It began as a “parts bin special”—cheaply developed and launched in 1994 with minimal fanfare. The first Speed Triple shared its 885cc engine and almost all other parts with other Triumph models. It looked fairly ordinary, in fact, with its low handlebars and single round headlight.

Three decades later, the Speed Triple has arguably been Triumph’s best loved model—having helped establish the firm as a maker of exciting, well-engineered bikes, and contributed hugely to its success. Revamped numerous times over the years, it has starred in Hollywood movies, frequently topped the firm’s sales chart, and spawned the hugely successful Street Triple family.

Triumph was a very different company when that original Speed Triple was developed, shortly after building magnate John Bloor had revived the brand in the late 1980s. In 1992, the new Hinckley factory’s second year of operation, it produced barely 3000 bikes (compared to almost 100,000 last year). The firm was still committed to a modular format that reduced costs by sharing most components of bikes ranging from 750cc triples to 1200cc fours.

Depending on your view, the first Speed Triple was either the existing Daytona 900 sports bike with its fairing removed, or a sportier version of the Trident 900, the naked triple that had been the most popular of the original six-model range.

The Trident’s responsive, 885cc triple engine had been much praised, but that model was a simple roadster, with conservative styling and basic suspension. By contrast, Ducati had scored a big hit with its M900 Monster in 1993 by combining a softly tuned V-twin engine with aggressive naked styling and high-quality chassis parts.

The Speed Triple followed a similar format. Its liquid-cooled, 12-valve engine produced 97 hp and, apart from having a five-speed gearbox rather than a six-speed, it was identical to the unit that powered the Trident and Daytona. The bike’s steel spine frame was also shared with the other models.

But like the Monster, the Speed Triple had superior cycle parts: adjustable Kayaba suspension from Japan and a front brake combination of big twin discs and four-piston Nissin calipers. Its cast rear wheel held a fat, sticky Michelin radial tire.

Styling was little more than stripped-down Daytona, with a single round headlight. But the retained low handlebars gave an aggressive look, highlighted by a memorable brochure image featuring a Rottweiler. And the Speed Triple name—inspired by the 1937-model Speed Twin that had been one of the former Triumph company’s greatest models—suited its café racer image perfectly.

That first Speed Triple struck a chord. Its zippy engine, responsive handling, and windblown riding position combined to give an impression of easy speed. Without a fairing and with much of its rider’s weight over the front wheel, it steered with appealing urgency and less of the top-heavy feel of other Triumphs.

After borrowing a bike from Hinckley for a test, I rode to the site of the old Ace Cafe, legendary North London haunt of the 1960s Rockers, which had become a tire depot. The leather-jacketed riders were long gone, and the traffic was much denser. But it was still fun to follow the classic lap down the North Circular Road, over the infamous Iron Bridge (scene of numerous fatal crashes), and back, just as the slick-haired Rockers did when attempting to return with a song by Gene Vincent or Eddie Cochran still playing on the juke box.

The Speed Triple was an excellent accomplice, and it proved a hit in 1994, becoming Triumph’s best-selling model—although in those early days that only meant 2683 were produced (including a small number of 750cc variants that were otherwise identical) out of a total bike production that by then had climbed past 10,000.

That was a good start, but the Speed Triple’s stroke of inspiration was still to come. By 1995, Triumph’s engineers and design team were developing the T595 Daytona—the 955cc, aluminum-framed sports triple that abandoned the modular format and would elevate the British brand to a new level of performance and sales on its launch in 1997.

In those days, much of Triumph’s development was based at the Northamptonshire workshop of John Mockett, the designer who had shaped many of the firm’s early models. At one point, while working on the Daytona, Mockett realized that the bike, with its distinctive tubular aluminum frame, looked good without its curvaceous twin-headlamp fairing.

“I said to Stuart Wood [chief development engineer] that we ought to do this without the bodywork,” recalled Mockett, who admired the aggressive streetfighter specials built by firms such as Harris Performance. “Stuart said, ‘No, we’ve got to get the 595 finished in time for the Milan show,’ so I said, ‘Okay, we’ll work on it in the other shed and see what we can do.’ John Bloor was always down there but we kept this thing secret from him.”

A few months later, Bloor arrived to inspect the finished Daytona T595. “We’d painted it and added decals by then and he said it looked alright—in fact he was very pleased. Then I said, ‘I’ve got this other one,’ and uncovered the naked bike. He looked at it and said, ‘F***ing hell, it looks like it’s been crashed!’”

The Triumph boss’s instinctive reaction summed up the naked triple’s appeal. The previous decade had seen the emergence of a biking subculture, especially in Britain, where Streetfighters magazine had become popular, highlighting the urban look that had grown up initially around twin-headlight Suzuki GSX-R750 and 1100 sports bikes whose fairings had been removed following a crash.

At that time, no major manufacturer had a model with comparable style. Bloor took some persuasion, but decided to put the naked triple into production alongside the Daytona. “He was so pleased with the Daytona that he accepted the other one on the back of it,” Mockett later recalled. “If it had been on its own he’d have turned it down, but the fact that it was on the coat-tails of the 595 appealed to him, because it didn’t need many extra bits.”

This new Speed Triple, initially codenamed T509 (until, like the Daytona’s T595, this was found to cause confusion), retained its predecessor’s 885cc capacity but gained a new bottom end, intake system, and exhaust. It produced 106 hp, with strong midrange torque. The aluminum frame was identical to the Daytona’s except for being painted instead of lacquered, and it held similarly high-quality suspension, brakes, and a single-sided swingarm.

As with the original Speed Triple, Triumph introduced it with minimal fanfare, almost as an afterthought. I was one of two freelance journalists allowed to ride a T509 that was brought along to the T595 Daytona’s riding launch in Spain. A blast on local roads and on the Circuito de Cartagena race track confirmed that it had an addictive midrange punch, and that its handling, braking, and roadholding were excellent.

The T509 Speed Triple’s 1998 arrival was perfectly timed, its price was competitive, and it was an immediate hit, selling almost 2500 units to become Triumph’s second-most popular model, behind the Daytona. And its success proved lasting, helped by Triumph’s decision to enlarge the engine to 955cc in 1999.

By the turn of the millennium, the Speed Triple had become a cult model, its bullish style and performance highlighting that Triumph was now a serious player in the motorcycle scene. It was boosted by vibrant paint schemes, including an acidic Roulette Green and even more corrosive Nuclear Red (in reality a bold pink, as ridden by Natalie Imbruglia in the movie Johnny English). Speed Triple appearances in The Matrix (ridden by Carrie-Anne Moss) and Mission: Impossible 2 (Tom Cruise) also boosted Triumph’s profile.

The firm did a good job of keeping the Triple’s essential look and character intact, while updating it every so often. One significant step came in 2002, when its output rose by 10 hp, to 118 hp, and its chassis was tweaked to quicken the steering and reduce weight. I also rode that model to the site of Ace Cafe, which, fittingly, had recently reopened as a nostalgia-themed motorcyclists’ meeting place; it continues to thrive to this day.

Another major update came in 2005, when a new, longer-stroke 1050cc engine increased maximum output to 128 hp. A new chassis contributed to a quicker, more agile bike that topped Triumph’s sales charts that year, with 8796 out of a total of almost 35,000. In 2011, Triumph was sufficiently confident to combine a sharpened chassis with non-round headlights—a controversial move that did not damage sales as some had predicted.

By this time, Triumph had ceased production of the Daytona 955i, leaving the Speed Triple as the firm’s sporting flagship. For 2012, the new Speed Triple R combined an unchanged, 133-hp engine with an upmarket chassis incorporating Öhlins suspension, Brembo Monobloc  brake calipers, and a sprinkling of carbon fiber. It was exotic, expensive, and took the trademark Speed Triple blend of naked style and punchy performance to new heights.

Triumph was now facing a dilemma, as the arrival of Aprilia’s Tuono V4R sparked a new class of fierce “hyper-naked” machines: stripped-down superbikes created in similar fashion to the original Speed Triple but producing over 150 hp and backed by sophisticated electronics. The challenge was to keep the Speed Triple competitive, without losing its familiar charm and accessibility.

Triumph took a sizable step in 2018, with an overhauled Speed Triple whose 1050cc engine contained more than 100 new parts, revved 1000 rpm higher, and produced 148 hp, an increase of 10 hp. Alongside the standard model was an upmarket RS version with Öhlins suspension and a sophisticated electronics package incorporating traction control and cornering ABS.

Three years later came an even bigger leap, with an all-new Speed Triple 1200RS. Its engine was enlarged to 1160cc and produced 178 hp—slightly up on Aprilia’s latest Tuono, if not on Ducati’s outrageous 205 hp Streetfighter V4. This RS was also sharper and 22 pounds lighter, helped by a new aluminum frame.

Not every Speed Triple enthusiast was a fan of the new lean and mean naked superbike, or of the stylish, half-faired Speed Triple 1200RR that shares most parts and is even more aggressive and expensive. That’s not surprising. Both models have more than double the power-to-weight ratio of the Speed Triple that started the family 30 years ago.

The Speed Triple is a different class of motorbike now. Its evolution has taken it away from the raw, streetwise, firmly road-focused models of the past. These days, even the middleweight Street Triple 765R makes 120 hp—more than the T509 that did the most to earn the Speed Triple’s cult following back in 1997.

All of which means that the Speed Triple’s days at the top of Triumph’s sales charts are probably gone for good. Its status as one of the Hinckley firm’s most important and fondly regarded models, on the other hand, remains beyond doubt.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post The Triumphant Speed Triple appeared first on Hagerty Media.

During the 1970s, American car shoppers looking to commute in a two-seat European roadster at a reasonable price had two obvious choices: the Fiat 124 Sport Spider and the MG MGB. I see plenty of discarded examples of both types during my junkyard travels, but genuine chrome-bumper MGBs are much harder to find in car graveyards than the later “rubber-bumper” cars and any Fiat 124 Spiders. Today we’ve got one of those cars, spotted in a Pull-A-Part in Columbia, South Carolina recently.

One of the first cars we saw in this series was an MG, but it was a U.K.-market 2005 ZT 190 from the final days of pre-Chinese-ownership MG. You can buy a new MG in many parts of the world right now (in fact, MG’s 100th anniversary just took place last year), but the final model year for new Morris Garage products in the United States was 1980. That was when the final MGBs were sold here, a year after we got our last Midgets.

MG was part of the mighty British Leyland empire from 1968 through 1986, and many BL products received these badges for a time during the early 1970s.

The MGB was the successor to the MGA, and one of the best-selling British cars ever offered in the United States. Sales of the MGB began here in the 1963 model year and continued through 1980.

At first, all MGBs were two-seat roadsters. A Pininfarina-styled fastback coupe called the MGB GT first appeared in the United States as a 1966 model.

I owned a British Racing Green 1973 MGB-GT as my daily driver while I was in college during the late 1980s, and that car— which I loved, most of the time— made me a much better mechanic.

Like this car, my B had a 1.8-liter pushrod BMC B engine rated at 78.5 horsepower (yes, British Leyland claimed that half-horse in marketing materials). These cars aren’t at all fast with the stock running gear, but they are fun.

In theory, some MGBs were built with Borg-Warner automatic transmissions, but every example I’ve ever seen had a four-speed manual. An electrically-actuated overdrive unit was a much-sought-after option in these cars.

This car has the optional wire wheels, which would have been bought within days of showing up in a U-Pull junkyard 30 years ago. Nowadays, though, most MGB owners who want wire wheels have them already.

In 1973, the MSRP for a new MGB roadster was $3545 (about $25,991 in 2024 dollars). Meanwhile, its Fiat 124 Sport Spider rival listed at $3816 ($27,978 after inflation).

The 124 Sport Spider for ’73 came with a more modern 1.6-liter DOHC straight-four rated at 90 horsepower. That was quite a bit more than the MGB, but the Fiat also scaled in at 200 more pounds than its English rival. The MGB was sturdier, while both cars had similarly character-building electrical systems.

British Leyland also offered the Triumph TR6 and its 106 horsepower for 1973, with a $3980 price tag ($29,180 now). If you wanted a genuinely quick European convertible that year, your best bet was to spend $4948 ($36,277 in today’s money) for a new Alfa Romeo Spider Veloce… which took you into the same price range as a new Chevrolet Corvette.

This car is reasonably complete and not particularly rusty. Why is it here, just a few rows away from a Toyota Avalon that came within a hair of hitting the million-mile mark on its odometer?

Project MGBs are still fairly easy to find, so cars like this often sit in driveways or yards for decades before being sent on that final, sad tow-truck ride.

Still, the 1973 and early 1974 MGBs are the final models before federal crash-bumper and headlight-height regulations resulted in MGBs with big black rubber bumpers and lifted suspensions. This car should have been worth enough to avoid such a junkyardy fate, but perhaps South Carolina isn’t much of a hotbed for MGB enthusiasts nowadays.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Final Parking Space: 1973 MG MGB appeared first on Hagerty Media.

When the London Motor Show opened its doors in 1956, there was a new economy car in town: Britain’s cheapest new car in fact, the Opperman Unicar, which was introduced to ride the microcar boom of the 1950s.

During the ’50s, consumerism grew sharply. Employment was high, people had money to spend, and credit was easier to come by than ever before. The result was a raft of cottage-industry car makers that sprang up with all sorts of cars that put economy above all else. This was the age of plastic body shells, which cut production costs enormously compared with the steel or aluminum alternatives.

Most of these cars featured tiny one- or two-cylinder engines of the type that nowadays might be deemed too tame for a lawnmower, but the world was a very different place in the 1950s, and pretty much anything went when it came to basic family transport. Not that many of these short-lived cars ever sold in big numbers.

The company behind the pint-sized Unicar was a tractor manufacturer based in Hertfordshire that decided that it should move into cheap family transport, and the result of its decision was a two-door saloon with enclosed rear wheels.

The Unicar’s body shell was made up of six plastic moldings which were bolted and bonded together to form a monocoque. In the rear was an Anzani 322-cc two-cylinder two-stroke engine, which sent its 15 hp to the rear wheels via a three-speed manual gearbox.  Despite such a puny powertrain the Unicar was reckoned to be capable of as much as 60 mph, largely because of the low weight of just over 660 pounds. Later models got even more power (18 hp) courtesy of a 328-cc Excelsior engine. (The idea of nudging motorway speeds in a Unicar must have been truly terrifying.)

Whereas the front track was a reasonably generous four feet, at the back it was 12 inches narrower, while the drum brakes front and rear were operated via cables rather than hydraulics. Even at urban speeds every journey in a Unicar must have been a white-knuckle ride.

Incredibly, despite its diminutive proportions (just 9.5 feet long and 4.6 feet wide) the Opperman Unicar was claimed to be a four-seater, with those in the front getting a hammock-style bench seat. The engine intruded into the cabin at the rear and on either side of this a small, flat box was molded into the floorpan; small kids were supposed to get comfy somehow.

Despite the fact that fierce competition in the economy car sector meant that sales were hard to come by, Opperman decided to expand the model range with the unveiling of the Stirling prototype in 1958. An attempt to take Opperman upmarket, the Stirling looked great and it had significantly more power thanks to the fitment of a 25 hp, 424-cc engine.

A second prototype followed in 1959, with a 500-cc engine for even easier cruising, but just as the Stirling was set to be introduced, the Mini Cooper burst onto the scene. As with so many microcar manufacturers, Opperman’s entire business became untenable overnight once the Mini was on sale; you could buy the BMC wonder for just £497 (roughly $12,200 today) whereas the Stirling weighed in at £541 (about $13,300). Game over.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Opperman Unicar: The Tiny, Cheap Family Car Killed by BMC’s Mini appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It was dark, with little traffic on my way home from a date when I dozed, briefly, at the wheel. I opened my eyes to see the two-lane road sweeping right and the double-yellow centerline flowing left-to-right under my MGA’s dim headlight beams. I jammed on the brakes, steered right and felt the car’s skinny rear tires lose grip as its back end headed left. Whoa!

I quickly steered back left to catch the slide, and the rear end snapped back right. Damn! This, I later learned, was what racers call a “tank slapper” as the car’s tail whipped one way, then the other. Then I realized that I was still hard on the brakes, and backing off that pressure enabled me to regain control. Whew—a near-disastrous lesson in car control at the tender age of 16!

I had just recently acquired my driver’s license yet was hardly inexperienced. My expert-driver father had let me steer his car as a little kid sitting on his lap and had taught and trained me in safe driving most of my life. Then, from ages 14 to 16, I survived two years on a motor scooter as my all-season daily driver, and I learned a life-saving lot about defensive driving, operating in traffic, and dealing with slippery conditions as the scooter’s brake cables often froze and left me essentially brakeless in Cleveland’s nasty winter weather.

At age 15, with no legal license, I had stolen my mom’s ’57 Ford convertible nearly every Friday night, when my folks were away in a bowling league, and I had somehow gotten away with driving that cool car all over the place in all kinds of conditions without incident. I never got caught, and my folks never knew, since they would have punished me severely for that foolishly risky habit. So, when my car-guy dad surprised me with a well-used 1957 MGA roadster for Christmas three weeks before my 16^th birthday, I could not have been more thrilled.

To be honest, my very first car was not actually that MGA. Instead, my dad had bought a goofy Lloyd 600, a tiny 23-hp German microcar, at a local import dealership, and it was to be my Christmas and 16^th birthday present. But very thankfully, I never saw that little POS. The auto gods were smiling down on me the day he picked it up, because it clanked to a smoky halt just a few feet out of the lot. More than a little pissed, he then harassed the dealer into a friendly price on the MGA and stored it at a friend’s house awaiting the big Christmas morning presentation.

But my introduction to that red, wire-wheeled beauty was traumatic. Before hitting the sack on Christmas Eve, I noticed our garage full of white smoke. I rolled up the door to see the MGA with its hood up, my mom standing in shock, and my father frantically searching for the battery. We finally found two separate six-volt batteries behind the seats, but the electrical system was well cooked by the time we got them unhooked. “Merry Christmas,” grimaced my frustrated dad.

Once repaired and functional (I’d love to have seen my 6’ 4” dad’s second angry confrontation with that dealer), that MGA could not have been a much cooler set of high-school wheels. Thanks to years of hard work and Dad’s good job, we were comfortably middle class but far from wealthy. Some of my classmates were, but some had no wheels at all; a couple drove restored Ford Model As (pretty cool), but no one else had a sexy “poor man’s Jaguar” British roadster.

It was a little rusty (which didn’t show much thanks to its red paint); its first-gear’s synchro was history so was hard to engage without grinding a bit; its infamous Lucas electrics went missing in the rain from time to time—which required removing and hand-drying its distributor cap and a few other parts; and its cable-operated door latches were weak. But all that seemed well worth the trouble to a good-student, bad-athlete, car-loving, marginally likeable 16-year-old.

I did almost lose girlfriend Betsy out the passenger door when it flew open while I spun a quick U-turn after picking her up. Good thing she grabbed the windshield pillar to avoid meeting the street! She eventually forgave me, and the MGA, and enjoyed riding in it. Except when I wouldn’t stop to erect its top after it started raining. That was a clumsy, 15–20-minute operation, so I figured we’d get wetter while stopped to put it up than we would just driving in the rain. And the faster I drove, the more the rain swept over the windshield, and our heads.

I also vividly remember some snow-related adventures in that car. On the very first night I had my license, I drove over to Betsy’s house and offered her a ride. After a serious conversation with her dad, he agreed to let her go with me despite a fairly heavy snowfall going on. Thinking back, had she been my daughter, I probably would have said, “No way.”

And even though I was already a fairly experienced driver when I got my license (much more than my dad knew…), he signed me up for driving lessons to get a break on insurance, which was pricey even then for teen drivers. It was snowing hard on the day of my second lesson, and the instructor climbed in and let me take him for a ride. Which I did … way out of town and back, in increasingly heavy snow. I was a ridiculously over-confident driver even then so gave him what must have been a hair-raising ride sliding around sideways on slippery roads. I thought he might be impressed by my car-control skill. But as I recall, he just sat there, probably terrified, and didn’t say anything at all.

That turned out to be my last lesson, so maybe the instructor refused to ride with me again and told his colleagues to avoid me as well. My dad never confirmed whether he got the insurance break after I failed to complete those lessons, but I’m guessing he probably didn’t.

Another snow-related incident started out as grins but ended scary. A friend and I were having fun driving around with both side window panels out and our door pockets full of snowballs. We were pitching them out at passing cars as we drove and managed to hit a few. Then one driver we hit came after us. I led him on a lively chase through snow-covered suburban back roads and alleys, but he hung right with us. When we finally drove into a blocked alley and had to stop, he and a bigger guy jumped out and caught us. They threatened to kick the crap out of us but just yelled, lectured us, and let us go. But not before tossing my car key into a snowbank. We scraped around in the snow for a while, found the key and headed home, one good scare wiser.

I wasn’t a good enough (self-taught) mechanic to mess with the MGA’s mechanicals, but I did (for some reason) take off easily removable parts under its hood and spray paint them different colors. And one important modification was installing aftermarket seatbelts, since the car had come without belts from the factory. My dad had optional ones in his company car, a 1960 Thunderbird, and trained me to habitually use them—a habit that likely saved my life years later in my first new car, a 1966 Triumph TR4A.

Did I have the belt installed, and was I using it, when I so nearly lost control on that dark night? I honestly don’t recall. But I do remember that the MGA’s floorboard was wood, and that belt probably would have ripped right through it in a violent flip, despite the large washers I used to secure its anchors. Further, the MGA’s windshield frame was flimsy, to say the least. So, belted in or not, that was one of many times in my life when the driving survival gods were smiling on me.

That old MGA was truly cool for school if a bit rusty, slow, and unreliable. After a year with it, I was lusting for something more powerful and threatening to trade it for an older Corvette. I even checked out a couple of not-so-cherry ’54 and ’55 Corvettes. Then my dad (bless his car-loving heart), on a business trip to Detroit, found a nice ’57 Corvette for sale by a couple who needed the money and talked them down to (as I recall) just $1500. It was a black base car with a white convertible top, a detachable hardtop, a 245-hp twin-4-barrel 283 V-8, and a two-speed Powerglide automatic. He brought it home, and we sold the MGA.

That Corvette was even cooler, much faster, and potentially more treacherous. I somehow survived my high-school senior year with it, but that’s a story for another time.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post 1957 MGA High-School Cool: Hair-Raising Adventures in My Very First Car appeared first on Hagerty Media.

A 2018 Jaguar I-Pace originally bought by King Charles III will soon be going under the gavel at Historics Auctioneers.

The top-spec EV400 HSE  reportedly arrived painted in Eiger Grey, but, at the King’s insistence, was sent back to Jaguar to be repainted in his favorite color, Loire Blue. The cabin is trimmed, appropriately, in Light Oyster Windsor leather. The sticker price, when new, was around £60,000 (roughly $84,000).

Well-known for his environmental conscience, Charles has previously converted an Aston Martin to run on bio-fuel, but the Jag was his first electric car.

It wasn’t, however, the first EV to feature in the Royal Family garage. At the turn of the 20th century, the Royals were remarkably carbon-neutral, with Queen Alexandra owning a 1901 Columbia, which was capable of achieving 40 miles on a single charge. “Her Majesty is delighted with the ease and simplicity of control and manipulation,” said The Autocar at the time.

That car is now on display at the National Motor Museum in Beaulieu and is unlikely to hit the road again.

Meanwhile, the King’s EV has seen plenty of use. Charles drove it for some 3,000 miles before returning it to Jaguar in 2020, after which it was sold through Jaguar North Oxford.

The current owner, Karen French of Bampton, had no idea of its royal provenance when she bought the car and it didn’t stop her from covering an additional 30,000 miles.

“This I-Pace was exactly what I was looking for and pretty much on my doorstep,” she said. “It was only when I agreed to buy it that I discovered its extraordinary history—I was absolutely thrilled.”

She will, no doubt, be even more thrilled if the car achieves its estimate of £55,000–£70,000 ($69,400–$88,300) when it goes to auction at Ascot Racecourse, where royal fans also have the chance to bid on a 2003 Bentley Arnage R that was bought new by Princess Anne. With a presale estimate of £26,000–£32,000 ($32,800–$40,300), it’s less than half the price of the King’s Jag as well!

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post King Charles’ Royal Jaguar Is Up for Grabs appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Automotive history is littered with the bones of small-scale manufacturers that, for one reason or another, couldn’t hack it over the long run. That same history is also full of punchy shops that overachieved in their eras, taking the fight to much more established players on some of racing’s greatest stages, which even today seem downright improbable. The Venn diagram of carmakers that achieved racing glory only to fold after a short life, however, is sparsely populated.

That’s where we meet Peerless, a punchy post-WWII British firm that burned hot and fast, only to fizzle out in less than a decade. Oh, the stories this 1959 Peerless GT Phase II, currently listed on Hagerty Marketplace, could probably tell.

First, some backstory: Peerless—no, not the prewar American manufacturer—was a small British shop that sprang up seemingly out of nowhere in the mid-1950s. It was founded by James Byrnes, a decorated club racer tired of off-the-shelf competitors, and John Gordon, a local Rolls-Royce vendor and something of a racing junkie himself. The two tapped Bernie Rodger, a local legend in the engine building and tuning scene, to be the firm’s lead engineer.

Though it shared no direct relation to the American Peerless brand, the Brit variant did graft its name from the former: The founders selected a small facility in Slough as their base, and that facility had in a previous life been used by the American Peerless corporation to build a handful of armored cars during World War I.

Despite the three men’s shared desire to build their own sports car from the ground up, they quickly agreed that a from-scratch creation was probably beyond their reach. Rodger, who owned a local restaurant that was a favorite of top brass from the Standard Triumph company, used his connections to convince those executives to offer up a handful of Triumph TR3 platforms that would serve as the base for the prototype Peerless.

The eventual product that rolled out of the shed doors in Slough only loosely resembled the TR3 upon which it was based. Though it shared the 2.0-liter, 100-hp four-cylinder and the four-speed transmission and Laycock overdrive system with the TR3, the Peerless GT (initially dubbed the Warwick, but eventually changed to GT) was far more racing-focused. The engine sat inside a fully arc-welded tube frame that gave the GT considerable rigidity. It was six inches longer than a contemporary TR3, with a track width 5 inches greater than that of the Triumph. Other differences to the Triumph included a de Dion rear axle design and a sultry fiberglass coupe body that concealed a 2+2 cockpit.

Keen to capitalize on the warm reception the GT received when it debuted at the 1957 Paris motor show, Byrnes, Gordon, and Rodger turned their eyes towards the crown jewel of European motor racing: Le Mans. Two cars, a primary and a reserve, were entered into the grueling 24-hour race in 1958, though only the primary car saw competition. Each one featured a hand-built engine, additional fuel tanks, and a lowered suspension. Shockingly, the Peerless GT took 16th overall, besting far more established players in the process.

The orders poured in following that French triumph. The Slough facility went into overdrive to fulfill them, and, as so many British upstarts had done before, promptly fell behind. Peerless’ leaders wanted to build five cars per week, but that goal quickly got out of reach. Just 325 Peerless GTs were created by the time the shop closed in 1960.

Of the 325 cars, 275 units were built to the original GT spec, which involved a fiberglass body and muted styling. The remaining 50 cars were built to what was known as the Phase II spec, which boasted a number of improvements. Chief among them was a new molded body that eliminated some 60 fiberglass body seams and the need for extensive bonding and riveting.

The car pictured here is one of those 50. It’s also one of just 70 cars built in a left-hand-drive configuration. According to the listing, the car is fresh from a frame-on restoration, completed in October of this year. The body was refinished in silver, and the frame was sealed with POR-15 as part of the restoration.

This example also ditched the Triumph running gear for the 2.6-liter inline-six engine and four-speed manual transmission from a 1974 Datsun 260Z. Both the engine and the gearbox were reportedly professionally rebuilt at some point in their lives. It also features a completely new interior with black vinyl upholstery, Stewart Warner gauges, and more. The odometer currently reads just 10,500 miles as of the time of listing, although it is noted that the true mileage is unknown. This Peerless GT Phase II features plenty of other neat details as well, far too many to list here. Check out the listing for yourself to see them all.

If orphaned British racing royalty paired with stout and engaging Japanese running gear sounds like something you might fancy, allow us to compliment the cut of your jib. The auction listing for this plucky Brit will close next Tuesday, November 28, so you even have a little time to make room in your garage.

***

The post Auction Pick of the Week: 1959 Peerless GT Phase II appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The door shuts, the key turns, and there’s a whirring of the fuel pump before the starter motor cranks away and the engine catches. There’s an explosion as fuel is compressed and ignited, and the 5.75-liter V-8 settles to a chugga-chug-chug, fumes filling the air and hydrocarbon flecks spitting from the exhausts. It is everything and more you’d hope from a 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1—theatrical, attention-seeking, and a hint of the anti-establishment, ready to melt rubber into the road and race for pink slips.

The Mach 1, however, is being moved to make way for a 1965 Mustang of an altogether different kind. When the key is turned in that car’s dashboard, there’s no explosion of internal combustion and no fumes from exhausts to melt the hairs in your nose and bring tears to your eyes. Instead, you hear the faint whir of electrical systems waking up and running checks. Then you turn the key further, ease down the brake pedal, and nudge the short shift lever from neutral to drive, before leaning into the accelerator.

The imperious hood of the Mustang coupe emerges from the workshop of Alan Mann Racing, and a passing driver of a delivery van appears somewhat perplexed that an American pony car is moving without making a sound—or rocking on its suspension to the beat of a V-8.

It may be equally perplexing to those familiar with Alan Mann Racing (AMR), the British team that ruled the grid during the swinging Sixties. The company was founded in 1964 by Alan Mann, after his success in motor racing impressed Ford so much that the carmaker effectively set him up as its European racing operation. Alan Mann Racing became part of the blue-blood brotherhood, and Fords would capture the most high-profile championships of the era, including the British Saloon Car Championship, the European Touring Car Challenge, and the FIA World GT Championship for Manufacturers. Meanwhile, the drivers behind the wheel were the best of the best: John Whitmore, Jacky Ickx, Bo “Bosse” Ljungfeldt, Graham Hill, Frank Gardner, Jackie Stewart, Richard Attwood, and Bruce McLaren all did battle in AMR cars.

Ford pulled the plug on its “Total Performance” strategy, and in turn its European satellite racing operation, at the end of 1969. Alan Mann switched to aviation, developing Fairoaks Airfield, on the doorstep of his old racing workshop in Surrey, as well as a successful helicopter leasing business. It wasn’t until 2003, and an opportunity to share driving duties at the Goodwood Revival, that Mann got the bug for racing again, reviving Alan Mann Racing for historic motorsport.

Mann died in 2012, which left AMR in the safe hands of his sons, Henry and Tom. Today, the workshop is a handful of miles from the site of the original garage in Byfleet. And the first question for Henry Mann is obvious: Why electrify a Mustang?

“We’d always wanted to do a Mustang restomod,” says Henry, “because we’d done so many rally and race Mustangs, and quite a lot of road cars too, and figured we could do a half-decent job of a restomod Mustang.” In February 2022, Ford contacted Henry and Tom, inviting the brothers to the unveiling of its Ford GT Alan Mann Heritage Edition, a special version of the supercar that paid tribute to AMR’s lightweight 1966 Ford GT experimental race cars. During the event, held at the Chicago Auto Show, Henry was rather taken by a 1978 F-100 pickup “Eluminator” concept that Ford had played around with, dropping out its straight-six engine and fitting the battery-electric powertrain and front and rear electric traction motors from a 2021 Mustang Mach-E GT. “It was really popular, and the lines to ride in it were huge. There was so much interest in it.”

While at the show, Henry met another Henry—another Henry Mann, in fact—who happened to be the first owner of the 2022 Ford GT Alan Mann Heritage Edition. The two concluded that an electrified Mustang with the Alan Mann Racing name attached to it would be a very cool thing indeed.

After more than a year of development, in partnership with Nick Mason, a former vehicle development engineer at Ford who founded EcoClassics in Maldon, Essex, AMR had a prototype up and running.

Henry explains that beneath the surface of this standard looking 1965 Mustang—called the Alan Mann Legacy ePower Mustang—sits an off-the-shelf inverter, motor, and battery management system, all sourced from China, while the two battery boxes were designed in Britain specifically to fit the Mustang. The motor and one battery sit in the engine bay, the other battery is in the boot, giving a 50/50 weight distribution, while power is sent to the back wheels through a Torsen limited-slip differential.

The battery is a 77-kWh unit, able to accept AC and DC charging, and is claimed to give a touring range of up to 220 miles. Using DC rapid charging, Henry Mann says the battery will charge from 20 to 80 per cent in 40 minutes. In muscle car terms, that all translates to an output of 300 hp, and there’s 228 lb-ft of torque as soon as you flex your right foot. For a 1965 Mustang, that’s impressive. It means the car is capable of accelerating from 0 to 60mph in 5.2 seconds, with a top speed of 97 mph.

On the rain-soaked roads around the company’s workshop, the silent Mustang provides a brisk turn of speed up to around 60 mph, in part thanks to impressive traction that comes from AMR’s years of experience building racing Mustangs. The suspension design has been changed to incorporate independent double wishbones with coilovers all around, and from a standstill there’s just the slightest skip from the back wheels as they claw at the road before the Mustang whines away.

That suspension is complemented by rack-and-pinion steering in place of the old worm-and-sector steering box, and together they create a more modern driving experience, where the car rides our lumpy, bumpy British roads better than a Mustang on rear leaf springs; it tracks true and straight and stays flat and planted through twists and turns. Admittedly, the steering is heavy—too heavy for some tastes, perhaps. But the weight when loaded up beyond the straight-ahead gives a feeling of confidence in what the front tires are up to.

As I make a beeline for the historic Old School Café, and a mug of builder’s tea, it’s clear that the car’s acceleration tails off beyond 60 mph, but it gets there briskly enough, and it’s arguably plenty enough for today’s busy roads. What’s not so welcome is a resonance coming from the propshaft, between 40 and 60 mph, something Henry Mann later tells me they’re working to remedy. There’s gentle energy regeneration when you lift from the throttle, and when you stand on the brake pedal, the effort and impressive stopping power of the uprated system (six-piston calipers at the front, four-piston items at the rear) remind me of the Jaguar I-Pace eTrophy racing car I drove a few years back.

There are other modifications, too, which will be welcomed by some. The updated instrument cluster, for example, looks period-correct but displays all the information an EV driver could want. Or the touchscreen infotainment system with Apple CarPlay and Android Auto. Best of all are the modern front seats, complete with integrated seatbelts, which are noteworthy for being so solidly mounted, while proudly displaying the Alan Mann Racing logo, stitched into the headrest. Perhaps the neatest touch of all, however, is the location of the charging port. When I ask Henry Mann where they’ve hidden it, he flips down the front number plate and there it is.

Sipping my tea at Old School Café, I wonder whether AMR team members and drivers may have gathered here, back in the Sixties, after shaking down race cars at the nearby Longcross test track (now used exclusively used for blockbuster filmmaking). I wonder what they might have thought of the ePower Mustang parked out front.

I jump back in the Mustang and drive past the track, and I encounter a large, smooth, open roundabout where it’s possible to explore the limits of grip. The suspension and steering, as well as the new bespoke subframes to carry the battery packs and motor, give the Mustang a robust feel. Old cars of this era should pitch, dive, roll, and heave on their suspension, while the body flexes under load, but there’s none of that in this Mustang, and when the tail does let go, I’m surprised at how high the limit of adhesion is.

At this stage, I can sense some will be shaking their heads at the thought of an electric classic Mustang. After all, the pony car was enjoyed by many as a tire-smoking attention-seeker, not a zero-emissions solution for London’s ever-expanding Ultra Low Emissions Zone. But given there were more than 1.3 million Mustangs made in the first two years of production alone, converting a small number to electric propulsion isn’t going to endanger the species.

Personally, I’d rather my Alan Mann Racing Mustang come with those suspension and brake upgrades, some additional structural bracing, and a rocking V-8 that shakes my neighbrs’ windows every time I start it up. After all, when you take the soundtrack out of an old car, all it serves to do is exaggerate the noise of all the other moving parts and squeaking trim.

I do wonder, however: Does the current approach not endanger the very existence of Alan Mann Racing? After all, if EV retro-fit conversions of classics really catch on across the hobby, might legislators take a dim view of fire-breathing racing cars and noisy, smelly race meetings?

I put that question to Henry. “I think with the rise of synthetic fuels, there’s plenty of argument for keeping these [racing cars] as they are. But I think some people are going to want electric just because of the tailpipe emissions issue, and the quietness and the more civilized behavior in a city, where you’re not belching out unburnt hydrocarbons when idling at the lights. And it’s such a negligible contribution to the overall emissions of the road transport fleet that I hope it [legislation] wouldn’t be changed.”

The thorny issue for potential buyers in Britain is that the extensive changes made during the conversion mean the car could not retain its original registration number. Instead, it would have to be submitted for an Individual Vehicle Approval test, and that would require further changes to the car, which AMR are weighing up “depending on customer demand.”

Interested parties in America, meanwhile, will be able to have the complete conversion carried out by Alan Mann Racing’s U.S. partner, Mann ePower Cars, based in Hatboro, Pennsylvania. The cost will be a minimum of $250,000 (£203,000), says Henry Mann, for a turn-key car. He adds that sum could be lowered if an owner has a donor car in good condition.

So, the retro-fit electrified Mustang is a curious thing on all sorts of levels. It’s not a muscle car as we know it. And it can’t be bought as a turn-key car in the U.K., only the US. And if you had the conversion carried out on your classic Mustang in the U.K., it would lose its original registration, due to the rule-makers at the DVLA. Such is the price of progress, I suppose.

Things used to be a lot simpler, and noisier, in the Sixties.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters. 

The post eMustang Driven: Alan Mann Racing trades “roar” for “whir” appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It was built on a stretched 427 Cobra chassis, powered by a big-block Ford V-8, and styled by a talented Torinese designer. It competed with the elite European GT cars of the late 1960s, and yet the AC 428 (aka the AC Frua) is more footnote than famous in car history. One of these obscure Anglo-Italo-American hybrids sold online this week for $417,000, and that’s a ton of money. In fact, we’ve never seen one sell for more. Compared to similar all-Italian cars or a later Shelby Cobra with a similar engine, however, it almost looks like a bargain.

The 1960s were a golden age for high-performance long-distance touring cars, including hybrids like Chrysler-powered Bristols and Chevrolet-powered Iso Grifos, and thoroughbreds like the Aston Martin DB5/DB6 and Ferrari 330. AC Cars of Thames Ditton in England had the lovely Ace/Aceca sports cars and enjoyed providing the basis for Carroll Shelby’s Cobra for several glorious years, but it was hard for the company to ignore the lucrative opportunity that the gran turismo market offered. The 428 was AC’s foray into that crowded segment.

In a lot of ways, the 428 made a lot of sense. The tubular chassis, hand-fabricated on the jigs originally used for the Cobras, was a race-proven unit that AC stretched by 6 inches for added space and stability. Independent suspension on all four corners helped keep the car planted. The engine was a 7-liter V-8 borrowed from Dearborn’s Ford Galaxie and rated at 345 hp and 462 lb-ft of torque. Because Italian styling is almost never a bad idea, AC enlisted the services of Pietro Frua, who had penned the Renault Caravelle, the Swiss Monteverdi, and the Maserati Mistral. Frua did recycle a lot of his ideas from the Maserati, to the point that a 428 and a Mistral are difficult to tell apart, but you know what they say about imitation and flattery. The vehicles are both gorgeous.

The 428, then, offered the looks and performance of a Ferrari, the running costs of a Yankee commuter car, the interior trimmings of an English luxury GT, and a legendary race car chassis. Other than complaints of heat seeping into the footwell from the monster Ford engine, the press gushed. Motor said the 428 “surges away into the middle distance with the silken surge of seemingly infinite torque,” and Autocar remarked that it “responds to the throttle like no other car we know and for normal sedate motoring it takes only a touch on the throttle to make the speedometer swing upwards at an unbelievable rate.” But despite all that, it wasn’t exactly a winning recipe. Labor unrest in Italy and challenges securing engines from Ford meant that AC’s two main suppliers were unreliable.

And even when things were going right, the 428 was expensive to build—a common problem with cars bodied in Italy but assembled somewhere else. After finishing the 428 rolling chassis, AC sent them to Frua in Turin. Frua welded on either Spider or Coupe bodywork and then shipped them back to England for AC to trim, paint, and install the drivetrain. These logistical costs resulted in the 428 being comfortably more expensive than an Aston Martin DB6 and roughly twice as much as an E-Type Jaguar. The energy crisis in 1973 also hit Britain fairly hard, and a 16-mpg high-dollar performance car was a tough sell. In the end, only 81 examples of the AC 428 left Thames Ditton.

Most were coupes and most came in right-hand drive. A decent number of 428s also came with a three-speed automatic rather than the standard four-speed manual. Which makes this example—a left-hand drive stick shift Spider with Halibrand wheels—quite special. One of about 30 Spiders, it spent time in the UK and Switzerland before being restored in the U.S. during the 1990s and winning its class at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in 1995. It has the nicks and blemishes inevitable on a 30-year-old restoration, but still looks lovely and to our eyes like a car in #2- (just shy of “excellent”) condition.

Yet it sold for 55 grand over its condition #1 (concours, or best-in-the-world) value in the Hagerty Price Guide. Credit the desirable configuration, and the fact that good examples of a car this rare don’t exactly pop up every week. Almost all of the 428s to hit the market over the past couple of years have been coupes, automatics, RHD, in scruffy condition, or some combination of the above. The closest real comparable sale was a $302,000 Spider that sold at the Monterey auctions in 2021, but even that was a RHD automatic.

Even at this market-leading result, though, it’s a lot of car for the money. Let’s just consider the condition #2 prices of the cars this green-over-tan beauty competed against in 1970. An Aston DB6 Volante is worth $1.25M. The visually similar Maserati Mistral, which has two fewer cylinders and 90 fewer horsepower, is worth $741,000. As for the Shelby, with which the 428 shares so much of its DNA, a 428-powered Cobra is a $1.1M car. Sometimes, the footnotes of automotive history can be the best buys.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post This AC 428 is like a half-price Cobra in an Italian suit appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Welcome to Original Owner, a series showcasing—you guessed it—people who bought a classic car new and still own it. The cars don’t need to be factory-original, just still in the hands of the first owner and still getting driven. Got a tip? Email tips@hagerty.com —Ed.

At 16 years old, Peter Cosmides bought a 1975 MGB roadster brand-new with funds he’d earned working since he was 12. The purchase had fulfilled an obsession sparked when he was a very young boy. After buying the iconic British roadster, Cosmides would find it steering his life’s course in unexpected ways.

“Owning the MG shaped my life as far as my hobby, my friends, and even my vocation,” Cosmides recalls. “The friends I have today are all people that have MGs or other British cars that I’ve met over the years. In 2020, I retired from running a British car restoration business for 14 years.”

Before all that happened, the MG was just his fun daily driver. He wasn’t afraid to take it on long road trips, either: A year after buying it, Cosmides drove the green roadster cross-country from his home at the time in Valley Stream, New York on Long Island to attend Arizona State University.

“My girlfriend, Anne, lived with me there for a time,” he says. “She was my high school sweetheart. We got married in 1980 and are still married. She knew I was already well ensconced in the MG world when she came along.”

The MG would serve as the newlyweds’ only car for several years. It even took them to the laundromat.

“By around 1980, we bought something else, and the MG became the second car,” he says. “I started taking it to British car shows, and I’ve been going ever since. I made several trips to Florida in it over the years, too.”

MG family

The MGB, which now has about 100,000 miles, has acquired MG siblings over the years. When we spoke with Cosmides in July of 2023, he and his wife had just returned to his southern New Jersey home from a 1350-mile road trip in one of them, a 1996 MGF. The automaker’s final sports car, the MGF was a mid-engine roadster never imported to the United States.

