70s, with a design that was more than a decade old and increasing problems with sourcing engines from American automakers, Reisner abandoned the Apollo project. One of his distributors, Erich Bitter, would carry on the design into the 1980s.

Reisner turned his focus to building replicas of classics like the SS Jaguar, Porsche Speedster and Volkswagen Kubelwagen, relocating his company to Vancouver in 1981. Though Frank Reisner died in 2001, his son Henry continues making Intermeccanica’s exacting replicas of Speedsters, Roadsters and Kubelwagens.

The post The Intermeccanica Apollo is a different breed of hybrid appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The headline is not a question you usually have to answer. But for the experienced – and fortunate – driver, the answer is “mai abbastanza!” (Never enough!) That’s why I flew out to Nashville to join the Macchine Italiane road rally, sponsored by the Lane Motor Museum, home to North America’s most eclectic collection of conveyances on two and four wheels.

Museum founder and noted collector Jeff Lane organized a daylong excursion in and around Nashville to highlight the breadth of Italian cars over the years. Why Italian cars? Why not? Last year, the Lane museum celebrated French cars and trucks to great success.

Throughout the day, there were breakdowns and there was overheating, but nothing truly impeded a day of unexpected driving. Here’s how I fared:

1964 Ferrario Lucertola 500

What it is: A six-wheeled, go-anywhere off-roader based on the Fiat 500. Assumed to be one of several dozen ever produced, the 18-hp, two-stroke Ferrario Lucertola 500 has all the feeling of a military golf cart, having the gravitas of a Mercedes-Benz Gelandewagen and the footprint of a mouse.

How it drives: I was told that there were brakes associated with each wheel, but that was of little import. Sitting on garden chairs mounted to the floor, maneuvering the manual transmission hither and yon, you’re never really going fast enough for anything to go wrong, even though it always feels too fast.

What it does best: Crawl up tight passes and nudge its way down steep hills.

What it does worst: Instill any feeling of stability while motoring fearlessly down the road, paved or otherwise.

In one sentence: The dream machine for a weekend hobbyist with a penchant for Home Depot runs.

1977 Alfa Romeo Alfetta

What it is: A feisty sedan about the size of a contemporary BMW 5-series.

How it drives: Like a modern car. Unlike some of the tinny-feeling but fun-to-drive sports cars of the day, the Alfetta felt like a car I could drive daily. The 130-hp Alfetta punches far above its weight, delivering a fun driving experience all the way up to 113 mph, assuming it’s running.

What it does best: An impression of a German sport sedan.

What it does worst: Remain in a parking position.

In one sentence: The Alfa you could drive every day.

1958 Vespa 400

What it is: A two-plus-two coupe built in France by the well-known Italian scooter producer, Vespa. It was a novel, rear-engine concept with few creature comforts, let alone sound deadening material. Against modern minicars, the pipsqueak Vespa 400 seems a toy.

How it drives: Like a single-seater microcar, acting frighteningly claustrophobic.

What it does best: An impression of a motorcycle when it goes around a corner.

What it does worst: Carry two passengers in back. Don’t even try it.

In one sentence: The Vespa you want has two wheels, never four.

1990 Lancia Delta HF Integrale

What it is: A record-setting Italian rally car posing as a civilian rocket. Any Forza fanboy can spit out the facts about the Integrale: Four-wheel drive and a turbocharged engine are only part of the reason for its domination in the World Rally Championship. And thanks to the 25-year import rule, you can now have one here legally.

How it drives: Heroically.

What it does best: Transport the driver and passengers to a forest rally stage. The tight-fitting front seats and stiff suspension are there to coax the driver into trouble. (Resist the urge.)

What it does worst: Blend in to a crowd.

In one sentence: Beg, borrow or steal to get one.

1962 Alfa Romeo 2600 Berlina

What it is: A relatively rare version of the top-of-the-line ‘60s Alfa Romeo. The 2600 Berlina was devoid of previous models’ sexy styling, and it was also the first Alfa to have an inline-six under the hood.

How it drives: Like a Cadillac, with smooth moves and lots of untapped power.

What it does best: An impression of a period American car. Led by barely touching front seats that almost form a bench, there’s a feeling of airiness in the squared-off sedan. The enormous steering wheel and landscape-oriented gauges lend themselves to perceived spaciousness.

What it does worst: Make a good first impression on styling alone.

In one sentence: Once a stately alternative to a large luxury sedan, it’s now a collectible midsizer.

1977 Piaggio VespaCar P501

What it is: A tiny cab attached to a short bed, with the beating heart of a motorcycle. They’re found the world over as tuk-tuks and tiny farm equipment, and there’s a reason the Ape (say ahh-PAY) formula works so well.

How it drives: It’s remarkably sturdy, for a scooter in disguise.