Cosmides also owns one of the 2600-or-so MGB GT V8 models built from 1973 to 1976, most of which are right-hand drive models for the U.K. market. To make this captivating model, MG replaced the B’s four-banger with the former Buick 3.5-liter aluminum V-8 that British Leyland had come to own and use in a variety of Rover cars as well as in the Range Rover SUV. Not much heavier than the four-cylinder model, the MGB GT V8 could hit 60 mph from zero in 7.5 seconds. This engine would also find its way into the 1978–80 Triumph TR8 and some British boutique sports cars, including the Morgan Plus 8.

MG pilgrimage

The summer 2023 road trip in the MGF had been something of a pilgrimage for Cosmides, a trip which he and his wife took with friends driving an Austin Healey. The main stop was Petersburg, Virginia, the home of well-known British auto parts supplier Moss Motors, which was hosting a cars and coffee event to celebrate its 75th anniversary.

Cosmides’ connection to Moss went well beyond buying parts for his MGs over the years. In the ’80s, he had worked for the giant parts seller, first in California and then at its warehouse in Rockaway, New Jersey, an operation that later moved to Virginia.

“I was the first employee in their New Jersey facility,” he recalls. “I was there only a couple of years. After that, I worked for Federal Express for about 20 years.”

When the Moss Motors celebration ended, Cosmides and his wife continued southward to North Carolina to pick up a hardtop for the MGF before returning home to New York.

“The MGF was a much more modern car than the MGB, which had really become an antique toward the end of production,” Cosmides acknowledges. “They’d never really improved on it while struggling to meet any regulations that came along.”

Still, he loves his “antique” as much today as he did on the day he bought it.

A boy’s MG obsession

Working for the largest British car parts supplier had been, if only briefly, something of a dream job for a young man whose infatuation with the island nation’s sports cars had begun when he was a boy.

“When I was five, my uncle bought a 1962 Austin Healey Sprite Mk. II,” he says. “That was the twin to the MG Midget. I used to sit in that car and pretend I was driving. I became kind of a sports car enthusiast right then.”

When he turned 12, Cosmides already had his heart set on buying a new MGB in time for getting his driver’s license. He began working in earnest to achieve that goal. From 1972 through 1975, he was a mechanic at the local Schwinn bicycle store. During summers, he also worked for the local school district as a janitor.

The work paid off. By spring 1975, when he was still 16, Cosmides had saved $3800 (about $21,500 today). “But the MG was $4800,” he remembers. “My father was kind enough to throw in that other thousand dollars. And so, I bought myself a brand-new MGB.”

Accompanied by his father, he ordered the MG from Road-Track Imports on Burnside Avenue in Inwood, New York, in May 1975. Today, the same corner building houses several businesses, including a smoke shop. The old service area is today a tire business.

The car arrived at the dealership in August, in time for Cosmides’ 17th birthday—but it was the wrong color.

“We had placed an order for a blue one, but a green one came in instead. I took it anyway, and I’m glad I did. It’s a great color.”

Factory basics: MGB

Years before the British pop music invasion, there was the sports car invasion, with MG as one of the leaders. In 1955, the company replaced the TF, the last of its 1930s-styled “T” models, with the sleek MGA. The new car became an instant hit. Through 1962, MG made about 101,000 of them, with most exported to the U.S., the largest market for other British sports cars, as well.

The A’s successor would do even better and, like certain British rock bands, it would stick around much longer than seven years. Introduced at the Earls Court Motor Show on September 20, 1962, the MGB ushered in a wave of modernity over the MGA, including a unitized body structure replacing the A’s body-on-frame setup.

The MGB’s handsome in-house design showed more than a passing resemblance to the Pininfarina-designed 1960 Ferrari 250 GT Cabriolet Series II, which certainly added to the cheaper roadster’s appeal. The B boasted a roomier, more comfortable cockpit than the A, including roll-up windows instead of the A’s side curtains.

Under the hood, the B-series OHV inline four-cylinder engine birthed by Austin in 1947 grew from the MGA’s 1.6-liter to 1.8 liters (1798 cc, to be precise), with 92 horsepower at 5400 rpm and 106 lb-ft of torque at 3000 rpm (SAE gross). These were good numbers for a 2200-pound car. The ’65 gained a stronger, five main-bearing crankshaft, and MG boosted output slightly to 95 hp and 110 lb-ft.

The four-speed manual transmission (non-synchro first gear) and suspension carried over from the MGA, using A-arms with coil springs and lever shocks up front and a solid axle on multi-leaf springs with lever shocks in back. An optional front antiroll bar later became standard. Steering was unassisted rack-and-pinion. Wheels measured 14 x 4.5 inches.

The early MGB could do 0 to 60 mph in about 12 seconds and crest 100 mph. Laycock de Normanville overdrive was a $175 option that could lower revs in highway driving. A pretty and practical MGB GT hatchback coupe, with a roofline shaped by Pininfarina, joined the roadster in 1965 (1966 in the U.S.) and proved popular.

The MGB got a fully synchronized transmission for 1968, and the air injection pump emission-control system continued to be available, as well. In that year’s road test of an MGB, Road & Track praised its sports car reflexes and pure driving joy but noted an “outdated character.” The MGB roadster’s price was about $2900 that year.

To offer a higher-performance choice, MG created the 1968–69 MGC by dropping in a 3.0-liter Austin inline six. The 145-hp six chopped the 0-to-60 time down to 10 seconds, but the engine was more than 200 pounds heavier than the four-cylinder. The added weight dampened handling agility and made the MGC’s steering very heavy. Just around 9000 MGC roadsters and GT coupes were made, including for the U.S. The later MGB GT V8 was a far better package.

Malaise MG

The MGB roadster became a popular club racer, winning numerous SCCA D- and E-Production championships in the mid- and late-’70s with the Huffaker Engineering team sponsored by British Leyland. The ’70s were not kind to the production MGB, though. Stiffening U.S. emissions regulations took a bite out of power for all cars, and the MG’s pushrod four was hit especially hard.

Output for the 1975 MGB was down to 65 hp (SAE net) and 92 lb-ft of torque at 2500 rpm. The engine traded its dual SU carburetors for a single Zenith, and the car gained a catalytic converter. To meet U.S. bumper and lighting regulations, the MGB added ride height and sprouted big, black polyurethane bumpers in mid-1974. The changes pushed weight about 200 pounds higher than the earlier cars. The MG’s 0-to-60 time crept up to about 14 seconds, though a Porsche 914 with the standard 1.8-liter VW air-cooled flat-four did no better.

The MGB ended in October 1980, when the Abingdon, England, plant that built it closed. By the end, MG had built some 390,000 MGB roadsters and about 125,000 GT coupes. The last roadsters cost $8000 in the U.S., and a Limited Edition model with special paint and features was $8600. Henry Ford II bought the last one imported here. The MGB would remain the world’s biggest-selling small sports car until the Mazda MX5 Miata surpassed it in 2000, as noted by Guinness World Records.

Peter’s MG

Cosmides says his MG held up well, but by 1999 he knew he’d have to address rust in the rocker panels.

“I took it apart and fixed the rust myself and then stripped the car down completely. I then trailered it to a friend in Buffalo, New York, who paints cars. He understands the car and the hobby. I didn’t want to just go to a local body shop to have them paint a classic car.”

One small modification was adding the factory ‘Special Tuning,’ or ST, spoiler. The engine did not need a full rebuild, just the cylinder head and carburetors, plus attention to other components. Cosmides would later replace the MG’s four-speed transmission with a five-speed from the Datsun 280ZX.

“The five-speed is a popular conversion,” he says. “There’s a kit available, and you source the gearbox. It’s a straightforward installation. That was the smartest thing I ever did to the car. The five-speed made a huge difference on the highway. I was able to cruise more comfortably.” [Fifth gear in this transmission is a 0.745:1 overdrive, which significantly reduced the little four-cylinder engine’s revs at highway speeds.]

“A bonus is that the gearbox will come out by itself from underneath the car, which is not something you could do with an MGB four-speed,” Cosmides explains. “If you needed a clutch or any kind of transmission work, you had to pull both the engine and transmission.”

MG memories

Hagerty: When you were saving money for the MG, did you have any thoughts about buying a used model? There were plenty around at that time.

PC: It never occurred to me. I just had my sights set on a new one.

Hagerty: Did any other sports cars catch your eye as a teen?

PC: I had pictures of other cars on my bedroom wall. I knew the Alfa Romeo and Fiat 124 Spiders, of course, and the Fiat X1/9 was on the market by then. Of all things, I liked the Saab Sonnet III, but it was way too quirky. My father would never have gone for that. It was bad enough that I wanted an MG! He’d say, ‘Just buy a Chevy Vega and save a third of the price of an MG.’

Hagerty: When did you install the five-speed?

PC: Not until 2011. I was preparing to take a cross-country trip. A bunch of MG owners were going from the East Coast out to Reno, Nevada, to attend a big MG meet, doing the drive on U.S. Route 50. The trip was 6000 miles round-trip, including going on from Reno to San Francisco.

Hagerty: How did the MG do over that distance?

PC: It was trouble-free on that trip. My son, who was in his late 20s at the time, flew out to meet me in Reno. He rode with me until I got to Phoenix and then flew back home. Then I was on my own. Some of the other MG owners in the group had arranged for a car carrier to return their cars to various places along the way back East, but I drove mine. I went down the Pacific Coast Highway to Los Angeles and then across US-40.

Hagerty: What made you decide to open a British car shop?

I’d been working for Federal Express around 20 years, and I had an epiphany that I really didn’t want to do that anymore. I decided to open a repair facility to work on MGs, starting slowly in my garage, working on cars of people I knew. For the next 14 years, I had a shop that specialized in British cars. We did repairs and restorations. A good percentage were MGs.

Hagerty: Where did you pick up your skills to work on these cars?

PC: From working on my own. I had no formal training. It was like that bumper sticker you see on old Land Rovers that says something like, ‘Land Rover: turning owners into mechanics for 60 years.’

If you had an MG, you pretty much had to learn how to work on it. You didn’t use it without eventually having to give it some help. I think that’s what attracts a lot of people to British cars, and many classic cars in general. You get a sense that the car needs you, that you’re in a partnership.

For Peter Cosmides, that partnership endures.

__

Car: 1975 MGB roadster

Owner: Peter Cosmides

Home: Moorestown, NJ

Delivery date: August, 1975

Miles on car: ~100,000

Are you the original owner of a classic car or do you know someone who is? Send us a photo and a bit of background at editor@hagerty.com — you might get featured in our next installment!

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Original Owner: A 12-year-old saves to buy a new MGB at 16 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The following is adapted from an interview held by Charlotte Vowden, the author, with the car’s owner, William Medcalf. —Ed. 

My father was a tool maker by trade but his ambition was to explore the world. He took a shine to vintage Bentleys and in 1979, after rebuilding a 3/4.5 Litre on the kitchen table, he declared “Bessie” had to be tested, so off we went as a family to do a lap of America. It was a hell of a trip; we did 28,000 miles over nine months with no satellite navigation, no Google Maps, no mobile phones, no nothing.

As an ex–Royal Engineer who fought in the Korean War, my dad was all about doing things with military precision so at 5 o’clock every morning the wheels of that car would be turning. We would stop for breakfast and then push on until lunch. We kids (me and my two sisters Lizy and Emma) would take it in turns to choose which Holiday Inn or Best Western to stay in; TVs in the room and a swimming pool were all we were interested in, but dad would always get a “down and out Motel room” which meant we were on the ground floor with the car parked out front. Each day we were all assigned a task; Dad would service the car, Lizy would clean its windows, Emma would clean the wings, Mum would do the washing (we had two sets of clothes each) and my job was to check the wheel spokes with a spanner.

We did take school books with us but they got shoved out to save weight. That gave us the freedom to play and take in the incredible sights; from the Grand Canyon to Death Valley and Disney, we did it all, and on the grain belt it was wheat and corn as far as the eye could see. My earliest memory of life on the road is stopping at an orange grove in Florida to pick oranges off the trees, it couldn’t have been further from going to the supermarket.

The truckers were really kind to us. They would radio ahead to the truck stops to let them know a crazy English family was on their way in an old car and to take care of us; it was wonderful to have this little network. We also traveled with a chap called Bob May, “Uncle Bob,” who had the ultimate Vintage Bentley; a Speed Six. Dear old Bessie struggled to keep up with it, particularly on the roads that climbed for 20 miles uphill, she’d get slower and slower and slower. When we got home and back to reality Dad was hell-bent on upgrading to a quicker car so she was sold.

In 1982, he bought GJ 755, a very desirable 1930 6½ Litre Speed Six, and ticked off New Zealand, Australia, Japan, plus most of Europe and Canada behind its wheel. Dad loved to travel and he loved to do it in a beautiful thunderous Bentley so he used it for any and every trip that he could; including taking all the neighbours’ kids to the local ice cream shop where we lived in Enfield, North London. He’d squeeze as many of us into this four-seater as possible, which was about 12, and buy us as much ice cream as we could eat. He was very generous (and he liked a challenge) so when the last kid gave up, he’d announce himself the champion and take us home. He raced the Speed Six at Silverstone too.

I used to sit on Dad’s lap and have a go at driving but when I was old enough to reach the pedals, we wasted no time in putting learner plates on it. Learning to drive in a 2200 kg (4850-pound) motor car with a crash gearbox and massive turning circle took concentration and forethought, but Dad taught me how to get it to where it needed to go.

That thing would do 85 mph at about 2700 rpm comfortably, 120 mph tops; it was like a freight train, which is why Bentley won Le Mans five times in period. Dad’s claim to fame was winning an event called Balloons and Bentleys at Leeds Castle about three times. The hot air balloons would lift off, kiss the moat of the castle, and then fly for half an hour with the Bentleys in pursuit. The drivers had to work out where they were going to land, pick up the pilot and race back to the Castle. I don’t think you’d get away with it today!

I drove the Speed Six all over the place, but the best drives were always that last stretch before home after a big run, especially at night, in the summer, when the air temperature had dropped but the car was tingling and red hot. Dad would hear me coming from about a mile away.

I was going to follow in his footsteps and become a tool maker but he encouraged me to use the engineering skills he’d taught me when we worked on Bessie and the Speed Six. I thought OK, I’ll give it six months, but 26 years later and I’m working on some of the rarest Bentleys on the planet in my West Sussex workshop, Vintage Bentleys. What started as a one-man-with-a-bag-of-spanners operation in a lock-up garage has grown to a business with a team of 30 that buys, sells, restores, rebuilds, and repairs these historic cars. We’re also the largest manufacturer of Vintage Bentley parts.

It was around 25 years ago that I got offered the original coachwork for Dad’s Speed Six, which was the second of only two built in a style known as a Folkestone Close Couple Coupe. It was the grand open-tourer of its time and looked like a rocket ship. Ordered new from the British coachbuilder Martin Walter by a chap called Viscount Mandeville, who had a prolific driving career and amassed quite a few offenses (his wife walked up the aisle to get married in bandages because they’d been in a crash and he hit a tree in the Speed Six), I thought it was remarkable that it survived so I bought it. Dad never quite understood why and I lost him before he could find out.

I inherited the car when he passed away a long time ago and had always been desperate to correct its history by reuniting the chassis with its original body and restoring it faithfully to how it would have been when it left the factory. It was a project that began during the pandemic and took three and a half thousand man hours to complete. At some point, everyone in my business played a hand in that journey but incredibly I found the trimmer who had replaced the Speed Six’s original 1930 trim many years ago as an apprentice. He arrived with a bucket full of photographs, delved down and pulled out a picture of him working on the car, and when we removed the leather from the seats we found the specification of the car had been written on the back of them in pencil, it was effectively a job card. At the moment there’s a lot of talk about how AI is going to change the world but as human beings, we all want and possess a connection to the past.

Back in 1930, the work ethic was ferocious; they had seven weeks to fit the body to the rolling chassis. To deliver, they would have been working night and day which is why standardization of how things were done wasn’t really a thing. For example, one window mechanism worked better than the other because they had been put together in totally different ways. We didn’t change or upgrade them though, we put them back exactly as they were; I wanted the car to be as pure as it could possibly be. It took ten blokes to lower the original body on and seeing all the bolts line up was a moment of realization; it was back where it belonged.

As a family it was an emotional process because we were attached to the car in the form that we knew but putting it back to what it was intended to be was the right thing to do—even if the two cars look like chalk and cheese! In 2022, I flew the Speed Six to Pebble Beach, where it was awarded Second in Class, then shipped it to the Audrain Newport Concours & Motor Week where it took the outright win. It’s probably the best Speed Six on the planet but when the house of our dreams came up for sale there was little time for sentimentality—after 44 years in the family the Speed Six had to go. It was sold to a gentleman who had followed the project, for a confidential amount. My family will always be my priority and my dad would totally understand and approve of the fact that I turned the car into a forever home for my wife and five kids. He’d be proud.

GJ 8755 will always be “our car” even though we don’t own it anymore because it was such a cornerstone in our family. The coachwork that these Bentleys wear is in effect, just a dress, so if I find another Speed Six chassis then I could put the coachwork that Dad’s car wore (which is safely stored in a barn) on that. With the look and feel of Dad’s car, we could almost pick up where we left off. It’s the one that got away, but all is not lost.

***

At the 2023 Goodwood Members Meeting, William and his team at Vintage Bentley made history when they raced three vintage Bentleys on synthetic fuel—a world first. “Historic cars are intertwined with British culture and Britishness and I want to see my children and grandchildren able to enjoy them in the future,” he says. “It’s a huge challenge but in 18 months I hope my company will be carbon neutral and using synthetic fuel is a huge step towards that.”

To find out more, visit vintagebentley.com.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

Via Hagerty UK

The post Why I said goodbye to my father’s vintage Bentley after 44 years appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Wire wheels, a convertible top, a six-cylinder engine, sharp styling, and even sharper handling. During the golden era of British sports cars, Austin-Healey combined those ingredients to create an instant classic.

If you have a hankering for top-down British motoring, check out our Hagerty Marketplace auction pick of the week, this 1967 Austin-Healey 3000 BJ8 Mk III.

The 3000’s story began at the Earls Court Motor Show in 1952. Designer Donald Healey unveiled the Healey 100, denoting the car’s top speed of 100 mph. It was a hit, and Healey had to partner with BMC, the owners of Austin, to keep up with orders.

Austin-Healey dropped in a six-cylinder engine in 1956 to make the 100/6. The displacement increased to 2902 cc in 1959, and the 3000 was born. Known as the Big Healey to differentiate it from the smaller Sprite, the 3000 racked up 43,000 sales during its eight-year production run, with most cars sold in the U.S. market.

By its final production year of 1967, the Big Healey was in its third iteration. The Mk III introduced improvements to the interior, like a wood dashboard and a 2+2 seating arrangement. The car’s 2.9-liter inline-six, breathing through two SU carburetors, was good for 148 horsepower and 173 pound-feet of torque. All 3000s came with a four-speed manual, and most North American cars were equipped with a finicky Laycock de Normanville overdrive.

Our feature car is a 1967 model that has been owned by the same family since October 1971. The 3000 is finished in Metallic Golden Beige—a one-year-only color for the 3000—with a red leather interior with a black folding soft top. To make the Austin-Healey more usable in modern traffic, the car has a few upgrades: The transmission has been changed to a Toyota W58 five-speed ‘box, a popular swap for these cars. Also, the radiator fan has been upgraded to an electric push-fan for more reliable cooling.

The Big Healey was treated to an extensive restoration in 2011. Since the work is now 12 years old, the car wears a few flaws: The paint is chipping in the driver door jamb, stress-cracking in the paint is present around the hood, and minor pitting is visible on the chrome bumper and wire wheels. The good news, however, is that the undercarriage is remarkably clean.

Twisty roads, tweed jackets, and a straight-six-cylinder soundtrack are calling. Don’t miss out on this Austin-Healey 3000. The auction ends on Monday, June 19, at 4:20 pm EDT.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Auction Pick of the Week: 1967 Austin-Healey 3000 BJ8 Mk III appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Some of the oldest motorcycles in British two-wheeled history were seen only in small numbers when new in the U.S. As the United Kingdom ramped up production to pay off its burdensome World War II debt, eager Americans, flush with cash, were ready to purchase the latest offerings. The late 1940s and 1950s were boom years for most U.K. manufacturers.

Brough Superior

George Brough, creator of the great Brough Superior brand, was justifiably proud that his line of machines was hailed as the “Rolls-Royce of Motorcycles.” The cheeky young George’s father had been building Brough motorcycles for years, but George wanted higher performance with better components, so he audaciously called his machines Brough Superior. BS used a variety of engines depending on the client’s intended usage. The SS80, the Super Sports, used either a J.A.P. (John Alfred Prestwich, more commonly known as J.A. Prestwich, manufacturers of motorcycle engines for many brands from 1902 onward) or Matchless side-valve V-twin, but the ultimate model of the marque is undoubtedly the SS100.

The SS100 Alpine Grand Sport featured an overhead valve version of the J.A.P. engine, capable of 100 miles per hour. This speed was attested to following a test ride by the factory technicians, who painstakingly assembled each machine twice to ensure accuracy of component fit and performance.

It would take a movie about an unlikely war hero with a penchant for speed to put the Brough Superior in proper perspective and save it in our collective memories. T.E. Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia, had a love affair with his Brough motorcycles, including the SS100 on which he met his demise. Lawrence’s postwar life, including his passion for his motorcycles, can be seen in his book The Mint. His first Brough was named George. Then he purchased George II, III, IV, V, VI, and VII. He also referred to his Broughs as Boanerges or sometimes Boa, meaning Sons of Thunder. On these machines, Lawrence raced biplanes and trains. Surely the stuff of legends.

Vincent

When Philip Vincent’s father provided the funding to purchase the recently defunct HRD company in 1928, young upstart Philip set out to build the fastest, most glamorous motorcycle made at the time. He soon rivaled the much-vaunted Brough Superior by offering similar performance at a lower cost. Vincent knew good marketing, too, as the company brochure featured a striking illustration of the 1000-cc Series A Rapide Twin streaking across the page with a beautiful woman and sporting gentleman making good time on the handsome beast. Clarity of purpose and confidence can be felt through the ad copy: “Designed by enthusiasts for the discriminating rider” and “The world’s fastest standard motorcycle. This is a fact, not a slogan.”

American Rollie Free, wearing just a bathing suit, bathing cap, and borrowed sneak-ers, rode John Edgar’s Vincent Black Lightning prototype to a record 150.313 mph at the Bonneville Salt Flats on September 13, 1948. That photo of Rollie Free on the speeding Vincent is perhaps the most iconic image in all of motorcycling. Prewar Vincent HRDs are solid blue-chip collectibles, with the best of the big twins approaching $500,000 due to scarcity, desirability, and quality of construction. A postwar Vincent, such as the aforementioned Bathing Suit Bike, sold for a reported $1.1 million in 2010.

AJS

A.J. Stevens and Co., better known as AJS, was established in the pre–World War I period. Its success at the Isle of Man Tourist Trophy course led to the slogan “AJS, Racebred Motor Cycles,” which was often seen in their sales brochures. Facing financial difficulties in the 1930s, AJS was acquired by AMC, Associates Motorcycles, in 1938. It would produce its most iconic models in the early post–World War II era. Winning the inaugural 500-cc FIM World Championship in 1949 with Rod Coleman riding the innovative E90S “Porcupine” was the high-water mark for the brand. The Porcupine name came about because of the spike-like fins on the cylinders that aided cooling. AJS followed this up with the E-95, a three-valve “Triple Knocker” sporting a huge saddle fuel tank until 1954. This machine offered sophisticated design elements but was plagued with mechanical issues. Its on-track rival, Norton, used a double-overhead-cam single-cylinder engine to power its “featherbed”-framed Manx model, with the brilliant Geoff Duke riding one to a 500-cc World Championship in 1950.

Norton

Speaking of Norton, James Lansdowne Norton, or “Pa,” as he was known to his employees, scored some early success at the Isle of Man Tourist Trophy races with rider Rem Fowler in 1907 on a Peugeot-powered twin. From that point, it was single-cylinder engines that were most frequently associated with the marque’s racing successes for the next 50 years. Norton produced various production racers in limited numbers for years after that, such that nearly all the great racers of the 1950s and ’60s rode a Manx Norton model. The Nortons sponsored by John Player tobacco that Peter Williams rode in the 1970s utilized a Cosworth design and eventually rotary engines.

In the final years of production, Norton made a very alluring John Player Norton Commando for street use. It may have been no faster than its more pedestrian siblings, but it sure looked the part. One need only glance at the JPS livery and Union Jack flag on the tail section to identify it as a quintessentially British product of its time.

BSA

BSA, once the world’s largest producer of motorcycles, created the exquisite and versatile Gold Star model based on its exploits on the racetracks of England, particularly at Brooklands. In one last splash of glory before its bankruptcy, BSA sent a fleet of the best riders in the world to the famous Daytona Speedway in Florida armed with their Rocket III triples, taking a win there in 1971 with rider Dick Mann.

Triumph

Triumph is the brand that comes to mind first when thinking of British motorcycles. Although the company was founded by a German, Siegfried Bettmann, its home was in Coventry, England. Triumph made tens of thousands of single-cylinder motorcycles for the First World War, but it was the addition of the brilliant Edward Turner that helped birth the 500-cc Triumph Speed Twin in 1937. Triumph would become synonymous with parallel twin-cylinder engines from that moment on. While some might think of a late 1960s Bonneville as the epitome of classic Brits, its roots can be traced back to the prewar Speed Twin design. Notably, the Bonneville model was named to capitalize on the success of Texas-based Johnny Allen, who piloted a modified Triumph Thunderbird–powered streamliner called The Texas Cee-Gar to 214 mph on the Bonneville Salt Flats in 1956.

Americans were already worshiping at the altar of Triumph after the 1953 American film The Wild One, whose main character Johnny Strabler, played by Marlon Brando, rode a Triumph Thunderbird. The film was banned in the U.K. until 1968 due to its anti-authority storyline.

Ariel

British marque Ariel, founded in 1898 to produce motorized tricycles (not unlike the popular De Dion–powered models), catered to the well-heeled as well as the sportsman. Ariel hit its stride in the 1930s with the Red Hunter, a single-cylinder 350-cc; twin-cylinder, 500-cc machines, and the 1000-cc “Square Four,” which was launched in 1931 and went on to sell more than 15,500 units before its demise. This clever design sprang from the fertile mind of Edward Turner. It was, in essence, a pair of parallel twins with geared central flywheels, two transverse crankshafts, and a monoblock cylinder head. The continual evolution of the model saw the initial rigid frame with girder-style forks give way to plunger rear suspension and telescopic front forks. The original hand shift was eventually replaced by a foot-change gearbox, too. By the late 1950s, the brand had fallen on hard times and gambled its future on the more modern two-stroke range which included the ill-fated Leader and Arrow. It was a sad ending for what was once proclaimed to be “The World’s Most Exclusive Motor Cycle,” a reference to its Square Four model.

Veloce

Veloce Ltd. of Hall Green in Birmingham, England, was a family concern that made a comparatively modest quantity of motorcycles over its lengthy history. Veloce’s breakthrough model was the lightweight Velocette, launched in 1914. As a result of the name recognition, the motorcycles produced by Veloce would be known collectively as Velocette regardless of the type.

After World War I, some advanced four-stroke engineering by the young Percy Goodman, son of founder John Goodman (née Johannes Gutegmann of Oberwinter, Germany), would change the company’s trajectory. His overhead valve, 350-cc single-cylinder engine would be the genesis of roadsters and racers for years to come. Other innovations from Velocette included positive stop foot-change shifting and swinging-arm rear suspension. The ultimate double-overhead-cam 350 racer was the KTT. It won the first-ever F.I.M. 350-cc World Championship in 1949 with Freddie Frith and repeated the feat in 1950 with Bob Foster.

In its final form, the KTT Mark VIII featured Oleo Air rear shocks with Webb Girder front forks and overhead cams. Production of this over-the-counter production racer lasted from 1938 to 1950. After that, it was road-based equipment like the Viper, the Venom Clubman, and the 500-cc Thruxton models that kept the flame burning until the firm’s bankruptcy in 1970.

Britten

While geographically far from mainland England, New Zealand is part of the Commonwealth and shares enough DNA to be considered part of the United Kingdom for our purposes. New Zealander John Britten, although challenged with dyslexia, became an architectural designer and engineer, eventually turning his talents to racing motorcycle design. His eponymously named masterpiece, the Britten V1000, was launched in 1991. The innovative design made extensive use of carbon-fiber and Kevlar materials to form the bodywork, forks, swingarm, and wheels. It was powered with a double-overhead cam, 1000-cc liquid-cooled V-Twin engine and was immediately on par with other manufacturers’ factory efforts at the Battle of the Twins races around the globe. Just 10 Britten V1000 motorcycles were built between 1991 and 1998. John Britten died of inoperable skin cancer in 1995, robbing the world of a charismatic genius with a penchant for speed and style.

The British motorcycle industry went into a tailspin in the early 1970s that resulted in the closure of nearly all motorcycle manufacturing. It seemed all was lost until Englishman John Bloor relaunched the Triumph brand in 1983. However, nostalgia is a funny thing, and just as it fueled the comeback of cars such as the Volkswagen New Beetle and the Mini Cooper, Triumph found that the public wanted a machine that looked like the classic Bonneville. Carrying all the modern conveniences and reliability, they built a worthy successor to carry that name forward. Triumph’s rebirth has been followed by new motorcycles from Royal Enfield, Brough Superior, Matchless, Norton, and most recently BSA.

Anglophiles unite—our beloved Brits are back!

Motorcycles: Best of Britain 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! 

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters. 

The post These 9 bike brands are the best of Britain appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The Hagerty Price Guide Indexes are seven stock market-style indexes that average the values of notable segment movers, or “component” cars. They help provide a broad overview of how different segments of the collector car market are performing.

We’re over a quarter of the way into 2023 and much has happened. With thousands of cars on offer in January in Kissimmee, Florida, and in Scottsdale, Arizona, along with higher-end offerings at February’s Rétromobile in Paris and at Amelia Island, Florida, in March, there is plenty of data to give us a read on the market’s pulse. What’s that pulse telling us? The collector car market is less defined than it has been in a long time.

Although some indexes presented no movement from the last time we discussed them in early January, others reversed previous losses or even gained ground. This illustrates just how nuanced the market is and often how difficult it can be to accurately predict where it is headed. With that in mind, let’s explore how the different segments performed with our last price guide update.

Blue Chip

The end of 2022 was slow for the top of the market, but the beginning of 2023 saw renewed activity following the Scottsdale, Paris, and Amelia Island auctions. The results culminated in a one percent increase to Hagerty’s Blue Chip Index. This bump doesn’t tell the whole story of the top of the market, however.

Results for component cars were active yet mixed, with seven vehicles posting gains and four of them losing ground. The largest increases were a 14 percent gain by the Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing and a nine percent increase by the Alfa Romeo TZ-2, both at the very top end. The mid-range, meanwhile, saw a six percent gain by the Shelby GT350 and a 7 percent bump by the 1953 Corvette. Increases were tempered a bit by the 1967 Corvette 427/435, which lost 12 percent, and the Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud I, which lost four percent. What we’re seeing at the top of the market is indicative of what we’re seeing elsewhere—results are mixed but there is clearly still steam in the market.

British

Following the previous quarter’s one percent loss for Hagerty’s British Car Index, the index settled in and stabilized to start 2023. But this doesn’t mean that nothing is happening with British cars, and the segment is far more active than the overall number suggests. In fact, of the 10 component cars, all but one saw a notable change.

Most cars gained value, with the Austin-Healey 3000 leading the way with an eight percent increase, followed by the Series I Jaguar E-Type and Austin-Healey 100 BN2 Le Mans, with five percent and four percent increases, respectively. There was also more modest growth for the Mk I MGB as well as the Triumph TR3A and TR6. That broad range of modest increases, however, was tempered by a 10 percent loss to the Mk II Sunbeam Tiger and a five percent drop to the Jaguar XK 120. As with previous updates, the market for British cars remains strong, yet incredibly nuanced.

Ferrari

Following a quiet end to 2022, Hagerty’s Ferrari Index posted a mild one percent increase this past quarter, partly thanks to the ramping up of auction season from January to March. Most component cars remained steady, while the ones that did move saw only modest changes.

There were two clear winners, however—the 250 LM gained three percent and the Dino 246 GTS grew five percent. The 250 LM’s increase is due to the model’s first public offering in years, when one hit the block at Artcurial’s Rétromobile auction. Though the car went unsold, had it cut loose at the high bid of €20M ($22M), the total would have signaled an increase. The Dino’s rise comes from a handful of surprisingly strong sales at Amelia Island. What we see in the Ferrari market is similar to the broader Blue Chip market—inconsistent results but with a generally positive outlook.

Muscle Car

On the heels of a one percent loss to Hagerty’s Muscle Car Index in 2022, results from Scottsdale and Kissimmee in January pushed the index up by two percent to a new all-time high. That said, not everything in the muscle car segment is looking up. Sure, some top-tier muscle cars posted truly impressive increases this past quarter, but the broader market is far more mixed, with some models only regaining value they lost late in 2022 and others continuing to trend downward.

The biggest surprise was the 23 percent increase by the Buick GS 455. These cars have been lagging behind sister cars like the GTO and Olds 4-4-2 but have finally caught up. Another notable gainer was the 1969 Dodge Charger 500, which increased by 20 percent. Other leaders were the 1970 LS6 Chevelle, which climbed 12 percent after a weak showing at the end of 2022, and the Hemi Superbird, which posted a six percent increase. Several Superbirds came up for sale in January—at the risk of oversaturating the market—but the risk paid off, with strong prices almost across the board. Meanwhile, the 1965 Pontiac GTO continued its slide, losing another 14 percent. The 1970 4-4-2 also lost six percent, even as its Buick GS sibling surged. The takeaway here is that there is still strength in the muscle car market, but its many inconsistencies could point toward a rapidly-approaching ceiling.

German

German classics were the clear winner with this price guide update, posting the strongest quarter-over-quarter gain, at three percent, and putting the German Index at a new all-time high. Results here were also less mixed than other market segments, with five component cars gaining value and just one losing.

Standout movers were the Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing’s 14 percent increase, followed by the 280SL’s 12 percent gain. Porsche 356 coupes climbed at a more modest rate of two percent, while the BMW M1 posted a five percent increase. The one loss was the Mercedes-Benz 190SL, with a 10 percent drop. Outside of our component cars, much of the same story seen in the rest of the German market is being played out. Instead of wider gains or losses, movement is targeted and erratic, making the segment’s future much more uncertain than it might seem on the surface.

1950s American

American classics of the 1950s posted another positive quarter, gaining an additional percentage point. As with many of the other indexes, the gain comes as the result of very mixed movement. Following the January auctions in Scottsdale and Kissimmee, however, it is apparent that there is still room to grow for some vehicles.

The 1957 Ford Thunderbird rose by an impressive 13 percent, while the less discussed Hudson Hornet gained 10 percent. Notable losses in this segment were the elegant Continental Mark II at a 10 percent loss and the Ford Fairlane 500 Skyliner, which softened by seven percent. With seven component cars gaining value and six losing, there is nothing clear about the future direction of 1950s American cars.

Affordable Classics

For the second update in a row, Hagerty’s Affordable Classics Index has posted no appreciable movement, proving that last quarter’s pause is no fluke. Though the term “affordable” in the context of the component cars has changed, the index’s rise since 2017 perfectly outlines just how much the market has expanded, especially since 2020.

Surprisingly, many component cars posted modest gains. From the Corvair Monza’s five percent bump to the Studebaker Lark’s nine percent increase, eight of the 13 component cars saw growth. However, the Datsun 240Z’s slide continued, with a four percent loss, and the 1967 Volkswagen Beetle decreased by eight percent. These two decreases sucked away any forward momentum. Results are too varied to confidently predict a leveling off at the lower end of the market, but continued performance is hard to ignore.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

Via Hagerty Insider

The post Buying and selling in 2023 is getting increasingly unpredictable appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Although weights, measures, and currency are adjusted for a U.S. audience, colloquialisms and contextual references reflect this story’s origin on our sister site, Hagerty UK. 

Launched in 1936, the BMW/Bristol six-cylinder engine was originally designed by BMW’s senior engineers Rudolf Schleicher and Fritz Fiedler for the epochal 328 sports car. As my colleague and friend John Simister puts it in his book Legendary Car Engines, the story goes that this clever, pushrod-actuated, hemispherical-head “six” was handed to Bristol, the aeroplane maker, as part of its war reparations. That isn’t the entire truth, but my hat, what a lovely piece of kit this engine is.

The version of the famous long-stroke, triple-carbureted 2-liter six in front of me now was built at the workshops of Jim Stokes in Waterlooville, Hampshire. While it’s in a very soft state of tune, there’s heft and intent in the vibrato exhaust note; it’s ready for battle, even if that’s just popping down to the pub. As it growls and grumbles into warmth, I’m watching the rev counter and the tiny needle of the water temperature gauge.

Small wonder the first user of this car, an AC Aceca, demanded that its manufacturer fit this 120-hp Bristol BMW engine as soon as the mill became available, for it was a premier cru heart compared with the old 2-liter six-pot plodder, with which the AC Aceca was first born.

And this car was there right at the birth; the prototype, in fact, which stood on the AC stand in Earls Court for the 1954 Motor Show. Registered VPL441, this AC two-seat coupe would be an important car in its own right with an interesting history, but there’s a twist to the tale—a fast and famous former owner.

Before we get to that, however—engage first, lift the clutch, and pull away. The Bristol engine is known for its love of revs and the vulnerable center main bearings don’t like slogging low down in the rev range, so a modest bootful is best to get going, though this is someone else’s car and it’s up to me to look after it. Carburetion is notorious to get right on these cars and this one is a peach, pulling well from just below 2000 rpm, breathing deeply in the mid-range and then soaring above 5000 where the knitting-needle pushrod arrangement can get flustered.

Culshaw and Horrobin’s Catalogue of British Cars gives the Bristol-engined Aceca a top speed of 115.5 mph, 0-to-50-mph in 8 seconds, an average of 20.5 mpg, and a 17.8-second standing quarter, compared to equivalent figures for the first AC-engined Aceca: 105 mph, 9.4 seconds, 26.5 mpg and 18.9 seconds.

This example feels capable of all of the former figures—actually, a bit faster. Worth remembering that in its later years, this remarkable engine was highly developed for use in the Formula 2 Cooper Bristol, so the know how is there to get serious horsepower and torque, too, as the block can be stretched quite a bit.

Still dressed for Goodwood’s Revival meeting, this ultramarine-blue AC garners attention and admiring glances. Small wonder since the all-aluminum alloy coachwork design was rumored to be based on that of a Pininfarina study done for AC in the 1940s. Underneath was the Ace sports car’s John Tojeiro–designed, ladder-shaped tube-frame, with independent suspension, sprung with transverse leaf springs front and rear.

Tops, tails, and that all-important gap between the long bonnet and windscreen are critical with a small, two-door coupe. When they are right, they should appear effortlessly perfect, more surfboard than car, as if riding a wave of water rather than tarmac. Think Alfa Romeo’s Bertone 105/115 coupés, Triumph’s little GT6, or Ferrari’s 166 Inter GT—but not, perhaps, Hyundai’s Veloster or BMW’s M Coupe.

The Aceca seems to veer wildly between decades as you walk down its length. The egg-crate grille, simple over-riders (standard cars had twin tubular bumpers), and small windscreen are pure ’50s. The bonnet length is longer than it need be because of the transverse spring set-up, but that also means the engine is set back in the frame to improve handling balance.

Then, inside, there’s the upholstered fascia with its multitude of instruments and inset polished wood panels, all of which feels more like the ’60s. The B-pillars with that stunning fillet of wing just in front of the rear wheel shows the attention to detail of the great Italian carrozzeria, and the rear hatch is right back at you from the ’70s. As to that rear side-screen kink and the thick C-pillar, well, think about what the great Wilhelm Hofmeister was doing for BMW in the same period.

With 16-inch wheels shod with narrow Pirelli Cinturato CN36 tires of the right height and tread pattern, the ride is good if firm. If the worm-and-gear steering isn’t the last word in speed and precision, the loads are light and there’s not a lot of free play in this one. Corners are engaged with caution and thought, but you can carry speed through the turn, and the throttle also helps in the direction and attitude.

You probably wouldn’t want to be jabbing the anchors while heavily loaded up, but with big but narrow drum brakes all round, as owner Kevin Shilling says: “The brakes don’t really stop the car, they’re more about slowing it down.”

Let’s come back to the famous owner here. The question is: Does a famous owner bestow greatness? And in this case, does a celebrated coachwork color do the same? If I told you that not only was the first long-term user of this prototype car the notable speed record–breaker Donald Campbell, but that it is also painted in the actual paint left over from his K7 jet-powered hydroplane in which he met his end, would you swoon like an Edwardian lady?

In order to match the original paint during its restoration, contact was made with the team restoring Campbell’s water speed–record boat, recovered from Coniston Water in 2000. A small section of the hull not being reused was sent for scanning to match the colour, before a small amount of the hull’s paint was removed, ground to a powder, and added to the new paint to be applied.

One man, according to Shilling, was so moved by the experience of sitting in the passenger seat that he wept. The car most closely associated with Campbell is his 1966 Jaguar E-Type Series-I, 4.2-liter coupe registered GLM37C (and later DC7) and painted in opalescent silver blue. Poignantly, after his death in January 1967, the Jaguar was left parked outside Pier Cottage on Lake Coniston for a few days before it was taken away and put on sale.

Campbell wasn’t the best of bets for a carmaker seeking to capitalize on fame, either. After scouring my battered copy of his 1955 book Into The Water Barrier, I can find no mention of the little AC coupe, which he should have been driving up and down between his home in Reigate, Surrey to Coniston in the period. Nor was it, according to Shilling, who has conducted extensive research into the car and written his own book, Reckless! The Fall And Rise Of AC “Bluebird,” actually owned by Campbell; it was loaned to him by AC’s owners.

Shilling takes up the story.

“By all accounts Campbell used the car for three years, which is the longest he had kept any car for. He had the car sprayed Bluebird blue and used the car with the full consent of the Hurlock brothers, as a marketing ploy to promote AC (Acedes) Ltd, to the wider public.”

Quite a smart piece of marketing by Shilling, too. Associating his old AC with the Campbells, the greatest of record-breaking families, specifically Donald, Sir Malcolm’s son, and possibly the bravest water and land-speed record holder, with the most haunting and moving story.

Shilling’s background in financial communications not only gave him the wherewithal to buy and restore the old car but also enabled him to go racing and historic rallying in such Blue Riband events as the Mille Miglia retrospective and the Goodwood Revival. It gave him the knowhow to rebrand stuff, such as this car, which he has named “AC Bluebird,” after a mechanic’s throwaway comment in Stokes’s workshop. There’s a logo, merchandise (hats, jackets, and tees), and website to go with the car.

And Shilling, who admits he must have spent well over £200,000 restoring and preparing the Aceca for events—almost as much as he bought it for—admits that the outlay won’t have done the car’s value any harm, either. He claims he’s been informally offered more than a million dollars for his AC. To give a sense of perspective here, you can currently find what looks like a tidy, matching-numbers, Bristol-engined AC Aceca offered on Car and Classic with an asking price of £140,000.

In July 2003, Shilling’s VPL441 went under the hammer at Bonhams’ Goodwood sale. Contentiously described as being “sold to” Donald Campbell, the catalog explained that it had been “rediscovered” in Devon in 1985 and restored over a five-year period, with more than £30,000 spent on it, which helped it to enjoy some concours success in subsequent years. It sold for £31,625.

Shilling says he’s had some kickback from the AC Owners’ Club members about the remorseless machine that this AC has become, and I understand that. For those who’ve spent what seem like months lying on freezing garage floors restoring, mending, and maintaining their cars, keeping the reputation alive, Shilling’s seemingly bottomless check book may be hard to stomach. But Shilling’s nobody’s fool. Though he doesn’t make this point, a rising tide raises all ships; if he really does sell his blue AC for over a million bucks, perhaps that could rub off on the value of all Acecas.

In the end, this is a really nicely restored and maintained, important little coupe, which is a pleasure to drive and has been set up so that an amateur driver can have some fun and not scare themselves witless. What Donald Campbell thought of it other than it being free wheels we can only guess at. I say good luck to Shilling and his car; even if it’s cost him a small fortune, it’s been an adventure, and he’s been having fun doing it. And surely that’s the whole point of classic cars, isn’t it?

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

Via Hagerty UK

The post Saving Donald Campbell’s favorite British hot-rod appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Welcome to Small But Mighty, a short series about boutique British car companies. You may not know much about Ariel, Briggs, Caterham, or Morgan, but you probably see at least one car the way they do: as a crafted thing, meant for enjoying and possessed of its own personality. To read more about the landscape of this cottage automotive industry, click here.

Below the Malvern Hills in far western England, amid the rolling green quilt of pasturelands and farm paddocks of bucolic Worcestershire, is the home of Britain’s most quintessentially British car company. If you could build a car out of wet sheepdog, tea with milk, flowering heath, the Royal Dragoon Guards, and a half-timber pub in the village with a good fire, it would look like a Morgan.

Indeed, were founder H.F.S. Morgan to turn up today at the workshop he opened in the spa town of Malvern in 1910, he would probably know exactly where to find his office and the coffeepot. The factory sheds with their A-frame ceilings and concrete floors stained by a century of car making aren’t all that much different today, being still arrayed sideways down a hill from the gate on 86 Pickersleigh Road, the easier to push unfinished cars to the next assembly stations.

Well, he might not recognize the gift shop, the gastronomic bistro where the furniture was made in-house out of ash (of course), or the buses rolling up with punters willing to pay $34 for a factory tour or $365 to rent a Morgan for the day. The Morgan Works hosts 35,000 visitors a year, making this cottage maker not only the largest of our group and the oldest name in continuous operation, but also the closest thing to Disneyland.

As the tourists look on through their iPhones, new Morgan Plus Fours and Plus Sixes come together (still down the hill), starting where craftspeople painstakingly fit the pressed aluminum fenders, doors, and scuttles to the body’s ash frame. Then on to the paint booths where they are hand-sprayed to the buyer’s specification, and then to final assembly at the bottom where they are united with an aluminum chassis, new last year, featuring an all-independent suspension and either a 255-hp 2.0-liter turbo four or a 335-hp 3.0-liter turbo inline-six, both from BMW. Plus Fours start at the equivalent of $79,000, the Plus Six at $91,000, though it’s easy to let the options swell the bottom line.

Off in a corner, we saw the very first production units of the new $51,000 Super 3 three-wheeler getting final fettling, the car’s design completely overhauled and updated to package a water-cooled Ford Fiesta inline-three instead of the old S&S V-twin thump-a-dumper. Morgan is hoping to grow its output to 1000 cars a year, including 500 Plus models, 400 Super 3s, and possibly 100 units of a new company flagship to replace the retired Aero.

So says Jonathan Wells, the company’s head of design, before acknowledging that supply problems and economic uncertainty may alter the timeline. There is certainty of demand, he says, what with the wait time at six months for a Plus Four and one year for the Super 3, a sleek mashup of retro and modern that has been designed specifically with younger buyers and the U.S. market in mind.

A Morgan has to look like a Morgan, meaning it has to look like the car that retired group captains named Bertie and Albie would buy. But “we have to be careful not to become a pastiche, what we call in Britain ‘a wedding car,’” says Wells. Basically, he means a Ford Focus with a vintage body plopped on it. The new alloy chassis and BMW powertrains moved the ancient Plus into the 21st century, and “the Super 3 gives Morgan an opportunity to explore different design themes, to create a foundation for a broader, more relevant brand,” Wells says.

Along those lines, the company built eight safari-style Morgans with rock-crusher tires and suspensions, capitalizing on the off-road Dakar craze. “They were huge time sinks,” says Wells, and there are no plans to make it a regular product, but they helped introduce Morgan to the Instagram generation. Problems include escalating energy prices, which have hit the aluminum-intensive Morgan hard, and supply chain snarls that have forced the company to order some components as much as 36 months in advance. And, as with everyone else, a forthcoming EV mandate will force Morgan to figure out how to shove a few hundred pounds of battery into a 2200-pound car without turning it into a giant anvil.

On the upside, “We’re seeing a marked decrease in the average age of the buyer,” says Wells. “It is getting younger, and we’re seeing less bias about whether it has to be an IC engine.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

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

The post If a wet sheep dog had wheels, it’d be a Morgan appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Welcome to Small But Mighty, a short series about boutique British car companies. You may not know much about Ariel, Briggs, Caterham, or Morgan, but you probably see at least one car the way they do: as a crafted thing, meant for enjoying and possessed of its own personality. To read more about the landscape of this cottage automotive industry, click here.

Just south of London, down by the city’s other bustling airport of Gatwick, Caterham Cars beckons in the visitor with two-story-high, full-color action pics of its retro road crabs and bright, Caterham-green arrows pointing to a glass door with the word “Welcome” in bold letters next to it. This operation doesn’t mind foot traffic.

Caterham has been dining out for over 50 years on the brilliance of Colin Chapman’s original 1957 Lotus Seven, a featherweight, cycle-fender skiff intended for trials and other forms of small-car racing. Two years after the Seven debuted, Graham Nearn started a Lotus dealer on Caterham Hill south of London and became a rabid seller and advocate of Sevens.

By 1973, Lotus was ready to move on, but because nothing ever dies in Britain, Nearn acquired the production rights from Chapman and rechristened it the Caterham Seven, producing both kits and finished cars. (To read about 7 reasons why Caterham’s Seven is still going strong, click here.)

After the original factory blew down in a storm, Caterham moved to a new plant east of London and then opened the facility near Gatwick as a production site, showroom, and customer delivery and service center. If you live anywhere in Europe, you can easily fly in, watch your Seven being worked on (or attend a course on how to assemble it yourself), and drive out. Being so accessible is one of the ways Caterham keeps its cash register humming.

Another is a driver academy it started in 1995 that today accepts 56 students per season and plugs them into an eight-event Caterham racing series. It costs about $43,000 a head and is sold out through 2024. And the company licensed a Lego kit a few years ago that sold over 200,000 copies, bringing a nice return.

Meanwhile, the cars and kits keep selling “500 a year, religiously. It doesn’t matter if there’s a recession on, a war on, we always seem to build 500 cars a year,” says David Ridley, Caterham’s chief commercial officer. He told me the company is trying to squeeze out another 100 cars to pare down an “infuriating” 12-month order backlog.

The U.K. takes 40 percent, with the rest headed to Japan, France, and the U.S. as the company’s biggest export markets, plus a host of other countries. Coming: a dedicated U.S. model because of a 2015 federal law allowing builders of low-volume replicas—the Caterham certainly qualifies—to sell 325 units a year exempt from safety regs. “We’re barely scratching the surface in America,” says Ridley.

Nearn’s family sold the business in 2005, leading to a high-flying era in which tiny Caterham fielded an F1 team for three seasons (best finish: 10th) and produced a sports prototype for a one-make racing series. Money vanished faster than it was coming in, and in 2021 the beleaguered company was sold again to its Japanese distributor, VT Holdings, a multibillion-dollar international car dealership group.

Besides financial security, the deal produced the 84-hp Caterham 170, which at VT’s behest substituted the 2.0-liter Ford Duratec unit of the company’s more powerful 360, 420, and 620 models (and their many variants) with a turbocharged Suzuki 660-cc three-banger from Japan’s domestic mini-car market.

Originally intended solely for Japan, the lightest Caterham at 970 pounds is also the cheapest, with a starting price of about $35,000, and it has become wildly popular elsewhere. On a short skim of the pavement around Gatwick, it proved the closest Caterham comes today to replicating the original Seven, with gossamer-light controls hitched to narrow tires and acceleration that is breezy if not exactly face-puddling.

As with the other cottage makers, Caterham will have to be agile to avoid walls that are closing in. The number of gasoline engine and manual transmission combos available from a global industry headed in the exact opposite direction is shrinking yearly. Two-pedal Caterhams might be anathema to a company that trades on a full-immersion interactive experience, but “if I had mentioned an electric Caterham two or three years ago, I would have been strung up as a witch. Now there’s a growing acceptance and interest in it,” Ridley says.

However, until you can drive one to the track, blast around, charge up, and drive home, there won’t be an electric Caterham, he said. “We’re waiting for it to be the right time for us. It’s a tough world and it’s only getting harder, but we’re fighting the good fight, and I see no reason to believe we won’t be here in 10 years.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

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

The post Caterham Cars builds the Lotus that Lotus won’t appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Welcome to Small But Mighty, a short series about boutique British car companies. You may not know much about Ariel, Briggs, Caterham, or Morgan, but you probably see at least one car the way they do: as a crafted thing, meant for enjoying and possessed of its own personality. To read more about the landscape of this cottage-car industry, click here.

Though motor racing is a global business, Britain is justifiably proud of its place at the center of it. An oft-repeated adage is that from a single hill in Oxfordshire you can see the headquarters of six of the 10 teams competing in Formula 1.

Several hours to the north, in an otherwise nondescript industrial estate on the banks of the River Mersey and next to Liverpool John Lennon Airport, is one firm trying to condense England’s proud F1 legacy into a car on which you can hang a license plate.

With a single open seat mounted at the center of what looks like a slithering cybernetic cobra, the BAC Mono is perhaps the ultimate hedonistic toy.

It’s effectively your own private formula car, complete with tomorrow-tech carbon graphene and exotic niobium-alloy components, inboard dampers peeking through slits in the bodywork, a 332-hp Ford-based turbo four-cylinder attached to a paddle-shifted Hewland sequential six-speed from F3 racing that is also a stressed member of the chassis, and no hint of bumpers. And no doubts about the car’s purpose as the ultimate F1 simulator for armchair Verstappens—plus any others with around $200,000 to spend on the conviction that Porsches and Ferraris are bloated and floaty.

Briggs Automotive Company, or BAC, is the brainchild of brothers Ian and Neill Briggs, a car designer and a car engineer who grew up locally, going to the nearby Oulton Park circuit and the local forest rallies. In 1995, the pair set up a vehicle design consultancy in Germany that did quite well, helping Ford launch its RS performance brand among other projects.

Success led a few years later to “I guess you could say a midlife crisis of sorts,” says Neill Briggs. “Right from the word ‘go,’ it was a vehicle with a singularity of purpose, which was driving pleasure and performance.”

The steel tube-frame Mono started as the product of a 2008 design competition for a unique luxury sports car within the brothers’ consultancy, and by 2009, BAC was incorporated as a separate company with its own staff.

“Now it consumes 120 percent of our time,” says Neill, and the consultancy has fallen away. Money was exchanged for the first production Mono in 2011, and since then, the 50-person company has delivered around 150 units, 30 of them to the U.S., all titled for road use.

Behind the glass-walled showroom and delivery center, the Mono and even lighter and racier Mono R take shape in a 7000-square-foot production facility in which the cars circle around the workshop from station to station, exiting at the rate of 2.5 per month. The company claims 95 percent of the parts come from the U.K., about 50 percent from the region surrounding Liverpool. Personalization was always central to the Mono’s pitch, and BAC has worked up an online design program that helps customers envision their own color and trim schemes using various storyboards that are retro, racing-themed, or futuristic.

Just as in racing, constant iteration defines the Mono, the brothers keen to work in new ideas and technologies as they come along. The car’s forward composite crash structure has been redesigned nine times (it includes a small trunk), and 3D printing has recently been incorporated for items like the headlight buckets, freeing BAC to shape the headlights to their own design rather than work around an off-the-shelf part or spend millions to tool a bespoke injection-molded bucket. A two-seater is on the drawing board, and the company has conceived a hydrogen fuel-cell design study called the e-Mono as a glimpse of a potential future.

A few customers are asking about an electric version, says Neill, but “what the power unit is for that vehicle is quite a complicated question.” Loading such a small, light car with the batteries necessary for a decent range and performance will ruin its character, he says. “When you start to add 150 kilos [330 pounds] to a car that weighs 500 kilos [1100 pounds] that has quite a big knock-on effect.”

Says Neill: “The niche vehicle sector relies on an existing supply chain, which doesn’t exist yet in the EV space.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

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

The post Want an F1 car? BAC builds the next best thing—road-legal, too appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Welcome to Small But Mighty, a short series about boutique British car companies. You may not know much about Ariel, Briggs, Caterham, or Morgan, but you probably can appreciate at least one car the way they do: as a crafted thing, meant for enjoying and possessed of its own personality. To read more about the landscape of this cottage industry, click here.

Drive too quickly out of the village of Crewkerne in England’s pastoral southwest county of Somerset and you’ll bolt right past Ariel’s headquarters. There’s no sign out front, Ariel apparently trying hard to look no more interesting than a couple of red-brick tractor barns. But pull through the fence and into the courtyard and you’ll likely see the nose of one of the company’s skeletal road rockets poking out of a garage bay.

We were greeted by Henry Siebert-Saunders, managing director and son of company founder Simon Saunders. Parked in the courtyard was a freshly completed Atom, the company’s signature two-seat mid-engine speed toy that starts in the U.S. at around $80,000, plus a mud-caked Nomad, the Atom’s $92,000 off-road cousin. Just visible through a doorway was an Ariel Ace motorcycle, an organic sculpture of cast and machined billet aluminum packing a 1237-cc Honda V-4 and emitting 1000 rads of radioactive attitude.

Ariel is a family affair, the two Saunders presiding over a workforce of 30 that aims to build 100 cars and perhaps 30 motorcycles each year.

“A lot of people are obsessed with growth,” Henry tells me. “We have not grown in 10 years. If you can keep a steady business, growing just enough to support price increases and whatnot, we can make this a business for life.”

Ariel is one of those ancient British nameplates that died only temporarily. It dates to 1871, when bicycle makers James Starley and William Hillman named their first product after the character of Ariel, the spirit of the air, from the Shakespearean fantasy frolic, The Tempest.

Ariel the subsequent car and cycle maker was best known for its Square Four motorcycles, built from 1931 to 1959. They were exquisite odes to British complexity, featuring parallel pairs of cylinders under chain-driven overhead cams, and twin counter-rotating crankshafts linked by intermeshing gears to merge their torque. Ariel was absorbed by BSA in 1951 and production of anything bearing the name petered out in the early 1970s during the great British bike collapse.

It was resurrected when car designer Simon Saunders, who previously sketched for Porsche, Aston Martin, and General Motors, decided to try his hand at producing a modern take on the 1957 Lotus Seven, the grandpap of postwar British roller skates. His 1996 concept, unambiguously called the LSC for Lightweight Sports Car, debuted the naked aluminum trusswork that was to characterize all future Ariels, which look like Formula Junior entries for some futuristic Grand Prix du Pluto.

“We wanted to create a reliable, dependable thing that you can treat like a normal car,” says Henry about the Atom, which since the beginning has put ultra-reliable Honda Civic power behind a frill-free cockpit open to the wind and rain. “We tell people that if you take the body panels off a Ford Mondeo, it would be an Atom.”

Well, not exactly. The 1400-pound car is basically what you’d create by slinging a jacuzzi between two Ninja sport bikes. It’s fairly easy to drive, and the components are all modern and reliable automotive spec, but without ABS and stability control (the newest version has traction control), you are master of your own fate. “Our current record is 11 miles, showroom to crash,” Saunders says.

Production units began dribbling out in 1999, but it was a 2004 star turn on the U.K.’s preeminent car show, Top Gear, that lit Ariel’s fuse. In the nine-minute segment (now viewed 12 million times on YouTube), host Jeremy Clarkson circled a track with his face hilariously puddled by wind and g-forces as he screamed with joy.

“Everything changed,” says Henry. “Our order book went from a six-month wait to 28 months overnight. Our phones did not stop ringing for 18 months.”

Ariels are hand-assembled by individuals working in bays in the workshop, one at a time over 140 to 160 hours from outsourced components—75 percent of the parts, from the steel frame to the Aim electronic instrument cluster, are British-made (though the 1.5-liter Honda turbo comes from Ohio). Each car is signed by its assembler.

Despite a line of mostly British customers and a favorable legal environment that shields cottage builders from safety regs that affect larger manufacturers, staying alive is an everyday challenge. At the time of our visit, the company’s electricity rates had just jumped 300 percent because of energy shortages caused by the Ukraine war. Henry figures Brexit has added £1500 (about $1800) to the car’s price and made it more difficult for certain EU customers to register their cars.

And the U.K. is threatening to ban sales of internal-combustion engines by 2030.

“If they pass [an EV mandate that doesn’t exempt small producers], we go out and pull the door down, we’re done,” says Simon Saunders. “It’s on our minds. We know we have to electrify, but we don’t have the resources to develop an electric car on our own. We have to wait for the industry to do it.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

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

The post Ariel Motor Company’s secret to building fast cars? Slow going appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Welcome to Small But Mighty, a short series about boutique British car companies. You may not know much about Ariel, Briggs, Caterham, or Morgan, but you probably can appreciate at least one car the way they do: as a crafted thing, meant for enjoying and possessed of its own personality.

In this intro, author Aaron Robinson details the landscape of this cottage industry. You can read part one, on Ariel Motor Company, here. 

A sad fact of modern life is that the most British thing you can do as a British citizen these days is buy a British car.

The country is overrun—indeed, was overrun decades ago—by imports that have steadily winnowed down the number of domestic choices for Mr. and Mrs. Hail, Britannia. Gone are the proud Wolseleys, Hillmans, Humbers, and Sunbeams that once ranged in huge numbers over this green and pleasant land.

Most of the remaining choices, such as from Bentley, Mini, Rolls-Royce, or Land Rover, are not actually built by British companies but instead by local subsidiaries of foreign firms. Even Ford, which has assembled vehicles in the U.K. since 1911 and is considered by most Brits to be a local company, has made only engines and transmissions there since 2013.

However, as the giant conglomerates of the global auto industry merge and shovel out highly homogenized transport units suitable for all tastes and markets, scurrying at their feet in Britain are a few tiny hustlers. They have managed to carry on a century-old tradition of British cottage car making while somehow dodging a reaper that comes in many forms, including encroaching safety and electrification regulations, the vagaries of the global economy, the ever-escalating costs of development, and Brexit, the trade wall that Britain voted to erect around itself in 2016.

To see how things are going, we set off on a tour of England’s cottage car industry, picking four firms that represent the historic cornerstone themes of British car expertise: elemental lightness, cutting-edge racing tech, and retrospective heritage.

Their cars may lack roofs or, indeed, windshields (both useful in the realm of the perennially pissing rain), but we found Ariel Motor Company, Briggs Automotive Company (BAC), Caterham Cars, and the Morgan Motor Company all to be going concerns with full order books and bustling workshops. Each has its own distinct personality and unique selling proposition, as well as its own master plan for surviving into the future. And they are brothers in arms in a trade group called the Niche Vehicle Network that represents the concerns of the U.K.’s cottage car industry to the government.

Well-known Union Jack brands such as Aston Martin, Lotus, and McLaren didn’t make our itinerary, as they each assemble well over 1000 vehicles a year. And Gordon Murray Automotive—which is set to produce a series of new and somewhat atavistic million-dollar supercars that evoke Murray’s magnum opus, the 1992 McLaren F1, with naturally aspirated V-12s and manual transmissions—didn’t return our calls.

The onslaught of regulations and economic upheaval greatly thinned Britain’s car-making roster in the 1970s and ’80s, leaving the business of building oddly esoteric right-hookers to but a few hardy remnants (plus a couple of newcomers). However, nothing ever really dies in Britain, a country obsessed as no other with its own history.

As we write this, efforts are being made to revive Bristol, TVR, Jensen, and probably half a dozen other dormant brands. AC Cars, which was formed in 1901, keeps churning out Cobra replicas and variants as Britain’s oldest active car company. Lister still produces copies of its 1950s and ’60s racing cars as well as hopped-up versions of late-model Jaguars.

Thanks to dedicated artisans and favorable local laws that exclude small-volume producers from some of the most onerous regulations, you can still motor in weirdly British style if you want to. And that is indeed a great thing.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

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

The post Small but Mighty: England’s tiniest car companies are bustling appeared first on Hagerty Media.

If you have ever found yourself fortunate enough to be laughing your head off at the wheel of a Caterham Seven, Morgan 3 Wheeler or BAC Mono, there’s good news for their survival in a zero-emission-vehicle future, at least in Europe. Low-volume car manufacturers will be exempt from the 2035 ban on the sale of new internal combustion engine cars and commercial vehicles, the European Union has confirmed.

In a statement, the EU said: “Manufacturers responsible for small production volumes in a calendar year (1000 to 10,000 new cars or 1000 to 22,000 new vans) may be granted a derogation until the end of 2035 (those registering fewer than 1000 new vehicles per year continue to be exempt).”

For the U.K.’s sports car makers, they can continue selling their cars in Europe, although the country’s departure from the EU amid Brexit leaves a question mark over what will happen here.

The Department for Transport (DoT) says that the final details around its regulatory framework will be published “soon” but didn’t rule out a similar approach to the EU. Most promising is the fact that the U.K. plan “will take into consideration the role of small-volume manufacturers” for the “U.K.-specific regulations”.

Under current U.K. plans, the sale of new gasoline and diesel cars and vans will be banned in 2030, while all new cars and vans must be fully zero-emission from 2035.

The U.K. low-volume car industry is understandably positive about the EU announcement, with Neill Briggs, co-founder of BAC, telling Autocar he expects to steal sales from Europe’s big names. “I think there’s a huge opportunity that businesses like BAC will potentially take volume away from some of the big boys,” he said.

“If an electric solution for a Lamborghini, Porsche or Ferrari, for example, is perhaps not your bag and you prefer an internal combustion engine solution, then perhaps companies like Gordon Murray [Automotive] and BAC are going to be the places for people to go to.”

As of now, the United States has no federal-level plans for a phase-out of internal combustion power. As recently as 2021, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) published regulations that allow low-volume motor vehicle manufacturers to begin selling replica cars, albeit in compliance with date-of-production emissions requirements.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

Via Hagerty UK

The post Low-volume sports car makers exempt from EU’s planned ICE ban appeared first on Hagerty Media.

What is the most important car in Rolls-Royce history? It’s the original 1907 Silver Ghost, the 40/50 h.p. model that put the fledgling company on the map after a series of record-smashing reliability runs that firmly established the company as the maker of “the best car in the world.” And no, I’m not suggesting that as a future classic because there’s only one, and when it was recently sold, it was for a figure that would make most telephone numbers blanch.

The next most important Rolls-Royce was the 2003 Phantom, because unlike any previous car since the Silver Ghost, the future of the company depended upon it. Remember the context: Rolls-Royce had been run into the ground by its parent company Vickers, who found it altogether easier to sell Bentleys instead. So much so that in 2002, the year before the Phantom launched, fewer than 40 Rolls-Royces were sold in the U.K. while, globally, Bentley was outselling its stablemate by ten to one. The brand was almost moribund.

In 2003, Rolls-Royce was purchased by BMW—sort of. Ownership of the Rolls-Royce name still resided then and now with the aero-engine company. What BMW purchased was actually the rights to build a car and call it a Rolls-Royce—and it had one shot to revitalize the storied marque.

What we feared was a stretched, rebodied 7-series with a Pantheon grille that wasn’t fooling anyone. BMW’s record of other brand stewardship was patchy at best: Mini was doing well, but it had already flogged off Land Rover to Ford and the bare remains of Rover and MG to the infamous “Phoenix Four” where, as far as Rover was concerned, the company reached the end of the road.

What we got was a Rolls-Royce. Not just a Rolls-Royce, but the finest luxury car of its era. Yes, it had been engineered in Munich, and yes, it was powered by a BMW V-12 engine, and yes, it was shipped over from Germany only in need of final assembly. But it was a bespoke car, sitting on a bespoke all-aluminum chassis with the important bits—the wood, leather, the craftsmanship, all done at the spanking new factory at Goodwood.

I can remember flying to California to drive it—where else—and while there were still some elements I didn’t care for, such as the BMW-sourced satellite navigation, what really mattered was the ride and the refinement, which are, in my eyes, the twin pillars of true luxury. In both regards it was impeccable.

But it went far beyond that. The fact that those enormous rear suicide doors opened to almost head height meant you could almost just walk into it. And once ensconced you wanted to remove your shoes so your toes could disappear into those lambswool rugs. Nor was there any pretension of sportiness. No new money “sport” button, no arriviste rev-counter, just a speedo and a “power reserve” gauge. And I loved the fact the RR roundels in the wheel centers always stayed upright. Bentley had tried that for the Continental GT that came out at the same time, but couldn’t make a reliable system.

Best of all, it just felt different, different not just to a BMW or a Bentley, but to any car in the world. It was the kind of car I like most of all, and it applies equally well to a Fiat Panda or Ferrari F40: it was a car that knew what it was for, did that, and didn’t bother with anything else.

They were of course incredibly expensive, and remain so to run today. But to buy? Not so much. Clean, if somewhat leggy examples cost around £75,000 (roughly $90,000), and if that sounds a lot, it’s about what you pay for a mid-size electric SUV from Mercedes these days. And Phantoms, perhaps unlike mid-size electric SUVs, are wonderful.

I know two people who have them, and both are predictably quite comfortably off. They do not know each other but say exactly the same thing, which is that they feel uneasy about the ostentatious wealth statement made by the car everywhere it goes but that they would not be without it.

Interestingly too, both are drivers and have no interest in being chauffeured around in it. And here is perhaps the least known fact about the Phantom: they are fabulous to drive. Not wonderful in the way a Ferrari is when it threatens to pull your spine through the back of your seat when it accelerates, or some bewinged McLaren that’ll ripple your cheeks with all the g-force it can generate in the corners, but still fabulous.

Because they got everything right with this car. The thinness of the steering wheel, the font on the dials, the feel of every control, and that view down the bonnet to Charles Sykes’ sculpture of Eleanor Velasco Thornton. It’s not just a Rolls-Royce, it’s one of the best Rolls-Royces, and the most important of all. Bar one.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

Via Hagerty UK

The post The 2003 Rolls-Royce Phantom is a certain future classic appeared first on Hagerty Media.

“What happened there? Something went past us—and it was a van.” These were the words of Sir Michael Caine as he climbed out of the sumptuous passenger seat of his Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow Two-Door Drophead Coupe in the 1969 documentary about the actor. “I won’t let it happen again, sorry,” was the response from Caine’s chauffeur.

The Rolls-Royce, wearing its original, UGN 842F number plates, features extensively in Candid Caine: A Self-Portrait of Michael Caine, with the star using it to revisit the house he lived in as a child.

Later, we see him wandering through the streets of London with the Rolls-Royce following him like an obedient dog. “One of my great pleasures is just to go for a walk; just walk along on my own. I’m also lazy and sybaritic, so I have a little bit of comfort just behind me in case I want to pop in.”

The Silver Shadow Drophead Coupe was Caine’s first car. Legend has it that he walked into the Jack Barclay showroom on London’s Berkeley Square with a handwritten shopping list which read: “milk, bread, newspaper, cigarettes, Rolls-Royce.” An unshaven Caine, who by his own admission was looking a little worse for wear, was ushered off the premises.

Undeterred, Caine ventured over to H.A. Fox on Dover Street, where he found the Rolls-Royce which had been taken into stock after screenwriter Terence Rattigan canceled his order.

Caine, who couldn’t drive, found it cheaper to employ a chauffeur than to pay the hefty insurance premium. The actor reportedly took great pleasure in flicking the V-sign whenever he wafted past the Jack Barclay showroom.

The actor, most famous in car circles for playing Charlie Crocker in The Italian Job and Jack Carter in Get Carter, passed his driving test at the age of 50. Speaking in 2011, he said: “It was weird. Before I took the test, the man said the guy who would be doing the test was sitting outside in the car and that I would only speak to him to say good morning.

“There would be no normal conversation—he would give me instructions, I would listen to him, and that was that. There would be no personal remarks whatsoever. I got in the car and the guy looked at me and went, ‘I loved you in The Man Who Would Be King. You’re going to have to be s*** to not pass this test.’”

Caine didn’t hold on to the Rolls-Royce for very long. In 1970, he sold it to Jack Leach, owner of the infamous Gasworks restaurant in London, which drew all the big-name stars of the time. Re-registered as ALO 182H, the Rolls-Royce became a familiar sight Chelsea’s King’s Road but was put into storage following Leach’s death in 2013.

Ten years later, and following a restoration that cost “the best part of £100,000,” Caine’s former Silver Shadow Drophead Coupe will go under the hammer in March, with a pre-auction estimate of £100,000 to £150,000 ($120,610–$180,915, as of this writing).

Wearing its original, UGN 842F plates for display purposes, the car boasts just one front headrest; Caine’s chauffeur made do without one.

Not a lot of people know that Michael Caine never uttered his most famous catchphrase—Peter Sellers gets the credit for that—but we do know that his Roller will be auctioned at the Imperial War Museum, Duxford, on March 15.

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

Via Hagerty UK

The post Michael Caine never drove his first car, but you could appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Want a better understanding of what’s driving collector-car values? Sign up for the Hagerty Insider newsletter.

The gradual come-up of certain 1980s and 1990s Rolls-Royce and Bentleys is one of the collector-car market’s subtlest shifts. Though “serious” collectors have long dismissed these models as uptight, soporific behemoths best left to return to the earth, we’re noticing an increasing number of clean Continentals and Corniches infiltrating the sales dockets of major auction houses.

This year’s roster of Scottsdale sales was no different. All three of the major sales—RM Sotheby’s, Bonhams, and Barrett-Jackson—had at least two noteworthy 1990s- or 2000s-era Rolls-Royce and/or Bentley droptops, each hammering for a sum greater than you might expect for a deprecated, ultra-luxe sled considered too stuffy for an enthusiast and too unfashionably dated for the wealthy socialite.

Old Rolls-Royce saloons trading hands for used Camry money isn’t anything new or noteworthy—and neither are the routine, five-figure maintenance maladies that follow these “cheap” Rolls like a cloud of oil smoke. Between lengthy, numerous, and exorbitantly priced service sessions—and parts availability that would make an old Lancia blush—these Brits are often not worth the financial burden.

But an old Rolls droptop? That’s a different animal entirely. Chopping the rear doors and peeling off the roof turns a stodgy, smoking-room armchair into a leather-wrapped Adirondack lounge on the deck of a super-yacht. With the wind in your expensively coiffed hair, surrounded by enough hides and mahogany to choke a gentleman’s club—we’re talking Savile, not strip—you’re not just motoring, you’re touring.

At the moment, we don’t track any of these late-model soft-tops in the Hagerty Price Guide, but it’s worth comparing by generation. Let’s see what vehicular gentry wafted through Scottsdale.

2000–2002 Rolls-Royce Corniche V

Even in wealthier parts of town, you never, ever see early 2000s Corniches—and for good reason, as Rolls-Royce only built between 372 and 384 examples, depending on whom you ask. Constructed on the bones of the 1995–2003 Bentley Azure—we’ll get to that beauty later—these were ruinously expensive cars with a $359,000 price tag in their first model year. That’s $630,000, in 2023 bucks.

These cars occupy a weird place in the Rolls timeline. The Corniche V—the unofficial denominator, as it’s the fifth Rolls to wear the Corniche name—is the first and only Rolls engineered and developed during the marque’s brief tenure under Volkswagen. After just two years, VW ceded rights to Rolls’ stylistic intellectual properties after an infamous corporate tussle with BMW, who separately acquired the right to sell cars under the Rolls-Royce nameplate from the extant Rolls-Royce aerospace corporation. Amid this kerfuffle, the Corniche V emerged as the final, elegant product of “old” Rolls-Royce, with BMW’s ground-up revamp of the RR image arriving soon after for the 2003 model year.

It’s a transitional model, a product of a time when Rolls and Bentley were absolutely inseparable. The 6.75-liter—say it with me, six-and-three-quarter-liter—V-8, much of the switchgear, the chassis, and portions of the rear fascia are all shared with the contemporary Bentley, making it ostensibly the first Rolls to ever descend from the Flying B, instead of the other way around.

Once an extravagant status symbol, its clear aesthetic separation from BMW’s modern Rolls renders the Corniche V a bit of a curio. It’s the type of car favored primarily by the Rolls-Royce enthusiast, rather than by the casual consumer.

“They made very, very few [Corniche Vs], and it was quite a step forward [in style] as it looked very little like the preceding Corniches,” explains Hagerty Price Guide publisher and Bentley/Rolls aficionado Dave Kinney.

“I think both the Phantom and Corniche [V] are aging gracefully, but they’re all from a different design period. [Rolls-Royce] went from a more organic design to Bauhaus with the Phantom.”

These cars are magnificently hand-built with incredible road presence, particularly with the top down. You can have them for a pittance compared to a 2023 Rolls-Royce Dawn, a car that curiously carries an identical MSRP of $359,000: RM Sotheby’s 9300-mile Magnolia White 2002 Corniche sold for a “mere” $128,800 final price. Condition is king on these cars, as evidenced from RM’s other Magnolia White 2000 Corniche V that sold at last year’s Open Roads online auction. 38,000 miles on its odometer, and a-bit-more-than-expected wear and tear, cut it down to a $99,000 final sale.

Bonhams’ black 2001 Corniche was less enticing. After exiting long-term, 14,500-mile ownership under the original buyer, subsequent owners added just over 4000 miles until 2010, when it sat essentially unused in storage until its time in the Scottsdale sun. A visibly sagging rear suspension implied further maintenance was necessary; Bonhams apparently agreed, admitting “it is recommended that the Corniche is serviced prior to any wafting about.” Still, it matched RM’s 2021 sale with a $98,560 final price.

2007–16 Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead Coupe

“The Corniche looks like old money wherever it goes,” says Kinney. “To me, the Phantom says ‘I’m in Miami, I’m in Los Angeles,’ and it still looks like a car that could still be in production today to most non-car people.”

Walk around RM’s black-over-cream example, and there’s a very real sense that BMW’s Phantom and its inimitable Drophead Coupe variant was deliberately designed to withstand the test of time. Regardless of its aesthetic relation to the current production Phantom, this one’s replete with subtle and deliberate details that might just render it timeless.

Take note of the brushed windshield surround that wraps its way around the wing windows, and the teak decking on the rear tonneau (oiling this wood is part of the Drophead’s regular service regimen). Inside, the glossy wood surfacing and trim are refreshingly devoid of screens and digital displays which, ironically, make other luxury cars from this era look more dated today.

As Kinney said, even 15 years on, this 18-foot ocean liner still looks like pure money, even to the uninformed. “The car is nothing but in-your-face presence. A lot of people want that in a Rolls-Royce, and it has that in spades,” Kinney muses.

It’s this captive modernity, more advanced technology, and surprisingly lower running costs that has kept the Phantom Drophead Coupe ahead of its pre-BMW progenitors in the market.

RM Sotheby’s beautiful Drophead carried just 8620 miles and $18,000 in receipts from a recent service. $201,600 took it home to a very excited winning bidder; a colleague caught who we presume to be her friends and family singing her happy birthday in the lot outside RM’s host hotel.

Even rattier Phantoms carry cachet the Corniche can’t match. Barrett-Jackson’s 2009 white-over-black Drophead had minor-but-noticeable interior wear from its 29,291 miles, along with two incidents of repaired sideswipe collision damage in 2017 and 2021. Still, the $159,500 final price makes it the fourth most expensive Rolls sold out of the 18 offered during 2023’s Arizona auction week.

1995–2003 Bentley Azure

Spirit of Ecstasy too ostentatious for ya? Try the Bentley Azure, two of which were on the ground in Scottsdale. Based on the popular and very expensive Bentley Continental R, the Azure is a more sporting alternative to the cushy, cloudy Corniche. The 5700-pound bruiser is hardly a Spec Miata, but the Bentley is 300 pounds lighter, more powerful (385 hp versus 320), quicker, and not insignificantly sharper than the Rolls.

The Bentley is no less costly to keep alive than its ritzier sibling—but it’s getting better. “I really like the Azure,” says Kinney. “The [convertible] top mechanism is its Achilles heel, but people are figuring out how to fix them. For the longest time, you’d get the car for $25,000 and then spend another $25,000 on the top alone.”

Not anymore. A car this elegant and hand-finished couldn’t stay incongruously cheap forever, and prices appear to be on the rise. Bonhams’ impeccable one-owner, 14,000-mile 1996 Azure changed hands for $67,200. Yes, that’s less than half the price of RM’s Corniche, but there are more than three times as many Azures than the Rolls.

“Lovely colors, very reasonable miles, and I think it went for right where it should have,” observes Kinney. “Everyone should be happy on that deal. I’ve seen these cars sell for $25,000 and $30,000, and now they’re finally coming into their own.”

Barrett-Jackson’s $84,500 2003 Bentley Azure Mulliner Final Edition has to be one of the best buys of the week. This is one of the highly personalized examples of the top-shelf Mulliner trim offered from 1999 through the end of production in 2009, and the listing states an original bill-of-sale topping $500,000 ($795,000, when adjusted for inflation). It also claims the original buyer—get this—sold his Corniche to make room for the Azure.

It’s clean, it’s rare, it’s handbuilt, it’s extraordinarily luxurious—and its metallic yellow over royal blue upholstery is one of the most gauche colorways we’ve ever seen on a Bentley, no doubt culling a few grand from the final price. No matter—you won’t see your reflection out in the rolling countryside, where the Azure is best enjoyed. Kinney sums it up best:

“Bentley for the drive, and the Rolls for showing up.”

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

Via Hagerty Insider

The post For ’90s and 2000s Rolls-Royces this January, “convertible” was the magic word appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The Jaguar Classic technician bends down to shout in my ear, his Midlands accent still easily distinguishable above the heady idling of the four-cam V-12 engine right behind me.

“It’s worth £11 million, you know!”

And then he beckons me out of the covered paddock and into the busy crowd of onlookers, each one seemingly looking in a different direction and not always aware that this one-of-a-kind, fiery, and temperamental car—which Jaguar intended to tackle the Le Mans 24 hour race—was heading their way, in the hands of someone who’d only even sat in it for the first time 20 minutes previously.

It would be foolish to claim that I know the 1966 Jaguar XJ13 intimately. But then, hardly anyone does, save for test drivers David Hobbs, Richard Attwood, and Norman Dewis—and sadly Norman is no longer with us to relay how he almost destroyed the car back in the 1970s, when man and machine careered off the Motor Industry Research Association (MIRA) test track near Coventry and ended up deep into a cornfield.

Since then, the XJ13 has only occasionally been driven, but I’d been trusted to pilot the car up the hill at the 2011 Goodwood Festival of Speed. Or maybe “trusted” is the wrong word, given the looks of trepidation on the faces of the Jaguar Classic support crew. To be fair, I’m not sure I trust myself either.

The story of the XJ13 is unlucky indeed. Devised to relive the Le Mans glory of the C-Type and D-Type days of the 1950s and early ’60s, the XJ13 was Jaguar’s brave attempt to keep up with Porsche and Ford in the mid-1960s.

It was built on an all-alloy monocoque, riveted together aircraft-style. A specially developed double-overhead-camshaft V-12 engine—essentially two six-cylinder XK engines formed into a vee—was mounted directly behind the cockpit as a stressed member of the chassis. With Lucas mechanical fuel injection, the new V-12 developed 495 hp, powering the rear wheels via a five-speed ZF gearbox.

Racer and former Jaguar apprentice Hobbs was brought in as development driver, to be joined by Attwood during final testing at Silverstone. However, by that time it was clear that more work was needed. All the same, Hobbs had achieved a new U.K. circuit lap record at MIRA of 161.6 mph. The XJ13 could have been a contender but Jaguar management wasn’t convinced and the project was starved of cash—and then the arrival of Ford’s 7.0-liter GT40 killed it dead anyway.

The single XJ13 built languished at the factory for a few years and was then dusted off for the launch of the new V-12-powered E-Type Series 3 in early 1971. After all, what better to show off the company’s experience with V-12 engines?

Norman Dewis was asked to drive the car at speed for a short film sequence. It’s no longer clear what happened, though there are theories that a rear wheel collapsed or an already damaged tire blew. Whatever the reason was, Norman and the XJ13 were launched off the MIRA test track at high speed into the infield, flipping end over end and rolling twice before stopping shiny-side up.

Somehow Norman, who had ducked under the dashboard, emerged relatively unscathed but the car was a wreck. It was put away and left alone until it was spotted by Edward Loades of Abbey Panels, the company that produced much of the sheetmetal for Jaguar. Loades persuaded the company to allow Abbey Panels to rebuild the XJ13, though it was done to a slightly different style from the original (Building the Legend’s XJ13 recent recreation is a more accurate representation of the original XJ13).

Since then, the XJ13 has been wheeled out on special occasions. On one outing it was over-revved, resulting in a piston that had to be weld-repaired, which meant that, from then on, full power couldn’t be risked. Then the sump was damaged on a curb in Copenhagen, and that was it until a full rebuild in 2006, most notably for Goodwood—which is why I lowered myself into the cabin with some trepidation.

Like a D-Type, the XJ13 has a relatively roomy cabin, but in the XJ13 the driver sits much further forward, with all that engine directly behind. The cockpit hasn’t been restored, thankfully, so the bare aluminum is satisfyingly tarnished and workmanlike. The flimsy door clicks shut, and ignition and fuel are flicked on via toggle switches on the dash. Pushing the ignition switch further down operates the starter—and, after a brief whirr, a noisy V-12 starts up.

There were seven of these DOHC V-12s built at the time, but only two were full XJ13-spec, with straight-cut gears driving the camshafts. The whine of the gears and clatter of the valvetrain adds to the soundtrack, but it’s the exhausts that dominate, angry and aggressive on every blip of the accelerator pedal.

The biggest foible for the XJ13 is the gearshift, on the driver’s side sill. The action is short, heavy, and occasionally obstinate, feeding into a many-jointed linkage that winds all the way past driver and engine to the gearbox. At a standstill the only way to find the dogleg first is to ease it firmly into third, then gently into second, back and across (“but not all the way,” my notes say, underlined), and then down into first. Rush that last bit and the gearbox will simply refuse to slot into first—and then the only way is to repeat the procedure all over again, though with decreasing chances of success.

Now that’s all very well, but the Festival of Speed is famous for the long queues of vehicles that form ahead of the course’s start line. I found the best method was to leave the XJ13 in first the whole time, once it was close enough to the start, and stop and start the engine as many times as I dared—in the knowledge that the more often I did so, the greater the chances of fouling the spark plugs.

It’s not great for the nerves, knowing that this high-profile, unique, and invaluable piece of Jaguar history might decide not to behave off the line when the marshals give the signal to go, but just as I was a few cars away from the start, there was an almighty roar overhead, and I looked up to see the Vulcan bomber coming in low over the Festival. By the time I’d stopped gawping, it was almost my time to head up the Goodwood hillclimb, watched by thousands (and all those TV cameras).

Thing is, like a D-Type, the Jaguar XJ13 is remarkably easy to drive, at least until it’s pushed hard. The race clutch is reasonably light, and there’s more than enough torque to get this 2480-pound car off the line cleanly. On the move, the gear changes are much easier, though heavy, and the steering—unassisted, of course—feels light enough to be responsive but not so light to reduce feel.

It’s the engine that’s the revelation, though. What a thing! There’s so much torque, such instant response to the throttle, that acceleration is lightning fast and speed builds seemingly with little effort, though with plenty of noise from the intake stacks and exhaust. As you’d expect from a V-12, it’s a smooth, searing sound, somehow both more violent yet more sophisticated than any V-8’s soundtrack.

Accelerating past Goodwood House produced a deep bellow from the intake stacks; quickly backing off (too soon, in fact) for the notorious Molecomb corner, a crackling exhaust. I remember being too gentle on the accelerator after Molecomb, still relieved to have made it round this innocent-looking car-killer of a bend without incident. And then a burst of acceleration again, exhaust resonating off the dauntingly close flint wall, and a last blast to the finish, where I could kid myself that the run hadn’t looked disappointingly tame for the spectators—because for me it was a career highlight.

It would be dishonest to claim that I got to know the XJ13 or that I came close to even a fraction of its abilities. I remember the frustration of the gear selection at low speed, the relief that it improved on the move, the competence of the brakes, the light feel of the steering, and the surprisingly forgiving ride, which was probably due to the height and relatively low pressures of the tires. But most of all I remember that engine note.