What it does best: Transporting all kinds of goods in the tiniest of spaces.

What it does worst: Any kind of extreme handling, staying upright in a corner, keeping quiet, feeling quick. It is awful to drive, although it’s easier than it seems to master its handlebar control layout.

In one sentence: It’s named after the buzzy Italian ape (bee) for a reason.

1971 Fiat 124 Spider

What it is: This gorgeous, blue droptop is as fun to drive as it is beautiful to behold. There’s nothing particularly special about the design or purpose of the Fiat 124 Spider, but it nails the basics of the convertible formula. It became an icon in its own right, in the 1970s, so much so that Fiat’s newest convertible stole/revived its nameplate for a car co-developed with Mazda.

How it drives: Precisely, and without much body roll.

What it does best: Tossing about on back roads, with a quick snick-snick of its manual transmission. Touch the thin-rimmed wood steering wheel and be transported back to another era.

What it does worst: Nothing disastrous happened the day of our drive, but 124s aren’t known for their ability to remain mobile.

In one sentence: Skip the Fiata (the new Fiat 124 based on the Mazda Miata): You want this.

1976 Lamborghini Urraco P300

What it is: A contemporary of the Countach and Espada, the Lamborghini Urraco is often forgotten in the pantheon of fast, Italian supercars.

How it drives: Step on the gas from a standstill, let out the ultrastiff clutch, and cane it. You’ll be glad you did.

What it does best: The Urraco acts the part of a drivable Lamborghini. Neither too powerful nor too brutish, this Lamborghini is a special-occasion car that’s fast enough but not overpowering. The 3.0-liter V-8 in this Urrraco P300 is a treat to exploit.

What it does worst: Distribute heat. On the day of my drive, it was close to 90º outside, and 120º in the cockpit of the Urraco. The windows partially opened. My right knee burned as it brushed against the center stack.

In one sentence: Hot.

1975 Casalini Sulky A18

What it is: Think of this bizarre Casalini Sulky A18 as a tiny step up from the Ape. With a center-mounted driving position and only three drive wheels, the Sulky A18 is part of a long line of Casalini minicars but doesn’t make a strong case for their survival. Doing 45 mph, the top speed, in this thing would be virtual suicide.

How it drives: Don’t find out, if possible.

What it does best: Keep you dry when it rains.

What it does worst: Everything else.

In one sentence: A wobbly reminder of how far automotive technology has come.

1970 Fiat Giannini Camioncino Replica

>What it is: Hey, someone built a Fiat 500 pickup truck! This replica began life as a 500 Giardinera station wagon, and it makes a ‘ute that’s cute as a button. You won’t find much cargo-hauling ability, but this Fiat makes an effort.

How it drives: Exactly like a Cinquecento hatchback.

What it does best: Impresses the neighbors.

What it does worst: Moves plywood.

In one sentence: A recipe for success.

1963 Fiat Multipla

What it is: One of the automotive world’s first attempts at creating a minivan. Based on a tiny Fiat hatchback, the Multipla proved that a small platform could blossom into a significant conveyance.

How it drives: Like a compact car, not a van.

What it does best: Fits a lot of people and things into a small package. Its flip-and-fold rear seats make Stow’n’Go seating look primitive. Driving it, you hardly feel its extended size.

What it does worst: Accommodate more than a couple of ever-growing Americans in said back seats.

In one sentence: Not a modern minivan, but a marvel nonetheless.

The post How many cars are too many to drive in one day? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Valentino Balboni understands the world’s love for the Lamborghini Miura. Intimately.

“The Miura was both my first and my favorite,” said Balboni, a longtime test driver at Automobili Lamborghini S.p.A. who started there as a mechanic in 1968. “You never forget your first love.”

Balboni was a guest at the Lamborghini display during the 2016 Amelia Island (Fla.) Concours d’Elegance, speaking to enthusiasts about his 40-year career with the Italian automaker. It was no coincidence that the pre-production 1971 Miura SV shown at the ’71 Geneva International Motor Show was parked nearby. Lamborghini PoloStorico recently finished a year-long restoration of mid-engine Super Veloce, chassis No. 4846.

“The experience of driving a Miura is difficult to put into words,” Balboni said. “It’s a huge feeling to have the [V-12] engine behind your ears. It is one complete unit – car and driver work in sync. It’s so precise. You feel like you are part of the car.”

Lamborghini is celebrating the Miura’s 50th anniversary, which went into production in 1966. The last of 764 that were built (150 of which were SVs) left the automaker’s Sant’Agata Bolognese facility in 1973.

Lamborghini PoloStorico officially opened in spring 2015, supporting historic models and Lamborghini heritage by focusing on restoration, archive management, original spare parts and official certification.