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

Via Hagerty UK

The post There’s only one XJ13, and Jaguar let me drive it appeared first on Hagerty Media.

In 1956 alone, the Lotus Eleven achieved 148 first places, 134 seconds, and 99 thirds. To borrow a line from America’s big-selling car magazine, Road & Track, “it would end up being the winningest Lotus of all time.” Drivers who competed with an Eleven included Stirling Moss, Innes Ireland, Mike Hawthorn, Graham Hill, and company founder Colin Chapman.

It was destined to be called the Mark 11, but Chapman preferred the way “Lotus Eleven” rolled off the tongue. There were also concerns that the name could have been read as “II”, as the company’s models had always been identified by Roman numerals. The switch changed the course of Lotus naming history, with all subsequent Lotus models beginning with the letter ‘E’.

With a streamlined body designed by Frank Costin and a tubular spaceframe chassis, the Lotus Eleven was one of the most advanced cars of 1956. Everything was designed to minimize mass and weight; the absolute definition of Chapman’s “Simplify, then add lightness” philosophy.

There were three versions: Le Mans, Club, and Sport. As the name suggests, the Le Mans was designed to go racing, which is something it did with incredible success, winning hundreds of races in the U.K. and abroad. Works team versions raced at Le Mans in 1956, with car number 36, driven by Reg Bicknell and Peter Jopp, winning the 1100-cc class.

The Club version was powered by the same 1098-cc Coventry Climax engine, but with a specification designed for the club racer. While the Le Mans used De Dion rear suspension, a magnesium differential case, and disc brakes, the Club featured drum brakes and a live rear axle from the Austin/Nash Metropolitan.

Both versions had rack-and-pinion steering from a Morris Minor, with Lotus offering a conversion kit for a Club owner to convert their Eleven to Le Mans spec. According to the Lotus Eleven co-registrar, Jay Sloane, the conversion could be completed in just a single afternoon.

The third Eleven was the Sport, which was essentially a Club powered by a Ford 10 engine and designed for road use and the occasional race. A total of 166 Lotus Elevens were built before the arrival of the Series 2, of which a further 104 units were produced.

In our round-up of historic race cars, we said: “Lotus Elevens were unbeatable in their class when they were new, and remain fiercely competitive in historic racing. Cars with significant race [pedigree] of course command a significant premium, but also come with a solid chance of entry into almost any historic racing event in the world.”

Which makes the $125,000 (£100,000) Jay Sloane is asking for his 1957 Lotus Eleven seem like a relative bargain. He bought the car in 1975 and has restored it to its original Club specification, saying it’s “a road-worthy sports car unlike any other.” Set aside 15 minutes of your day to watch the car in action and you’ll find it hard to disagree.

Given the Eleven’s rarity, opportunities to buy an original Series 1 model with the same engine and chassis it left the factory with—regardless of whether it’s a Le Mans, Club, or Sport version—don’t come up that often. Which might make Lotus fans consider importing the (right-hand drive) Eleven to the U.K.

We could say something about the levels of want being turned up to Eleven, but we won’t. Instead, we’ll invite you to check out the advert on our sister site in the U.S.

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

Via Hagerty UK

The post Up to Eleven: Rare Lotus goes on sale in the U.S. appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Please enjoy this jolly ol’ story from Across the Pond, via our sister site Hagerty UK.

Crazy race track, crazy car, and a crazy driver. In 2003, I experienced what remains the wildest ride of my life, charging full-tilt around the Nürburgring, in a car called a Radical SR3 Turbo. We were there to break the lap record for a road-legal car. The driver was Phil Bennett, one-time driver from the British Touring Car Championship and nutcase of some repute.

Bennett, driving solo and on his first lap in the car, lapped in 7-min 19-sec,  which convincingly broke the existing lap record. Soon after I sat next to him for a passenger ride. I can’t remember the exact time for that lap but it wasn’t much slower than his record setter. I like to think of myself as being fairly brave, but when I stepped out of the Radical after the lap I was completely white and could barely stand I was shaking so much.

Nineteen years later and Radical has just celebrated its 25th birthday. Radical Sportscars was started in 1997 by amateur racers and engineers Phil Abbott and Mick Hyde who wanted to build a racing car that would be affordable but highly competitive. The result was the Radical 1100 Clubsport, powered by a Kawasaki motorcycle engine. As often happens, other racers were impressed by the cars’ performance and wanted their own Radicals. Eventually, enough 1100 Clubsports were sold to make it worthwhile creating a one-make series for them.

Abbott and Hyde, who are no longer involved in the company, could never have imagined that a quarter of a century later Radical Sportscars would build its 3000th car, or that there are now 33 dealers in 21 countries around the world. And just as amazing, there are 14 Radical race series spread around the world from Europe to America and to the Philippines. There’s even one in the Bahamas. What could be better than a racing series in the Caribbean? Sign me up.

When Bennett broke the Nürburgring lap record there was a subsequent brouhaha about whether the car could be considered road legal. The fact that I’d driven the car on the public roads in Germany to get us to a lunch of currywurst and to also fill it with petrol was not deemed good enough. Subsequently, when Radical Sportscars went back to the iconic circuit to establish another record with its even more powerful SR8, the company drove the car from its factory in Peterborough to the Nürburgring to emphatically make the point.

Despite its international reach, Radical Sportscars is still based in Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, on the same industrial estate where it was founded in 1997. Same postcode, but a much bigger footprint these days. Although I have driven many Radicals over the years, this is my first visit to the factory that builds them. I wasn’t expecting works on such a grand scale.

The guide for our visit is James Scott, head of engineering. Like the majority of the 110 employees at Radical, Scott is remarkably young. The average age of the workers is 29 which is great news for the future. Also Radical has an apprenticeship scheme which this year has seen half a dozen youngsters learning their trade at 24-26 Ivatt Way, Peterborough—an initiative worth applauding.

Our first stop touring the factory is the engine shop, which is technically a subsidiary called Radical Precision Engineering. Radical currently builds three different models (a fourth is on its way but more of that later) which are the entry-level SR1, then the SR3 and finally the top of the range SR10. Both the SR1 and SR3 are powered by Suzuki Hayabusa four-cylinder motorcycle engines. Bikers will know that the Hayabusa engine is not only incredibly powerful, but also extremely strong—no bad thing for cars that are doubtless driven in anger for most of their miles.

Ant Phillips, engine shop supervisor, explains the difference between the engines used in the SR1 and SR3. “The SR1 uses the Hayabusa engine in its standard form which means a displacement of 1340cc and a power output of 182bhp. We convert the engine to dry sump lubrication because the cornering forces in the car would drive the oil up on side of the sump and starve the engine of oil. The Hayabusa engine in the SR3 is substantially modified. The engine is stroked out to 1500cc, Arrow connecting rods are fitted and the head is gas flowed. This gives us 226bhp.

“The SR10 is powered by a Ford engine. It’s the same unit that’s used in the four-cylinder Mustang and also the Focus ST,” explains Phillips. “We also convert the Ford engine to dry sump lubrication and also fit a larger Garrett turbocharger, Cosworth pistons and blueprint the engine so that in this form it produces 425bhp.”

Also sitting on benches in the workshop are a few very special engines. These are custom-made V-8 motors built using Hayabusa cylinder heads and barrels, bolted to a bespoke cast aluminium crankcase. Built in various different specifications over the years with power outputs from 380bhp and upwards, it is this homespun V-8 that powered the SR8 that in 2009 set the Nurburgring lap time mentioned earlier. It is a wonderfully compact engine that gave the Radical SR8 performance that rivalled LMP Le Mans Prototypes. The engines in the shop today are all in for rebuilds.

Next, Scott takes us to the area where the chassis are built. You might expect to see sheets of carbon-fibre cloth and an autoclave but Radicals are built using a tubular steel chassis as they’ve always been. “Our goal has always been to produce affordable racing cars that are easy to maintain and also to repair. In most racing accidents a corner will be wiped off requiring new wishbones to be fitted, but occasionally the chassis itself will be damaged. Once the car has been stripped down the chassis can be returned to us and the bent tubes cut out and replaced. Or this can be done in the customer’s own country at a race shop. The trouble with carbon-fibre tubs is that they’re expensive to produce in the first place and hard to repair.”

I hadn’t expected to see lines of chassis being constructed on jigs because it’s more common for companies like Radical to sub contract out chassis manufacture—to companies like Arch Motors in Huntingdon who for years produced Caterham chassis and the distinctive tube frames for Ariel Atoms. But as I am coming to appreciate, Radical does as much as possible under its own roof.

“We’ve always built our own chassis,” says Scott. “It gives us a lot of flexibility and control.” This said, many of the tubes for the chassis are produced by outside companies who prepare the tubes by bending or notching (also known as fishmouthing) them ready for assembly by MIG welding by Radical’s craftspeople. The finished chassis are then sent to a local company for powder coating before returning to Radical for fitting out. That process not only involves fitting wiring harnesses, suspension, powertrain and other assemblies, but also honeycomb crush structure panels and strengthening panels that are pop-riveted to the chassis tubes.

“Radical Sportscars has always had a policy of making as much of the car in-house as possible,” explains Scott, “which is particularly advantageous in these times of supply issues. This year we will have built 197 cars and that’s a record for us.”

Banks of CNC machines turn blank castings into shiny new components such as hubs, uprights and even bellmouths for intake systems. Scott apologises for the lack of glamour, polish and shine in the factory, but the products that are made here speak for themselves. You don’t need flash premises to produce high-quality products.

Not everyone in the company is a youngster. In the pattern making shop a couple of experienced craftsmen are planing and shaping patterns from which female moulds will be taken which will then in turn be used to make production components. Most of the cars’s bodywork is made from fibreglass, including the large one-piece front ends.

Again, says Scott, this is in the interest of cost saving that’s passed onto the customer. “Not only is carbon fibre expensive to produce in the first place, it’s complicated to repair. The front body section of an SR1 costs around £700 which is pretty reasonable and keeps the cost of racing the cars down. And of course repairing fibreglass is pretty straightforward and minor damage can even be repaired track side.” Some components are made from carbon fibre, however, and in the past one-off bodies have been made from the material. Typically Radical’s composites shop will make 30 per cent more body panels than the number needed for actual cars so that there are plenty of replacements for racers who have “got it wrong.”

It’s in the final assembly area that you get to see the real depth of quality in a Radical. There is no production line, each car is worked on by a couple of technicians who know every aspect of the car and how it goes together. The SR1 might be the entry-level model but like its brothers it bristles with top quality components. It’s an impressive package for £46,995. Even the SR10 at £125,900 represents pretty good value when you look at the performance that you’re getting.

There were some secret parts in the pattern shop earlier that we weren’t allowed to photograph. No doubt they’re for the limited edition “Project 25” that Radical will be producing next year as a celebration of the company’s quarter century. Only 25 will be built and the coupé will be powered by a 3.0-litre turbo V-6 that will produce 850bhp. Radical has produced several closed cockpit cars in the past, badged as the RXC 600R and RXC GT3, and there are few of them in the assembly shop. Come the lottery win my cash would go on a coupé; they’re so small and compact, like a smaller Porsche 956.

Radical Sportscars’ timing was immaculate. The launch of the company in 1997 coincided with the increase in popularity in track days and many who fall in love with circuit driving at such events often turn to racing for the extra thrill that competition brings with it. The beauty of racing a car like the Radical is not just that you get incredible performance and impressive, British-built quality for your money, but also that you will be racing against exactly the same cars. And we’ve seen on our visit, the benefit of a large organisation offering support and that other, elusive quality – a sense of community.

Via Hagerty UK

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

The post Hard Craft: 25 years of perfecting speed at Radical Sportscars appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Norton made plenty of news last year, for contrasting reasons. The famous old marque, revived under Indian ownership, is developing glamorous V-4 superbikes; but former boss Stuart Garner received a suspended prison sentence for pension fraud.

Fortunes were even more mixed a century ago. In 1923, Norton began production of a new roadster, the Model 18, whose 490cc, single-cylinder engine featured overhead valves, boosting performance over the previous side-valve design.

This was an exciting time for the Birmingham firm, but also a sad one. Founder James Lansdowne Norton, or “Pa” as he was known, was a frail figure who had recently been diagnosed with the bowel cancer that would claim his life in 1925, aged just 56.

By contrast his Model 18 went from strength to strength. It broke a bunch of speed records at Brooklands in 1923, and won the following year’s Isle of Man Senior TT, ridden by Alec Bennett. It then became a long-running success, remaining in production for more than 30 years.

“Unapproachable Norton,” Norton’s old advertising line went, and that seemed easy to understand on riding this enjoyably lively old Model 18—even if much of the marque’s racing reputation was earned by the more powerful CS1, its successor as the sports flagship.

This well-preserved Model 18 was built in 1937, by which time it had gained some chassis updates and a larger, more rounded petrol tank. But it was still light, weighing 160 kg (352 pounds), and felt small and low as I settled onto the sprung saddle, which was barely higher than the flush-fitting rear mudguard.

I had a gentle stretch forward to the fairly wide bars. The fuel tank had an attractive, teardrop-shaped chromed instrument panel in its top, holding a speedometer, ammeter and light switch.

The CS1, named after its overhead-camshaft engine, had relegated the older model to sports-tourer status in Norton’s line-up, but even decades later the Model 18 felt like a genuinely sporty single. Its Amal carburetor gave slightly rough running at very low revs, but then the bike picked up and surged forward.

It felt quick if not exactly unapproachable, with an impressive willingness to rev despite the engine’s long-stroke dimensions. Its thumping exhaust note added a pleasant, fairly restrained soundtrack.

Another update had been a four-speed gearbox, in place of the original three-speeder. This bike’s box shifted smoothly provided I didn’t try to hurry the right-foot change.

The Model 18’s maximum power output of about 20 bhp had not changed since its launch. The extra gearbox ratio helped keep acceleration to roughly its original level, despite the extra weight.

The bike sat at an effortless 55-mph in top gear, vibrating slightly but not enough to be annoying, and with power in hand for more speed if given a tweak of the throttle. In third gear it was even more eager, but I didn’t want to push my luck by revving this elderly machine too hard.

As well as being pleasantly surprised by how quick and entertaining the Model 18 felt, I also occasionally found it infuriating. When the motor was hot it sometimes took some frantic kicking to bring it back to life.

In later years Norton fitted the carburetor with a spring-loaded control which, with a flick of the rider’s fingers, raised the slide to the ideal position for starting. Clearly I wasn’t the only one to struggle.

Chassis updates prior to 1937 meant this bike’s handling was probably better than that of the original model. By this time, Norton’s girder forks had been modified to include a smaller spring on each side, in addition to the main central spring.

The smaller pair softened the suspension’s rebound ferocity; less efficiently than hydraulic damping, but better than nothing. The forks also incorporated knobs each side to adjust their action, in similar fashion to the central friction steering damper knob just behind the headlight.

Given the bike’s rigid rear end, the job of soaking up bumps was down to the rear Avon tyre and the sprung saddle, which did a reasonable job between them. Having no rear suspension wasn’t as detrimental to handling as it might sound, and the Model 18 could be cornered reasonably confidently.

It also braked with reassuring efficiency for such an old bike, thanks to its reasonably powerful single-leading-shoe drum at each end.

The Model 18 also had a good reputation for reliability, so given the excellent condition of this bike I was surprised when it suddenly ground to a halt. Well, slightly surprised. It was a pretty ancient British motorbike, after all.

Glancing under the left of the tank revealed that one of the exposed valve rocker-arms had come loose. So much for this new-fangled “overhead valve” feature.

As I had no tools with me, the Model 18’s trip ended in a van. Fortunately, replacing the rocker was a quick job, and no damage was done. The engine was finally updated with enclosed valvegear in 1938, the year after this bike was built.

Norton was also notoriously conservative when it came to modernizing its chassis. When the firm restarted production of civilian bikes in 1946, after World War II, one of the two models it built was the Model 18—still with girder forks and rigid rear end.

Even Norton’s high command realized that this could be only a temporary measure, though, and for 1947 the Model 18 got telescopic forks, plus the option of plunger rear suspension.

Even so, the rigid rear end, which many riders thought gave better handling, remained standard fitment until the Model 18 was finally dropped from the range in 1955—fully 32 years after its introduction.

Norton’s first overhead-valve single had been granted an impressively long innings. If only the same had been true of the visionary engineer and founding father who had created it.

 

***

1937 Norton Model 18

Highs: Its lean looks, lively feel and light weight

Lows: When you can’t kick-start the hot engine

Takeaway: It blends vintage Norton style with youthful charm

__

Engine: Air-cooled OHV single

Capacity: 490 cc

Power: 20 bhp @ 5000rpm

Weight: 160 kg (352 pounds) with fluids

Top speed: 75 mph

Via Hagerty UK

The post Norton Model 18: Lean looks and a lively feel appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The past year represented something of a return to normalcy for the United States. It most certainly did not for the United Kingdom. In 2022 we saw the cost of living soar amidst governmental instability, exchange rates between the British pound and other currencies fluctuate like a rollercoaster, and the first land war in Europe for thirty years impacted pretty much everything in the motoring world, from gas prices to parts availability. That, and the U.K. is still coming to terms with leaving the EU and all the new red tape that entails.  So, the outlook for the classics and collector car hobby during this gathering recession would be bad, right? Wrong. This year has been crazy on many levels. Here are my headlines of what’s been going on in the UK and Europe in 2022.

Nearly every metric increased

From the price of the most expensive car on the planet (now the $142M Mercedes-Benz Uhlenhaut Coupe, sold in Germany in May) to the number of people accessing the UK Hagerty Price Guide (up over 12%), 2022 was a bumper year. Auction sales were up, too; Hagerty tracked over 15,500 UK classic vehicle auction lots sell this year, up from 14,000 in the same period in 2021, an 11% uplift. The total value of auction sales rose from £270M to £303M ($327M to $368M), around a 12% increase year over year. Hagerty’s analysis has suggested that recessions often encourage people to spend money on cars as they search for a release and somewhere tangible to put their money, and this time seems no different. The only slightly worrying sign is that, towards the end of the year as interest rates grew, auction houses told us that their sellers were more likely to set lower reserves than they had been previously, especially at the enthusiast (sub-£50,000, or $60,000) end of the market. Even so, we still saw the overall auction sale rate drop slightly, down from 79.3% to 76.2%. As home fuel bills rise again over the winter, it is not surprising that sometimes the car in the garage may have to be sold.

The top of the market is booming …

We have to face it: while many enthusiasts have been tightening their belts, many of those with money are seeing the oncoming recession as more of an opportunity than a threat. Inflation, interest rate rises (with more forecast) and a strong dollar/ weak pound have combined to make UK collector cars a great place to put money. That said, Hagerty’s analysis hasn’t shown an increase in pre-1990 cars shipped from the UK to the US; we believe that export costs and taxes mean that it’s more sensible for many overseas collectors to leave their cars here and use them during trips. Comments from storage companies support this.

… but a few big collectors have cashed out

This year, Hagerty has observed a number of big collections come onto the market. The Gran Turismo collection offered at the RM Sotheby’s London auction in November was the most remarkable: 19 of the most collectible modern classic supercars including the whole Ferrari halo car set of 288 GTO, F40, F50, Enzo and LaFerrari. No less than six of these cars featured in the top ten of all cars sold at live public auction in the UK this year, and the collection netted around £22M ($26M) for its previous owner, a well-known UK enthusiast. Less valuable but no less remarkable was the Bavarian Legends collection, also sold by RM Sotheby’s in November, this time in Munich, Germany. Thirty two exceptional BMW cars were offered by a notable Hong Kong collector, with 19 of them selling for at least double their low estimate. One of the most incredible was a 2752-km from new 1997 E36 BMW M3 Evo that sold for €286,250, about ten times Hagerty’s top value of £25,700 ($31,200). So, why have these and a few other collectors parted with their cars? My analysis is that it isn’t about belt tightening—it’s about freeing up cash to buy other things, maybe different cars, maybe property. Despite the impressive nature of both of these major collections, we believe that the collectors own a number of even more remarkable cars; these, believe it or not, were the ones they felt they could replace if needs be in the future.

Mileage matters …

As we saw with the BMW E36 M3, modern collectibles with ultra-low mileage have been keenly fought over and often achieved extraordinary prices. Cars in this category as diverse as a 2010 Ford Focus RS500 to a 2009 Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren 722S Roadster broke records, the first selling for a huge £99,000 ($120,000) at Silverstone Auctions in November, Bonhams selling the latter for £679,166 ($824,830), more than double top estimate at the Goodwood Revival Sale. These cars likely won’t be driven—just stored and sold again in a few years’ time, making them very attractive to anyone who wants the investment of a car without the “hassle” of actually driving it. Yep, those folks are actually out there.

… and so does celebrity ownership

As Hagerty showed when it published its first Power List earlier this year, celebrity ownership can add a huge amount of value to a car. In 2022, there have been some great examples of this. A rather unloved 1974 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow (Hagerty Price Guide around £10,800, or $13,166) sold for a massive £286,250 ($347,643) thanks to its first owner being Freddie Mercury of the band Queen. In September, Christie’s sold an Aston Martin DB5 replica, a stunt car used in the James Bond movie No Time to Die for £2.92M ($3.54M), ranking fourth on our top ten of public live auctions, the first time a replica has appeared on the list. Then, most impressive of all, a 1985 Ford Escort RS Turbo that had been built by Ford’s Special Vehicle Engineering department for Diana, Princess of Wales, sold for £722,500 ($877,458). That’s huge: Ferrari Daytona money for a Ford Escort, and nearly 20 times Hagerty’s top value for the model of £35,400 ($42,992).

Competition cars are still very popular …

The most expensive car sold at UK public auction in the UK was a racing car: a 1960 Ferrari 250 GT SWB Competizione sold for £7,762,500 ($9,427,362). For the second year in a row, an Audi Sport Quattro also appeared in the top ten, joined by another rally legend, a 1985 Lancia Delta S4 Group B car.  F1 cars have also been crossing the block a lot this year, including an absolute racing gem of a car: the Ferrari F2003 GA that was driven by Michael Schumacher to five victories during his sixth championship-winning year in 2003. It sold in Geneva for 14.63M Swiss francs, around $15.7M. That said, there are F1 cars and F1 cars… only those with the right drivers and performance attached will gain high prices: two Force India cars sold at this year’s Revival made £78,000 ($94,730) and £69,000 ($83,800), respectively. Those will never be worth millions. What does Hagerty forecast? Just as Mercedes-Benz saw the importance of selling one of the gems of its fleet, maybe this will price a few more really special F1 cars out of other manufacturers’ collections.

… but people just want to have fun

Hagerty believes that one reason why ultra-rich collectors prize competition cars so highly are that they give them access to the very best events on the planet. You want to be invited on the Mille Miglia or to show your car at The Amelia? A very special racing car that was once driven by an ace driver will help your case. But everyone, regardless of pocketbook size, loves a good show: this year, we launched the Hagerty Series in the UK, a set of three keystone events owned and run by Hagerty for enthusiasts: the Festival of the Unexceptional, a celebration of base model cars that used to be on everyone’s driveways, the Hagerty Hillclimb at the historic Shelsley Walsh track and UK RadWood. Elsewhere, we partnered with some other fantastic new events including the Savile Row Concours in London, sent judges to the Valetta Concours (Malta), Salon Privé, and the Goodwood Festival of Speed. All were extremely well attended and our feedback was astonishingly positive. In a time when extraordinary challenges are facing a huge number of people, it comes back to this: cars give us freedom, they give us pleasure, they give us community. Long may it last.

__

John Mayhead is editor of the UK Hagerty Price Guide.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post 2022 from across the pond appeared first on Hagerty Media.

If you’re not deeply involved in the veteran vehicle scene, visiting the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run presents a unique opportunity in the motoring world: To experience cars, motorcycles, and even bicycles, that you are utterly unfamiliar with.

Poke around anything built in say, the 1960s, or even a lot of pre-war vehicles, and most of what you see should look quite familiar. But with controls like railway signal boxes and shapes that share more with horse-drawn vehicles than the road transport that followed, veteran vehicles are a whole new world of mechanical and aesthetic intrigue.

Thankfully, we still have their owners to tell us more about them. So at this year’s London to Brighton, we caught up with the owners and operators of two veteran cars, a veteran motorcycle, and a 118-year-old bicycle, to learn what makes them tick – and to see whether 2022’s foul weather had dampened their spirits …

Jonathan Procter – 1898 Panhard et Levassor

Aside from the joy and determination of the people involved, it’s the details that really make the vehicles that enter the Veteran Car Run. And everywhere you look on Jonathan Procter’s 1898 Panhard et Levassor, there is something to admire.

Take the large, central lamp in front of the exposed fins of its radiator, joined by a couple more in closer reach of the driver and passenger. Or the large, curled horn down by the driver’s side, the complex arrangement of controls just in front, or perhaps the shapely wicker luggage basket behind the seats.

What you cannot immediately make out is the engine. “It’s a twin-cylinder” says Procter, “and it cruises at about 40 miles per hour, actually – which is quite impressive for a car of this age.”

The bodywork above it is interesting too, aside from the details apparent from a quick poke around. “The rear of the body actually detaches. So it’s got another two seats which go on the back – normally I run it with four seats, and bring my children along. But this year I’ve made it a bit more racy!”

Other than a detached battery lead along the route “which stopped it dead – that was a bit of a worry for a few seconds…” the car made it to Brighton with little trouble, Procter being among the first to arrive, shortly after 10am. But it’s far from his, or the car’s first rodeo.

“I’ve done the London to Brighton a few times. And once on one of those tricycles …” he gestures to a quirky-looking machine parked nearby “I rode from John O’Groats to Land’s End, in my twenties…”

In a car all about details, one item in particular catches my eye – a long pole that drops down from the side of the car towards the ground.

“If you’re going up a hill,” explains Procter, “the brakes don’t work very well if you start to roll backwards. So the pole sort of drops down and drags along the ground, and digs in like an anchor.”

I could spend all day walking around the Panhard et Levassor, frankly, but perhaps the only thing better than doing that would be learning what everything does and experiencing it all in action.

Mike Wild – 1904 Dreadnought motorcycle

If some of the cars in the London to Brighton look somewhat precarious, Mike Wild rides across the finish line with surprising ease and a kind of runaway haste on Dreadnought – a 1904 special powered by a De Dion Bouton single-cylinder car engine.

“It’s one of a kind,” Wild explains as he removes his Union Jack-painted pudding-bowl and shakes off his sodden leathers. “Built in 1904 by a gentleman called Oily Carslake”. A brilliant name seems to be de rigeur for the period, doesn’t it?

“He decided he wanted to have a unique motorcycle, and it’s powered by an 1899 De Dion Bouton engine – and he paid, I think, £2.50 for it. Anyway, it was in quite a state, so he put the engine into a different frame, and rode it in many events.”

Given the somewhat brisk way that Wild rode into the paddock, it’s clearly far from conventional – and Wild pre-empts my next question. “If you look here, it’s a single-speed, with a belt drive, and no clutch. The engine has to be capable of going down to walking speed, and accelerating away.

“The engine has a cam on the exhaust, but it’s an atmospheric inlet – so when the piston descends, that draws in the air and fuel. And if it doesn’t do that quick enough, you stop! It’s not been right for a while, it used to be all or nothing, but I’ve brought back that low-speed characteristic.”

The weather didn’t make things easy on the way down, Wild describing conditions as “absolutely dreadful”. The bike became waterlogged twice, so there were a couple of stops to dry it out before Brighton. But it’s amazing it made it at all – and comes with an important job to do.

“It’s owned by the Vintage Motor Cycle Club, and they want to see the bikes being used. And what I really want to do is encourage someone younger to say, ‘next year, I’m gonna ride it’ on this event. For Wild, it was his first – ticking off a bucket-list item – but perhaps next year, that honour will fall to someone else.

Ben Coles – 1900 De Dion Bouton Motorette

It takes me a minute to figure out who is driving car 29 in the Veteran Car Run. There are four people aboard, and the front pair are facing backwards. This is what’s known as a vis-à-vis, an arrangement that will no doubt come back into fashion when cars drive themselves someday.

But after a little investigation, it’s a man named Ben Coles who steps forward as the driver, having worked the tiller all the way down from London – a control method that also makes a driver hard to spot when it’s in amongst a forest of legs.

“It’s an 1899 De Dion Motorette” explains Coles, “built in 1900, and the oldest one in America – it’s an American-spec car. It’s the third London to Brighton for the car, and its third finish. We were determined to get here for 12 o’clock, so we’ve gone hell-for-leather to get here before twelve!”

Despite the weather – and the Motorette’s lack of a roof to keep it out – there were no problems en route though. “It’s been reliable, just fantastic. We lost a headlight. And the other one smokes a bit, but we’re not bothered about that …”

A cruising speed of 12-15mph turned out to be more than sufficient to make Brighton before noon with the 7am takeoff – and that vis-à-vis layout no doubt made it a sociable drive too. “Occasionally you have to sort of lean to the left or right to see around them!”

Coles has owned the car for five years – buying it after it failed to sell in a Bonhams auction, perhaps on account of its condition at the time – and has needed to build a lot of parts from scratch to bring it up to its current standard. “I rebuilt it when I bought it, and I’ve done every ‘Brighton since.

“Mechanically these cars are often quite worn-out when you get them, so you have to go through them until they’re reliable. It took maybe 12 months to get it reliable.”

And under five hours to get to Brighton before midday – all while facing your passengers in the most sociable driving arrangement yet devised.

Matthew Myerscough – 1904 Swift bicycle

As we follow the route of the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run, just before we reach Staplefield village we spy a bright-orange, Gore-Tex-clad cyclist on a distinctly spartan-looking bicycle. He puts on a smile and gives a thumbs-up for photographer Charlie Magee, before reverting his focus to the drenched road surface as he free-wheels down a hill.

At the finish on Brighton’s Madeira Drive, we find out the identity of this brave soul. Matthew Myerscough lives in Cardiff but grew up in Lancashire, and completed the 60-odd mile journey riding a 1904 single-speed Swift with a freewheel and a non-original but well-aged Brooks P17 saddle, which perfectly complements the patina of the bike.

The obvious question is, why? “It’s just a bit different, isn’t it? It’s probably a bit mad but I enjoy cycling and enjoy a bit of a challenge – something a bit different – and my Dad said, ‘You know what, I’ve got this bike, do you fancy it?’ and after a couple of beers that was it. My father’s been fettling it and fixing it up.”

For the event, however, it was Matthew who chose to ride, while Myerscough Senior took to a Crestmobile – also dating to 1904. Matthew proudly boasts of how he “beat him to the halfway at Crawley” before adding, “then I set off before him and he passed me on the hill.”

Like many others that take part in the Veteran Car Run, Matthew is technically minded. His day job is as a civil engineer, specialising in bridges. “I guess the event appeals to people with that kind of [technical] mindset,” says Matthew.

“It’s been a great day but it’s bloody hard work! I was up at four this morning to get to the start.” Riding his Swift is, as you can imagine, a challenge. “The unknowns and uncertainties of the hills was a concern. The gearing, or lack of, means it really doesn’t go up hills. But I think I was getting about 10 or 12 miles an hour on the flat, which I’m pretty happy with.”

There were challenges beyond the hills. The front brake seized on, “which was a bit of an issue” says Matthew in the sort of understated manner we’ve come to expect from participants at this stiff-upper-lip event.

Brake issue aside, he’s chuffed that he’s not had to make any running repairs to the Swift. “It’s an amazing machine. I’m over the moon with how it’s handled and performed.”

Drenched through, he still has to travel back to Cardiff the same day before he can enjoy a well-earned hot bath. Will he be back? “Absolutely. But with better weather, hopefully!”

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

Via Hagerty UK

The post These people brave British weather in century-old vehicles—for fun appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It may be the longest-running motoring event in the world, attracting more than 330 veteran cars from as far afield as America, but if you want to gain a better appreciation of the significance of an event like the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run, you need to hear from the people taking part.

Celebrating the original “capital-to-coast” Emancipation Run held on November 14, 1896, when vehicles were effectively liberated on our roads, the first Commemoration Run took place in 1897 with a re-enactment following the same route in 1927, and it has been held every year since, barring the war years and 1947, when petrol was rationed. The liberation in question refers to the Locomotives on the Highway Act, which raised the speed limit for ‘light locomotives’ from 4 to 14 mph and abolished the need for these vehicles to be preceded by a man on foot waving a red flag.

Ahead of the 2022 London to Brighton Veteran Car Run, Hagerty caught up with some of the participants and judges at the St James’ International Concours, and asked one simple question: how important is it that events like this take place?

Meet the participants

By 9:30 in the morning, on Marlborough Road, next to St. James’ Place and a hop, skip, and selfie-stick jump from Buckingham Palace, veteran cars line both sides of the road, with the backdrop of former royal residence Marlborough House looming large over the accompanying RM Sotheby’s auction site.

As London gets into its stride, the road is mere moments away from being swarmed with car enthusiasts, curious tourists, runners, dog walkers heading for the Royal Parks, and teenage kids scratching their heads in bemusement at the assortment of ancient-looking contraptions they film for Instagram stories and TikTok clips.

First to catch our attention are Beverley and Steve Nixon, who have come down from Macclesfield for their first attempt at the Veteran Car Run. Steve stands out because he’s wearing a Blue Peter lapel badge—and this is no eBay purchase. In 1984, Steve was aboard a 1902 James and Browne car, as part of a team entered by Imperial College London. Television show Blue Peter filmed the team with the car for a preview film of the event.

“We met through the hobby and got married”

“It’s been a burning desire for about 40 years to do,” Steve tells us. No wonder he wears that badge with pride. Steve and Beverley first met through their fondness for the car hobby; Steve was captain of the Motor Club at Imperial College and Beverley a member. The rest … well, you can guess.

Steve worked for the Ford Motor Company for 15 years, designing engines and gearboxes. They became custodians of their 1903 Daracq earlier this year and already owned a 1912 Ford Model T. Beverley says the reaction they get in their cars when taking them out locally or to nearby shows is amazing.

One of the unseen benefits of the London to Brighton run, points out Steve, is how it helps promote the care of veteran cars. “Everyone refers to them as, ‘Is it a Brighton car?’ and if the London to Brighton run didn’t exist then I think most of these [cars] would just end up in museums or in peoples’ garages and wouldn’t be used very often, and that would be very sad.”

Sharing the cars with the public, says Steve: “… Gives them a sense of where it all started, this is what they looked like, this is how they went. It’s just lovely to keep these things alive, and the same is true whether you’ve got a 1950s car, or a ’70s car—but these have the extra relevance because they came first. They’re the pioneers.”

The world’s best event for veteran cars

Next comes Sabba Marc, from Belgium. He and friends are in a 1902 Peugeot, and they’re here because, in their view, the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run is the best event of its kind in the world.

“It’s the most famous, the most original, where you can see so many cars like this all in one place,” says Sabba. Getting these pioneers of personal transport out on the road “fires up the passion” and encourages owners to pass that passion on to the next generation.

To find out if that’s true, we turn to Sabba’s daughter, Lisa. “My dad always taught me that it’s because of the old cars that the new cars are better for the environment—we learn and improve. Being here is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and the enthusiasm for the hobby and old cars has already passed to me,” she says.

But she admits she is in a minority amongst her peers, most of whom are only excited by modern supercars. “I think if you never have seen these [veteran] cars, you don’t know what you have missed, which is why these events are important.”

Another illustration of how the passion for the hobby can transcend generations comes when we meet Edwin Jowsey, down from Whitby in Yorkshire. He’s brought a 1904 De Dion-Bouton, which his father bought in 1990.

“Dad did it [London to Brighton] for the first couple of years and didn’t really get on very well with it—they only completed it once and it broke down a lot—and then me and my sister came along. I took over the running of the car in 2002, when I was 17, and Dad used a bigger car, and it’s done it every year since with only one breakdown.”

Clearly, Jowsey got the bug.

Without events like this, says Jowsey, the public can’t appreciate these early cars. They’ve even been to Paris with it, where it’s enjoyed a similarly warm reception from onlookers. Nearby, Jowsey’s four-and-a-half-year old son dries off the De Dion-Bouton, much to the enjoyment of onlookers. “He’s already taking a keen interest in them,” says Jowsey. “It’s interesting – hopefully we can hand the baton down.”

Two wheels are celebrated too

Three and four-wheeled cars aren’t the only vehicles participating in the 2022 London to Brighton Veteran Car Run. Motorbikes and bicycles can be found huffing and chuffing their way down to Brighton, and the Vintage and Classic Motor Cycle Club (VMCC) will be running its 1903 Dreadnought, donated to the club by its original builder, Harold “Oily” Karslake.

Mike Wild, a member of the VMCC, who’ll be riding the Dreadnought, believes that by sharing its bikes with younger members—letting them work on them and ride them—the club can help keep the hobby accessible. “These bikes make you inquisitive. You have a motorcycle that if it needs mending, you have to mend it yourself—and you can’t just go off and buy a part off the shelf. It’s a real challenge to keep it running and a satisfying one at that gives a true sense of accomplishment.”

Jamie Delaney, 33, a fellow member of the VMCC, agrees with that. “With prices of bikes and old cars constantly rising it’s really tough for young people to get into [the hobby]. As a member of the VMCC, anybody can book to ride one of its bikes, so they can enjoy it without having to own it.”

A word from our judges …

The final word must go to one of this year’s concours judges, Alan Titchmarsh, a name the green-fingered amongst you may be familiar with from national television programmes and countless books. A long-standing car enthusiast, who owns a 1929 Bentley 4 ½ Litre, Titchmarsh has participated in the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run on numerous occasions and believes it has an important role to play in keeping people in touch with the past.

“It’s about being in touch with the history of motoring and transport, which has enabled us all to get everywhere. Right since I was a boy I used to have little tiny pictures on my bedroom wall of a De Dion-Bouton in a plastic frame. I just think there is so much magic and atmosphere to them. That’s why I love them.”

The event, says Titchmarsh, “lifts the spirits” of those taking part and the people and communities it touches. “The fact that they’ve lasted this long couldn’t happen without the people here. I love enthusiasts! You don’t necessarily understand everything they talk to you about—it’s like watching Mastermind with specialist subjects—but enthusiasm is infectious and all these men and women who’ve got these cars here, they love them, they cherish them, and it’s the past that informs the future. It’s important to respect history and learn from it.”

He admits to having a soft spot—“sheer pleasure”—for the polished brass and nickel and reminds us that enjoying a shared passion is one of the greatest delights in life. “If you can share a passion, whether it’s gardening or music, or vintage and veteran cars, there’s a great uplift in that sharing and the common predicament, if you like. Just enjoying the same thing can be really important in life.”

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

Via Hagerty UK

The post The world’s oldest motoring event matters more than ever appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s said that the best days of boat ownership are the day you buy the boat and the day you sell it. That has not been my experience buying and selling motorcycles. Watching one of your bikes ride off in someone else’s truck is hard. It’s especially difficult when the buyer is the type of person my experience suggests would be served better by a different machine.

Two weeks ago, I sold my 1973 Triumph TR5T. As the gray pickup drove away, a war waged in my head. What is the proper emotion when something you care about heads to a new home? Especially when you know that home has different views on appropriate treatment for a vintage object with delicate patina?

Let’s start at the start. A while back, Editor-at-Large Sam Smith bought this wicked-cool Triumph. Just seeing photos on the internet made me utter those dangerous words: “When you are ready to sell that,” I told him, “let me know.”

Months later, my phone rang. The Triumph was a former AHRMA racer, mostly sorted but in need of a few things. Sam got swept up in other projects and needed to move on. On my end, money and projects were shuffled about in order to justify the spend. Before long, the Triumph rolled out of Sam’s Tennessee shop and into a trailer. I drove north, home to Michigan, intoxicated with potential.

This bike attracted me for one simple reason—it looks bad-ass. The TR5T came to my garage in October of 2021, a back-burner winter project. After I set up the Amal carb and hacked together an exhaust, that 500-cc parallel twin roared to life. It then proceeded to annoy my neighbors on a weekly basis, as I used the beast to tow my trash and recycling cans out to the street each Wednesday night. A few members of my small neighborhood probably wish I had left the bike out with the trash.

As fun as that was, it was hardly proper use for something so cool. Guilt stacked up. I began to question if the space and funds tied up by the Triumph weren’t better used for other experiences. Around that time, another friend offered a screaming deal on another bike that I’ve long wanted, one a lot more practical.

A for-sale listing formed. A single Instagram post brought a few replies asking for details, but only one seriously interested party. And that potential buyer brought what felt, at the time, like a serious moral dilemma: Does my responsibility for an object I love extend to finding what I believe is the perfect buyer? Or does it just mean finding someone who can pay my asking price?

To be clear, that’s part of why Sam sold the bike to me. He knew I would spend the time to do the research and make it run right. The Triumph lived full-time in my garage, it was fed only non-ethanol fuel, and it was doted over whenever it so much as hiccupped. I strived to be the perfect caretaker, treating a 50-year-old bike as if it were only two years old.

The Instagram messages from that potential buyer painted a picture. “Just how bad are the brakes?” he said. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle with a drum front brake.” Then came, “When you say it has a tickler, what does that mean?” My favorite was, “Have you had any trouble with the electronics?”

It’s a Triumph with Lucas ignition parts. Jokes come with the territory.

Still, I supplied honest answers to every question. The window shopper became a buyer, and he sent me a deposit. When we met this fall, at the Barber Vintage Festival, to hand over the bike and its trove of spare parts, I couldn’t help but notice that the new owner was maybe a little green in mechanical experience. When he mentioned plans to park this wonderfully preserved, patina-rich Triumph in the open parking lot in front of his dorm room, it felt like a dagger to my heart. I pictured the bike degrading rapidly.

Around that time, a thought crossed my mind: hand back the cashiers check, then gently suggest that this young man hit Barber’s swap meet and find a little Honda enduro. That would be a better fit for his needs and plans, I thought. He would likely have a great experience, and the bike wouldn’t be as needy or delicate as the Triumph.

Only . . . I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Because if someone would have done that to me, I wouldn’t be who I am.

See, at 16 years old, I bought a Chevrolet Corvair from a scrap yard. It was more iron oxide than car. The owner of that yard probably felt that not selling me the Corvair would have been doing me a favor. After breaking apart the locked-up engine with a scrap two-by-four and a three-pound sledge, I realized the Chevy was never going to drive again. A few smart friends recommended buying a running Corvair to stay motivated. I could enjoy driving, they said, rather than spiraling into the frustration of a never-ending project.

It took an entire summer of bagging groceries to stack up the 22 hundred-dollar bills that ended up being traded for my 1964 Corvair Monza coupe. Without a doubt, the owner was not excited to sell me that car. He knew I planned to daily drive it and park it at my high school. He knew I barely owned a complete set of hand tools.

At that point, most people would have said I had no business owning a car nearly triple my age. That man knew the potential he had to keep that Corvair in great shape and preserved for the future. He also knew that the most powerful thing he could do was let me use that Monza to create unforgettable memories and learn.

That Corvair, along with the hours spent learning to keep it on the road, is what created the oil-soaked, mechanically obsessed Kyle Smith you find here.

I literally would not be where I am, wouldn’t be at this job and writing these words, if it wasn’t for that gentleman in Lawrence, Kansas back in 2007. Who am I to gate-keep another budding enthusiast from diving right in? Sam’s old Triumph, my old Triumph, is a nice, complete bike that came with a lot of spare parts and pieces, but it’s not some rare treasure that belongs in a museum. Like that Monza, it’s an old vehicle first and a collectible second. These machines weren’t particularly special when they were new, and while we do have a duty to be caretakers for the next generation, at some point, we have to let the next generation actually join us, whether it feels right or not.

The service manuals were the last thing I handed Ben before shaking his hand and sending him off on his new adventure. On my 14-hour drive home from Barber, the idea that the Triumph “deserves better” disappeared. It was replaced by the feeling that the new owner was perfect: a young person, excited to learn, who very much wanted to be part of vintage motorcycle culture.

In the end, it did go to an owner like me. Just on a time delay. We all started somewhere in our journey with old cars, and that journey often involves jumping straight into the deep end and learning to swim.

Who am I to withhold selling a motorcycle because I don’t think someone else is ready? That choice isn’t mine to make. But I will say one thing: Ben, if you’re reading this and you end up in over your head, you know where I live. Call any time.

The post A Triumph(ant) passing of the torch appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It has been a month of disorienting change for the United Kingdom. During the first weekend in September, a summer heatwave was scorching the country. Boris Johnson was our prime minister. We had a Queen.

Now the leaves are falling, and not only do we have a new King, but a new government, too, one with dramatic economic policies. Prime Minister Liz Truss and her Chancellor of the Exchequer, Kwasi Kwarteng, have tried to put the brakes on the cost-of-living crisis by freezing home fuel price rises, cutting higher-rate income taxes and removing city bonus caps. Bold moves that the money market didn’t like, given global inflation and the potential impact on the government’s deficit. Twelve months ago, you could get $1.35 for every British Pound. As of this writing, it’s $1.08, with forecasters expecting parity before long. The BBC reports that a number of major UK mortgage providers have stopped offering loans to new customers and that 40 percent of mortgage deals have been taken off the market in the past week.

It happens that September was also a big month for classic car auctions in the UK, starting with Gooding & Company at Hampton Court on the 3rd and continuing with Bonhams sales at Beaulieu (September 9) and Goodwood (September 17), plus a host of smaller auctions. No surprise, they were impacted by the dramatic changes roiling the country and economy. In fact, the collector car market here may be at a turning point.

More specifically, we’re seeing signs of increasing separation between the most expensive cars and the rest. Some of that owes to class disparities that would be recognizable to any Charles Dickens reader—the wealthy have the means and the motivation to snap up expensive classics as a hedge against inflation and/or underperforming stocks, whereas middle-class car enthusiasts find themselves pinched affording the basics. Yet there’s something else going on here: The market for top-tier classics tends to be global, and as the pound has nosedived, dealers tell us that U.S. collectors are increasingly snapping up cars in the UK.

“There’s been a definite increase in the number of enquiries from potential American buyers who think there’s a better deal to be done at the moment,” said Max Girardo, head of the eponymous high-end dealer Girardo & Co. “Whether it will last is another thing.”

This trend was plainly obvious at Goodwood. Of the 117 lots that reached the rostrum 80 sold, a rate of 68.4 per cent and the no-sales included both cars estimated at £1M or above. That’s below-par relative to the auction performances we’ve become accustomed to in the past few years and even from earlier in the month at Hampton Court and Beaulieu, but not alarmingly so. What was really striking were the number of American buyers, both in the room and seemingly bidding remotely. What turned out to be the star lot, the ex-Penske/McLaren Cooper-Zerex-Oldsmobile racer, was reportedly chased by three bidders, two American and one based in Europe.

Everyone I spoke to, from auction specialists and dealers to collectors, expects this U.S. buying of high-quality British collector cars to continue. Not just is the exchange rate as good as it’s ever been, but the Bank of England interest rate of 2.25 percent is significantly lower than the Fed’s 3 to 3.25 percent. American buyers can theoretically borrow cheaply here, buy cheaply, and have the car shipped from nearby Southampton back to the States (or even stored here, again at reduced cost). It is notable that at the major European sale of the month—RM Sotheby’s auction in St Moritz—just 9 of the 22 lots on offer sold on the day (with another four marked as sold as we go to press). St Moritz in Switzerland has all the paperwork issues of being outside of the EU that Britain does, but without the attraction of nearby ports and cheap money.

American interest in top-tier classics trends seem likely to amplify what we observed in our latest release of the UK Hagerty Price Guide, in which “everyman” classics mostly struggled to keep pace with inflation whereas the big-money cars in our Gold Index rocketed up by an average of 17 percent.

Yet that doesn’t mean that lower priced cars aren’t selling at all. In fact, analysis of the many auctions that took place here in the past month shows that sub-£50,000 cars are actually selling better in percentage terms than any other price of car. The reason may be that sellers, given all the bad news, are getting more realistic about their prices.

“Sellers are definitely more willing to take a bid, which we can only assume is a reflection on the global economy,” said Roger Nowell of Manor Park Classics, which focuses on auctions in this area of the market. “Our sales rates are consistently circa 75 percent so [they seem to be] holding up,” he added. Hagerty Insider has noted previously that, after two years of unprecedented appreciation, some sellers have unrealistic expectations of what they can get for their cars on the open market. In the United Kingdom, at least, a month of sobering change has put an end to those fantasies.

__

John Mayhead is publisher of the UK Hagerty Price Guide.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post A season of change in the United Kingdom—and a rare opportunity for American collectors appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s a strange time in the United Kingdom—and not just because we have a new monarch for the first time in 70 years. Whatever your politics, most people agreed that the last Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, presided over a period of chaos that included Brexit, COVID, and eventually his removal by his own party. Chaos is never good for an economy, and it certainly has not been for ours: The Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (the OECD) predicted in June that the UK would see the lowest rate of growth in the G20 group of nations with the exception of Russia. This summer, the cost of living hit home hard, with petrol hitting £2 per liter—or over $9.08 per gallon—and the previously-capped costs of electricity and household gas rising to an average of around £2,000 per year ($2,362) up 54 percent in a year.

All this made for a complicated backdrop as I published the latest UK Hagerty Price Guide (our 29^th edition, if you’re keeping count). Whereas the collector car market in the United States has largely defied gravity, here we’re seeing the market splitting, as economic pressures and incentives work differently on middle- and upper–class collectors.

Tumult for affordable classics

Hagerty’s Classic Index tracks 50 classic cars that are representative of the British enthusiast market. Most are relatively numerous and affordable. In the past 12 months, the Classic Index has risen by 3 percent overall, which seems rather steady; however, this a classic case of an average being deceiving. In fact, there’s a huge amount of change, with some cars moving upwards a lot, others significantly down.

Those moving down include the Jaguar E-Type SIII roadster, which fell by an average of 9 percent and the Audi Quattro Ur (RR) that fell by 5 percent. Both of these cars had previously risen steeply in value, and this was more of a correction than the start of a trend that Hagerty expects to continue. Similarly, Volkswagen Type 2 (Split-window) values, which rose as a “staycation” opportunity during the pandemic shutdowns, fell 18 percent in the year.

Those that increased most are a diverse bunch, including some well-known classics such as the ever-popular MGB GT (up 16 percent), the Mazda MX5 (up 11 percent) and the Rover SD1 3500 Vanden Plas, up a huge 23 percent, although it started from a relatively modest £5,500 ($6360).

These are seemingly big rises, but they must be placed in context. According to the Office for National Statistics, inflation rose 8.8 percent in the year to July 2022. Only eight of the 50 cars in the Classic Index increased more than this, the remainder effectively losing value in real terms. Given the economic uncertainly and cost of living crisis, it is not surprising that the demand for many enthusiast classics seems to have subsided, for now.

Things still look good from the top

Economic pressures don’t seem to be hampering the top echelon of car collectors. Hagerty UK’s list of thirty exclusive classics, known as the Gold Index, has risen by an average of 17 percent over the year. It includes such cars as the Ferrari 250 GTO, the BMW 507 and the Ford F40.

Like the Classic Index, some cars have increased dramatically in value and others reduced in price. Those losing value tend to be older, more traditional classics: the Aston Martin DB5 Vantage Drophead is down by 13 percent and the Maserati 3500 GTi Spider down 18 percent. One 1950s car that has bucked this trend is the Mercedes-Benz 300SL ‘Gullwing’ coupe, which has risen by 35 percent in the year following a host of very strong sales both at auction and privately. Following the record sale of the 300 SLR ‘Uhlenhaut’ coupe (to a prominent British collector, if rumors are to be believed), U.S. Hagerty Price Guide publisher Dave Kinney wondered if “ordinary” 300SLs might benefit from the association. That indeed seems to be happening.

Top 1970s cars have also done extremely well: Dino 246 GTS values have risen by an astonishing 89 percent in the year, Porsche 911 2.7RS up by 37 percent, and Lamborghini Miura P400SV values by 29 percent. Dino and 2.7RS values had previously dipped a little, so this is a regain (and then some), but Miura values have been increasing for some time and this is the continuation of an upward trajectory.

Modern classic ‘Halo’ cars are outperforming everything.

However, the most significant group of rising stars are the modern classic supercars. The McLaren F1 is up 20 percent year-on-year, an impressive feat for a car whose average value in the UK is now a huge £15,225,000. In percentage terms though, it’s the Ferraris that are leaving the others for dust: F40 average values have almost doubled in 12 months (97.6 percent increase), 288 GTO values are up by 71.4 percent and F50 up by 46.7 percent. Note that these gains don’t necessarily reflect sales within the UK. One of the insulating factors for these high-dollar cars is the fact that they are traded globally. However, the value gains will be more acutely felt by British buyers, given how significantly the exchange rate has changed in the last twelve months. In September 2021, it was $1.38 to the GBP, today that’s $1.17.

So, what’s going on?

For the time being, Hagerty in the UK sees a split market: The very economic pressures that might discourage collectors of average means might incentivize those who can buy expensive collector cars.

With most forecasts placing inflation in the UK at around 10 percent in the next 12 months and all predictions pointing towards rising interest rates, many collectors will find themselves with less money to pour into cars. Yet for those with the means—or the ability to borrow at relatively low fixed rates—those same factors make this a very wise time to add to the garage. Cars are easy to buy, in the UK attract no capital gains tax, and are easy to sell if you need to. These cars are perceived as the new gold bars, and the very best examples—the correct spec, original, low-mileage or perfectly restored—are seen as great investments.

At least, that’s how it all looks right now. More than ever, things are moving quickly. In the last ten days, a new Prime Minister, Liz Truss, has been sworn in and immediately fixed household energy prices. Then, Queen Elizabeth II died. Strangely, this seems to have had a calming effect. At times like this, the British often retreat to the traditions of our ancient country, and somehow it seems to have brought us together. Will this calm these turbulent waters? I believe it may, just a little.

__

John Mayhead is publisher of the UK Hagerty Price Guide

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post A Tale of Two Collector Car Markets appeared first on Hagerty Media.

With all that’s going on in the collector market these days, good-old-fashioned British sports cars are often overlooked. Mainstream models from MG, Triumph, and Austin-Healey offer that rare mix of gorgeous-yet-unpretentious styling and a fun-focused, minimalist mindset that’s missing from most cars built since 1980. They’re also highly rewarding choices for any enthusiast who cares less about the 0-to-60 time than how a car makes them feel. Sure, you might need to get your hands dirty a little more often, but that’s part of the appeal.

British sports cars are a huge part of the collector car market and have been since before many of the folks writing here picked up a keyboard. There’s a reason, though, that we don’t devote many headlines to old English roadsters: Insider reports on market trends, and this corner of the market hasn’t seen dramatic change. “Stable” and “quiet” describe most British car values relative to the frenzy among other sub-$50K collector cars, and Hagerty’s British Car Index is traditionally among the steadiest of the seven indices we track. But with everything from Mustang IIs to Mondials getting far pricier over the past 24 months, even some British car prices have awakened from their slumber. With that, we figured it was a good time to check in on five of the most popular British classics.

1946–55 MG T-Series

Just after World War II, American servicemen stationed in Britain hopped into the T-Series, and a love affair for the ages was born. Many had the little MG imported to the U.S. on their return home or bought one at a Stateside dealer when they became available in 1947. Their new love was a cheap date, too—the T-Series could be bought for a little more than half as much as that other landmark postwar sports car, Jaguar’s XK120.

Largely a carryover from the prewar TA and TB, the 1946–50 TC was far from cutting edge, but it was still a revelation for a nation unaccustomed to tiny, nimble, minimalist roadsters. It helped spawn the sports car market in the U.S. and launched countless racing careers—Carroll Shelby himself won his first race in a TC.

An updated TD arrived in 1950 with improved handling, better ride, wider wheels, and somewhat frumpier styling. With nearly 30,000 built, TDs are also more common than the other two models combined. The final T-Series, the TF, got fared-in headlamps, a different interior grille, more interior room, and in 1954 an available 1466cc (up from 1250) engine that brought performance up to a thumping 63 hp.

When it comes to values, the T-Series is pretty straightforward. Historically, it has been the picture of stability, with cars changing hands at moderate prices and a steady pace almost regardless of what happens in the rest of the market. There is, however, a hierarchy in the T-Series family.

The TC is the most crude and the least practical (they're all right-hand drive), but it's the purest and the original, so it's worth the most:$43,700 in #2 (Excellent, or like-new) condition. The TD is by far the most common and considered the least attractive, so this middle child is worth the least at $27,800. The TF is the fastest, most developed and arguably the best-looking, plus it's the last MG with the traditional prewar styling laid over an ash frame. TFs carry a #2 value of $36,500, while TF 1500s are worth $40,300.

By modern standards, these cars are almost more akin to carriage than car. They're not comfortable, they'll struggle to keep up with modern traffic, and they don't stop well. But they are fun, not to mention simple, rugged, and easy to live with and work on. Since they're all rather similar to own and similarly charming to look at, the TD is arguably the best value.

1955–62 Triumph TR3

Between cheap and cheerful MGs and more luxurious, expensive Jags slotted Triumph's attractive yet affordable sports cars. On American shores, the TR3 was Triumph's first sales success. Although the TR3's 1991cc overhead valve four is famously descended from an old Ferguson tractor, as a genuine 100-mph roadster and the first British production car with front disc brakes, it was a very popular road and rally racer in period. It feels a lot faster than it is, due in large part to its smooth torque delivery and dramatic, down-cut doors that expose its occupants to Mother Nature.

The first major update for the TR3 came in 1957 with the TR3A (never officially referred to as such by the factory), which added a wider and more prominent grille and such lavish equipment as door handles and a locking trunk. In order to placate U.S. dealers who feared people wouldn't like the new TR4 (spoiler: they did), Triumph introduced the TR3B (again, never officially referred to as such) in 1961 with a larger 2138cc, 105-hp engine.

TR3 prices peaked in 2013 and slowly decreased till last year, when they experienced a minor bump. Nevertheless, their median #2 value is down 15 percent over the past decade. The spread between TR3, TR3A and TR3B is small but significant with TR3s currently at $18,700, TR3As at $19,500, and TR3Bs at $22,500. Add $1000 or more for a factory hardtop.

With its swoops and flourishes, nothing looks quite like a TR3, especially for the money. Fortunately for enthusiasts, few signs point to them getting any more expensive: values have been quiet relative to other classic roadsters, and they aren't attracting new young buyers. Baby boomers and older account for 72 percent of insurance quotes for TR3s, even though those buyers make up just 41 percent of the market as a whole. Longer term, they'll likely remain a great value.

1969–76 Triumph TR6

The TR6 wasn't the last Triumph. That sad honor goes to the 1981 Acclaim, which was essentially a rebadged Honda. Nor was it the last Triumph sports car, as it was phased out in favor of the wedgey TR7 and TR8, aka "the shape of things to come." However, with its supple curves, body-on-frame construction, a throaty long-stroke engine, and minimal luxury inside, the TR6 was the last of the old-school Triumph roadsters.

Indeed, the TR6 was something of a dinosaur from the start. Introduced just in time for the Datsun 240Z to make "traditional" sports cars seem obsolete, the TR6's narrow cockpit, bouncy ride and rather crude independent suspension represented little change from the old TR4.

On the other side of the pond, the TR6's 2.5-liter pushrod six made a punchy 150 hp with Lucas mechanical injection, while twin Stromberg carbs stifled U.S.-spec cars to about 100 hp. For 1974, the TR6's chrome bumpers gained weight and sprouted large rubber overriders for U.S. safety regulations, further diminishing performance. Despite that, the engine's eager nature and satisfying exhaust note made it a back road joy. In a review on Top Gear, James May called the TR6 the "blokiest bloke's car ever built," and Paul Newman clinched his first SCCA National Championship in 1976 at the wheel of a silver and black TR6.

Triumph built over 90,000 TR6s, with the vast majority of them finding homes in America. Rust has claimed many, but TR6s remain easy to find in any condition and parts availability is generally quite good.

Unlike many other open-top Brits, TR6 prices haven't been sleepy at all. Not long ago, these were sub-$20,000 cars all day, but they started appreciating in the late 2010s. Median #2 value is up 50 percent over the last decade, to $34,300. The gap between great cars and average ones has widened considerably, though, and driver-quality TR6s can still be found in the mid-teens. The difference in price between early slim-bumper cars and later ones is minimal, but later ones came in louder '70s colors like Java Green or Magenta, if that's your thing. Desirable options include a luggage rack, overdrive, factory hardtop, and wire wheels.

Fifty years on, everything from the '70s looks old-fashioned. The 240Z may have outclassed the TR6 in period, but the Triumph's anachronisms don't stick out as much through the lens of time. Besides, with a straight-six and wood dash before you, the TR6 provides a Big Healey British experience at a significantly lower price.

1958–69 Austin-Healey Sprite

By the late 1950s, the Brits sold as many two-seaters to sports car-hungry Americans as they could screw together. But Donald Healey saw an opening at the market's entry point: young gearheads with sports car dreams who couldn't quite swing a Porsche or an Austin-Healey 100 didn't have many choices. The Sprite was Healey's answer, and for $1795 it bought you no windows, no outside door handles, no trunk lid, all-drum brakes, and 43 buzzing horsepower from BMC's 948cc A-Series four.

The headlights, which Healey planned on being retractable, were left in the fixed up position in order to save costs, and that awkward but adorable choice earned it the nickname "Bugeye" (or "Frogeye" back home in the U.K.). It wasn't just about looks, though: with precise handling thanks to its low weight and unibody construction, amateur racers across the country filled race grids with the little Sprite.

After 1961 and nearly 49,000 Mk I Sprites sold, Austin-Healey updated the model to a more conventional shape and fitted more powerful engines until discontinuing the Sprite after 1969. The nearly identical MG Midget soldiered on another decade until 1979. There's no beating the original, though. It's impossible not to be charmed by the Bugeye's smiley-faced grille and big, cartoon-eye headlights.

Cute counts for a lot in the world of little sports cars. With a #2 value of $28,000, a Bugeye is worth about twice as much as a later "square-body" Sprite. It's even pricier than the larger, more powerful MGB.

Like many other mainstream British roadsters, Sprite values have seen more growth over the past two years than they ever have before, but appreciation has been more pronounced for Bugeyes. Upgrades like disc brake conversions, later 1275-cc engines and five-speed swaps (often from a Miata) are common, but have little effect on value. Bugeyes were dirt cheap for decades and often modified, so factory originality isn't necessarily expected. What's more important is overall condition and quality of work performed.

1962–80 MGB

Until the Miata came along in 1989, the MGB was the de facto cheap roadster. While the Miata may have perfected the British formula and is itself now a classic, the MGB is still the go-to collector roadster. MG built 512,243 examples, and by count of cars insured with Hagerty, the MGB holds the titles of second-most popular sports car (after the Corvette) and second-most popular import (after the VW Beetle).

Launched at the 1962 Earls Court Motor Show with modern monocoque construction, the MGB carried on with incremental revisions till the closure of the Abingdon plant in 1980. In 1964, the 1978cc B-Series engine gained a five-main-bearing crankshaft, and after 1965 cars switched the "pull handle" for the doors to a push-button. The MGB GT arrived in 1966 with a rear roofline by Pininfarina, and although it's technically a 2+2, you wouldn't want to ride back there unless you were a piece of luggage. The 1967 MGB revised the interior trim and seats, the 1968 cars got a padded dash board, and headrests came in 1969. The 1970 MGB got a recessed black grille, rubber tips on the chrome bumper overriders, and Rostyle wheels. The biggest change, though, came halfway through the 1974 model year when the 'B was festooned with huge black polyurethane bumpers. A raised ride height messed with handling, and the engine was robbed of horsepower, of which MGs had little to spare.

Like most other MGs, MGBs are a known quantity with steady prices. Over the past couple of years, though, all the activity elsewhere in the market has caught up to these British staples, and good cars have gotten pricey.

Early MGB roadsters currently carry a #2 value of $22,900, while those in #3 (Good) condition command $11,500-$12K. MGB GTs, meanwhile, are $18,200 in #2 condition and $7200–$7500 in #3 condition. Appreciation over the past five years isn't much in dollar terms, but #2 values are up about 10 percent while driver-quality cars haven't appreciated as much.

The 1970–74 cars—the last of the chrome bumper 'Bs—currently carry #2 values of $22,200 to $22,600 in roadster form and $21,300 to $21,500 in GT coupe form. This generation of MGB has, surprisingly, appreciated 42 percent since January 2020, bringing values more in line with the purer, earlier cars. Perhaps people aren't as turned off by the padded dash and other trim differences as they used to be.

The later, compromised rubber bumper MGBs, meanwhile, have been left behind. Their #2 values are down nearly 4 percent over the last five years to $15,100. The final 1980 models are worth more at $16,400, and one option to look out for is the "Limited Edition," which added special black and silver paint, alloy wheels, an air dam, and sport steering wheel. These 'Bs can command $1500 or more over a base example.

The post These 5 British roadsters are holding their value—or better appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Here’s a thought. If you were to design your perfect Healey, what would you give it? More power? Of course! Proper gearbox? Harsh, but yes, probably. Better brakes? Goes without saying. More legroom? Absolutely! Restyled bodywork? Hmm, maybe.

Well that’s basically the thought process Caton went through to arrive at this, its first model. And it did all of the above, including a restyle, building what’s effectively a brand-new car. Up to thirty-five of them will be offered, at more than £400,000 (~$482,500) each. There’s only one so far, and this is it, the development car, looking remarkably good under sunny U.K. skies.

Let’s dispense with the small talk and get on with it. Push the starter button once to prime the fuel pump, then, with foot on the brake, again. Four big cylinders thrum into life. The exhaust, which exits pretty much directly below my ear, immediately sounds wonderfully throaty. There’s a two-hour odyssey of fast A-roads, busy Cotswolds towns, and bumpy back lanes ahead. Let’s go!

The Caton name is derived from the name of the family that owns the Envisage Group, a Coventry automotive engineering tour-de-force that you’re unlikely to recognize unless you’re involved in car manufacturing. It covers coachbuilding, design, interior trim development, engineering … you name it. That includes numerous recent continuation-car projects by the way.

The Caton brand was born out of this and the early Healey 100 was chosen as its first subject because it represents the classic British sports car—and let’s face it, it would be daft to start with an E-Type when there are so many sublime modified examples around. Even Jaguar Classic offers in-house upgrades and restorations.

Caton’s Healey runs on mostly original running gear, save for a Tremec five-speed gearbox, but the bodywork has been lightly reworked to rid it of the seams and awkward fits that came of small budgets and low-volume pressing tools when the Healey was created in the 1950s. It’s just one of the ways technology has made such changes possible.

So the seams along the front and rear panels have been removed, the rear wings subtly reprofiled, the external boot hinges banished, the front grille completely remade, and various other neat touches applied. If you don’t know Healeys well, you wouldn’t notice the difference, but when you see this out on the open road there’s a fluidity to the lines that even the ever-pretty original 100S doesn’t have.

It doesn’t take long on the road to work out that the engine is sublime. That big, BMC-derived Healey four-pot, which originally displaced 2660 cc, has been bored out to 2954, lightened, and equipped with a steel crank and high-compression pistons and a hot camshaft. It’s sweeter than any long-stroke four-cylinder of such large capacity has a right to be. If it weren’t for the occasional whiff of unburnt fuel at idle, you’d assume it was running on modern throttle bodies and mapped ignition—but no, it’s on larger-than-standard twin SU H8 carburetors and conventional points and distributor. Remarkable.

From the woofling idle, it pulls cleanly right through but really starts to sing above 3000 rpm, the point at which a slightly annoying buzzing through the floor that starts just above 2500 rpm smooths itself out. Later my guess that the vibration is from the exhaust is confirmed; it’s currently solidly mounted to the chassis and will soon be tried with a rubber mount. This is the prototype after all, and this drive is a small part of early shakedown testing.

Although the original four-cylinder engines of the first Healeys are basic in the extreme, they also far sweeter than you’d expect. The Caton’s engine is a step on from that, though, and is happy revving to 5500 rpm even though peak torque is developed at 2900. With 182.5 hp instead of the original’s 89 (the 100S was 130 hp), and lightened to weigh 2028 pounds, it doesn’t hang around either.

What lets the original down is the gearbox: The initial batch of Healey 100s were fitted with four-speed gearboxes from the Austin A90 with the super-low first gear blanked off and overdrive on third and fourth, on a side-exit shifter that blighted the 100 with an unsportingly long gear lever. Later cars had a conventional four-speed, again with overdrive, but still not the ideal choice.

The Caton addresses that head-on with its Tremec five-speeder tucked beneath the transmission tunnel. Funny thing is that the gearing is so high and the engine so flexible that it barely needed fifth gear on the A-roads, except on a long stretch of fast dual carriageway. On a motorway though, fifth will be a godsend, taking the revs right down to just above 2000 rpm at 70 mph. The gearshift could be tweaked to feel a bit more direct, more classically mechanical, which apparently is already being investigated.

What’s clear is that the ratios are perfect, though with all that torque it’s not like the engine is too fussy about which gear it’s in. All the same, leaving it in third through sweeping bends and fast blasts along the straights keeps the engine at its best, as the air rushes past you in the neat little cockpit.

That beautifully formed, low glass screen doesn’t look like it should work. I’m 6-foot and generally prefer a coupé to a convertible, yet the Caton never felt uncomfortably blowy even a high speeds. There’s no weather protection other than the screen, though—customers will be able to order a tonneau or perhaps take the bespoke nature of the Caton a step further with a modern take on the classic Works hardtop.

That’s jumping the gun, though. Let’s stick to this prototype for now. The further I drive, the more I appreciate the new touches. The ride, for example, is excellent for a sports car of this era: there’s nothing clever about the suspension, it’s just been honed and tweaked with uprated springs and dampers by the clever guys at JME Healey, whose experience Caton has sensibly called upon for help developing the new car.

Same goes for the brakes. No tricks, just straightforward, straight-line, wheel-locking stopping power, with the feel aided by the modern, custom pedal-box that gives a much-appreciated improvement to the action of all three pedals. If there’s a weak link it’s the steering, with it’s slight vagueness around the straight-ahead position that no amount of tweaking can disguise. Blame it on the steering box, which could in theory be swapped for a more modern rack, but not without significant engineering—and the risk of removing a little character. Instead, you take up the slack rather than applying too much lock, because past the play there’s a responsive steering action to be found; it’s all too easy to think that the steering wheel isn’t having enough effect and turn in unnecessarily hard.

There’s never a time when the Caton doesn’t feel like a true Healey. Sure, the interior, with its Bridge of Weir leather, its cosseting seats, and its generous legroom makes for a big change, but it just feels like a Healey always should have.

Does it justify the price? This is effectively a brand-new car, built to personal specifications and extremely low numbers—just 35 are planned, so it doesn’t take long for the numbers to stack up. If you’re paying such serious bucks for a bespoke car, you’re able to choose the color you want, the interior you want, the headlights you want (not everyone appreciates the current LED projector units), and even the mechanical set-up you want.

If you’re likely to spend time in town then maybe consider mapped ignition—perhaps injection, too—but bear in mind that those masters of updated, useable classics at Eagle E-Types stick with carburetors on their considerably more expensive creations. Sometimes, original spec is best. Especially when combined with comfy seats, a five-speed gearbox, and a stunning drive …

Via Hagerty UK

The post Caton’s born-again Healey is an intoxicating twist on a British classic appeared first on Hagerty Media.

With custom-bike culture exploding in recent years, the history and importance of early two-wheeled machines are often overlooked. Stock Stories tells the tales of these motorcycles.

The end of World War II marked the beginning of a period of enormous automotive expansion, as well as the birth of a market hungry for cheap transport. This era boomed with demand for small-capacity motorcycles, and British firm BSA was one of many eager to enter the two-stroke arena. In the end, it was a German company that provided the necessary inspiration for one of BSA’s best-loved bikes, and at more than 250,000 examples built over more than two decades, one of the best-selling English motorcycles of all time: the Bantam.

DKW and the birth of the D1

DKW, one of the four rings in what is now Audi, was a master of the two-stroke. The automaker began developing two-strokes in the 1920s, and by 1939 it had the largest racing department in the world, with 150 staff members dedicated to motorsport activities alone. By the late 1930s, the DKW factory in Zschopauer was the largest motorcycle plant in the world, having built more than half a million bikes. One of the brand’s most successful models was the RT 125, a lightweight, 125-cc unit. For BSA, it would prove the key to breaking into the two-stroke market.

The RT 125 engine was designed by Herman Weber, with its defining elements being twin-loop transfer ports and a flat-top piston. Two-strokes were then plagued with the problem of unspent fuel-oil-air mix making its way into the engine’s exhaust—the result being both inefficiency and smoke. The twin transfer ports, one on each side of the cylinder, provided more chance for the incoming fuel-air charge to mix evenly while also helping spent gases escape. These ports also helped reduce weight, as their efficiency eliminated the need for heavy “deflector” pistons. The alternative, a flat-top piston, was significantly lighter.

BSA’s experimental department in Redditch obtained a complete DKW RT 125 in 1946. One story suggests that a wartime parachute regiment stole the motorcycle and delivered it to BSA, but there is no evidence that this actually happened. After stripping down the RT’s engine, BSA made its own drawings in Imperial measurements. Compared with British standard practice, the DKW’s drive sprocket and gear change were on opposite sides of the engine, so engineers chose to mirror the powerplant’s bottom half in drawings. The DKW’s rolling chassis was used to test BSA’s new engines; in the meantime, the British firm’s engineers got to work designing their own chassis.

BSA wasn’t the only one to take on Weber’s design. The DKW was the basis for many other machines, including the Harley-Davidson Hummer, the Royal Enfield Flying Flea, and Yamaha’s first production motorcycle, the YA-1.

The Bantam D1 featured a fully welded, rigid rear frame and telescopic forks that used grease as a damping fluid. Electrical juice was provided by Wipac magneto, eliminating the need for a battery. That magneto also led to a simple push-bulb horn on the handlebars, a choice old-fashioned at the time but nonetheless adequate. With its substantial frame, its 19-inch wheels, a sprung saddle, and a small luggage rack on the back, the D1 was both capable and practical by the standards of the day.

In December of 1948, the U.K.’s General Post Office began using Bantams as cheap and economical transport for telegram service. The GPO put the D1s to hard work, running each bike over a five- to seven-year period with overhauls every 15,000 miles. Six thousand five hundred and seventy-four Bantams were purchased in a host of model variations, with the original D1 dominating GPO service; the model’s introduction coincided with peak usage of the telegram service.

The Bantam was also suited to motorsport, trials riding especially—it was affordable, lightweight, and highly tunable, with plenty of low-end torque. BSA saw the market potential, announcing the D1 Competition in 1949. This was a trials-focused model featuring an upswept exhaust, a decompressor, and weight-saving nonvalanced mudguards. The bike possessed all the essentials to tackle the trials courses of the day, an accessible package out of the box.

The Bantam began winning trials events virtually the moment they found riders’ hands. More off-road success came in 1950s scrambles events, most notably the Experts Grand National of 1956. Two Bantams ridden by Brian Stonebridge and John Draper were the last away from the line in that event but managed to make their way through the field and land first and second place, respectively—quite an achievement for a motorcycle initially designed simply to get you to work and back.

A similar story was happening in road racing as clubmen began to tap into the Bantam’s possibilities. An optional “plunger” version with rear suspension was soon offered alongside the Competition model—the sprung rear end was an improvement on the rigid frame, supplying more comfort than only a sprung seat. This feature was also used on the D1 De-Luxe, a Bantam variant that featured Lucas electrics. The latter change served as a mild improvement on the Wipac, but the setup was only used until 1953, when it was replaced by the Wipac Series 55 M8 generator.

Bantam D3 Major

It wasn’t long before customers began looking for more power in the Bantam’s cheap tax bracket. While BSA made attempts to create a whole new range of two-strokes, financial difficulties meant that the D1’s successor was only a slight evolution. Released in October 1953, the D3 Bantam Major was a 148-cc machine. The displacement allowed the bike to stay in the B1’s tax class but provided for a 16-percent increase in power: Output was now 5.2 hp at 5000 rpm. The D3’s rear utilized plunger suspension as standard, while the front end offered BSA’s C10 fork arrangement, a substantial upgrade over the D1’s layout. The D3 also introduced a range of colors; as of 1955, both black and maroon were offered alongside the green used on the D1.

The rigid and plunger frames were phased out in 1956, replaced with a new swing-arm frame, which gave more comfort and better handling. BSA also provided a dual seat and pillion footrests as standard. These improvements brought an increase in weight, however, which impeded the engine’s performance. The D3 was thus short lived, as it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy the customer.

Bantam D5 Super Bantam

By the mid-1950s, BSA was looking to compete against the popular Villiers 197-cc two-stroke, and so it began experiments to further increase the capacity of the Bantam engine. Early attempts involved trying a longer stroke to increase the displacement without changes to the bottom end. The long stroke gave strong torque, but it also produced strong vibration—so strong, in fact, that test engines rapidly destroyed their chain adjusters. Back at the drawing board, the design team decided instead to increase the engine’s bore size, a change that meant a redesign of the bottom end. The final result was a 174-cc, 7.5-hp single, a 44-percent power increase over the D3. Curb weight remained the same as the D3, and the added power gave a top speed of 60 mph. Riders could now cruise confidently at 55 mph while carrying a passenger.

Released in 1957, the D5 initially retained title of Major, but it wasn’t long before the bike was given the more marketable, more jet-age moniker of Super. As the majority of the model’s parts carried over from the D3—the engine was the main change—the D5 became the last of the first-generation Bantams, and in a way the last of the D1s.

Bantam D7

Going into what can be seen as the Bantam’s second generation, the D7 was the first Bantam to really suffer from neglect on the part of BSA. The company was at the time fully committed to the U.S. market. Unfortunately, the Bantam simply didn’t fit in a country of open roads and a public hoovering up big twins.

In retrospect, BSA should have invested in making the D7 a competitor for the likes of other small-bore U.S. stars like Vespa, Lambretta, Honda, and Suzuki. Each of those concerns produced user-friendly small capacity machines that didn’t require the rider to blend their own fuel-oil mix. By the time of the D7’s 1959 release, the overall cleanliness and practicality of the Italian and Japanese machines made the Bantam look like a messy, old-fashioned piece of kit.

The one thing that BSA hung on to was the credits of its engine: The Bantam’s low-end torque was desirable for urban riding, but it was let down by the gearbox’s aging wide-ratio gear stack. Hill-climbing was either a slow trundle or an ear-ache-inducing affair.

In an effort to solve this issue, BSA tested a four-speed D7 Bantam prototype, with TT rider Chris Vincent at the helm, but the motorcycle met an untimely end when it went under a large truck. Vincent survived but the bike didn’t, bringing an end to the four-speed’s development. The factory also tested a Bantam with a separate oiling system—no need for the rider to mix fuel and oil—and while that machine covered over 1000 miles in R&D, the project was eventually shelved and the money redirected to the development of bikes with larger displacement.

Although neither of these efforts saw the light of production, BSA’s styling department did make some changes in an effort to help the Bantam keep up with the competition: The engine was streamlined, a simpler dual seat design was introduced, and the instruments were incorporated into the bike’s headlight nacelle. Unfortunately, a mere clean-up in looks wasn’t enough to compete with marques that were pushing the boundaries of two-stroke design.

Despite all this, Bantams sold fairly well, mainly due to the model’s low price and tunable engine. The model wouldn’t see another revision for years, however, the D7 accumulating only small changes during its run. The factory simply saw no advantage in developing its smallest model while U.S. exports hit £1 million in 1964 and increased to £4 million by 1966. The only Bantam model specifically aimed at America, the Pastoral, was marketed as a farmer’s get-around bike; fewer than 600 were sold in three years of production.

D10 Bantam

Although the D10 Bantam was short-lived, it certainly changed how BSA’s lightweight was perceived. Replacing the D7 in July 1966, the D10 followed a similar development model to previous Bantams: power was increased, and yet the buying public was still expected to pre-mix their own fuel and oil, and to use hand signals instead of electric turn signals.

The D10 offered a higher compression ratio than its predecessor, at 8.65:1, and a larger, one-inch Amal carburetor. The result was a 40-percent increase in power, for 10 hp at 6000 rpm. While the model’s standard version still used the Bantam’s original three-speed gearbox layout, the long-awaited four-speed was offered on the D10 Sports and Bushman models. This was a dream come true for Bantam fans, especially the youth market, which had been customizing and tuning the model for years. The four-speed box made hills more of a pleasure, and it made the Bantam much more fun to ride.

Styled to follow period trends, the D10 Sports was clearly aimed at the popular cafe-racer market. This meant red paintwork, a cafe-style fly screen, a high-mounted exhaust, and a dual seat with a “racing hump.” Topping the styling off were exposed rear springs, chromed mudguards, and headlight and fuel tank capped with an iconic checkered stripe.

In another move that paralleled period trends, BSA developed a dedicated off-road model, the Bushman. While earlier racing-oriented models were aimed at the trials competitor—and the D7 Pastoral looked to American farmers—the Bushman was to marketed as a go-anywhere machine. Dreamed up by assistant export manager Peter Glover, the prototypes were built with a practical 10-inch ground clearance and a bash plate protecting the engine case. The rear suspension was uprated and so were the wheel spokes.

While the Bushman retained the D10’s alternator, the battery was thrown out and replaced with a Lucas energy transfer system. The dual seat was retained and further practicality was added with a substantial rear carrier. The striking orange-and-white color combination was chosen for its agricultural connections, a reference to tractor brands like Allis-Chalmers.

Although that last choice was controversial with some BSA directors, the colorway was well received by the marque’s 1960s audience. The Chalmers connection would have been clear to the American market, but it turned out that the real customer base was Australian sheep farmers, as well as Africa and the sugar plantations of Guyana, where it sold relatively well. More than 3500 Bushmans were built between 1967 and 1970, with the vast majority being exported to non-American countries.

D14/4 Bantam

It was only a year before the D10 was replaced by the four speed D14/4, putting the three-speed Bantam finally to rest. With its 12.6-hp output and 10:1 compression, the 14/4 was the most powerful Bantam yet. Top speed was a whopping 70 mph, at least on paper. Yet again the evolutionary loop happened with no sign of automatic oiling or turn signals—although powerful, the D14 remained stuck in the mud in modernity and practicality. The upside was a still-low price; at just £130 for respectable fuel economy and performance, the Bantam sold despite falling behind against the competition.

The extra power made the Bantam no longer a leisurely machine; with a 0-to-30-mph time of 4.1 seconds and 0-to-50-mph run six seconds quicker than the D10, it was, in period parlance, “a real goer.” The combination of high cylinder pressure and four speeds really brought out the best in the bike’s gearing, and the model was certainly a nimble and capable machine. Still, lack of investment took its toll, and the D14/4 wasn’t without its issues: newfound engine vibration caused driveline brackets to break; badly riveted compression discs would come loose; and the connecting rod’s small end would frequently fail. The model lasted just seven months.

During this time, BSA’s development department was working on the D18, a 100-cc prototype featuring a Minuki oil pump. The bike returned 10.5 hp and topped out at 82 mph in testing. This was real promise, but yet again, the powers that be were too caught up investing in new computerized production lines to press the green button on what could have been a real contender.

B175: The final incarnation

The final version of the Bantam was the B175, a motorcycle that looked very much like its predecessor. This time, however, BSA invested in a few improvements. One clear change was the new head design, which featured a centrally located spark plug, a mod Bantam tuners had embraced for 20 years. This simple change so late in the game demonstrates how much BSA neglected the Bantam for the model’s larger siblings. Despite this, the engine also saw various improvements, including a stiffened crankshaft with crankpins of larger diameter. A needle roller bearing was fitted to the clutch chainwheel, and the compression plates were no longer riveted, now held in by a rim lock. All signs that the D14/4’s issues had been taken seriously.

With the engine internals beefed up and Triumph Sports Cub forks fitted, BSA was clearly making an effort. Still, the changes were too little too late, and the lack of previous investment meant that BSA were still way behind the Japanese competition and struggling to keep up. After 20 years in production, and to the shock of the buying public, the model was dropped from production in 1971. This was the end of the humble BSA two-stroke, a machine that had become a real workhorse for both the public and the GPO. The latter kept their Bantams in service until the mid-1970s, having stockpiled a stash of B175s after the last batch was sold off in 1972.

The Bantam lives on today, especially in classic pre-1965 trials events, where the engine remains competitive. (Admittedly, it is often bolted into motorcycles so heavily modified as to not be very “Bantam.”) The engine’s durability and tunable nature remains, and the aspects competition riders found so agreeable in the 1950s are still tapped into today.

Outside of sporting activities, the Bantam has been for so many an introduction to the freedom and joy an affordable motorcycle can bring. I am certainly among those, and despite financial neglect in the model’s early years, it remains a fun and capable motorcycle.

The post Stock Stories: 1948–1971 BSA Bantam appeared first on Hagerty Media.

“To be honest, I don’t see Europe as being inaccessible…most of the Brexit challenges have been resolved.”  Tom Wood, CEO of classified and timed auction juggernauts Car and Classic should know: His company trades across Europe with around 15 percent of sales (and growing) taking place in the EU.

Car transport specialist Paul Blakey has experienced things a bit differently. “I don’t quote for European business anymore. The costs just aren’t viable for me as a single operator.”

Much of the punditry regarding Brexit focused on the notion of there being two Britains—the wealthy, urban set in London that heavily benefited from European integration and the poorer, post-industrial citizenry that blamed the EU for many of their woes. The reality, at least in the classic car industry, presents a mirror image of that narrative, wherein large operations have adapted with relative ease, but the little guys are still sorting through the paperwork.

If you’re reading this outside the U.K., you’d be forgiven for having forgotten all about Brexit. Even when I wrote about its immediate impact early in 2021, the COVID-19 pandemic was dominating headlines. A year on, Europe and the rest of the world is more concerned with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Yet for day-to-day business in the U.K., Brexit is still having an impact and forcing businesses to change the way they operate. Big international car transport companies, auction houses and event organizers operating between the U.K. and EU are now used to dealing with the paperwork (called ATA Carnet) that gives them permission to temporarily import cars and have banking facilities in hand to cover the deposit bond that can run in to tens of thousands of pounds. Big dealers have hired staff to deal with the additional paperwork and are used to adding 20 percent VAT to any imported car under 30 years old. Parts retailers, too, have changed their business models.

“What we’ve realized in the last few years is that we have to rely on ourselves… today almost nothing is made outside the U.K.,” said Mark Burnett, MD of Burlen Limited, the classic fuel systems specialists who are custodians of SU, Zenith and AMAL carburetors. “The cost of making parts abroad used to be the reason companies went there, but [today] it’s not cheaper.”

That said, Burnett told me that the catalyst for bringing manufacturing in-house started well before Brexit and was prompted by demographic challenges. “For us, business is all about people,” he said. “We trade in relatively small numbers of high-quality parts and in the past there were quite a lot of “Fred in his shed” manufacturers making them for us. But what happens when Fred wants to retire? We have to make the parts ourselves.” For Burlen, the investment in 3D printing machines, CNC machines and, critically, training of younger specialists was well underway by the time Brexit and COVID hit.

Other major parts retailers pre-empted Brexit challenges in different ways. “We already had a presence in Europe but have had to invest in building bigger storage and distribution hubs in both France and Holland,” said Julian Barratt of British classic car parts supplier SNG Barratt whose export sales are around 80 percent of their total. “Before January 2021 [when the post-Brexit regulations came into force] we massively filled up our stocks in those warehouses. We are used to shipping internationally, so we already knew the weights and dimensions [of our stock] but even so the start of last year caught us out. Our paperwork was good, but if the paperwork for someone else’s pallet on the same truck was wrong, then the whole lot was impounded. We had some shipments taking 8-12 weeks. Our EU customers weren’t very understanding, seeing Brexit as something we [the U.K.] have imposed on ourselves.” SNG Barratt now employs staff at their European sites and has developed a different area of their website specifically for EU customers, with the money they spend going into an EU- based subsidiary.