Restoration of the 1971 Miura SV show car involved exhaustive research and one goal: make the car perfect. Shown in Verde Metallizata (metallic green) with tan leather, the restoration included a complete overhaul of the chassis and engine. Using photos and other archived historic documentation, every panel on the Miura was returned to its original lines and angles and, following the original production sheet and records held by Automobili Lamborghini, every component was restored or replaced. Expert craftsmanship and original Lamborghini parts have been used throughout.

“This is a very important car, not only for its place in history as the Geneva show car and the forerunner of future Miura SV models built, but as the first completed project of Lamborghini PoloStorico,” Enrico Maffeo, Head of PoloStorico, said in a press release. “We are delighted to be able, with the consent of the owner, to show this car for the first time in its perfectly restored state.”

Balboni, who officially retired in 2008 but continued to work as a consultant for six years, offered a thumbs up when asked if company founder Ferruccio Lamborghini would approve of the restoration. He said Lamborghini, who died in 1993, was meticulous and appreciated others who cared for their work as much as he did.

“He was very motivating; he had charisma,” Balboni said. “He made you feel like an important part of the company. We all loved the work. We didn’t want to leave at night, and we couldn’t wait to get back to work in the morning.”

The opportunity to fine-tune and drive Miura-series cars was the highlight, Balboni repeated.

“Driving a Miura is very fun, once you know how to work everything,” he said with a smile. “Even after 40 years, every time I drive it, it is like the first time.”

The post “The Lamboghini Miura was both my first and favorite” appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Beyond an appealingly retro design that recalls a much-loved convertible sold in the U.S. from 1968 to 1985, the revived Fiat 124 Spider, arriving here next summer as a 2017 model, shares another key trait with its ancestor: It is not built by Fiat.

Rather, the new Spider wears its Fiat-designed body on the chassis of the fourth-generation Mazda MX-5 Miata, and Mazda will build the car in Japan for Fiat. The Italian maker’s own turbocharged four-cylinder engine will provide the 124 with a bit of distinction from its Japanese cousin.

The collaboration is one of economic expediency; building two similar models from one basic platform helps each brand offer an affordable sports car and still earn a profit. In a twist, it is this kind of low-volume mashup for which a large carmaker might once have turned to an Italian carrozzeria – a coachbuilder – to design and manufacture on its behalf. Pininfarina, which produced the original Fiat Spider, was among the largest and best known.

“The various carrozzerias in Torino and Modena were world famous for their elegant and refined proportions,” said Tom Tjaarda, an American who sketched the original Fiat Spider while working for Pininfarina. The company, founded by Battista “Pinin” Farina in 1930, designed the majority of Ferraris and also built bodies of many.

In the 1950s, dalliances between American carmakers and Italian carrozzerias yielded an assortment of limited-production specials. Nash-Kelvinator partnered with Great Britain’s Healey to build the 1951-54 Nash-Healey sports car. The Healey-designed body, however, was replaced for 1952 by Pinin Farina (two words until 1961), with whom Nash had contracted to add glamour to its mainstream cars. Healey installed Nash’s engine and drivetrain parts into a chassis of its own design and shipped the assembly to Pinin Farina for the body. It was an expensive way to make a car; the $5,900 retail price was 50 percent more than a Cadillac convertible. Just over 500 Nash-Healey convertibles and coupes were made.

Nash advertised its association with Pinin Farina, but, according to Robert Cumberford, automotive design editor of Automobile magazine, the news didn’t excite the public. Cumberford attributed American automakers’ infatuation with Italy partly to their proclivity for imitation.

“When one company started working with Italian designers and coachbuilders, others joined,” said Cumberford, who in the early 1950s, at age 19, was a General Motors designer.

Italy also offered a practical draw, Cumberford explained: Its carrozzerias could make one-off and small-volume specialty cars without an investment in special tooling. Chrysler hired Carrozzeria Ghia to build a series of striking concept cars designed by Virgil Exner, who later became Chrysler’s head of design. One prototype, the oddly named Dodge Firebomb, caught the eye of Eugene Casaroll, an American trucking magnate whose company, Dual-Motors, had built twin-engine trucks for the military.

Casaroll commissioned Ghia to produce the car, mercifully renamed Dual-Ghia, on Dodge frames shipped to Italy. The shells had their Hemi V-8s and automatic transmissions installed upon returning to Detroit. Ghia built 117 of the $7,700 cars, and Hollywood elites like Frank Sinatra, Lucille Ball and Peter Lawford were among the buyers.

Cadillac used Pinin Farina to build its 1959-60 Eldorado Brougham sedans to an in-house design. Less distinctive than the 1957-58 version, these rare cars (201 built) previewed upcoming styling changes for mainstream Cadillacs.

Today, some of these Italian-designed and built specials can bring several hundred thousand dollars at collector-car auctions. Tjaarda credits Italian design with creating lasting appeal. “This was due to the intrinsic sense of getting the proportions and volumes just right,” he said.

Both Cadillac and Chrysler tried to rekindle their Italian romances in the 1980s, with mixed results. Cadillac commissioned Pininfarina to design and build its two-seat 1987-93 Allanté, but the arrangement proved bumpy.

A convoluted production process spanning two continents caused quality glitches and contributed to the Allanté’s steep $54,700 price. The so-called Allanté Airbridge used Boeing 747 cargo jets to transport modified Eldorado structures to Italy, where a Pininfarina factory attached bodies. The planes returned semi-finished cars to Michigan for completion. The endeavor produced 21,400 Allantés, less than half of Cadillac’s projection.

Similar in concept to the Allanté, the 1989-91 Chrysler’s TC by Maserati – that was its actual name – was bodied in Italy on a shortened LeBaron structure. But its $33,000 price was twice as much as the LeBaron convertible it closely resembled. Few of the 7,300 built had the Maserati-tweaked Chrysler four-cylinder turbocharged engine; most had a standard Chrysler turbo four or a Mitsubishi V-6.

Such ventures are unlikely to return. Cumberford has chronicled the decline of the Italian carrozzeria, blaming internal mismanagement in some cases, but also the predominance of global carmakers’ strong in-house design and prototyping capabilities. Pininfarina was sold this month to an Indian carmaker, Mahindra & Mahindra.

“It’s a natural death of an interesting industrial activity,” Cumberford said.

The post The Italian is only skin-deep appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Car people can be either the toughest, or the easiest people on the planet to buy holiday gifts for. If you understand their individual afflictions, it’s a snap:

1. THE BRITISH CAR PERSON
   A 50-pound bag of economy cat litter. Why? Because nothing absorbs fluids leaked from a British car better. A six pack of Newcastle Brown Ale would be nice, too.
2. ITALIAN CAR PERSON
   No Italian car fan should be without a fresh copy of Pavarotti’s Greatest Hits, because the music of multiple overhead cams and sucking Webers sounds oh so much better with Nessun Dorma! or La Donna è Mobile in the background.
3. MUSCLE CAR LOVER
   This one’s easy: A Summit Racing gift card. Because you can never have too much horsepower.
4. FRENCH CAR LOVER
   Since the act of rebuilding the hydraulics of a Citröen will likely have anyone pondering the futility of his or her existence and questioning why anyone with free will would want to do such a thing in the first place, might we suggest the complete works of Sartre and Camus, two French existentialists.
5. JAPANESE CAR LOVER
   This one’s a no-brainer too—An English copy of the very rare book “Fairlady Z Story” by the father of the Z car (and for that matter of Japanese cars in America), Yutaka Katayama.

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Alfa Romeo is squarely back in the U.S. after a 20-year absence and FCA CEO Sergio Marchionne says they’re here to stay this time, so it seems appropriate to review a few little-known facts about Alfa Romeo:

1. Alfa Romeo is among the most frequenly misspelled and mispronounced automotive brands for sale in America: A simple Craigslist search will yield countless spellings of “Alpha” Romeo (“ALFA” is actually an Italian acronym, the name has nothing to do with the first letter of the Greek alphabet). And don’t get us started on the number of times in the course of a single car show one hears “Romeo” pronounced “Romero” (as in Cesar Romero) or “Romeo” as in “and Juliet.”
2. Alfa Romeo has always had an on-off relationship with America: Alfa first started selling cars in the U.S. in the 1950s. They became the immediate darlings of the likes of Road & Track and Sports Car Graphic. But the emission-control years were hard for a small Italian company and they actually sold no cars in the U.S. for model years 1968 and 1970. They disappeared altogether after 1995 only to return with the 8C Competizione supercar in 2007, and then they disappeared again until last year when they reappeared with the 4C sports car and the promise of a new Audi-fighting Giulia sedan in late 2016.
3. The film “The Graduate” incorporated real Alfa Romeo quirks: Dustin Hoffman’s character Benjamin Braddock famously drove a red 1967 Alfa Romeo Duetto Spider in the 1967 movie classic. Unknown to most people, the car’s actual (and very distinctive) exhaust note was used in the final cut. In most cases, exhaust sounds are dubbed with a generic sound in post-production. The actual non-working fuel gauge also became a plot device.
4. Alfa sold the same model for almost 20 years: The iconic Alfa Romeo Spider was introduced in 1966 as the “Duetto” and Alfa managed to sell the same basic car (albeit in four modestly changed series) until 1994 in the U.S. Although the car went from 1.6 liters to 2.0 liters, it was the same basic Alfa twin-cam four and suspension, and the 1994 Series IV cars were instantly recognizable as part of the same line as the 1966 Duetto. It broke the 16-year record of the MGB.
5. The Alfa Romeo logo is one of few automotive logos to incorporate a religious symbol: The Alfa logo incorporates a cross (and a man-eating serpent) that is part of the symbol of the city of Milan, Alfa’s hometown. In any event, countless brand junkies and journalists have likened driving an Alfa to a religious experience, so it seems appropriate.