But some companies, especially those smaller than SNG Barratt, needed to start from scratch. “No one in the business had experience [of exporting] so we had to learn whilst going through it which added costs,” said Kelly Wright of Austin-Healey and Sprite parts specialist AH Spares. “All countries have different fees and demands so it’s a constant learning curve. All [of our stock items] now must have accurate commodity codes which again took staff a lot of time and we have to input these into the courier’s database for every shipment. With the custom charges added [the cost] is probably more than what the parts themselves cost.”

There are other complexities that only became apparent once the U.K. had left the EU. “There were some U.K.-based suppliers we had been buying from for years,” said Julian Barratt. “But post-Brexit we found that the country of origin of these parts was abroad. Now each of these is subject to a different duty tariff if we export them to the EU. This often means that the EU customer won’t know exactly how much duty they will have to pay until it arrives. That’s a massive barrier to retail – many just wouldn’t bother and would buy from somewhere else.”

The delay in customs processing and increased costs have affected other areas of the industry. “The paperwork is one thing—export documentation and carnets start at about £500 [about $600] and can be much more,” said Blakey, the car transport specialist. “But the big problem is the customs delay, which is unpredictable. One day the paperwork seems to be OK but the next it can lead to a long delay as everything gets checked. To make sure I’m at the destination on a dedicated day [for instance at the start of an event] I have to leave at least a couple of days earlier than I would have done before. That all adds to the cost. Then there’s the time taken to get the paperwork stamped—before you leave the U.K., at the port of arrival, in the country of origin and then making sure you get a formal receipt that is acceptable to customs. If someone has a road-registered car, I just recommend they drive it over on the Eurotunnel!”

Events are another area that have been hit hard. There used to be a thriving network of static car shows throughout Europe and the U.K. that attracted small traders from all across the area. Brexit regulations make this an almost impossible activity, as Kelly Wright explained. “The carnet had to have a list of everything on the van including weight, quantities, cost price etc. [This included] our giveaways such as brochures and business cards… we had to pay a duty on them and get refunded for what we didn’t give out and brought back home.”

It is no wonder that AH Spares’ experience meant that they were one of only a handful of companies I could find who travelled from the UK to this year’s Techno Classica show in Essen, an event that used to have a strong British presence. It works the other way, too: The chances of an EU trader itemizing, weighing and pricing a vanload of parts to bring across to a U.K. swap event is very low. The staff at the Beaulieu chose not to comment on their expectations until after the Spring Autojumble, but a much-reduced field is expected at that show.

It is clear that the effects of COVID 19 did have an effect on the classic and collector car industry across Europe and the U.K., but most of the enduring problems are the result of Brexit and the new regulatory framework that was created by U.K.’s divorce from the EU. Bigger companies have invested in staff, facilities and processes to deal with this, but it is the smaller traders who have really suffered. Fundamentally, it’s the classic vehicle owners who have been most affected: those increased costs have to be added to retail prices, and the reduction in UK/EU trade has meant that some parts are much harder to source.

So, how do we deal with these challenges? One way is for the industry to lobby for changes to legislation. The Historic & Classic Vehicles Alliance (HCVA)—of which Hagerty is a founding partner— engages on behalf of British companies, said CEO Garry Wilson. “The U.K. is one of the global leaders, with the skills and crafts to repair and restore classics vehicles. A reduction in the number of cars and parts crossing the English Channel impacts shows, events and racing series and the effect is reciprocal. This impacts the less well-off owners and enthusiasts most as they will often do the transportation and documentation themselves. The HCVA has a large agenda of actions to try to improve this situation. We have been in contact with the Department for International Trade and this remains a high priority for action.”

Others have taken a more pragmatic approach. “We’ve offered some of our more well-established small, U.K.-based parts suppliers the chance to hold their stock in our European warehouses,” Julian Barratt told me, with SNG Barratt effectively drop-shipping the items for them. It’s a great idea; cooperative groups of traders supporting each other may be the future, and possibly the current situation could encourage a rise in U.K.-based parts manufacturing, but I can’t help feeling that the process of keeping my classic car on the road has just become more difficult and expensive, with my freedom to use it in Europe reduced.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Brexit is still happening—and the little guys are carrying the burden appeared first on Hagerty Media.

There’s a big wide world of cars out there that, because of federalization laws or market-specific offerings, never make it to dealer lots here in the US of A. Buying a brand-new car from a foreign market and trying to import it on your own is nearly impossible, but it is possible to secure an exemption from certain red tape and regulations that allow you to register a car here. In that scenario, the vehicle in question just has to be 25 years or older. America’s so-called 25-year rule (it’s 15 years up in Canada) means that until the quarter-century clock runs down our favorite unobtanium cars, all we can do is watch them on YouTube or drive them on PlayStation.

One fun thing about the 25-year rule? Each year a new crop of cars becomes eligible for import. Below are 10 cars we’ve been looking at, all from the class of 1997, that meet the criteria import to the U.S. at some point during 2022. The list covers a melange of JDM greats and European delicacies (and one Aussie) which certain dedicated fans have been watching from afar for years in anticipation.

Remember, though—your experience with importing any out-of-market vehicle will vary depending on which state you live in. Federal law is one thing, but states also reserve the right to enforce their own regulations. You’re out of luck if you live in California, for example, and in 2021 some states in New England (Maine and Rhode Island, namely) began deregistering Japanese-market mini trucks for some strange reason.

Parts and service for a foreign-market car is also a whole different ball game. They don’t carry Renault alternators at Pep Boys.

As always, homework for the dizzying import process from docks to driveway is an absolute must should you be determined to go it alone. Buying from a reputable dealer that specializes in foreign-market imports will come with a premium, but these outfits will often fully handle the paperwork so you don’t have to. Nobody wants to have to look over their shoulder, worried that Uncle Sam will one day come with a tow truck sending an innocent Skyline GT-R to the crusher.

Alfa Romeo 156

Launched in late 1997 and built until 2005, the 156 isn’t the prettiest car in the world. And with Stelvio SUVs now meandering around suburbs, an Alfa Romeo isn’t as exotic a sight as it used to be for Americans since the brand’s 20-year hiatus between 1995 and 2015. It also hails from right in the middle of the company’s front-wheel-drive era.

So what does the 156 have going for it? Well, it’s an Alfa Romeo, and Alfa Romeos are both attractive and nice to drive. The most desirable engines are the Twin Spark 16-valve four-cylinder, and the 2.5-liter double overhead cam Busso V-6, both of which look good and make a pleasant sound. Other solid options included a Momo leather interior and mahogany steering wheel, Recaro seats, and lowered suspension. Fast wagon fans will pine for the 156 Sportwagon model, but it didn’t arrive until 2000. See you in 2025!

Honda Civic Type R

The third Honda with a Type R badge (after the NSX in 1992 and the Integra in 1995), the original 1997 Civic Type R is based on the sixth generation of Honda’s bread-and-butter-compact car, and Honda gave it a similar treatment to the hopped-up Integra but in an arguably prettier hatchback body. Lighter and stiffer body and chassis, upgraded brakes, close-ratio gears, limited-slip differential, and minimal sound deadening are all part of the mix, while on the inside there are Recaro seats, a titanium shift knob and a Momo steering wheel.

The star of the Civic Type R show is the hand-ported B16B engine, a 1.6-liter four that screams out 182 hp at 8200 rpm and can scoot this hottest of hatches to about 140 mph. This being a VTEC Honda, though, torque is basically an afterthought with just 118 lb-ft at 7500 rpm.

The Integra Type R, which sold briefly in the States, is already a proven modern collector car, as are clean examples of the 1999–2000 Civic Si coupe. This JDM Civic on steroids, then, is maybe the most anticipated car from the class of ’97 for American gearheads, some of whom have wanted one ever since playing the first Gran Turismo.

Holden Commodore (VT)

GM’s Down Under subsidiary—Holden—never technically sold cars in America, but chances are you’ve seen one before. The 2004–06 Pontiac GTO, 2008–09 Pontiac G8 and 2014–17 Chevrolet SS all shared Aussie underpinnings courtesy of Holden. And if you look up close, it’s not uncommon to see the Chevy bowtie badge or the Pontiac dart swapped out by owners in favor of a Holden lion.

If we turn back the clock a little bit further to 1997, that’s when Holden introduced the third generation of its large family car, called the Commodore. Also known as the VT-series Commodore, it was available with a variety of engines and as a sedan or station wagon. Enthusiasts, though, naturally gravitate toward the Commodore SS with its 262-hp 5.0-liter V-8 and five-speed manual. Like the later Holden-based Pontiacs and Chevrolets, the Commodore is a charming sleeper—a muscled weapon that nonetheless looks like something your accountant might drive. The right-hand drive might, however, let on that this is no ordinary sedan.

Subaru WRX STi Type R (two-door)

Subaru WRXs are a favorite among tuners and vape enthusiasts, and since the early 2000s it has been one of the most popular ways for young Americans to go fast in a variety of weather and road conditions. Outside of America, though, the WRX goes way back to 1992, and in 1997 Subaru introduced a new two-door model.

Called the WRX Type R STi, it served as the basis for the later and more hardcore 22B. The 22B (which turns 25 years old next year) has since become a legend, but the ’97 Type R was the first two-door WRX.

Renault Kangoo

There is no shortage of vans to choose from in America, but let’s say you own a French restaurant or bakery. Maybe you want to serve croissants in Euro-correct style. Maybe you want a company runabout with a little more joie de vivre than your average Ford Transit.

Enter the Renault Kangoo, which isn’t just fun to say, it’s also one of Europe’s best-selling multipurpose vehicles. The first gen Kangoo debuted in late 1997 and could be had in either standard form or a panel van, called the “Kangoo Express”, with a variety of four-cylinder engines a choice of front- or four-wheel drive.

BMW M Roadster (European spec)

This one’s a bit of a stretch, I admit. BMW already sold the M Roadster in this country from 1998–2002. Back in 2020, Hagerty even suggested that buying one was a great idea. (We were right.) However, in a classic case of us Americans getting watered-down versions of hot foreign cars, the M Roadster sold on our shores came with an S52 straight-six engine good for 240 hp. Plenty to have fun with, but pretty pedestrian compared to the 316-hp S50 that came in the rest of the world’s M Roadsters.

Importing a Euro-spec M is an expensive way to chase some extra horsepower, especially when you could just shop for the upgraded 315-hp (S54-powered) M Roadsters (and Coupes) that came to the U.S. for 2001-02. But, if you really wanted to, you can do so in 2022.

Ford Puma

Built from 1997–2001 at the Ford plant in Cologne, Germany and based on the Mk 4 Fiesta, the Puma is a neat little hot-ish hatch that looks a bit like a shrunken-down eighth-gen (1999–2001) Mercury Cougar. Pumas came with a Zetec four-cylinder of 1.4, 1.6 or 1.7 liters, driving the front wheels.

From a driving and collectibility standpoint, the most interesting of these euro Fords is the “Ford Racing Puma,” of which 500 were built for the U.K. market. They came with special brakes, wider bodywork, suspension upgrades, a front splitter, Speedline wheels, a stronger gearbox, an optional limited-slip, a racier interior, and a more powerful engine. The Ford Racing Puma didn’t come out until 1999, however, so you’ll need to wait another couple of years to ship one over.

Mitsubishi Pajero Evolution

A different kind of Evo, the Pajero Evolution may be an SUV but it’s still a rally weapon with a motorsport pedigree to rival that of its Lancer-based cousin. Mitsubishi built two-door Pajeros for competition beginning in the early 1980s, and they found great success in the Paris-Dakar Rally, winning the event in 1985, 1992, 1993, 1997, 1998, 2001, 2002, and 2003–07. Pajeros have won the Dakar Rally more than any other automobile.

To homologate the Pajero Evolution for the Dakar Rally’s T2 class, Mitsubishi built 2500 road-going Pajero Evolutions from 1997–99. Powered by a 3.5-liter 24-valve V-6 with a dual plenum variable intake, the Pajero Evolution also features double wishbone front and multi-link rear suspension, fender flares, two shark-fin like appendages on its tail, a prominent hood scoop, skid plates, and mud flaps.

LTI TX1 London Taxi

Introduced by London Taxis International (LTI) at the London Motor Show in October 1997, the TX1 took over black cab duty from the old, iconic Austin FX4 that dated way back to 1958.

Is a TX1 black cab fun to drive? With a four-cylinder Nissan diesel engine, not in the traditional. Is it nice to look at? Well, not really, as it was shaped for max practicality by designer Kenneth Grange, whose resume mostly includes kettles, food mixers, clothes irons, and washing machines. But it is unmistakably a London taxi, and for the automotive anglophile it sure would be a neat way to ferry around a few friends (to and from the pub). Too bad Uber cars need to be 15 years old or newer.

Nissan Skyline GT-R NISMO 400R

Technically the 400R came out in late 1996, but it’s our list and we’re adding it. It’s also the priciest car of the group, with a seven-figure value in the Hagerty Price Guide, and by far the fastest. It’s essentially an R33-generation (1995-98) Skyline GT-R turned up to eleven—both the hottest R33 and extremely rare, to boot. Just 44 examples are considered to have been built, so anybody shopping for one will probably have to be patient. Not to mention rich.

Borrowing from NISMO’s Le Mans program, the 400R is lowered nearly 2 inches from the standard GT-R and features Bilstein dampers, NISMO springs, NISMO brake pads, and a unique brake master cylinder with a stopper to reduce fore/aft movement and improve pedal feel. The hood and driveshafts are made of carbon fiber, while the exhaust, strut tower bar, and shift knob are titanium. A full body kit features a special front bumper that directs air more efficiently to the intercooler. The 400R’s RB-X GT2 engine has a reinforced block, forged internals and upgraded intake and exhaust. Despite Japan’s famous “gentleman’s agreement” to limit published horsepower figures to 276 ponies, the 400R proudly boasts 400.

The post 10 sweet cars you can import in 2022 under the 25-year rule appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Last year, Hagerty tracked more than 12,500 UK and European auction results. The numbers were huge: A total of £310.8M (about $417.4M) in classic and collector vehicles sold, including 14 cars for over £1M, a significant increase on the 10 we saw last year. The classic vehicle market seems to be moving onwards at a rate almost entirely unconnected to the pandemic.

Throughout this year of increased sales, certain vehicles stood out. These are sometimes the most valuable, the rarest or those that indicate an emerging trend in the market, but others are notable just because they are really interesting cars. Here is Hagerty’s selection of 2021’s most influential European classic vehicle sales.

The Very Fast One: 2010 McLaren MP4-25

£4.73M ($6.48M) – RM Sotheby’s

Now, if you’re an F1 fan, this is a very, very special car. The first of Lewis Hamilton’s F1 race and grand prix-winning cars ever offered to the public, it won the 2010 Turkish Grand Prix. Hamilton’s style may divide opinion but this car is undoubtedly a piece of motoring heritage, as it was raced by Hamilton against the other dominant F1 legend of the modern era, Michael Schumacher. Sold by RM Sotheby’s at a special, single-lot auction at the British Grand Prix, it sold for £4.73M, just short of its top estimate.

The Broken One: 1960 Jaguar XK150 S Drophead

£90,000 ($127,422) – Bonhams

There are some auction results that are surprising, even to the seasoned observer who thinks they have seen everything. This car, offered by Bonhams MPH in May, was crashed by its previous owner back in 1996. And it wasn’t just a small shunt: spinning off the road into a tree, the car took a huge impact to the front and sustained damage all along the right-hand side. The driver’s chest broke the steering wheel and his hair was still embedded in the windscreen! And yet, someone saw the potential for restoring this car back to its glory days and paid a very robust £90,000, just shy of our current £102,000 Price Guide value for an ‘Excellent’ example. The driver not only survived but avoided serious injury and chose not to claim on his insurance as he was embarrassed that the road conditions got the better of him. He garaged the car with the aim of repairing it, but never quite got around to it.

The Rally One: 1988 Audi Sport Quattro

€2.017M ($2,368,488) – Artcurial

For me, this car was the highlight of the Paris sales of February 2021. It was the European/ UKL sale that exceeded its expectations by the largest amount, selling for €700,000 over its €1M to €1.3M pre-sale estimate. Hagerty has tracked the values of all Ur Quattros increasing significantly over the past 18 months, and this Sport Quattro that drove in the 1988 Race of Champions and was sold directly to Olivier Quesnel is as good as it gets. However, the value achieved – three times the top Hagerty Price Guide figure of £408,000 for the standard Sport Quattro – set a new level. The Ur Quattro is exactly where we see values increasing the most: 1980s and 1990s homologation cars with racing/rallying success.

The Ugly Duckling One: 1993 Jaguar XJ220

£460,000 ($632,730) – Bonhams

Has the Jaguar XJ220 finally shaken itself free of the trauma of its birth and turned into the automotive swan that we all knew was hiding beneath? Quite possibly, as this record sale at Bonhams’ Goodwood Revival sale showed.  An exceptional XJ220 with just 385 miles on the clock in factory Monza Red and a clean bill of health from marque specialists Don Law Racing, may mark a watershed for the model. For me, it was the highlight of the Goodwood Revival sale. It was the first time an XJ220 had exceeded our (then) top UK Hagerty Price Guide value of £445,000 and is a record for a public auction sale. Lest anyone think the sale an outlier, note that it was quickly followed up by RM Sotheby’s sale of a similarly impressive example in their London sale in November, which exceeded its presale top estimate and sold for £432,500. Moreover, ten of the highest 11 prices the model has achieved at auction have been since 2019.

The Royal One: 1981 Ford Escort 1.6 Ghia

£52,640 ($74,465) – Reeman Dansie

We’ve seen third-generation Ford Escorts sell for more than £50,000 ($67,000), but these have been low-mileage examples of sporting models such as the RS Turbo and RS1600i. This 83,000-mile 1.6 Ghia example doesn’t qualify, and it’s a little rough around the edges; however, it had a very special story. In May 1981 it was an engagement present from Prince Charles to the then-Lady Diana Spencer. This sale, in a specialist royal auction, fetched around ten times what we’d expect a very good example to reach without its amazing history.

The Online One: Ferrari F40

£1,000,500 ($1,369,685) – Bonhams

TheMarket’s July sale of ‘F40BLU’, a 1989 Ferrari F40, for £1,000,500 was another watershed sale—the first time a car sold for over £1M in a dedicated UK online auction. The Ferrari achieved this price despite lacking the originality usually demanded of such top cars, having been painted in Porsche Aqua Blue. And this was not simply the case of one over-eager person deciding they had to have it—four bidders were still competing even after the car reached £980,000.

Chalk it up to online presence, generated by its owner Sam Moores, the Car Chat podcaster and photographer, as well as the steady appreciation of the F40. From 2016 until 2021, top values in the UK Hagerty Price Guide rose by 11 percent. Two more exceptional examples sold in the United States at Monterey in August, one for $2.89M (Gooding and Co) and another for $2.42M (RM Sotheby’s). With more than 50 percent of F40 owners who insure with Hagerty born since 1965 (up from 28 percent in 2018), younger money is coming into the market, reinforcing the F40’s position as a key collectable car in the present climate.

The Restorer’s Dream One: 1982 Lamborghini Countach LP500S

£257,600 ($352,423) – Historics

We’ve noted that cars with needs have somewhat lagged the appreciation of pristine models. Yet the dismantled state of this 1982 Lamborghini Countach LP 500S didn’t put off the bidders. It was sold by Historics in September for £257,600—well over its top £180,000 estimate.

The LP500s (often called the 5000s) was the original Athena poster model. This one, stripped down and ready for a full restoration, was an ultra-rare right-hand drive example, one of just 37 made. So, it’s a rare beast. Yet Hagerty’s ‘Excellent’ value at the time of the sale was £334,000, not giving the new owner too much leeway for a full-cost restoration. The appeal of this project would be the very fact that it is a project—a blank canvas to restore to your own specification, costs be damned.

In other words, this was likely an emotional buy. That is, beyond everything, what seems to be driving values higher in the collector car market right now. Motoring enthusiasts with all budgets are itching to buy the car they want because they want it, rather than because they think it’s an object to invest in. Two years of a pandemic, with little durable relief in sight, seems to have convinced car enthusiasts to live for the moment.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post Moving on up: The most significant sales in Europe in 2021 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It always looks so tempting in the classifieds. A high-end classic you could only dream of buying when new, now for sale for used VW Jetta money.

Of course, it’s never that simple, is it? If buying a posh, sporty status symbol for family-sedan money sounds too good to be true, well, it probably is. Some cars are affordable because they’re so darn expensive to own and maintain. That’s especially the case when the car in question is—what’s a nice way to say this?—from a lovely island off the coast of Normandy.

As we’ve been updating the Hagerty Price Guide over the past several weeks with fresh data, three modern British cars we track in particular stood out as still having surprisingly low values. But even though they might get your heart racing on the computer screen, they will probably break it once that first service bill comes in.

To be clear, we’re not advising anybody to avoid these cars. Just know that the budget to own one is likely to be more than what it says on the bill of sale; don’t think you can get away with just changing the oil and spark plugs.

1976–96 Jaguar XJ-S (12-cylinder)

Although the XJ-S was never meant as a direct replacement for the E-Type, its place in Jaguar history is as the E’s disappointing follow-up. When the XJ-S coupe was introduced in late 1975, few people fell in love with the oblong headlights or flying buttresses, and a thirsty 5.3-liter V-12 seemed a little out of place when a fuel crisis was still fresh on everybody’s minds. Jaguar nevertheless sold 115,000 XJ-Ss over the course of two decades, and the XJ-S was as much of an ’80s status symbol as a Mercedes 560SL. It’s a fine, comfortable, fast grand tourer when running right, and its looks have arguably aged quite well.

Jaguar made constant updates to the XJ-S to keep it competitive. A revised combustion chamber in for the HE (High Efficiency) engine in 1981 resulted in more power and fuel economy. A targa-type convertible arrived in 1983, along with a new 3.6-liter straight-six engine called the AJ6. A full factory convertible arrived in 1989. With Jaguar under full Ford ownership in 1991, the XJS (now without the hyphen) got a major facelift, with the six-cylinder punched out to 4.0 liters and the V-12 to 6.0 liters (in 1992). The inboard rear brakes also moved outboard, a new GM automatic transmission was added, and major body panels were galvanized for better rust protection. There were tons of smaller updates along the way.

Today, despite rust, neglect and the occasional crash having taken many XJ-Ss off the road, the model’s long production run and steady sales mean that there are a lot of them still out there. And, after the Jaguar XJ-12, an XJ-S is the cheapest car with a 12-cylinder engine among the cars for which we  track price data.

After E-Type values skyrocketed in the mid-2010s, XJ-Ss started to follow suit. Over the last five years condition #2 (Excellent) values are up over 50 or 60 percent for some years, but the median #2 value for a V-12 XJ-S is still $27,600. For #3 (Good) condition cars it’s just $13,600. Some Jaguar experts will advise you to buy a six-cylinder XJ-S because it’s just as stylish, almost as smooth, and plenty quick enough as well as way simpler to keep running. Because of that, six-cylinder values are within 2 to 5 grand of the equivalent 12, depending on year and condition.

That said there’s just something about a V-12 that’s irresistible.

Any XJ-S is rust-prone, and rust repair is never cheap. Jacking points, sills, rear wheel arches and floorpans are trouble spots on early cars, and even though the post-1991 facelifted cars are galvanized, they aren’t immune. Rot around the windscreen scuttles is common on those. Getting at the rear suspension is difficult since it’s housed within a subframe along with the differential, and inboard rear brakes are of course always a headache to work on, in the Jag’s case sometimes requiring the rear of the car to be dropped.

Being an old British car, an XJ-S can also have electrical gremlins living in there full time, with things like power windows or mirrors and air conditioning systems being common failures. The wood veneer trim on the interior can dry out and crack as well.

As for the (usually) silent and silky smooth V-12 under the hood, specialists say it is a perfectly robust and reliable unit if it has been fastidiously maintained. (A big if.) Very few XJ-Ss have led a pampered life over the past 25 to 45 years. The top of the engine bay in an XJ-S is a labyrinth of wires and vacuum lines. It doesn’t help that the V-12 tends to run hot, and that leads to drying, cracking, and fraying. Coolant needs to be replaced every two years.

A lot of parts are available, including from Jaguar Classic, but many are tough to find as well as expensive, and plenty of beached XJ-Ss are cannibalized for components. All of the above means that four-figure shop bills for body work and mechanical servicing are common, and that hurts when we’re talking about a $15,000 car.

1994–2004 Aston Martin DB7

The DB7 actually owes part of its existence to the Jaguar XJ-S above. Much of its design dates back to a proposed replacement for the XJ-S that was canceled at the beginning of the ’90s, when both storied brands were owned by the Blue Oval. Aston then repurposed it for its latest model and had Ian Callum and Keith Helfet pen what turned out to be one of the nicest shapes of the decade. In addition to the Jaguar DNA, and thanks to a tight budget at Aston Martin at the time, there were also Citroën mirrors and Ford switchgear. The interior door handles are, believe it or not, from an NA Miata. But despite the parts bin bits and a six-figure price tag, the DB7 was a success. Autocar proclaimed that it was “re-establishing Britain at the cutting edge of specialist car making,” and Aston sold about 7000 DB7s, making it the company’s best seller to date.

Today, a DB7 is the cheapest way to get your Aston Martin wings. Condition #2 values for a DB7 range from $28,000 to $45,000 depending on engine and body style (add 25 percent for a stick shift), and the DB7 market has looked that way for quite some time. The median condition #2 value is within a few hundred dollars of where it was at the end of 2009, which is a bit surprising given what has happened in the market for other sporty 1990s and 2000s cars lately. DB7s arguably have room to grow (we even put them on the 2021 Hagerty U.K. Bull Market List), but the realities of servicing a DB7 start to explain why it can be had at bargain prices.

The first DB7s came with 3.2-liter Eaton-supercharged version of Jaguar’s AJ6 straight-six (the one also found in the XJ-S). Leaking oil coolers and failing timing chain tensioners are problem areas on those. The 5.9-liter V-12 (essentially two Ford Duratec V-6s mated together by the engine wizards at Cosworth) that debuted in 1999 has a reputation for overheating, and needs coil packs every three years. Electrical failures are a common and expensive fix, and as DB7s get older, unique parts from a low-volume manufacturer like Aston Martin are going to get tougher to find. Bringing a DB7 to a specialist or dealer (which aren’t on every street corner) can be $1500 just for a routine service, and that’s assuming nothing goes wrong. Needless to say, that’d be an unwise assumption.

1985–97 Bentley Turbo R

Introduced in 1985 (1988 in the U.S.) as a replacement for the Mulsanne Turbo and available in short or long wheelbase, the Bentley Turbo R mainly differed from its predecessor in its much-improved suspension. The R stands for “roadholding,” not “race,” but the suspension allowed the Turbo R to be a competent performer when it wanted to be and not just a plush cruiser. Being a Bentley, though, it was still plush. Acres of Connolly leather and real wood, plush carpets, the usual stuff.

And with a median condition #2 value of just $22,600 (Turbo Rs were closer to 200k when new) for such a hand-built, V-8, turbocharged, 5400-pound brick of English magnificence, how could you not be at least a little bit tempted? Bentley sold more than 7000 Turbo Rs so they’re relatively common by pre-Volkswagen-era Bentley standards and not that difficult to find, plus low mileage is relatively common.

But as with any Rolls-Royce or Bentley, owning a Turbo R isn’t for the faint of heart or wallet. Cars with ride height control need a specific fluid that runs through both the ride height and braking systems. Curiously, the Turbo R also uses a specific size of Avon tire, the going rate for which is $500 each. As for the tightly-packed engine bay that houses the 6.75-liter turbocharged V-8, head gaskets are becoming a common issue as the cars get older. If a head gasket fails and damages the engine, factor in a five-figure bill just for the labor it will take to fix it. As with the Aston Martin, Rolls-Royce/Bentley specialists can be few and far between, and even just a routine trip to one can be over a grand even if nothing major needs fixing.

Even taking all that into account, it’s still easy to daydream about buying a Bentley (or Jaguar or Aston Martin) for Mustang money, but don’t say we didn’t warn you.

[For the record, Newton owns a Lotus. The man speaks from experience. –Ed]

The post Fatal Attraction: 3 British beauties that are cheap to buy, expensive to own appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I love British cars, I really do, and that’s despite over the years sometimes joining in (said ruefully, now) with the good-natured teasing of such motoring flops as the Austin Allegro and Reliant Robin. To all British car fans I’ve wound up, I humbly atone.

However, British cars have occasionally suffered from curious national characteristics, which sealed in actual flaws that have since become their undoing.

The first part of this you can lay fair and square at the U.K. Treasury’s door. In 1910 it asked the RAC (Royal Automobile Club) for a way to tax cars on a sliding scale, and what came out of that was a system based on cylinder dimensions—total cylinder surface area. To build cars that were cheap for owners to tax, British manufacturers therefore opted for a narrow bore and a long stroke in small-capacity engines. This stopped the Ford Model T from dominating the industry, but sometimes made Britain’s own popular models gutless and prone to premature wear.

Besides the fiscal structure, British carmakers were frequently underfinanced, leading to cut-price thinking, and because there was a huge captive market, called The British Empire, they could also be lazy about rigorous development; British cars from the 1930s to the 1950s were honed for puttering around British suburbs so prototypes didn’t need to visit the Arctic Circle or Death Valley.

The 13 cars below, therefore, suffer from some of these legacies, and sometimes also a failure to fit into a suddenly changed future. None are terrible, but all their flaws were probably avoidable.

Singer Nine Le Mans Replica, 1935

Singers were some of the most popular small cars of the early 1930s and the Coventry company was keen to buff up its image by taking on MG and Riley in motorsport. That’s why it took four specially-built sports versions of its best-selling 9hp model to Ards in Northern Ireland in 1935, to have a crack at the Tourist Trophy race. It just could not have gone any worse: three of them crashed at the exact same spot at the tight Bradshaw’s Brae corner because of a design fault in the cars’ steering linkage—a fault that had not shown up on the sweeping corners at Le Mans. The drivers, thankfully, stepped uninjured from the mass wreckage, but the reputational effect on sales was catastrophic as punters worried it might happen to them too.

Morris Minor MM, 1948

The first true masterpiece from the agile mind of Alec Issigonis should have come with an all-new flat-four “boxer” engine with eager performance to match its excellent roadholding, ride comfort, and balance. However, just as it was shaping up to be a global pacemaker, the accountants intervened and the engine was axed. In its place went a 918cc sidevalve motor wheezing its way from the 1930s, and the Minor was rendered so underpowered it could barely manage the steep hills of San Francisco. And that was a huge shame, because the Volkswagen Beetle had no such issues and by 1955 had crushed the Minor’s U.S. export prospects, selling 31,000 where the hobbled British competitor shifted just 700.

Land Rover Series I Station Wagon, 1949

The Range Rover is the first upmarket SUV, right? Wrong. Land Rover was in the very same territory in 1948 with this one. It really was a marriage of rut-rider and luxury, since the passenger compartment was fully coachbuilt by Tickford in Newport Pagnell—its craftsmen soon after became part of Aston Martin—and complete with leather upholstery and even a tinplate cover over the spare wheel to make it look less truck-like. The problem, though, was the price. Unlike the standard Land Rover, which was a commercial vehicle, this one came with punishing levels of Car Tax that just made it too expensive for most people. Only 50 were sold in the U.K. When Land Rover had another go at station wagons in 1954 it got the rivet guns out and made them from sheet aluminum; super-basic but much more affordable.

Daimler DK400, 1954

This is the shameful car that lost Daimler its place in Royal circles. The marque was the Windsors’ favorite going right back to the dawn of motoring but in 1953 the company decided to axe its imposing straight-eight models and replace them with the DK400. This was merely an elongated version of the Daimler Regency, with its rear track extended so comfortable three-abreast seating was possible. Matters came to a head when Daimler delivered two DK400s to the Royal Mews after many months of delays, most of them caused by the DK400’s feeble performance as it struggled to haul around a couple of tons of mobile throne room. Even then, they were severely underwhelming cars, and the Royal warrant was not renewed. With Princess Elizabeth an owner since 1950 and the Duke of Edinburgh also a fan of the marque, Rolls-Royce would instead supply the official state car in the decades that followed.

Vauxhall Victor F-type, 1957

Vauxhall’s mighty General Motors overlords in Detroit decided to shake up its sleepy British outpost in the 1950s. Its aim was to create a new compact sedan that it might also be able to sell across the U.S. and Canada, as demand for compact models was soaring. To do this, they insisted on the trendy design theme of the 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air as a starting point.

This decision came with a tight schedule to get the car into production in 1957. Production engineers in Luton were overwhelmed with the task; the rush almost killed them. So while there was nothing greatly amiss with the 1.5-liter four-cylinder engine, the flashy body had issues aplenty, which resulted in it becoming one of the most notoriously rust-prone British cars ever. Water trickled in through the seals around the fancy, wraparound front and rear screens, and flimsiness in the monocoque structure meant doors and bonnets were ill-fitting, letting in even more rain, spray and mud. There were also nasty vibrations at around 50 mph. Its brief status as “Britain’s most exported car” came to an abrupt end when Pontiac and Oldsmobile dealers refused to take any more. The few that survive today, mind you, do look pretty cool.

Jaguar 3.4-liter “Mk 1”, 1957

It’s not always appreciated that Jaguar pioneered the compact sports saloon in 1955 with its sleek and modern 2.4-liter. It was also the company’s first unit-construction model, and the engineers left nothing to chance in making sure the chassis-less structure wouldn’t twist or buckle. Trouble was, it was so robust that the car’s performance was somewhat sluggish. The solution was to drop in a 3.4-liter engine not a million miles away from that in the Le Mans-winning D-Type. This utterly transformed the car and not always for the best: acceleration and top speed were now utterly thrilling but the drum brakes and suspension set-up of the time simply could not cope. This could be a lethal car on wet roads even in experienced hands; F1 world champion Mike Hawthorn died after crashing his. Disc brakes, and then an overhaul to Mk 2 status solved things.

MGC, 1967

A misguided attempt to both replace the Austin-Healey 3000 and act as an MGB-based range-topper for the MG line-up, the MGC was hamstrung from the start for want of a decent motor. BMC installed the 2.9-liter straight-six from the Austin 3.0-liter, which couldn’t even be shoehorned in—they had to redesign the engine bay, create a new torsion-bar suspension system, and bulge the bonnet in two places to make space. After all that, the engine upset the sweet handling of the MGB, resulting in untidy understeer in corners. It was set up as a relaxed cruiser with bigger wheels, so wasn’t all bad—Prince Charles liked his—but it didn’t exactly worry Alfa Romeo. The all-iron engine weighed 209 lb (95 kg) more than the standard B’s four-cylinder power unit … yet when they later installed a Rover V-8 engine in the car, not only did it fit like a dream but it weighed 40 lb (18 kg) less than the B’s B-series four.

Morris Marina, 1971

In truth, the often-maligned Marina was broadly okay, but it was designed both in a hurry and on a slender budget. Here was a mishmash of all that British Leyland could throw together in great haste to provide something a bit like the market-leading Ford Escort and Cortina. Biggest corner-cut of all was the torsion bar front suspension from the Morris Minor—the car it was meant to replace—which made it understeer and bounce around on rough roads. This was soon fixed with some tweaks and the Marina’s biggest flaw then became simply its overall mediocrity. The public, though, didn’t seem overly bothered and BL sold over a million of them, providing reasonable service for most owners. Intended as a stopgap with a five-year life, the platform finally bowed out, as the Morris Ital, in 1984.

Jensen-Healey, 1972

After BMC had failed to replace the much-loved “Big” Austin-Healey now it was the legendary Donald Healey’s turn to have a crack, and with this car—built by Jensen and bankrolled by San Francisco car importer Kjell Qvale—they made an excellent attempt. Opinions differ on how well it drove, as Healey aimed for a tradeoff between handling and ride comfort, but the roadster’s Achilles’ wheel could be found under its bonnet.

For reasons of both glamour and performance, Healey agreed to Lotus’s offer of its twin-cam, four-cylinder engine. He should really have gone for something less exotic because it was too temperamental for a mass-made car, suffering oil leaks and sometimes refusing to start. Once dealers had sorted out that lot they then had to tackle the next complaint from irate owners—rapidly-spreading rust. It was all too much for a small car company to cope with, and Jensen went bust in 1976; the Healey partly to blame.

Jaguar XJC, 1974

The faster you drove the beautiful, two-door version of the XJ6 or XJ12, the louder the annoying whistling sound would become, just above the right-hand lens of your Reactolite Rapide sunglasses. Jaguar struggled to achieve air-tight sealing between the frameless side glass and the pillarless apertures which made the car so gorgeous when all the windows were lowered. The XJC is often stated as a personal favorite of company founder Sir William Lyons, yet making this version, painstakingly cut-and-shut from standard production saloons, was a tricky business; a vinyl roof was required to cover up the stitches from surgery. After just three years the car was dropped as simply more trouble than it was worth.

Jaguar XJ-S, 1975

A rather brilliant car, this. It might have been detested by E-Type fanatics but this impressive GT was intended to ambush the Lamborghini Espada and Ferrari 365 GT/4, not replace the famous two-seater. Its flaw was external: the economy. This 18-mpg V-12 aerodynamic slingshot went on sale just as the worst fuel crisis in living memory bit hard, with inflation soaring just like the XJS’s rev-counter needle. On top of that, Jaguar’s owner British Leyland had just been outed as insolvent and subject to an emergency nationalization. There were more pressing things to fret over than the fate of this plaything of the rich.

Reliant Scimitar GTE, 1976

Reliant reckoned it had thought of everything with the second-generation GTE. Longer, wider, roomier, lots more crushed velour inside, but still with those winning looks, excellent versatility and ample, dependable urge from the 3-liter Ford V-6 fresh from the top-dog Capris and Granada. In a small car factory, though, things can get overlooked, and in this case someone didn’t pay enough attention to the way the fuel line fed into the V-6’s carburetors. It would sometimes detach itself, spraying petrol over the hot exhaust manifold. An engine bay fire was then possible, and this plastic-bodied car could turn into a real tinderbox.

Rover CityRover, 2003

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and when BMW offloaded what was left of Rover to its management in 2003, the business came without any development facilities, just the Longbridge factory and sundry old cars to make in it. The Indian-built Tata Indica represented a chance to get a new Metro-sized car into Rover showrooms at almost no cost, and that’s what happened. Just a few alterations to the badges, suspension settings, and gearbox were deemed necessary. As basic transport the so-called CityRover was just about bearable, but Rover decided to sell the seven-grand supermini at a hefty premium above the fantastic new Fiat Panda. The company didn’t have the money to either advertise or improve the car, and less than two years later the CityRover went down with the rest of MG Rover.

Via Hagerty UK

The post 13 British cars that were floored by flaws appeared first on Hagerty Media.

With every DIY project that I tackle or drive that I take in a classic, I try to learn something new. Even doing the same project a second time around can show a more efficient way to use a tool or a smarter way to approach a certain type of problem. If there was one vehicle in my recent history that taught me more than all the others, it was the 1969 Austin Healey Sprite I impulse bought last June. I figured it would be fun to take a look at the five biggest lessons I learned from owning a little British car for a year.

Maybe wait to order parts … and order only once a week

The little blue roadster came to me as a project car. Even when I first started diving into what it needed I was already ordering parts—what an idiot. The cost of the parts wasn’t so bad. In fact, they were surprisingly cheap. I was keeping careful track of what I was ordering so I wouldn’t buy two of anything, but foolishly I was placing orders every couple days. The shipping added up. Fast.

I’ve given others advice to go ahead and order everything you think you will need for a project before you start, and I stand by that advice, but also be conscious of how many times you are clicking the  checkout button and paying for shipping. Grouping orders saves money. Now I only order parts on Wednesdays. If Friday comes around and I need something that I cant get locally, I wait until Wednesday to order. Often times I’ll find that I need one or two other items anyway.

Good enough is good enough

Part of what I enjoyed most about working on and driving this Healey was the fact that it was rough around the edges. Nothing on it was perfect, and with the number of Sprites and Midgets built, it really wasn’t worth investing the time and effort to make it “perfect”—or really any better than what it was. I’ve been known to “save” things that aren’t worth saving, much to the detriment of my bank account and sanity.

Instead I vowed to just do “good enough” on this car. Safety was, of course, a priority and an exception to that rule. That’s why it got all new brakes when one brake line popped due to corrosion. I don’t play around with stopping. However, when it came to the process of removing the engine to replace the clutch, I held myself to replace only what was absolutely necessary. That included restoration work. Could I have repainted the engine fairly easily while it was out? Yes. Was its condition good enough? Also yes. Therefore, I left it alone.

Driving can be more fun that working

Ask the people I surround myself with and they’ll tell you that I spend a lot more time turning wrenches on my projects than taking them out and driving them. The problem-solving aspect of working on vintage machines is delightful for me, and I often find myself dreaming about solutions to restoration tasks more than dreaming about driving or riding. The Healey pushed me to change that.

It’s not that the car didn’t need work. It needed a lot of work. However, I told myself that if it was drivable, I would drive it. Regardless of weather, I reached for the Healey’s keys. Taking the car to run errands, a quick trip to the office, or just a sunset cruise became the new normal. It was probably the first car in years that I spent as much time driving as I did wrenching on. In the beginning I forced myself to take a drive as much as possible, but in no time it didn’t feel obligatory.

No top, no problem

All the points above cumulated in the goofiest fun factor of my time with this car. When it was dropped off in my driveway, the top frame and top fabric were laid down next to the car. I own two other old cars and both are coupes. Having spent only minutes in convertibles prior to purchasing the roadster, the novelty of topless driving was something I thought might fade with time or weather changes. That didn’t happen. If you were around Traverse City, Michigan, in February this year, you had a decent chance of seeing me motoring about with the heater blowing full blast and the top nowhere to be found. A warm knit hat was plenty, and the fresh air was addicting. Seriously.

I need another one

When it was all said and done, the car was fixed up and functioning, and suddenly it was an object taking up space in the garage. Opportunity cost began to weigh heavy on me as the little convertible kept me from moving the Model A coupe out of storage and into the garage to complete work that it so desperately needs. My fun was had, so it was time to send the little Sprite down the road. It was a stroke of luck that all it took to sell the car was a For Sale sign on the windshield at a cars and coffee event. A young car enthusiast struck up a conversation, and then he followed me home to make the Austin Healey his.

Before he’d even driven over the awkward speed bump at the end of my driveway, I knew this wouldn’t be the last little British car I own. This adventure was a fantastic first foray into the British car world and only served to whet my appetite for the fun factor a roadster can bring. I’m hooked, and I’ll need another fix at some point in the future.

Overall, the car was nothing but a good time. It taught me a few things about how certain mechanical systems can fail and be repaired, which is knowledge I can apply to other projects in the future. It was a purchase of opportunity and one that I haven’t regretted for a second. Any car would have taught me something, but this Austin Healey Sprite was one fun teacher.

The post 5 things I learned from owning a British car for a year appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Think back to the best gig or party you’ve been to. Now imagine you could click your fingers and be back in that moment. Admit it; you’re tempted. What if you could do the same with cars? How many of us would want to be back behind the wheel of a hot Mini, bombing along a perfect stretch of B-road, the engine shrieking, car dancing and you and a friend or two laughing along without a care in the world?

This review originally published on Hagerty UK.

That, in a nutshell, goes a long way to justifying the existence of the Mini Remastered Oselli Edition, the latest offering from David Brown Automotive. If the saying “everyone loves a Mini” is true, then all those who cut their teeth on a Mini and have now grown up, worked hard and set aside money to indulge themselves, may find the lure of this plaything irresistible—especially after driving it.

Driving is almost the wrong word. You hustle a hot Mini, forever busy with the steering, throttle, brakes and gears, working away in a blur of activity like a trader in the pit of a trading floor. It is never not doing something, so you need to engage with it, roll up your sleeves and get stuck in.

And that is, in the main, why this little car costs so much money— the best part of £100,000 ($141,500). At this point you’re possibly thinking, “How much?!” but David Brown Automotive has already shown there’s an appetite for such indulgences, in the guise of the original Mini Remastered car that was introduced in 2017. The hotter Oselli Edition is likely to find even more fans.