The post Secrets of Alfa Romeo appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Most of the warehouses in Long Island City, an industrial neighborhood in Queens, N.Y., are devoid of features that set them apart from one another. But nestled within one of them – blocked from view of the area’s few pedestrians by a windowless concrete block wall – lies a colorful secret: six bright red vintage Alfa Romeo racecars.

They belong to Joe Nastasi, a native of Messina, Sicily, who decided as a young man that America held more opportunity for him. But his decision to leave his homeland didn’t change his taste in cars, even though he has spent more than half of his 66 years in the United States. For Nastasi, Italian cars are it, and Alfa Romeos in particular.

“I was into cars my whole life,” Nastasi said in a thick Italian accent, adding that with his interest came a passion for racing. “I’m not interested in sedans or anything like that, but anything sporty.

Sicily – the large, mountainous island that sits near the southern tip of the Italian peninsula – is home to the Targa Florio, a grueling road race that once pitted the best sports cars in the world against Sicily’s treacherous mountain roads. It ran from 1906 until it was ended in 1977, minus the years during the two world wars. Even today, years after race organizers pulled the plug amid safety concerns, graffiti from the race is still visible on walls along the race’s course. “Viva Nino” can be seen painted on retaining walls and buildings in several places around the island.

Nastasi was in his early 20s when Nino Vaccarella – a fellow Sicilian and the star of the faded graffiti – won the Targa Florio in an Alfa Romeo Tipo 33 prototype in 1971. Today, Nastasi owns the very same car, part of a collection of Alfa racecars he rescued from oblivion when Autodelta, Alfa Romeo’s race shop, closed its doors in the mid-’80s. He scooped up a trove of now-valuable cars and parts for a song.

“When I first bought the cars, they weren’t collectible at all,” he said. “I had no idea the market would turn out that way. I just bought them because it was my passion.”

His path to racecar car ownership was circuitous – he started his career as a mechanic, did some racing himself and, eventually, became an importer. But, in retrospect, his path made sense. It all began in the early 1970s, after he had served in the Italian navy. Nastasi said he made his way to New York City, landing a job at Modena Sports Cars, a shop that specialized in Italian cars.

“I had planned to go back to Sicily, but I liked working there,” Nastasi said. “I was one of 11 mechanics.”

At the time, he said he was only making $130 a week. His American dream wasn’t taking shape in the way that he’d envisioned.

“After a year and a half, I said to myself, ‘I came to America and I gotta make money,” he said.

Nastasi quit his job in 1974, and with a partner, opened an independent shop. His partner, who spoke English well, was in charge of customer relations, and Nastasi said working on the cars was his department. After a while, Nastasi split with his partner and struck out on his own.

“Back then, there weren’t too many people in New York who worked on Italian cars,” he said. “It was hard at first, but my customers liked the work I did.”

From 1979 to 1982, Nastasi said he turned his attention to racing, driving Formula Fords, among others. Things began to change in 1982, when he bought a shop that converted grey market cars to U.S. standards. By 1985, Nastasi said he had begun importing Lamborghinis homologated for sale in America, including the iconic scissor-doored Countach.

“I made a deal with the factory to bring Lamborghinis over,” he said. “I started with 100 to 120 cars a year, and within a few years, I was importing 450 cars a year.”

Chrysler bought Lamborghini in 1987 and purchased Nastasi’s importing operation a few years later, allowing him to transition to real estate as his bread-and-butter enterprise. That turned out to be a smart move, as it also gave him the space he needed to expand his personal collection, which was already growing beyond what a run-of-the-mill enthusiast might harbor.

The building where the six Alfas live – five Tipo 33 prototypes and a race-prepped GT coupe, to be exact – is one of his properties, and houses the shop where he repairs and maintains his collection. The facility contains a full machine shop and a dynamometer, but like Nastasi’s cars, all the equipment is vintage. You won’t find any digital readouts here. The most notable feature on the dyno is a giant analog dial that resembles an oversized stopwatch.

Placed in an evenly-spaced row high along one wall of the shop – near the lathe – are posters of the Tipo 33 cars in their glory days. One of the photos shows Nastasi when he was in his early 30s. Wearing a white racing suit, he has wavy dark hair, like James Garner in “Grand Prix.” Several shrink-wrapped spare engines and transmissions line a shelf nearby. In a loft above the machine shop, there are rows of shelving packed with spare parts, many of which he acquired when Autodelta closed.

Fast forward to the present: Nastasi spends much of his time in the shop, rebuilding parts for the cars that he still drives. His hair is white now, and he wears a blue work shirt and dungarees as he moves from the lathe, where he just turned a piece of metal, to a table where he has a transmission disassembled, mid-rebuild.