A lot of work has gone into creating the basis for the run of 60 Oselli Edition Mini Remastered cars, much of it beneath the bonnet or where the eye can’t see, and it has created a car that serves up a unique driving experience. Unless you own an original, hot Mini, you won’t have anything quite like this in your garage, and once you’ve left-foot braked your way into a corner or five—on a race track, naturally—you will appreciate that nothing but nothing is as plain fun as a hot Mini.

Jack Aitken, reserve driver for the Williams F1 team, agrees wholeheartedly. Aitken’s first car was a Mini, a 1275 GT. Today he gets around in a second-generation Mini John Cooper Works. And he’s been involved in the development of the Mini Remastered Oselli Edition, working on the damping, steering and general fine-tuning of the rorty little car. Minis, it would seem, have got under his skin.

Together, we’re zipping around the modest circuit at Bicester Heritage, piling into the longest of the right-hand corners, me giving it the beans, in technical parlance, and Aitken encouraging me to left-foot brake deep into the corner in a manner that feels unnatural. The intention, he says, is to keep the Mini rotating.

And sure enough, rotate it does. The Oselli Edition car needs no excuse to shake its booty. Tweak the steering and it twerks its backside; lift off the throttle and it drifts more aggressively; back out of the power and get on the brakes as you carve into a bend and the car remains at a jaunty, oblique angle to the direction of travel until you return right foot to throttle and straighten it up.

Set things up correctly for a sequence of corners and the Mini sashays its way through the turns in true “Scandinavian flick” style, making you feel like Paddy Hopkirk, Graham Hill and Barrie “Whizzo” Williams rolled into one.

All the while, the little car talks to you in a way no other car can. Your bum, finger tips and ears are spoilt rotten with feedback. It’s why, when you see them racing today at Brands Hatch, Goodwood, Silverstone, and beyond, they appear to dance before your eyes. At a track, a hot Mini is always operating at the point where grip turns to slip; it’s the driver’s job to manage it in that window, drifting hither and tither while keeping it out of the kitty litter.

The noises as you play are Mini signature sounds. The rear tires rub the wheel arches every now and then; the engine note flares as the front tires and limited-slip differential hunt for traction; the carbs snort as you heel-and-toe into a turn.

With just 790 kg (1741 lb) to shift, it is brisk, even if the stats seem nothing special. It can probably get to 60 mph in a shade under 8 seconds and the top speed might just make 100 mph, on a good day with a tailwind. But by now you might have twigged that it is the way you maintain rather than build the speed that makes the experience so enthralling.

Firing it down the straights is an A-Series engine that has been built by Oselli Engineering, the engine building specialist residing outside Milton Keynes these days, that was founded in 1962 and has been breathing new life into A-Series engines since.

Oselli takes a 1275-cc, four-cylinder lump and bores it out to 1450 cc, fits lightened and balanced rotating parts and tops it off with a hand-ported and polished cylinder head. There’s a new crank and camshaft, as well as upgrades to the flywheel and clutch and a reworked five-speed gearbox. The motor runs a compression ratio of 10.1:1 and breathes through twin SU carburetors. This means it sounds delightful and loves to rev; below 3000 rpm you have to tickle the throttle and persuade it to play. Beyond this point it gets its groove on, you can floor the throttle and it growls its way past the peak torque of 113 lb-ft at 4500 rpm and then beyond 6200 rpm, where all 125 hp lies.

That said, it’s not set up to be a race-track special. The motor is tractable enough to potter about town, even if—during my time behind the wheel—there are a few instances when it died de-clutching coming to a stop. But that could be down to running the air conditioning (yes—really!). A little further fine-tuning could be in order.

Out on the roads around Oxfordshire, it is the Oselli Edition’s suspension pliancy that is a pleasant surprise. The car does without anti-roll bars, and its Bilstein dampers have a fluid feel, while the little 13-inch Yokohama tires gently track with the camber of the road. The car is never not doing something; it feels ever-alert but never unhappy or agitated. It’s a joyful, playful little thing, and the electric power assisted steering is perfectly resolved to lend a hand at low speeds but back off as the pace builds so you feel every grain of detail through the Alcantara-trimmed wheel.

The throttle response never fails to amaze, the clutch is easy to get along with and with a bit of practice the spindly gear lever can be deftly manipulated with accurate shifts. Only on the odd occasion did I find myself crunching into second hear, something that can be ironed out with enough rev-matching.

Behind the 13-inch alloy wheels are AP Racing front brakes, which cram in four-piston calipers, and at the back there are aluminum rear drums. The brakes felt strong in all conditions, but the throttle pedal could do with an extension plate to make it easier to heel and toe—you can’t do it while keeping your heel on the floor at the moment. David Brown agrees it’s one thing that could be tweaked. As for the rest of the driving position, what’s this—more legroom than I could possibly need, fantastic Sabelt seats and steering wheel, and everything nicely centered? Miracles do happen.

Needless to say, it’s no miracle. David Brown Automotive takes a new heritage body shell and performs all manner of surgery to make it what it is, to both the exterior and interior—including modern rust protection treatment and no small amount of reinforcement. Removing the shell’s seams may have purists tut-tutting, but it’s surprising just how much cleaner it looks for it.

And oh my goodness does it look good. If the Oselli Edition doesn’t melt your heart, take yourself off for a cardiogram immediately. The stylistic flourishes are tastefully judged, the color schemes work a treat and the level of personalization available means no two of the 60 cars are likely to be identical.

The biggest choice anyone will have to make is whether to have two or four seats. Personally, I’d have two seats with five-point harnesses together with the half-cage configuration of the test car. After all, this is not really the sort of car for the school run. And I’d ask that the central speedo be swapped for the rev counter and vice versa, should red tape regulations permit such choices.

Other than that, I wouldn’t change a thing. All the switchgear and detailing displays an impressive level of craftsmanship. You can see where the time and effort has gone in addition to the engineering of the car.

By now, you’re possibly minded to wonder why on earth someone would pay such a significant sum of money for such a seemingly insignificant little car. Drive it, though, and you will understand. A hot Mini like the Oselli Edition feels alive.

Add this to your collection of cars, or have it as your only plaything, and you can be assured that every time you climb behind the wheel, this tiny machine will transport you to a special place. When a Mini dances about beneath you, all is good with the world.

2021 Mini Remastered Oselli Edition 

Price: £100,000 (est); ($141.500)
Engine: Four-cylinder, 1450cc, twin-carb
Power: 125 hp @ 6200rpm
Torque: 113 lb-ft @ 4500 rpm
Gearbox: five-speed manual, front-wheel drive
Curb weight: 790 kg (1741 lb)
0-62 mph: Less than 8 seconds
Top speed: About 100 mph

The post The David Brown Mini Remastered Oselli Edition is a miniature marvel appeared first on Hagerty Media.

As the world speeds headlong into 2021, you may find yourself entrenched in the frenzy of a digital age, one in which news, ideas, and entertainment fly at fiber-optic speeds. Looking for an antidote to the madness? Building scale models may offer a measure of zen for those who enjoy working with their hands but don’t have the space, budget, or desire to tear down an engine or restore a full-scale classic.

Whether you’re out of work, working from home, or soon returning to the office, scale models, particularly of the military variety, are wallet-friendly conversation starters worth showing off to in-person or on-screen friends. To help narrow your search, we’ve curated this list of 10 planes, boats, and automobiles with show-stopper looks and legendary service histories. Given the wide range of complexity and cost, however, we’ll leave the final choice of kit up to you.

Fokker Dr.1 PL

Barely a decade after the Wright Brothers made their first flights at Kitty Hawk in 1903, men were learning how to spy on, bomb, and fight one another from the air during World War I. By the end of the war, an infamous German pilot known as the “Red Baron” was terrorizing the skies in a red Fokker Triplane.

Its stacked, three-winged design is certainly polarizing, but the Fokker actually wasn’t the first to use the configuration. That distinction belongs to the British Sopwith Triplane, which the Germans scrambled to replicate after the design drew the admiration of the Red Baron himself. To avoid side glances or awkward talks with HR, consider building the Fokker and the Sopwith to complete the full picture.

Spitfire

Aviation technology in the second World War improved exponentially beyond that in the first. Luckily for the Brits, in that 21-year inter-war period, aircraft talent R.J. Mitchell and the renowned designers at Supermarine were hard at work creating a Merlin V-12-powered monoplane for the RAF that was eventually called the Spitfire. These sturdy fighters bravely fended off the Luftwaffe time and again during the Battle of Britain, thus setting the stage for the Allied forces to assemble for D-Day.

Legendary as they were, Spitfires weren’t without their flaws; for instance, the carburetors tended to starve the Merlin of fuel during aggressive dives. Thanks to one unsung hero, and the addition of anti-g modifications to newer carbs, the issue was rectified by 1941. The landscape of Britain (and the world) would look much different today if it weren’t for the Spitfire, and something about the Spit—even in scale model form—is enough to get Hans Zimmer’s “Supermarine” pumping through our skulls.

P-51 Mustang

At the very core of the USAAF’s fighting stock was the long-ranged P-51 Mustang, rolled out in A, B, C and D iterations beginning in 1940. They’re famous for their unpainted skins, but not all P-51s flaunted the bare-metal look. Early P-51 Mustangs were painted in camouflage to help parked planes escape notice from the air. However, once momentum shifted in the skies and the Allies began to establish superiority, the additional weight and production time involved in painting each plane became impractical.

Whether camo’d or not, these long-range fighters were ideal cover for U.S. bombing raids. Early versions of the P-51 used the Merlin V-12, though eventually the P-51D switched to a Packard-made V-12. If you’ve never had the thrill of being airborne in one, or heard one fire up in the flesh, your imagination and this glistening desk trophy will have to do for now.

UH-1 Iroquois (Huey)

In 1956, the Huey was a welcome development in the world of rotorcraft due to its agility under load and powerful Lycoming turboshaft engine. UH-1Ds were armed and brought the fight, while UH-1Vs were stringently spec’d for medivac duty. For many, the sight of a descending Huey meant salvation; today, it’s a revered piece of machinery in the memory of many veterans.

Because they’ve been in operation all over the world, Hueys elicit strong emotion across an unusually wide range of countries. Some hear the chop of their blades and think of angels; for others, the sound recalls “Fortunate Son” and their favorite military movies. The best part about a scale model with two rotors? It’s a low-key fidget spinner for adults, embarrassment not included.

Patrol torpedo boat PT-109

Any craft that earned titles such as “the mosquito fleet” and “devil boats” from the fearless Japanese must be formidable indeed. Though armed to the hilt with four Bliss-Leavitt Mark 8 torpedoes and weighing 3150 pounds apiece, these boats could fly thanks to not one but three Packard V-12s. Their top speed was roughly 41 knots, or approximately 47 mph.

PT-109, shown here, was piloted by a young John F. Kennedy, who eventually found his way into combat action in the Southern Pacific against his father’s desires. In the wee hours of 2 a.m. on August 2, 1943, PT-109 was struck by the much larger Japanese destroyer Amagiri. The little U.S. vessel erupted in a fiery explosion. Lieutenant Kennedy and other survivors clung to the hull of the sinking ship as long as they could before swimming for miles together in search of landfall. They found solid ground but were marooned for three days until a few Solomon Island scouts discovered them.

BMW R75 and Sidecar

Chariot of choice for the Afrika Korps, the R75 and Sidecar were the result of a special request put into BMW by the German Army starting in 1938. Equipped with an all-new OHV 745-cc engine and a robust cooling system, the R75 had several other tricks that helped it thrive in North Africa. A locking rear differential sat between the bike’s rear wheel and the sidecar’s axle, and its two different gear modes for better performance on- or off-road were semi-revolutionary for this style of machine. The R75 gave the Nazis a nimble fighting unit in the sand, even if its 900-pound weight demanded hydraulic brakes. Production at Eisenach eventually ceased when an Allied bombing raid put the plant out of commission in 1944, but not before these BMWs influenced other military designs like the Harley-Davidson XA and Indian 841.

M4 Sherman

Owning a tank is hard. Owning a scale model of a tank? Less so. The Sherman has been an American military staple since it entered service in 1942, but not necessarily because it possessed a pound-for-pound battlefield advantage. In most scenarios the Shermans weren’t better, faster, or stronger than their enemy equivalents, but the sheer volume that the American industrial machine could put onto the field could simply overwhelm the opposition into submission. Shermans were the most-produced tank in American history, surpassed on the global level only by the Soviet Union’s T-34. Appropriately, there is a vast selection of Sherman scale models available online at varying levels of difficulty.

Willys MB

It’s an oldie but a goodie. The MB’s performance drew glowing praise from military leaders like Generals Eisenhower and Marshall in-period . Today, the reputation of the Willys MB precedes it, earning the jeep a place in the hearts and minds of children all over America decades after it left active duty. After the war, Jeep put its 4×4 runabout into civilian production in one of the most direct and successful translations of military transportation tech to private life.

VW Kübelwagen Type 82

Fans familiar with Volkswagen and the lineage behind the VW Thing will be acquainted with the “bucket-seat car” designed by Ferdinand Porsche. Like their opponents across the Atlantic, the Germans recognized the advantage of a competent light-duty vehicle that was capable off-road. Essentially, Kübelwagens were Beetles with a little extra beef. Although they were exclusively rear-wheel-drive, the Type 82s had limited-slip differentials and weighed nearly a half-ton less than the Willys MB, making the VWs spry little buggies with better power-to-weight ratios.

In a similar fashion to the Willys MB, the Type 82 found success in the civilian sector after the war. Today its international descendents include the Thing in America, the Safari in Mexico, and the Trekker in the U.K.

Humvee

Back when AM General’s HMMWV (Humvee) officially entered service in 1983, it would have been incredibly hard to believe that this military-born and -bred icon would become so civilized (need we mention the nameplate’s all electric-future as the swanky Hummer EV?).

The Humvee’s fighting career largely took place in the Gulf, where it established a love-it-or-hate-it reputation. Humvees weren’t the most reliable, and their vulnerability to explosives placed underneath them represented serious cause for concern. After a run of nearly 30 years, the U.S. government accepted that the Humvee’s best days were over. Retirement was imminent and phase-out commenced. While the civilian model’s success pales in comparison to the Jeep’s, the Hummer name still carries weight in the minds of modern-day consumers and initial demand for a resurrected model appears strong.

The post Ten-hut! These 10 military scale models emit serious shelf appeal appeared first on Hagerty Media.

After years of speculating about the potential impact of Brexit on the UK classic and collector car world, we’re finally here. At 11 pm on December 31^st, 2020 the United Kingdom ended the transition period from its membership in the European Union and began trading under terms agreed with the EU just a few days before. The result has been a lot of new red tape and a fair amount of confusion.

“We could plan for a no-deal, as we knew what that would look like, but we only found out what was in the treaty a week before we had to put it into practice,” said Peter Bonham Christie, founder of Straight Eight Logistics, one of the UK’s top historic vehicle transport firms. “Now, about 90 percent of my working life is spent working with the customs agency.”

Any new system was always going to cause confusion at first, but Britain’s new relationship with the EU comes with a raft of new bureaucracy where almost none previously existed. “When you load a car onto a trailer or into a lorry, it becomes ‘goods’” Bonham Christie told me. “You need a ‘green card’ from your insurer for each element—the car, the towing vehicle, and the trailer—and as you’re transporting goods, you also need an ATA Carnet.  It’s not as if we haven’t done this before—the system has been the same for entry to Switzerland for years—but it adds a new layer of cost and complexity to the process.”

An Access/Temporary Access (ATA) Carnet is like a passport for goods, a bond that guarantees that your items won’t disappear after they enter the country. There’s a set fee for each—currently around a few hundred pounds—but there’s also a returnable bond payment that has to be presented. This is 40 percent the value of the goods, hefty enough for a £20,000 Triumph Stag but eye-wateringly expensive for a £5m Ferrari. Specialist finance companies offer to put the money up for you at a set rate of interest. Again, for the standard enthusiast this could be a fairly affordable payment, but for very expensive cars that their owners wish to take to an event in Europe, it could run into many thousands of pounds.

The new costs and paperwork are also affecting British exporters. I spoke to Julian Majzub, owner of classic-specialist manufacturer Blockley Tyres and a well-known historic motorsport competitor. “Blockley would struggle without the volume of its sales to Europe,” he said.  “The paperwork, aggravation, increase in costs, real delays and inconvenience to customers will impact us… on top of which, we haven’t factored in the people who will no longer order from British sources, irrespective of the price. Obviously, we’ll make the best of it, but I’ve now got quite a heavy monkey to carry on my back that my competitors don’t, in a dog-eat-dog world where my competitors have been trying everything to shut me down, well before Brexit. So, let’s see what happens.”

Dealers serving the enthusiast market have not been greatly affected: It’s a naturally quiet time of the year for classic sales and British buyers tend for the most part to prefer purchasing right-hand drive cars from their own country. For those selling more expensive cars though, things are different.

“Our business is very international,” said leading collector car dealer Max Girado “Our last car we sold to Hong Kong. Before that, from Italy to Belgium. The [new] rules are quite draconian, and everyone is getting used to them. With time we will all adapt, [but] from a business perspective, Brexit has not helped us in any way.”

Dealers of more modern collectable cars have their own specific issue—the addition of a 20 percent value-added tax (VAT) to the import of used cars from Europe that are less than 30 years-old. “This is a real problem,” I was told by Edward Lovett, top dealer and the man behind thriving online sales hub Collecting Cars. “A buyer searching for a rarer modern performance model might typically have looked in Europe. Now that comes with a hefty additional cost.”

Auctions have their own complexities to deal with. UK-based auction houses have historically held sales all over Europe and also welcomed EU-consigned cars to their British auctions. Now cars (and their sales rostrums, speakers, and other paraphernalia) will have to be temporarily imported, with all the extra paperwork that entails. But, have sales been affected? Mark Perkins, founder and managing director of Historics auction house set an optimistic tone when asked about their Monaco sale scheduled for 23^rd April. “Significant collector car consignments have already been sourced from UK vendors, together with serious consignment interest received at our UK and European offices by non-UK domiciled vendors. Three months before the sale, it’s too early to comment meaningfully on bidder registration but that again will give us some useful insights into UK/International buying patterns.”

“As with all new measures, it’s a matter of acclimatization and familiarity with the rules,” Perkins continued. “Clarity is the imperative.”

Perkins’s statement alludes to one of the key issues mentioned by many of the people in the industry that I have spoken to: The rules just aren’t all clear yet. Whether UK historic vehicles are still exempt from EU low-emission zone regulations, whether spares can be boxed together under one carnet, and what happens to them if they’re used; the answers to tricky details like these are impossible to find in official literature and will only be discovered later, as the rules are tested. At least, as Peter Bonham Christie told me, the current COVID crisis could be unexpectedly acting in the industry’s favor.  “The [current UK mandated] lockdown has given us breathing space to find out how it is all going to work,” he told me. “To be honest, the perishable goods transporters are taking the pain for all of us.”

Others fear that COVID could be shrouding the true depth of the crisis.  “How much of the down turn we have yet to feel is COVID and how much is Brexit?” Julian Majzub pondered. “[The British Government] say everything is down to COVID and when the country comes off furlough in June, then we’ll see the state of things and where unemployment really is, and that is when the new reality will start to dawn.”

It’s a fair prediction to say that summer 2021 may be a watershed for the UK historic vehicle hobby. What effect this may have on the average enthusiast is yet to be seen, but everyone I spoke to was determined to work around the problems and get back to normal as soon as possible. “Once matters are clear we would anticipate business as usual,” Mark Perkins told me. “Whatever happens, the UK remains a key market for classics, both domestically and further afield.”

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post “A monkey on my back” — What Brexit means for the classic car market appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Uggggh! Two amped supercars, a curvy road bordered by a calamitous drop-off, and torrential rain. A southern-fried recipe for doom, I think, as we drive south through Tennessee on U.S. Route 129 toward the start of the infamous Tail of the Dragon. Why, oh why, did it have to rain today?

Two months earlier, we had imagined a different scenario. A friend who lives near the Tail had invited me to join a group of enthusiasts for two days of driving. He described the group as a loosely organized bunch of exotic car fanatics from the New York City area who are stereotypically New York boisterous. He added that they’re not only entertaining characters, they’re so committed to driving that they bring a trailer of spare parts for their Lamborghinis, Vipers, and Porsche GT2s. Because, I guess, stuff gets broke.

I mentioned this to the boss, McKeel Hagerty, who has somehow never driven the Tail. He wanted in, not only to drive, but also to commune with people who share the passion—at least, from a safe social distance. Plus, New Yorkers in screwball machines are a spectacle worth traveling for. So we chambered a couple of suitable rounds, including a 2020 Lotus Evora GT and a 2020 McLaren 600LT factory press car, then counted down the days.

Two days before the meetup, the predicted path of Tropical Storm Delta, then rolling over Louisiana, showed it arcing right toward Route 129. This meant heavy rain for days. The apparently water-soluble New Yorkers bailed. McKeel, however, wasn’t about to abandon his chance to drive the Tail. “You can’t change the weather,” he reasoned. “And don’t we have two cars that come from England, a land known for rain?”

Still, I was nervous. For one, the Tail counts no fewer than 318 curves over its 11-mile path through the Great Smoky Mountains, and zero guardrails. It is so well-known among drivers and motorcyclists that it’s like an amusement park on busy days, complete with a company called Killboy that sets up in corners to shoot photos of your hero moment for purchase. The carnival atmosphere has made it so infamous that the Blount County Sheriff’s Office has a website, dragonawareness.com, to “reduce the number of injuries and deaths through education and enforcement.” The site explains, for example, that over a 10-year stretch, 27 people died on those 11 miles compared to 23 people on the county’s other 1100 miles of roads. Not to mention, the Tail is so rural that the injured should expect a 90-minute journey to the nearest hospital. During the busy summer season, the routine chopper airlifts of the injured out of this green hell give it the ambience of Khe Sanh.

Into the maw we would launch in two fire-belching (and seemingly similar) British sports cars. Both carry their engines between the passengers and the rear wheels, and both clothe their chassis with composite bodies, favoring light weight over comfort. Neither car weighs more than 3000 pounds, though they are heavily laden with the racing heritage of their respective pedigrees.

We flash past the small turnout and the graffiti-stained stone walls that mark the start of the Tail, having left the hotel early to avoid traffic, and round into the first corner. Then the second. Then the third-fourthfifth. The thing about the Tail is that you’re never not turning—left, right, left, right, each corner slightly different in radius, camber, and surface than the previous. I keep the Lotus in third gear, gingerly working the controls, remembering how Jackie Stewart used to teach new drivers to envision an egg on the pedals in order to avoid traction-killing spikes.

The Lotus makes it easy. The brake and throttle pedals have unusually long travel and linear action. Press the brake another 10 percent further and the car seemingly slows another 10 percent. The steering wheel minutely twitches over a surface change, confirming what the eyes perceive. The Evora wears Michelin Pilot Sport PS2s, and when the fronts reach their traction limit on the slick roads, I can feel it through my hands.

In 1982, a heart attack killed Colin Chapman, the brilliant and scrappy engineer who’d created the art form of light-weighting in a tiny garage in northeast England 30 years earlier. Back in those days, it was all improvisation, using engines and parts scrounged from other makers, with the sale of road cars a necessity to pay for Chapman’s one true love: racing. Today, the Lotus factory in Hethel still constructs its street cars with scrounged parts—including the 3.5-liter Toyota V-6 in the Evora—and in keeping with Chapman’s philosophy of weight reduction being the only war worth fighting.

Lotus launched the four-seat Evora in 2009 as a grand-touring version of its smaller Elise. As was so often the case with Lotus, the original Evora had the right idea, but it fell short in initial execution. More than a decade of development, however, has finally delivered a Lotus that’s an English version of the Porsche 911. The new-for-2020 Evora GT is a driver-focused car with just enough practicality for regular use. It even has heated seats, plus a supercharger, which gooses the Toyota unit to 416 horsepower. Some might notice that the turn-signal stalks come from European Fords—ever scrounging—but the Lotus method results in a car that, at $120,000, costs far less than the mighty McLaren.

Trees line the road to our right, obscuring the steep drop to the Little Tennessee River below. Natural rock walls appear at times to jut out maybe just a bit too close for comfort, but they have the effect of echoing the Lotus’s enthralling wail. About halfway through, I stop mentally complaining about the rain. Turning left and right, braking, and accelerating—all with more gusto than I would have guessed was possible during a downpour—presses my body alternately between the seat bolsters, the seat back, and the seatbelt. It feels like a self-directed roller coaster. What does one want from the Tail in a car like this? That depends on the driver, but for me, it’s the feeling of machine connection, the mechanical experience, and simply the thrill of traveling in a manner far above what the human body alone is capable of.

About 15 minutes later, we cross the North Carolina border that marks the end of the Tail, pull into a parking lot, and get out. McKeel in the McLaren was never more than a few car lengths off my bumper. “It’s like the car is wired directly into my cerebellum,” he says of the 600LT. “It knows what I want to do before I do it. I never had a moment of panic back there, even in the rain, even in a car that is 100 times faster than I am.”

We switch cars and head back in the other direction. After the Lotus, the McLaren is a sound reminder that there is always someone richer, thinner, and better-looking than you. It’s a luxe experience from the first swing of its scissor door. For starters, the Lotus has an Alpine dash unit of the type anyone can buy from Freddie’s Car Stereo; the 600LT uses a bespoke touch-screen that controls everything from the radio to the HVAC system.

Well, McLaren is the cost-no-object firm. New Zealander Bruce McLaren started the company in 1963, but it was Ron Dennis who set it on its current course when he took the reins in 1981, some 11 years after McLaren died in a testing accident. Dennis is a sweat-every-detail personality who drove McLaren to F1 dominance in the 1980s; he also started its road-car effort with the Gordon Murray-designed F1 of 1992. The 600LT can beat the F1 in every measurable way, thanks to its McLaren-designed and -built twin-turbocharged 3.8-liter V-8, automated dual-clutch seven-speed transmission, and zillions of electronic microprocessors—but it will never beat the F1 in cool. Even so, the 600LT is perhaps the lightest and most driver-focused of the company’s current supercar line, with a 592-hp engine (which McLaren states as 600, according to European standards of power measurement, hence the car’s less religiously fraught name) belting out enough fury to push two awestruck occupants over 200 mph. We have the Spider model, which comes with a motorized folding top and the optional carbon-fiber thinly padded seats that combined with other options for a definitely super $306,540 sticker price.

Between our two wedges, the Lotus is more raw, the one to transmit greater information about the road and what the car is doing, then it lets the driver deal. It is also the most well-screwed-together and luxurious GT car the company has ever produced, yet it’s not overpolished. The McLaren is, by contrast, more of a filtered operator. There are brief moments when we each feel the potential violence of that engine, a glimpse to remind us how easily 592 horsepower can unleash chaos. Most of the time, however, the McLaren keeps the engine in check, like the computers are doing some magic in the background to make you feel like you’re an expert with the throttle. Somehow, McLaren found a way to harness all that performance and still allow the driver to feel like he or she is the pilot, not the computer. You’re the hero of the 600LT’s movie.

The most shocking trait is how the 600LT grips in the wet and sloppy conditions, and this will take some explaining. Typically, when the surface is wet, a tire grips up to a limit and then breaks free in dramatic fashion. The difference between “stuck” friction and “sliding” friction is often hair-raisingly wide. Once the tire slides, all hell breaks loose, which is one reason rainy Formula 1 races have more crashes than dry ones. It’s why we were nervous for the rain—overcooking a corner even slightly, which is a minor thing in the dry, can have dire consequences in the wet.

The McLaren’s performance made me curious, so later on, I called the company to ask about it. “The car needs to be always predictable,” says McLaren’s director of chassis and vehicle technology, Leo Pascali, in a thick Italian accent. Pascali has a doctorate in fluid dynamics, and he worked on Porsche racing and sports cars before joining McLaren in 2015.

Upon his arrival at McLaren, Pascali immediately increased wet-weather testing with Pirelli in Northern Italy because, he says, “95 percent of crashes occur in the rain.” The car’s tires were thus specifically developed for the 600LT, but Pascali is careful not to single out one part for the car’s performance but to create a balance. One key trait, he says, was to minimize the vertical load variation on the tires. Tire grip is directly related to how forcibly it’s pushed into the road. The force naturally varies as the car accelerates, brakes, and turns, so the job of managing and minimizing those load changes falls to the suspension. “Someone who drives a McLaren should not have fear,” Pascali says. “It should be fun, even in the rain.”

It is. As we finish our second run of the Tail, traffic is already starting to pick up. My initial skittishness about the conditions, these cars, and the road now seems like hysterics. Stopped at a park, I ask McKeel if he thinks the rain had dampened the experience. He shakes his head and says, “Actually, the rain helped. I always assumed these cars would figuratively melt in the rain. Nope.”

We still have a full but rainy day ahead and a part of the country lousy with world-class roads, like the Cherohala Skyway and a loop on the west side of Knoxville known as the Devil’s Triangle. We drive some 200 miles, Devils and Dragons, almost never holding the steering wheel straight.

As our time with these two cars comes to an unpopular end, we talk about how the older sports cars we typically drive would have been tiptoeing around these roads, leaving the driver entirely in the white-knuckle zone. We often celebrate our old steeds by claiming that the greater skill and care required as compared to modern sports cars results in a much richer experience. Perhaps, but these two cars taught us that modern technology and engineering offer a different but every bit as enthralling ride. Even in the rain.

2020 Lotus Evora GT

ENGINE: 3.5-liter V-6, supercharged
POWER: 416 hp @ 7000 rpm
TORQUE: 317 lb-ft @ 3500 rpm
WEIGHT: 3100 lb
POWER-TO-WEIGHT: 7.5 lb/hp
0–60 MPH: 4.0 sec
TOP SPEED: 188 mph
PRICE: $109,445

2020 McLaren 600LT Spider

ENGINE: 3.8-liter V-8, twin-turbocharged
POWER: 592 hp @ 7500 rpm
TORQUE: 457 lb-ft @ 5500 rpm
WEIGHT: 2950 lb
POWER-TO-WEIGHT: 4.98 lb/hp
0–6 MPH: 2.8 sec
TOP SPEED: 204 mph
PRICE: $306,540

The post Lotus Evora GT and McLaren 600LT dance on America’s most dangerous road—in a downpour appeared first on Hagerty Media.

As of now, you can buy a new Allard JR. Having driven it, I can report that if you did so, you would enjoy it a lot. Most likely you would race it, for that is its purpose, and it has FIA approval to confirm its authenticity as a continuation of a short line of such cars built in the 1950s. Sounds great, you think. But, actually, what on earth is it?

Allard is a name from a distant past of British sports cars, forgotten by most who might once have been aware of it, unknown to everyone else. To jog any memories you might have, Allard’s best-known machine was the J2 of the late 1940s and early 1950s, with a Cadillac V-8, a pre-war look, and plenty of pace. Most went to the U.S., many were raced.

Then there was the Allard P1, a bulbous two-door whose long bonnet covered a Ford V-8. It remains the only car to win the Monte Carlo rally when driven by its creator, a feat achieved by company founder Sydney Allard in 1952. Several other sporting cars on this generously-powered theme continued until 1958, at which point the more modern-looking Palm Beach sports car, usually powered by either a Ford Zephyr or a Jaguar XK straight-six, ended production at Allard’s works in Clapham. After that, Allard was mostly about selling Shorrock superchargers and setting speed records in some small but very effective dragsters driven by Sydney’s son Alan.

From the European perspective, though, there was another major Allard moment in 1953. Sydney led that year’s Le Mans 24 Hours from the start, albeit briefly, in his new JR sports car, outfoxing the might of Jaguar and Ferrari and bellowing into history. This JR, one of two works entries, lasted until lap four and either the demise of the differential or a severed brake pipe caused by the collapse of the rear suspension. History offers us a choice of explanations, but either way it meant that co-driver Philip Parker didn’t get to race.

That car had chassis number JR3402, making it the second of seven JRs to be built in the 1950s. The second works car, numbered JR3403 and co-driven by Zora Arkus-Duntov who had designed the original Chevrolet Corvette, lasted 568 laps before its Cadillac V-8 went bang on the Mulsanne Straight. Other JRs later raced with some success in the U.S.

There’s some history to celebrate, then. And in these modern times, present-day owners of famous sporting brands see money to be made in ‘continuation’ versions of past competition, or otherwise significant, cars that helped forge the brands’ reputations. Jaguar has given us new C-Types, D-Types and Lightweight E-Types. Aston Martin has built new DB4 GTs and is doing the same with Bond-equipped DB5s. Bentley is making new vintage Blowers, and racing-car manufacturer Lister is recreating Knobblies. Some of the Ford GT40s racing today are new ‘official’, though third-party, facsimiles of original cars that stay safely tucked away.

And now there’s a new Allard JR. Just one, so far, but there could be more. This continuation project, though, is different in two key ways. First, it has been built by Sydney Allard’s son and grandson, Alan and Lloyd. Mainly the latter, an expert engineer whose Gloucester workshop is normally immersed in turbocharger reconditioning and aluminum fabrication, but the two of them—along with Lloyd’s brother, Gavin—have now resurrected the family sports- and racing-car firm. No other continuation car has such continuity with the people behind the original.

Second, no scanning, digitization, reverse-engineering or any other post-millennial trickery has been used here. Instead, Lloyd fabricated the hefty tubular steel chassis from the original drawings—120 in all—by Dudley Hume, Allard’s engineer at the time. Hume, who died in May 2019 at the age of 96, lived long enough to see the start of the new project. He even re-drew some of the faded lines on the drawings.

The curvaceous body’s provenance is equally authentic. Hume created a wooden body buck over which the original JRs’ aluminum panels were formed, and that self-same buck—returned from a stay in the U.S. where it helped in the restoration of JR3405—has helped Historic Metalworks of Lymington, Hampshire to create the panel work of this new JR, allotted chassis number JR3408.

As far as possible, 3408 replicates Sydney Allard’s Le Mans machine, 3402. That means it has a 5416-cc engine delivering around 295 hp. That significant increase over the original Cadillac output is achieved through higher compression, two four-barrel Carter carburetors, and a pair of free-flowing three-branch exhaust manifolds leading to a trio of exit pipes under each sill. Three-branch, on a V-8? That’s because each bank’s two middle exhaust ports are Siamesed.

One departure from originality is the gearbox. A tough three-speeder was the period fitment, with huge gaps between the ratios given the 145mph clocked by Sydney at Le Mans, calling for a very plump torque curve from the engine. That the useful rev-limit was (and is) just 4800 rpm emphasizes the point. Lloyd, however, has opted for a four-speed Borg-Warner T10 unit, although he has retained a period-style, albeit new, Halibrand differential with easily-accessed drop gears to allow rapid ratio-changes to suit different tracks.

I meet the Allard, and the father and son Allards, at an airfield test venue just days after its completion. There’s still some fettling to do; yesterday, the day the photographs you see here were taken, Lloyd noticed a driveline vibration. So, as soon as the JR is unloaded, he’s taking off the rear wheels and repositioning the driveshafts on their splines relative to the universal joints. It’s a chance to see, close up, the design of the rear suspension—a de Dion axle system with triangulated upper and lower locating frames for the cross-tube—and the skill and neatness that have gone into its fabrication.

With that job done, Lloyd fires up the engine. It came from a U.S. Allard enthusiast who had built it for the K2 model he was restoring before plans changed. Plenty of the JR’s other parts are also Allard originals; only if something just could not be found did Lloyd use a modern reproduction, or fabricate the part from scratch.

The engine splutters and blusters, occasional flames erupting under the carburetors’ mesh filters before being sucked back into the throats, and then it settles to a menacing burble. Silencers save our ears from lasting damage, and as Lloyd sets off on a quick shakedown run the soundscape is dominated by a yet louder sound from an unexpected source.

It’s that Halibrand differential’s straight-cut drop gears, their penetrating whine suggestive of a distant angle-grinder. That’s how they are meant to be, apparently, and on his return Lloyd declares that he’s happy. Which means it’s my turn.

Lloyd’s run was an opportunity to see how the JR looks on the move. Under the skin it’s not much different from a J2, but the full-width body, with shades of C-Type Jaguar along the flanks and around the tail, marks the JR as a machine from the next era. There’s a hint of Americana up front, though, a toothy grille flanked by low, protuberant headlights. If a Jaguar and a Corvette got married, this might be the result.

Now for a different view of the JR. I open the featherweight door, fall into the seat’s embrace and hold a very pre-war-looking, four-spoke steering wheel. A Perspex half-width aero windscreen is ahead, big chrome-rimmed dials are to my left, hefty pedals—floor-hinged for clutch and brakes, organ-type for the accelerator—under my feet. It’s all perfect; the love and workmanship that have gone into this eighth JR are breathtaking.

The engine fires instantly and I’m off, exhausts blustering, diff howling, suspension chopping a bit, steering wandering a bit more. This is not a car for ambling in; the steering is impossibly heavy for maneuvering and the turning circle is that of a Routemaster bus, but after some gentle runs to get the feel of the JR’s character I get the all-clear for a rush up the runway.

As power builds, as bluster turns to bellow, it all starts to come together. It’s immediately clear that this engine never “comes on cam” or reveals hidden heights of high-speed urge; once the eight throttles are opened there’s a gurgling torrent of torque right through that modest rev range, easily enough to bridge the wide gaps between the four-speed gearbox’s ratios, and no doubt to have bridged the original three-speeder’s inter-ratio chasms.

The ride is smoothing out and that wandering is lessening. It’s most likely caused by a combination of the old-fashioned Marles steering box and the somewhat impure swing-axle front suspension, evolved from a conversion once popular on old upright Fords which involved sawing the front beam axle in half, mounting the cut ends on a central pivot and triangulating the result with an extra arm. It causes the front track to change constantly over bumps and undulations, but on smooth roads it’s fine. Also fine are the brakes, proving that hefty drums can work well especially when formed from finned, iron-lined aluminum.

A quick squirt of tail-loosening torque as I turn at the runway’s end and the JR is pointed back down the runway for another blast back to base. There’s a slight misfire under maximum acceleration, which Lloyd reckons is a lack of fuel flow and easily fixed, but otherwise the brand-new JR is working very nicely indeed.  It’s every bit as genuine an Allard as its seven predecessors, just newer. And if you fancy racing it, it’s for sale at a price far below what you would pay for a historic Jaguar or Ferrari rival—or indeed a remake of one.

The Allards suggest somewhere north of £200,000 ($273,500) for this example, while the price of any commissioned car would be dependent on the client’s chosen specification, but presumably not too far removed from that figure.

That makes it amazingly good value, especially when you consider that, uniquely, it comes straight from a family’s own historic connections. It has been built as much for love as for money, and is perhaps the most authentic of continuation cars. You might feel slightly cheated at seeing a continuation Jaguar or Aston Martin or Ford GT40 racing among real historics, perhaps gaining an unfair advantage through their non-period, computer-recreated perfection, but the new JR has a stronger claim to being the real deal. It’s somehow a more legitimate continuation, imbued with credible soul. That’s something impossible to quantify, never mind build a business case around, but it matters.

Once JR3408 is sold, Lloyd and Alan can finance the building of JR3409. Then, maybe, JR3410 and beyond. Interested? Pick up the phone and speak with the Allard family.

Allard JR Continuation specifications

Price: £200,000-plus, depending on specification ($273,500)
Engine: 5.4-liter V-8
Power: 295 hp
Torque: 380 lb ft
Gearbox: 4-speed, RWD
Curb weight: 1000 kg (est.); 2204 lb (est.)
0-60 mph: 6.0 sec (est.)
Top speed: 145 mph (depending on gearing)

Allard: A once-proud marque resuscitated

Sydney Allard, whose pre-war, Ford-based specials had much motor sport success, set up the original Allard Motor Company in 1945, based in Clapham, south London. His new cars, mostly V-8-powered, continued with a version of Leslie Ballamy’s swing-axle front suspension, one of several ways in which the cars, while undeniably rapid and much liked by the competition fraternity, became ever more dated compared with rivals.

An Allard Safari estate car with “woody”construction, and a relatively modern-looking Palm Beach sports car, weren’t enough to bring in the profits. By the late 1950s the Ford dealer next door, which Sydney also owned, was using some of Allard’s workshop space. That dealership was called Adlard Motors and used a logo near-identical to Allard’s, but the name was purely a coincidence: Sydney’s father, Robert, had bought the original dealership building from a roofing company called Robert Adlard.

In 1958, Allard ceased making cars. From that point it focused on marketing, distributing and ultimately manufacturing Shorrock superchargers, and making the Golde sunroof. A brief return to complete cars came with the Allardette, a Ford 105E Anglia tuned with a supercharger. Sydney and Alan entered one each in the 1963 Monte Carlo rally, finishing first and second in class respectively. Allard also built small, supercharged dragsters, campaigned by Alan and available for sale, but in 1966 the Clapham factory burnt down and that was more or less that.

The Allard name briefly reappeared on three retrimmed Lexus LS400s, but the project quickly died. Lloyd, intrigued, tracked one down on eBay a few years ago. The name found itself associated with various enterprises not necessarily condoned by the Allard family, but by 2012 the disputes were straightened out, the family had regained control of their name and in that year a new company, Allard Sports Cars, was formed.

It makes some new Allard spares, and in 2014 Lloyd began building the chassis that is now JR3408. He and Alan found the original Palm Beach Mk2 motor show car and restored it, and they have built a replica Allardette. Covid has put things on hold for a while, but in the future they would like to build the new, modern sports car that they are designing. And, of course, more JRs.

Via Hagerty UK

The post A family affair: Driving the Allard JR continuation car appeared first on Hagerty Media.

There is a hierarchy within just about every sub-culture in the automotive community. The wildest cross-brand mash-up? Shelby Cobra. The Dodge Charger seems to sit atop the muscle car pyramid, and according to Jay the most British car is the Bristol 403. This week on Jay Leno’s Garage he backs up this declaration using his beautiful 1955 model as an example.

Jay fell in love with Bristols after years of reading journalist L.J.K. Setright, and determined he needed to have one. He wanted one bad enough to ignore his own advice and buy it over the phone, sight unseen. He crossed his fingers that Setright was not using hyperbole when he stated “only the finest gentleman buy Bristols.” The gamble paid off, and the car that arrived in Jay’s shop smoked a little from the two-liter straight-six, but the rest of the car was quite nice.

The car borrows parts and construction from the BMW 328 sports car thanks to war reparations. Following the end of WWII, Bristol was offered the ability to pilfer some technology from a German manufacturer. The brand left Volkswagen alone and instead elected to take technology from BMW. The straight-six engine was good, but Bristol took the design up one notch when it redesigned the piece to aircraft-grade construction, which absolutely made sense because Bristol was an aircraft company during the war.

Overbuilt and elegant, the 403 is a delight to drive. Despite its German heritage, the engine has that burble that only British cars (and Mazda Miatas) seem to possess, and when accelerating through the four-speed manual it just sounds right. Like most cars at the top of their respective hierarchies, the Bristol might not seem to be the top dog at first blush. However, much like how, as Jay point’s out, the top-of-the-line Buick would often be a nicer car than most Cadillacs just without the flash, the Bristol is understated. Jay thinks there isn’t a better car for fast two-lane cruising, especially for extended periods of time.

There aren’t many Bristols to be found, so Jay sharing his gives us a great insight into a world that could otherwise be easily buried. Honestly, watching him motoring about makes me want to go drive a British car–and that a good thing.

The post Jay Leno shows off the most British of British cars appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It will be no surprise to regular readers that Hagerty Insider loves data. We have analysts whose sole job is to track myriad strings of figures—auction results, dealer sales, advertised prices, and insurance quotes—to suss out what’s really happening in the collector car market.

But data can only tell you so much. Take 2020’s U.K. auction results, for example; many years from now, a glance at this year’s page in an almanack of classic car data wouldn’t immediately highlight anything particularly significant. Until 1^st December 2020, Hagerty tracked 53 U.K. sales from 14 auction houses selling a combined value of £144.6M ($193.6M), just £20,000 less than at the same point last year. The mean sell-through rate for 2020 was 70 percent, a little higher than the 64 percent figure recorded in 2019.