“I learned how to do this by watching other people; now I have 40 years of experience,” he said.

All of the cars have a story. In addition to the Vaccarella-piloted Tipo 33, which he said was temporarily located in Sicily, he owns a Fernet Tonic-liveried, flat-12-powered Tipo 33, which he says is the car that won the 1977 World Sports Car Championship. Nastasi said he has other cars squirreled away here and there, too; a few more Tipo 33s, a handful of Ferraris and a pair of Miura SVs (of which only about 150 were produced).

The cars, especially the ones with provenance, may be valuable, but Nastasi doesn’t let them gather too much dust, and runs them in vintage races from time to time.

“I cruise around all over the place and play with my cars,” he said, recalling that sometimes, cars break, like one of the times he raced a pair of his Tipo 33s in the Le Mans historic. “The first car broke a half shaft and the second car broke in the middle of the night, so we were out of business.”

More and more, Nastasi says, the cars are more active participants than he is.

“I’ve slowed down now; I guess age catches up,” he said. “If I can’t compete, I’d rather sit back and watch.”

In his shop, though, he’s as active as ever, and keeps cars that were stars of the motorsports world 40 years ago as they were in their glory days.

The post Alfa Romeos in Long Island City appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Coach-built cars on Fiat mechanicals became very popular in postwar era, laying groundwork for a merger

The Autobianchi: a custom-body Fiat with snob appeal.

That just about describes this rather odd creation named for Edoardo Bianchi, who began his manufacturing career in 1885 building bicycles.

Bianchi moved into automobiles by 1899 and his company manufactured a number of different models over the course of the next 83 years.

Like most wartime manufacturers, his company’s focus was on motorcycles and commercial vehicles, including vans powered by Mercedes-Benz engines. And Bianchi racing motorcycles were very well-known and won many victories.

The company patriarch died in 1946 in a car accident, and the ownership of the company passed to his son Giuseppe. In 1957, the company returned to automobile manufacturing and introduced a small car based on the Fiat Nuova 500, which had been introduced in 1955.

The Fiat 500 was a huge postwar success in Italy and was the successor to the Fiat Topolino, regarded by many as the Italian Model T.

The Topolino, just like the Model T, gave the lower middle class the opportunity to become motorized and mobile.

By the mid-’60s, Fiat had sold 250,000 Fiat 500s.

The Fiat 500 was the base vehicle for a number of Italian carrozzerie (coach builders), enabling them to offer cars that looked different, such as faux sports cars that included some deluxe features.

These coach-built cars became very popular and Fiat did not want to be left out of the lucrative sales opportunity so they formed a partnership with Bianchi and Pirelli in 1955. The cars would be known as ‘Autobianchi’ and were sold through selected Fiat dealerships and with Fiat’s factory warranty.

The first Autobianchi was called the Bianchina, a model that sold at a 20 per cent premium above the cost of a Fiat 500.

In 1968, Fiat decided to buy out the two partners and merged Autobianchi into the Fiat Company.

The model shown in the picture is an Autobianchi Cabriolet, famously driven by the bumbling Inspector Clouseau (played by actor Peter Sellers) in the original Pink Panther movie.

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Mark Gessler didn’t grow up on a daily diet of Alfa and Romeo. His father was a Hot Rodder, but he wanted Mark to stay out of anything that was too dangerous. Despite his dad’s best efforts, nothing could keep Mark away from Alfas after he discovered the unique charisma and history of the marque.

Gessler’s first Alfa, a 1956 Giulietta Sprint, piqued his curiosity and launched a passion for discovering the stories behind the famous cars. “In the ’30s, these cars were on top of the world,” he said. “The more I learned about Alfa, the more intrigued I became.”

Gessler has had the chance to search for some of the marque’s “rarer birds,” and about ten years ago, he began to look in earnest for pre-war Alfas. These cars provide a combination of the aesthetic, engineering and competition success, says Gessler. “If you’re interested in sports cars, these things all come together with cars in the ’30s.”

He bought his second Alfa, a 1933 6C 1500 Gran Sport Testa Fissa Zagato, from the man considered by many to be the top Alfisti in the U.S. Henry Wessells had held on to the car since the 1960s after recovering if from a barn fire in Colorado. The car’s history had always fascinated Gessler, and when he got the chance to purchase the 6C, he jumped on the opportunity. What he learned only stoked his passion for the marque.

The 6C was purchased new by Anna Maria Peduzzi, a noted female driver who ran the car in more than a half-dozen races in 1933. In 1934, she won the 1500cc class in the Mille Miglia with her husband Gianfranco Comotti by her side. Both were drivers for Scuderia Ferrari. Gessler decided to restore the car to this “glorious moment.”

“To think it was taken across 1,000 miles of roads in Italy with a husband and wife team behind the wheel – it’s a real time machine,” says Gessler. “These are beautiful cars, but without the charismatic stories of their past, they’re not as appealing to me.”

Gessler wants to take the car back to Italy in time to celebrate Alfa’s centennial, and possibly track down some of Peduzzi’s descendents to find some more original documentation for the car.

Gessler’s collection also includes a 1939 Alfa Romeo 6c 2500 SS with reconstructed Berlinetta Touring, coachwork designed for Le Mans. He describes it as a “staggeringly beautifully designed car” that provided the basis for what was to come many years later.

“It was one of those early designs that led the way for what is today the modern GT.”

He’s also ventured into post-war Alfas with a 1957 Alfa Romeo 1900 SS Zagato “Double-bubble,” which he calls “one of the top post-war cars.”

As for the original that kicked off his fascination with the marque? Unfortunately Gessler rolled his prized ’56 Giulietta Sprint in the 2009 Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix. The brakes locked up on a corner, and the tight course didn’t offer much room to correct. The crash disappointed the Alfisti, but he remains undeterred.

“It probably doesn’t make sense to bring it back to its pre-roll form, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

The post Mark Gessler: The Stories appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Feb. 18, 1898

Enzo Ferrari is born: Enzo Ferrari, Italian motor racing driver and founder of the Scuderia Ferrari Grand Prix racing team, and later the Ferrari marque, is born in Modena, Italy.

Feb. 19, 1984

Yarborough wins Daytona 500: Driver Carl Yarborough wins the Daytona 500 for the fourth time.

Feb. 20, 1909

Hudson is formed: Hudson Motor Car Company is formed by a group of eight Detroit businessmen to produce a car that would sell for less than $1,000.

Feb. 21, 1948

NASCAR is founded: NASCAR, or the National Association for Stock Car Racing, is incorporated. Its first Strictly Stock race would later be held on June 19, 1949 at the Charlotte Speedway.

Feb. 22, 1907

First metered cabs: The first taxi cabs with meters begin operating in London.

Feb. 23, 1958

Fangio kidnapped: Five-time world driving champion Juan Fangio is kidnapped by Cuban rebels. Fangio was released after 29 hours and remained friendly with his captors afterward.

Feb. 24, 1868

First U.S. parade floats: The first U.S. parade to feature floats takes place in Mobile, Ala., in celebration of Mardi Gras.

The post This Week in Automotive History: Feb. 18-Feb. 24 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Home to names like Zagato, Pagani, Ferrari, Maserati, Lamborghini and Fiat, it’s difficult to dispute Italy’s place in automotive history. Classic car lovers can quench their thirst for Italy’s finest marques by joining “Passion Sculpted in Steel: Italian Automobile Design,” a VIP tour of the country’s auto factories, museums and historic venues, May 7-17. The tour will be hosted by Jonathan Stein, longtime automotive historian and Executive Editor of Hagerty Classic Cars magazine.

“As someone who’s been part of the hobby for 35-plus years and who’s traveled to Europe many times, it’s exciting to see these sites through the eyes of newcomers,” Stein said. “I love being able to help travelers get into places and see things they might not see if they were traveling on their own, and enrich their experience any way I can.

“It’s also flattering to see the familiar faces of repeat travelers, which confirms that they enjoy what we’re doing.”

Travelers will trace the history of legendary Italian innovators in a variety of ways. Among the highlights:

• Tour of the factory floors of Maserati and Pagani.
• Tour of the Pininfarina Studios, designers of some of the most beautiful cars the world has ever seen.
• Visit to the new Enzo Ferrari Museum to discover the man, the driver and the car maker behind the legendary name.
• Celebrate the history of Italian car design – Lamborghini turns 50 years old in 2013; Bertone has been operating for a century.
• Enjoy special visits to a number of private collections, including those of the Stanguellini family and the Panini’s Maseratis.
• At the Galleria Ferrari, view some of the fabulous race and road cars that have made Ferrari a household name.
• View Europe’s largest display of historic vehicles at the Museo dell’Automobile in Turin.
• Watch vintage race cars wind through the streets of northern Italy during the Mille Miglia Rally, and learn about the racing legends at the Mille Miglia museum in Brescia.
• Visit Italy’s greatest race track at Monza, home of the Italian Grand Prix, and see the hallowed place where drivers such as Nuvolari, Fangio, Hawthorne and Musso once reigned.

Stein knows from experience that Monza will be a highlight.

“It’s a magical place,” he said. “As the longtime home of the Italian Grand Prix – now a road course – it almost feels haunted. I can only imagine the ghosts that must be there, if there are such things. The history there is amazing.”

Stein also cites the old roof-top test track atop Fiat’s former Lingotto factory in Turin.

“They couldn’t use it now, not with safety concerns and the speed of the cars today,” he said. “The track couldn’t contain them. They’d fly right off.”

Stein said every trip also seems to include a pleasant surprise or two, like the time he was at Zagato and saw a Fiat 8V Zagato that had once been raced by Elio Zagato in mid-restoration. “That was very, very special.”

For information about “Passion Sculpted Steel: Italian Automotive Design,” or to book your trip, click here or call (855) 330-1542. Please be sure to mention that you’re a Hagerty client to receive a discount.

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Rob Sass, Vice President of Content at Hagerty, has been infatuated with cars since he was a kid, religiously poring over issue after issue of Road & Track and dreaming of the day he would actually own an automobile of his own. That was years – and dozens of cars – ago. His stable of classics has included several Triumphs TR6s, a 1972 Porsche 911S, a 1963 Buick Riviera and a 1967 Maserati Mistral. After years as a lawyer who also wrote about cars, Sass eventually gave up his “day job” to become a full-time auto journalist. He has written for the Chicago Tribune, Business Week, AutoWeek, the New York Times and Sports Car Market, and he is the author of a book on affordable car collecting, “Ran When Parked.”

Employee: Rob Sass

Title: Vice President of Content

Years at Hagerty: 4

Car(s): 1979 Alfa Romeo Spider

Why an Alfa Romeo Spider? Summers in Traverse City (Mich.) are beautiful but short. I needed an inexpensive classic sports car, and in my opinion Alfa Spiders are among the best of the lot. For generally less than seven grand, you get Pininfarina styling, a twin-cam fuel injected four that makes decent power and great noise, a five-speed gearbox and one of the best convertible top designs of all time.

Repairs and Modifications: Just bought a new convertible top.

Hobby activities (clubs, events, etc.): I’m a member of the Jensen Owners Club and the Porsche Club of America.

Favorite Drive: San Jose, Calif., to Pebble Beach via Santa Cruz.

Any interesting stories? I got pulled over in the Alfa driving from St. Louis to Traverse City. When I was asked how fast I thought I was going, I could truthfully answer that I had no idea – the speedometer stopped working 100 miles into the drive. Fortunately, the officer took that at face value and gave me a warning. Immediately after, I downloaded a GPS speedometer app on my smart phone.

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Oct. 29, 1954

Step-Down Hudson Production Ceases:Although the Hudson name would survive for two more years, the badges were on Nash-designed cars built by the new AMC.

Oct. 30, 1954

Lamborghini 350GTV debut: Lamborghini’s new V-12 GT prototype is first shown at the Turin Auto Show. 

Oct. 31, 1913

Lincoln Highway Dedicate d: America’s first coast-to-coast highway officially opens.

Nov. 1, 1957

World’s Longest Suspension Bridge Opens: The Mackinac Bay Bridge connects the Upper Peninsula with the rest of Michigan, spanning the Mackinac Straight that divides Lake Michigan and Lake Huron.

Nov. 2, 1893

Battista “Pinin” Farina B orn: The scion of the great Italian design house founded his company in 1930, and in the early 1960s the family name was changed to Pininfarina.

Nov. 3, 1911

First Modern Motor Show Opens: The Automobile Club of America-sponsored automobile show is opened in New York’s Madison Square Garden, setting the mold for future shows.

Nov. 4,  1965

Lee Breedlove Sets Land Speed Record: Almost everyone has heard of land speed record ace Craig Breedlove, but  few people know that his wife, Lee,  set the land speed record for females at 308.56 mph on the Salt Lakes

The post This Week in Automotive History: Oct. 29-Nov. 4 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Aug. 6, 1959

Corvair Name Registered: GM registers the Corvair name for its new rear-engine compact car. The Corvair was the only American-made, mass-produced passenger car to come with a rear-mounted, air-cooled engine.

Aug. 7, 1938

Giugiaro is Born: Giorgetto Giugiaro, Italian automobile designer and founder of Italdesign, is born in Garessio, Italy.

Aug. 8, 1975

Maserati Changes Hands: Former Argentinean racing driver Alejandro de Tomaso acquires Maserati from Citroën.

Aug. 9, 1918

Auto Production Halted: The U.S. Government orders a halt to all civilian automobile production by Jan. 1, 1919.

Aug. 10, 1897

Oldest Auto Club Formed: C. Harrington Moore and Frederick R. Simms found Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland. It would become Royal Automobile Club, the world’s oldest auto club.

Aug. 11, 1966

First Camaro Leaves Plant: Chevrolet rolls out its first Camaro from the Norwood, Ohio, plant to compete in the Pony Car Class.

Aug. 12, 1908

Ford Builds First Model T: The first Model T was built at Henry Ford’s Piiquette Avenue Plant in Detroit, although it didn’t leave the factory until September 27.

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