These figures don’t tell even half the story. They don’t record the devastation of the dealer and auction scene back in March, when the first U.K. lockdown was imposed and those sales that couldn’t be postponed in time were hit hard, recording sell-through rates as low as 19 percent. They don’t illustrate the surge in the market over the summer, when relative freedom was restored and enthusiasts, suddenly more aware of their own mortality, decided it was time to buy that classic they’d always lusted after. They don’t show the impact on clubs and on their members, and most of all, they don’t show the dominance of internet sales.

This was the year that everything went online, and those events companies, dealers, auction houses, and parts businesses who thought they could just hunker down and weather the storm, emerging back to where we’d been last year once the COVID clouds had cleared, were in for a nasty shock.

The change, when it came, was swift: As I reported in April, Auto Trader, the U.K.’s largest digital automotive sales site, reported that its internet searches were down 30 percent year-on-year. Three months later, in July, things were very different:  “Despite the challenging backdrop, there’s been a surge in interest this year in people looking at and buying cars,” said Ian Plummer, Auto Trader’s director. “Listings for classic (pre-1990) vehicles in July 2020 were more than double the level of the previous summer, and by November, online classic searches were up 41 percent from the same month in 2019.”

John Graeme, finance director of specialist sports car dealer Redline, told me a similar story. “As the U.K. emerged from lockdown, business just took off. In June, we recorded our best ever month for sales, all without a single test drive.” Auctions had a similar experience. In March 2020, the U.K. average sell-through rate was 51 percent. By June it was 87 percent. One company, South Western Vehicle Auctions, recorded an unprecedented 99 percent of sell-through—just one car away from a perfect result.

As the U.K. emerged from lockdown, business just took off. In June, we recorded our best ever month for sales, all without a single test drive.”

John Graeme, finance director, Redline

That’s not to say the online sales venues simply sat back and watched the money flow in. They, too, had to adjust to changing expectations. For instance, as the initial lockdown eased, some buyers wanted a COVID-friendly way to inspect their potential purchases in person. “At the price point we aim for—£60,000 plus—this is a really important purchase for our customers,” said Graeme. “Once they were able to, potential buyers wanted to touch and feel the cars again. We decided that we needed a new system, one that allowed cars to be reserved with a deposit payment online, giving customers the reassurance that the car would still be there when it was safe to view it in person.”

Auction companies have likewise experimented with a mix of in-person and online bidding. That hybrid can be challenging to pull off for the auctioneer, given technical lags. “It’s akin to being a conductor with an unpredictable orchestra,” says veteran auctioneer Fabian Hine. But Mark Perkins, founder and managing director of Historics Auctioneers, thinks it has benefited the experience both for those in the room and behind computer screens. “It adds to the theater. We have seen online bidding energize those who have attended in person, encouraging them to wage battle with the equally worthy, faceless internet challengers.”

Of course, auctions are not the only way enthusiasts interact with cars and each other. Around a quarter million people in the U.K. belong to organizations affiliated with the Federation of British Historic Vehicle Clubs, whose main offerings are car gatherings. Although socially distanced track days and small events in rural areas have been possible at times this year, computers have loomed larger here, as well.

”We’ve had to adapt quickly,” says Jeff Heywood, vice president of the BMW Car Club GB.

“We’ve always had a great website, thriving social media presence, and online access to our club magazine, Straight Six, but this year we’ve had to go further…most of our regional sections have held virtual ‘meets’ via Microsoft Teams and the like. We’ve also introduced a weekly club podcast that carries interviews with prominent people from the world of BMW and beyond as well as well-known club personalities, which have proven very popular with our members.”

At the start of 2020, Hagerty had a list of 44 events in the U.K. that we intended to track or participate in; all but seven ended up being cancelled.  Those that went ahead did so with dramatic alterations. Goodwood, for instance, pressed ahead with SpeedWeek in October, but limited in-person attendance to participants, streaming the action to online viewers in 150 countries.

“We’ve learned a huge amount that we’ll definitely take forwards into 2021 that will make our signature events even more special, particularly to those who can’t attend in person,” said Isabel Metcalfe, a Goodwood media representative.

British pensioners have recently made the news for receiving the first approved doses of COVID-vaccines, and everyone—classic car enthusiasts included—is hoping for a better 2021. Hagerty has a tracking list of 110 U.K. and European auctions already scheduled for next year, and there’s an ever-increasing calendar of events. So, life will go on.

That said, none of the people I spoke to suggested the collector car market will go back exactly to the way things were before. Even the most change-resistant businesses have realized that a post-pandemic world will operate differently.

What COVID-19 has done is to drag the old-fashioned U.K. classic car world firmly into the 21^st century. This could be a turning point for an industry that the FBHVC recently reported is now worth £7.2 billion ($9.6 billion) annually to the U.K. economy and employs over 34,000 people. With mounting pressure from the environmental lobby on fossil fuels, challenges from new technology such as autonomous cars, and growing concerns with road safety, there’s never been a more important time for those who love historic motoring to work together, using all the benefits of the technology at their disposal. Despite all the agony that this dreadful virus has brought with it, maybe for motoring enthusiasts, there is a small silver lining after all.

__

John Mayhead is editor of the U.K. Hagerty Price Guide.

***

Check out the Hagerty Media homepage so you don’t miss a single story, or better yet, bookmark it. To get our best stories delivered right to your inbox, subscribe to our newsletters.

The post A year of big change (and big sales) in the U.K. appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Up until the early 1960s, BSA was the largest producer of motorcycles in the world. The 1950s had been a good decade for the marque, with the success of the Gold Star as well as the development of two well-respected pre-unit (separate gearbox and engine), vertical twin-engine series: the A7 and A10. Not only was BSA a giant in producing motorcycles, the company also manufactured other goods such as buses, agricultural equipment, bicycles and, of course, weapons. Flush with cash generated from this diversified business, BSA also bought up other motorcycle marques—Triumph and Ariel, among others—making it a true empire.

For any business to survive it needs to be constantly ahead of the competition, on the look-out for the next big thing to make its product stand out. When the early 1960s arrived, the design trend in motorcycles had shifted to a more simplified and enclosed look, more akin to automotive design. BSA was, however, fairly conservative with its design philosophy, and only for the 1966 BSA A65 Lightning did the company shows initial leanings toward more simplified design choices. Holding onto the success of its 1950s machines, BSA perhaps felt that totally reimagining the bike might alienate its loyal audience. These mid-1960s BSAs are great examples of the transition between the more established British bike look and a more forward-looking 1970s style.

The BSA Lightning appeared in film and television on a few occasions, the most notable being the 1965 James Bond film Thunderball. SPECTRE agent Fiona Volpe, played by Italian actress Luciana Paluzzi, rides a fully-faired gold Lightning armed with rocket launchers. In the famous scene, Volpe uses the rockets to blow up a black car chasing Bond’s Aston Martin DB5, a scene that is etched into many people’s minds. Filmed at Silverstone, the Lightning was actually ridden on track by motorcycle champion Bill Ivy—in a blonde wig!

Designed as an all-round sports machine, the Lightning was one of various A65 models designed be sold predominantly in the U.S. market, such as the Thunderbolt, Rocket, Spitfire, and Hornet models, along with sub variants such as the Lightning Rocket and Lightning Clubman. The Lightning was made between 1965 and 1972, and the bike illustrated here is from the early end of that spectrum. At the time it was a top-of-the-range machine, and the first to use 12-volt electrics. BSA had developed it to compete with the Triumph Bonneville. Some say it was the styling of the Lightning versus the Bonneville that let it down; the former’s performance and handling were certainly competitive.

As mentioned, our main A65 illustration showcases a few design elements that are distinctly traditional, namely the front and rear ends, but even the fuel tank to a certain extent is not too radically different from that of the earlier BSA A10 from which the Lightning evolved. It is the design of the engine and the oil tank that distinguish this machine from its forerunner.

In the late 1950s, Lucas switched its production of electronic motorcycle components from magneto and dynamo to alternator and coil systems. This change instigated a major change in British motorcycle engine design. BSA and Triumph (at this time owned by BSA) took the opportunity to completely redesign its engine ranges, moving away from pre-unit and semi-unit construction to full-unit construction. Full-unit construction meant combining the engine and gearbox into one complete unit. The A65 was one such engine, the product of lessons learned from the A10 engine that BSA Managing Director and General Manager Bob Fearon worked on with Bert Perrigo, Chief Development Engineer, to create the new vertical twins.

When it came to the unit construction of the A65, the outer cases were minimal in their sculpting, shaped into simple domed ovals; this became known as “The Power Egg.” Due to the investment in redesigning, tooling, and producing this new construction, “The Power Egg” stuck with BSA until the brand’s demise in 1973.

The A65 engine was designed to be quieter, more reliable, and less prone to oil leaks than its predecessors. When you take into account that, by 1969, 80 percent of BSAs production was going to the States, these were sensible goals. In America, reliability over longer distances and quieter running in urban environments were key selling points, favored by civilian customers and authorities alike. Later styling changes to the Lightning range—such as high rise handlebars and more streamlined fuel tanks—also targeted the American market in an effort to drive sales.

The A65 and its smaller variant, the A50, ultimately proved to be good engines. Both were continually developed throughout the late 1960s, and some say the peak of the A65 series was the 1970 model. Various problems during this time included oil pump issues, and oiling in general; BSA never fully resolved these issues, however with modern solutions these engines are still considered very usable within the classic motorcycle world.

The Lightning received a slightly modified version of the A65 engine, featuring a close-ratio gear box and a high-lift camshaft. This yielded lively acceleration characteristics and solid performance at higher rpm, though the close-ratio ‘box with its tall first gear meant that the rider would have to slip the clutch up to 10 mph.

With BSA back in the news and eyeing a 2021 comeback, there’s never been a better time to celebrate the classic British brand and its beloved machines.

The post Stock Stories: 1966 BSA A65 Lightning appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Leading down a cobbled alleyway hidden behind rows of brown stone terrace houses sits Raysons workshop on the outskirts of Rochdale, Lancashire, U.K. Were it not for the bright blue wooden doors and signage of the garage, you could easily imagine you’d stumbled onto the set of an industrial-era period drama. Open the door and the sensation of a bygone age grows. The garage is part of a mill originally built in 1800s, and it’s here that Ben Hardman—a third-generation exhaust fabricator—keeps alive the skills that may just save Britain’s classic motorcycles.

Inside the workshop, the comforting smell of oily engines lingers in the air. Exhaust pipes dangle from every available rafter of the workshop ceiling. Old lathes, milling machines, and workbenches cover almost every inch of the cold concrete floor. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, fettling away on an old bike with a mug of tea close to hand, is Hardman.

The working environment is captivating. A large portion of the walls are covered in framed photos of his dad racing or working on bikes. Tools inherited from his granddad are scattered all over. Machines dating from well before Hardman was born line the floorspace, one of them from World War II with a plaque stamped “Property of the Air Ministry”.

His craft, skill and knowledge of motorbikes—British bikes especially—runs deep in the family. Hardman’s grandfather, Peter Lee, had his own bike shop in Rochdale, called Unity Equipe. It specialized in British bikes, particularly the Manx Norton, and regularly had to fabricate and bend pipes for customers. Hardman’s father Ray (Peter’s son-in-law) was a keen road racer, regularly competing throughout the ’80s and ’90s. He often worked with Peter to produce exhausts, and he had his own business, Unibend, using the same workshop in which we now stand. However, in 1997 Ray died in a racing accident at the famous Olivers Mount road racing circuit in Scarborough.

Despite the fact that Ray was unable to pass on his knowledge and fabricating skills, he had left his son a legacy of tinkering and a love of engineering. It was ingrained from a young age, with weekends spent in the paddocks of the nation’s race tracks.

Surprisingly, when Hardman first showed an interest in fabricating exhausts for classic bikes in his twenties, his granddad wasn’t keen; he worried it wouldn’t make him enough money. Even his father’s old friends try to dissuade him from the classic scene. “All my dad’s mates said, ‘You want to do [Japanese] bikes, they’re the next big thing; ’70s stuff is coming up, you wanna do two-strokes,’ but I just didn’t want to do ’em,” Hardman says. He stuck to his guns, though, and thankfully the classic motorcycle scene has grown in popularity in recent years—especially British bikes.

Hardman learned the craft beginning in 2008, and it wasn’t long before his granddad gave in and taught him the art of pipe bending. He’s become an expert in the field of exhaust pipes and it’s a fascinating sight to see him manipulate the steel pipes into precise, complex twists and turns using little more than a vise, torch (to heat and soften the steel) and his own bodyweight. He leans against the tubing, making fine adjustments.

Despite having been in the business for more than ten years and making a name for himself, Hardman’s still keen to push himself and learn new techniques. One process that I still can’t get my head around is hydroforming. He shows me a “megaphone” exhaust; it looks like a swollen pipe,  kind of like the expansion chamber on a two-stroke. To create this effect, Hardman welds two flat pieces of steel together and pumps water between them at high pressure (with a tap to let any air out) until the steel swells into a hollow cylinder. After knocking out any dents and polishing out the welds, the finish is seamless and the pipe looks more a piece of modern art than it does an exhaust.

Hardman believes in ensuring his work is faithful to the era and style of each of client’s bike. He point’s to a pre-war bike, looking as though it’s just rolled out of a museum. “That’s a 1929 Humber that the owner found in a shed. I’ve got that style now where I can make them a bit rough, so they fit in.”

“So they fit the patina?” I ask.

“Yeah, just by hand-making them, I know how to make them look handmade. Rather than just a bent piece of pipe.”

Hardman achieves this effect using techniques and tools that both his granddad and father would have used. “I’ll sandbend that,” he says pointing to the Humber’s exhaust sitting on his workbench, “and braze instead of TIG welding it. Everyone’s got a TIG welder now, so they can TIG weld absolutely everything. I’ll braze or gas weld, depends on what it is really. Different jobs for different things.”

A BSA Scrambler sits in the corner, looking as though it’s come straight out of a showroom 50 years ago. “That looks immaculate, that pipe does,” says Hardman. “It’s currently at the chromer’s. But still it has to look a little bit rough—to make it perfect it’s got to be imperfect. That’s what makes these look dead nice, they’re slightly imperfect.” It’s all part of the tailor-made patina that a craftsperson like Hardman is able to bring to the classic bike community.

As you’d expect from the classic motorcycle scene, a mix of styles and genres of bikes pass through the wooden doors of Rayson’s workshop, ranging from BSA scramblers to Seeley race bikes. Of all the classics he works on, what’s his favorite, you ask? “Road racers,” says Hardman, in his thick Lancashire accent. “Yeah, they’re just nice aren’t they—and you get to see them race afterwards. I like to watch the scrambler bikes race but it’s just not as competitive.’”

He expands on his admiration for the racers: “Whereas the road racers take it proper, proper seriously. It’s their lives, that’s all they do. It all gets proper serious in road racing.”

One of the most impressive and modern race bikes he’s worked on in recent years is the rare Norton Rotary. Hardman was asked to build an exhaust system for the Wiz Norton Racing team, which rider Josh Brookes would use to compete at the Isle of Man Classic TT. It was a dream commission.

With a grin on his face, he tells me how he leapt at the chance to fire up the unique sounding rotary in the alleyway outside the workshop. “It sounded like a Formula 1 car, I was like, ‘Honestly we might have to kill it because someone’s going to call the police!’ Just had it running for a few minutes—it was proper loud!”

For this talented exhaust fabricator, work is more a passion than a business. You sense the importance of family, the handing-down of traditional skills, and the enthusiasm for the motorcycling scene that, dare we say it, you do not get when dealing with off-the-shelf suppliers. “Character, that’s what it is—character. Bikes need a bit of soul.” And need people like Hardman to keep feeding that soul.

Via Hagerty UK

The post This third-generation exhaust fabricator is helping save Britain’s classic bikes appeared first on Hagerty Media.

You don’t have to travel too far back in time to reach an age when the Channel Tunnel was nothing more than an idea in the head of a boring engineer. It was only in 1987 that work commenced on tunneling from the British side, with France following in 1990. And it took until the late ’50s before the concept of the drive-on, drive-off car ferry was cracked, ending the sense of dread that drivers felt as they watched their car being hoisted aboard a boat and dropped into an open cargo hold.

Before either of these developments, the bright spark of the day was one Air Commodore Griffith Powell. “Taffy” to his friends and colleagues, Powell worked with the Air Service Department of the Canadian Pacific Railway and would be called to Montreal as Operations Controller of the Atlantic Ferry Organization (ATFERO) when the ferry consortiums had been taken over by the British Ministry of Aircraft Production.

When RAF Ferry Command took over from ATFERO, Taffy Powell was appointed Senior Air Officer to Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick Bowhill—a position he held until the end of World War II.

With the war effort over, in 1945 shareholders in the British Aviation Insurance Company established British Aviation Services with a view to taking care of all the technical needs of the aviation industry. Powell was appointed managing director, and soon they were masterminding projects for clients who had spotted the opportunity for private air services in remote parts of the world, or fixing general charter and goods transport for mining firms.

One of those mining firms asked BAS to establish an air fleet of its own, and in 1946 Silver City Airways was registered, spiriting good, hard-working folk between Britain and the mines of Australia.

Against this backdrop, Powell found it frustrating that whenever he wanted to take a break from work and indulge in one of his favorite pastimes—a touring holiday in France—having his Armstrong Siddeley Lancaster loaded aboard a boat for the cross-Channel journey was a time-consuming and, frankly, risk-ridden affair.

Not only that, crossing the Channel by boat was a three-hour trip, and if your sea legs didn’t get the better of you, the tedium of taking two hours to crawl through customs and immigration would.

The answer was staring Powell in the face: Why not load his car aboard one of the freighter versions of the Bristol 170 Freighter? It sported clamshell nose doors that would open like a blue whale’s mouth and swallow all manner of cargo. Two large cars could fit without a problem, with room for other goods as well as space for passenger seating.

On June 15, 1948, up, up, and away went the Bristol 170 Freighter with two cars aboard, its maiden test flight proving a success, hopping the 47 miles from Lympne in Kent to Le Touquet on the north French coast in around 20 minutes.

That July, the first paying passengers booked their place on the new air ferry, albeit on a charter basis. A mere 200 cars were flown back and forth over the season. When business resumed the next spring, it was as a scheduled service. The two Bristol 170s found themselves making eight return trips a day—moving 2700 cars and their passengers by the end of the season.

The two cars would be carried in the forward compartment of the Bristol 170 Freighters, loaded into the nose of the aircraft by being driven up a portable ramp. A separate compartment was set aside for passengers, and the cost was according to the size of the car—small, medium or large, at about £18, £22, and £27 respectively (adjusting for inflation, that’s about £659, £805, and £988 today—or approximately $861, $1052, and $1292).

By 1950, business was, er, flying. Silver City Airways shifted 4000 cars, 1000 motorcycles, and about 15,000 passengers without a single mishap. Soon, larger versions of the Bristol 170—the Superfreighter—would be pressed into duty, capable of comfortably carrying three cars at a time.

Grass airfields at Lympne gave way to venues like Lydd (its HQ) and at its peak, in 1960, the air ferry carried 90,000 vehicles and 220,000 passengers across the Channel, including celebrities of the day like actor David Niven, racing champion Stirling Moss, countless motor racing teams, and even the Queen’s Rolls-Royce. (Silver City’s PR man was John Webb, the motor racing and aviation enthusiast who went on to handle PR for Brands Hatch before becoming its Chief Executive. Which explains how there came to be a Silver City Airway Trophy handed out during Brands’ first ever Boxing Day race meeting.)

However, by 1962, Silver City Airlines touched down for the final time. Substantial losses meant its parent company, British Aviation Services, decided to bail out, selling Silver City to P&O, which restructured and rebranded its new acquisition.

Drinking a cup of tea in the café at Lydd Airport just last week, as I took in the surroundings and history, the appeal of the air ferry was easy to see. The crossing time was just 20 minutes, the environment was relatively exclusive—with no crowds and the right crowd, there were no curbs waiting to do damage to your prized motor car—or other cars packed in like sardines so that doors open against neighboring cars. Plus, I’d gladly take my chances with a light spot of turbulence than I would with a rising swell.

So what went wrong and why can’t we catch the air ferry today? Apparently the short-haul flights meant high running costs for the planes. There was competition, too, in the form of Channel Air Bridge, founded by Freddie Laker, which kept prices down. And then the ferry companies got their act together, designing ships and docks around the practical problem of loading of cars and goods vehicles.

Today you can wander into Lydd Airport, catch sight of a Coastguard helicopter and a pair of old Douglas DC-3 props as you drive past the hangars, and visit the flying club’s café, where the history of aviation line the walls. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll probably look at pictures of the planes of Silver City Airways being loaded with cars and think to yourself, “Now there’s an idea that could catch on in this day and age.”

Printed (with cultural edits) via Hagerty UK.

The post The rise and fall of Silver City Airways appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Its name once spoke of grandeur and exclusivity, but after 75 years all that remains of Bristol Cars is a collection of unfinished cars, spare parts and tooling, all gathering dust as liquidators prepare to sell off every last trace of the British car company. Yet all is not lost. In a twist, Bristol could be set to return as a manufacturer of luxury British cars fit for the electric age.

The sale of the Bristol Cars trademark was announced earlier this week, after the liquidators of Kamkorp Limited (Bristol’s parent company) appointed Wyles Hardy & Co to handle the sale of Kamkorp Autokraft Limited, holder of the brand and intellectual property rights—the trademark—of Bristol Cars Limited. The move completes the jigsaw puzzle of Bristol Cars’ demise.

Additional assets include the digital drawings and tooling, as well as the only working prototype, needed to build the 2016 Bullet sports car, the BMW (a nod to its roots) V-8-powered roadster that was created to mark 70 years of Bristol. And for fans of the storied marque, which began producing cars in 1945, a separate consignment is available featuring blueprint design drawings for historic Bristol models, and digital files for building the Bristol Fighter supercar.

David Fletcher of Wyles Hardy & Co, the appointed asset valuer and auctioneer, told Hagerty that there have been in the region of 80 serious expressions of interest in Bristol Cars and its assets. “They have come from all over the world,” said Fletcher, “and the seriously interested parties have suggested taking Bristol down the electric or hybrid route. It is a fascinating sale but a poignant one, as this is about the end of one of Britain’s best-known car makers.”

Bristol Cars and its five associated companies were wound up on 22 January, after facing financial pressure and winding up proceedings brought by HM Revenue & Customs. An appeal by now-former owner Kamkorp Limited, on February 28, was dismissed in England’s High Court.

After its appointment, David Fletcher and the team at Wyles Hardy & Co discovered many of the assets after investigating the company’s underground parking garage. It turned out to hold a treasure-trove of information about Bristol Cars and its past models, much of it stored in antique plan chests.

Car enthusiasts had been treated to a sneak peak behind the scenes of this sorry scene, after an explorer of abandoned buildings documented their visit and caught on camera many of the assets of Bristol Cars and its associated companies. In August, The Bearded Explorer, a video maker on YouTube and Instagram, took viewers on a tour of the headquarters and servicing facilities of Bristol Cars, which was relocated to Kamkorp Park in Windlesham, Surrey, in 2018:

During its tenure under Kamkorp Group, Bristol Cars was ultimately owned by Kamal Siddiqi, a U.K.-based Indian technology entrepreneur. The company had hoped to introduce range-extender technology to Bristol. However, it failed to type-approve the Bullet for sale.

Whether or not Bristol Cars will rise from the ashes remains to be seen. But in an age where brand equity is valued above blueprints, parts and tooling, the temptation to reinvent Bristol as a manufacturer of luxury British electric cars is clear to see—even if the way forward is littered by hidden hazards.

Via Hagerty U.K.

The post Bristol’s historic assets are revealed underground appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Most entrepreneurs who dabble in the de-mummification of long-dead car brands abide by an unwritten law: Every company that returns to life must specialize in high-end luxury vehicles with multi-million-dollar price tags and electric powertrains. England-based Alvis is an exception to that rule.

In its heyday, Alvis peddled some of the quickest, most innovative cars ever to turn a wheel on British pavement. Most notably, it offered front-wheel drive and a supercharged engine in the late 1920s. The company shut down unceremoniously in 1967, and Alan Stote resurrected it to make the same cars the brand offered when it was alive. He’s using decades-old blueprints and, when possible, original parts.

“Alvis was great at record-keeping. It had a very large drawing office. For every car it made, it produced a detailed sheet of every component that went into it. We have all of these in our archives,” Stote tells me, his voice brimming with pride. He has access to 20,000 original drawings, plus a huge stock of neatly-organized original parts built as spares decades ago and never used. In 2012, he saw this mass of heritage as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to build a limited number of continuation cars.

Customers can choose whether to begin a build with a donor car (either one they already own or one supplied by Alvis) or to start from scratch. Existing vehicles keep their original registration date; new builds are titled in the year they’re finished. From there, enthusiasts have many à la carte options to choose from, including different body styles, paint colors, and upholstery types. Some models are recreations of prewar cars, like the Vanden Plas, while others are rooted in the 1960s, like the Graber.

Alvis needed to make a few concessions in the name of safety and emissions regulations. Its modern-day builds gain a collapsible steering column, seat belts, disc brakes, and fuel injection, though fitting the last feature didn’t require altering the engine. It was simply a matter of designing the system. “When we finish the car, you can’t really distinguish any of those features,” Stote points out. The customization largely ends there; customers can’t request a Bertelli coupe powered by a 1000-horsepower Hellephant engine, though Alvis is open to the idea of fitting modern creature comforts like air conditioning.

Recreations of cars made before WWII use a 4.4-liter straight-six; newer models are fitted with a 3.0-liter straight-six. Both engines are emissions-compliant in the United Kingdom.

The amount of original parts used in each build depends on the car. Broadly speaking, the older the car is, the less likely Alvis is to have parts for it. “In the 1960s, there weren’t many components left in stock that would have fitted cars from the 1920s and the 1930s,” Stote explains, adding that decades of supplying parts to Alvis owners around the world also depleted the supply. Parts that fit cars designed in the 1960s are easier to come by. “There are substantial quantities of post-war parts for the three-liter cars.”

The firm doesn’t have a foundry, so it relies on outside companies to manufacture parts when needed. It makes the bodies in-house, however. That arrangement is the exact opposite of how Alvis once operated; it used to make its own mechanical parts and source bodies from coachbuilders in England and abroad. Every car is hand-assembled from start to finish, a process that requires up to 5000 hours of labor and can take up to two years depending on the body selected and the options added by the buyer. Customers are invited to participate in the building process by dropping by the workshop to check on their car-to-be.

Alvis only builds to order; it doesn’t want to amass an inventory of unsold cars. It’s currently working on its seventh and eighth continuation cars, and it has three additional orders to fill after it finishes them, which is enough work to see it through 2023. Pricing starts at about 250,000 British pounds, a sum that converts to approximately $312,000, but the final figure varies greatly depending on the configuration.

At this rate, it will take some time before Alvis runs out of original parts. When it does, engineers will dive into its vast archives, find the blueprint that corresponds to the missing component, and build it. Stote is happy with the company’s current two-chassis range, and he’s not planning on following the path blazed by Morgan, which used its illustrious heritage as a foundation on which to build a full range of cars.

“There’s no need to design our own idea of an Alvis. Numerous coachbuilders made bodies for Alvis over the years, so there’s a wide catalog to choose from. That’s the legacy it left us,” Stote concludes.

It currently distributes cars in Europe and in Asia. The American market is on its radar, too, but Alvis first needs to find and train a local agent capable of handling distribution and aftersales support.

The post After 45 years, Alvis is recreating its cars using original blueprints appeared first on Hagerty Media.

A quarter-century ago, Lotus changed the way cars were built. Particular sorts of cars, hand-built cars, and those produced in low numbers, but all the same, change things the Elise most certainly did. It also changed the way some drivers viewed sports cars of the modern era, making many question what’s important when we get behind the wheel.

The Elise is a small two-seater sports car, rear-engined and rear-driven, which tapped into an enthusiastic driver market ill-served by mainstream carmakers. In doing so it saved the bacon of the famous marque first founded in 1948 by Colin Chapman.

See how many of these 25 facts you know about the remarkable little Elise.

1. Elise is a real person

The car was going to be called the 111 (pronounced One Eleven), which was the Lotus type number and also harked back to the 1956 Lotus Eleven and the 1962 Lotus 23. Patrick Peal, Lotus’ head of communications had even purchased a special number plate, M111 LCL, to be used on a disguised prototype. At the last minute, Romano Artioli, Lotus chairman decided to change the name to Elise after his granddaughter, which caused a flurry of name registration and reprinting of launch material.

In spite of that, however, Peal reckons Elise was a better name:  “In hindsight, Mr. Artioli was right. Elise was the perfect name for the car, shared with a playful little girl—his granddaughter Elisa—who helped launch the car to the world.”

2. A car made out of double-glazed windows?

There had been aluminum cars before, some even using extruded aluminum sections in their makeup. Audi’s space-framed A8 in 1994, for example, used a mix of sheet, cast and extruded sections glued, riveted and welded together, but Elise was the first car to use a similar technology to that used in extruded aluminum double glazing windows, bonded together. Developed by Lotus together with Ciba Polymers of Switzerland and Hydro Aluminium, of Denmark, the pioneering car building technology has been sold and licensed to a number of other car makers over the years.

3. K is for K-series

The Elise’s power unit, Rover’s remarkable little K-series engine, was the unit that Margaret Thatcher couldn’t kill. The PM’s strategy to sell Rover meant all new projects were canned and the development team took home the prototype K-series units and drawings to hide them in their sheds until the coast was clear and work could continue. Its through-bolted configuration and low-pressure sand casting construction meant the K-series got round a number of inherent problems of aluminum engines. It was a complicated engine though, demanding high standards of production, maintenance and precision of its bought-in components which weren’t always present, though these days there are solutions to the notoriously vulnerable head gaskets. Lotus even helped improve the unit when Nanjing Motors bought the rights to the K-series in 2005.

4. Sintered brakes

To keep the Elise’s weight down, the first cars were built with lightweight Metal Matrix Composite (MMC) brakes, made by the U.S-based Lanxide Corp from special silicon-carbide sintered aluminum. These rotors reduced the unsprung weight and rotating masses of the car and helped keep the curb weight down to just 725 kg (1598 pounds). Sadly, later cars were fitted with conventional brake discs to reduce costs and Lanxide went bust.

5. Design and Engineering

The first Elise was designed by Julian Thomson, who is now Jaguar’s design head and engineered by Richard Rackham, with ride and handling polish added by Lotus’s legendary team, headed at that time by the towering talents of Roger Becker.

6. Just add lightness

Despite what you might have read, “simplicate and add more lightness” is not a  Colin Chapman maxim. The quote actually came from Gordon Hooton, a designer who worked with Ford design executive William Stout. Nevertheless, Chapman was perhaps the greatest exponent of the idea, although some think he carried it a bit too far with Lotus’s famously flimsy hood design and, in some older models, a lack of front-impact safety.

7. The early launch

The original plan was to unveil the Elise at the London Motorfair in the middle of October 1995. Artioli, however, decided that he wanted the little car launched at the Frankfurt Show in German one month earlier. It meant that the official pictures had to be taken quickly and the car was spirited into a studio north of Norwich. The Frankfurt Show was a metallic green with a tan interior and the studio background was painted mustard yellow to honor the Lotus grand prix team colors as well as the mustard plants, which are a speciality of Norfolk.

8. Do more with less

In the Series 1 Elise, the 1796cc four-cylinder K-series produced just 118 hp and 122 lb-ft and was mated to a five-speed gearbox. Yet its 1598-pound weight meant there was a lot less to push along, with the result that the little car would accelerate from 0-62 mph in just 5.8 seconds, which in 1995 was brain-frazzlingly fast. Top speed was claimed to be 126 mph.

9. The specials

By 1999 Lotus had squeezed some more power out of the K-series for the 111S, which featured variable valve timing that resulted in 143 hp and a close-ratio gearbox. The 111S also had a number of changes to trim and specification, along with special wheels and wheel-arch extensions. Many of the Elise aficionados consider these cars some of the finest-ever Elise models. There was also a roofless limited-edition special called the 340R launched in 2000, which weighed 701 kg (1545 pounds) and had its K-series engine pushed to 177 hp.

10. Clamshells

Lotus looked at cladding the first Elise with aluminum coachwork, but the press tools would have been hideously expensive. Instead the car was constructed of two big clamshell glassfiber-composite moldings; one front one rear, which are produced with a patented Lotus VARI (vacuum-assisted resin injection) process. One hefty bird strike could scrap an entire front end, though, and some unlucky owners were left waiting for a new clamshell after such an event.

11. Tires

Pirelli P-Zero tires were specified for the original S1 Elise; narrow at the front (185/55/15) and bigger and wider at the back (225/45/16), which meant you couldn’t carry a spare (not that there was room). They were OK, but they let go pretty quickly (see point 12), especially in the wet. In a road and test track evaluation by a senior Lotus road tester, which can be found on the internet, the Pirellis were pitted against a set of Yokahama Advan Neova LTS tires slightly wider at the front (195/50/15), but the same size as the Pirellis at the rear, and a Bridgestone SO2 of similar dimensions. The Yoko’s walked it and were later specified as standard equipment for the S1 when Pirelli stopped making the exact size and compound of P-Zero.

12. Handle with care

While early Elise models wowed owners and the press with their unassisted pin-sharp steering, intuitive-feeling brakes and superlative handling, you needed talent, speed and accuracy to catch a slide in an Elise and many didn’t. Experts like Rhoddy Harvey-Bailey soon came up with a series of suspension modifications which calmed the Elise’s spite and continue to do so.

13. Did the Elise save Lotus?

Certainly Lotus wasn’t exactly flush when it launched the Elise. Years of sales that barely slipped into four figures hadn’t helped, nor had a migration of clients from the engineering business concerned about possibly porous Chinese walls between Lotus and its owner General Motors. Developing the extruded aluminum platform for the Elise wasn’t cheap, there were concerns that it would turn out to be another Elan (see below) and it was expensive to build, but by its second year on sale, Lotus sold over 3000 Elise models and between 1996 and 2000, Lotus sold over 10,000 S1 Elises, which made it the best-selling Lotus ever.

14. What about the Elan M100?

Developing an innovative and undoubtedly meretricious front-drive sports car to go up against Mazda’s MX-5 is a bit like invading Russia in the winter. The rear-driven, beautifully engineered and staggeringly reliable MX-5 (Miata) has since gone on to become the world’s best-selling sports car. Ironically, it was developed with the original Sixties Lotus Elan in mind. Lotus’s Elan M100 (1989–1995), however, was a different beast. As well as driving the front wheels, it had a special “raft” front suspension, used an Isuzu 1.6-liter turbo drivetrain and was topped off with Peter Stevens’ futuristic body design. Sales were slow and Lotus only sold the Elan officially for six years, though it later sold the rights to Kia, which produced a Kia Elan between 1996 and 1999. The Elan’s lack of success also presaged General Motors selling Lotus to Romano Artioli.

15. Series 2 Elise

The S1 Elise wouldn’t pass European crash requirements after the 2000 model production year, so Lotus needed to redesign the chassis and produce a second-gen model. General Motors offered to fund part of the development in return for allowing the company to use the chassis as a base for its own sports car project.

16. Toyota connection

Lotus has had a long relationship with Toyota—it even designed and built a 1000-hp racing engine for Toyota which never saw competition. A Toyota twin-camshaft engine for Elise 111R arrived in 2004, and would later be supercharged, but Rover K-series engines continued to be used in some models alongside the Toyota unit all the way to the end of the decade.

17. Vauxhall/Opel connection

As part of the co-funding deal for the Series II Elise, General Motors was allowed access to the Elise’s bonded aluminum chassis technology. The first result was the Vauxhall VX220 and Opel Speedster, developed mostly by Lotus and built at an expanded production facility at Hethel in Norfolk. The VX220 used a 220-hp, 2.2-liter four-cylinder Ecotec engine from the Vauxhall Astra (though a two-liter turbo engine was later offered) with coachwork designed by Niels Loeb and Martin Smith. It was sold between 2000 and 2005 and, while it was feted by the press, it was not as good to drive as the Elise and was not considered a particularly profitable project for GM.

18. Lotus Exige

The Exige was originally a harder, coupé version of the Elise launched in 2000, with a VHPD-tuned (Very High Performance Derivative) Rover K-series delivering 177 hp and 190 hp in track tune. Performance was a claimed top speed of 136 mph with 0-62 mph in 4.9 seconds. It has continued in production through various track- and race-based specials and three separate series. It is also the only Elise-based car to use a V-6 engine.

19. Lotus 2-Eleven

The 2-Eleven was an open-top roadster version of the Elise with a supercharged 1.8 Toyota engine, launched in 2007 and out of production in 2011. It was intended principally as a track-day car. Weighing just 670 kg (1477 pounds), its 252-hp/178 lb-ft engine could slingshot the car from 0-60 mph in 3.8sec and onto to a top speed of 150 mph.

20. Tesla connection

The Elise formed the basis for the first Muskmobile, the Tesla Roadster. In fact early assembly of this lithium-ion battery-powered Elise lookalike was at the Lotus factory at Hethel. Produced between 2008 and 2012, this first Tesla used a number of different batteries up to 288 hp/295 lb-ft. While Tesla wanted to create a two-speed transmission for the car, development was problematic and it settled with a single-speed fixed-gear Borg Warner. The Tesla wasn’t the first Elise BEV, however; between 1998 and 2003 Lotus collaborated with Zytek to produce a nickel-cadmium battery-powered Elise.

21. Elise Series III

Launched in February 2010, the Series III was essentially a facelifted gen-two Elise with new single headlamp units. There was a 1.6-liter version for sale in Europe, but the base model in the U.K. had a 1.8-liter Toyota unit with a Magnuson supercharger which delivered 217 hp.

22. You can now import a Lotus Elise into America

The Series II Elise was imported to the U.S., but there was no chance of getting the S1 through the Byzantine and myriad regulations and forms for imports to the States. Since 25 years has now elapsed, however, the Department of Transportation gives owners exemption from (most) of these.

23. Never a cheap car

At £18,950 in 1996, the Bank of England inflation calculator shows that the equivalent value in 2019 would be £35,839.53. These days the cheapest Elise will set you back £44,640.

24. The ill-fated GT1 race car

Lotus needed a replacement for the elderly Esprit GT1 and turned to the Elise as a platform to build on. Compared with factory teams from Mercedes and Porsche, Lotus was underfunded and lacked the resource to make much of a dent in the FIA GT series. Its own V-8, from the Esprit, and a Chevrolet lump, were used. Reliability was not a strong point.

25. Elise replacement?

We’re still waiting for definitive news on this, although a new Evora-based car is expected from Lotus before we see the full range of all-new cars based around a similarly designed new chassis floorpan in 2022 or 2023.

Insiders are expressing concern, however, that under new owner Geely, development of these new cars has been slow. A quarter of a century on from my driving out of Hethel in one of the first Elise models for a test, the model remains on sale.

Via Hagerty UK

The post 25 Elise facts to honor a quarter-century of Lotus’ brilliant corner carver appeared first on Hagerty Media.

When I was young, my dad traded our four-passenger Singer for a 1954 Jaguar XK120. The XK120 remained with us until the late-1960s, but by then, it was too late—I had become a car person.

I moved to San Diego in 1976, and a few years later, I spotted an odd-looking car with a windshield in the trunk, which was quite strange. A closer look revealed folded seats in there, too! Turns out the car was a 1947 Triumph 1800 roadster that was owned by a local who, at one time, was a member of the San Diego Triumph Roadster Club. It found its way to an owner in Calexico, California, who then stored it in my friend’s warehouse. Little did I know that very car would someday be mine.

The Triumph roadster was designed in the closing days of World War II. Standard Motor Company bought Triumph in 1944, and managing director Sir John Black wanted a sports car to take on Jaguar, for which SMC had supplied engines before the war. The roadsters were built on an ash frame, with an aluminum bonnet and boot, and steel fenders. Production ran from 1946 to 1949, first as the 1800 model and then as the 2000.

The engine was a variant of Standard’s 1.5-liter four-cylinder side-valve design, which had been converted to overhead valves by Harry Weslake and built by Standard exclusively for SS-Jaguar before WWII. The Triumph version differed from the Jaguar version in having a 6.7:1 compression ratio (versus Jaguar’s 7.6:1) and a downdraft Solex carburetor instead of the Jaguar’s side-draft SU. It was mated to a four-speed on the column with synchromesh on the top three ratios.

With its rear windscreen, the 1800 roadster is probably the world’s smallest dual-cowl phaeton. It actually looks as if it were designed by two different people, because the longer front section doesn’t seem to flow with the very squat rear. A journalist old enough to remember the prewar Dolomite roadster that had inspired the 1800 felt that the elegant proportions of the earlier model had been abandoned in favor of a committee-based compromise, “a plump Christmas turkey to set against that dainty peacock.”

By 2014, I was on the hunt for a project. After some investigation and a choice between this car and two other Triumph 1800 roadsters, I decided to buy it and restore it to my own tastes. I spent the next four years sourcing hard-to-find components, correcting previous errors, fabricating parts, and rebuilding the car with help from many craftsmen around San Diego.

During the restoration, I joined the Triumph Club in England and was able to sell some of the parts I’d fabricated, including wiper knobs and stainless dash escutcheons, windshield wiper stops, rear window frames, and custom billet “Dickey Steps” for access to the rear jump seat. I gave it a two-tone paint job to help balance the proportions, and for more oomph, I installed a 2138-cc TR4A engine with dual Stromberg carburetors and a Ford 8-inch rear end. I also replaced the column- shift manual with a four-speed floor shifter, and I added Pertronix ignition and an electric radiator fan.

The 1800 roadster is the Welsh corgi of Triumphs—a little car in a big-car body. It is also a pleasure to cruise in, and it’s always a conversation starter at shows.

The post This 1947 Triumph 1800 roadster is meticulously restored—and regularly enjoyed appeared first on Hagerty Media.

We are all very ready for 2021 to arrive—mostly, because that means 2020 will be behind us, but also because there are some automotive milestones to celebrate next year. For example, 2021 is the Jaguar E-Type’s 60th birthday, so you can be sure there will be plenty of fanfare for “the most beautiful car in the world” (Enzo Ferrari’s words, not mine). Want to get an early start on the celebratory action? Check out this Jag, up for auction next month. A factory development and press car as well as the tenth production E-Type coupe built, chassis number 860010 crosses the block on October 31 at the RM Sotheby’s London auction.

The E-Type had a glorious debut in March, 1961. A barely-finished gunmetal grey fixed-head coupe, registered as 9600 HP, was driven at high speed to Switzerland and arrived just in the nick of time for that year’s Geneva Motor Show. Demand for test drives was so high that a green roadster, registered as 77 RW, was rushed 600 miles to Geneva with factory driver Norman Dewis at the wheel.

The curvaceous Jaguars stole the show, and over the coming months the automotive press waxed lyrical about the new cat from Coventry. Autosport called it “one of the quietest and most flexible cars on the market, capable of whispering along in top gear at 10 mph or leaping into its 150 mph stride on the brief depression of a pedal,” and praised its “sheer beauty of line which easily beats the Italians at their own particular game.” Autocar got its best recorded performance figures to date out of the E-Type and said it delivered “what drivers have so long asked for, namely, sports-racing-car performance and handling, combined with docility, gentle suspension and the appointments of a town car.” On our side of the pond, Road & Track noted that it “comes up to, and exceeds, all our expectations.”

The 77 RW roadster is currently in the Jaguar Daimler Heritage Trust collection, and 9600 HP became the subject of a 2002 book called The Most Famous Car in the World. Jaguar is also building six replicas of the Geneva Motor Show pair to celebrate the E-Type’s 60th.

The car up for grabs in London next month may not have been the literal showstopper that its two siblings were, but the Opalescent Dark Green fixed-head coupe still played a huge part in the E-Type’s story. Stamped chassis no. 860010 and registered as 6162 RW, it’s the tenth production E-Type coupe. That early build date alone is enough to make it noteworthy, but what really sets this Jag apart is that it was also an early press car and a factory development car.

Jaguar used this car, registered 6162 RW, for high-speed and suspension testing, making some interior changes in the process. Close examination reveals a lower floor on the driver’s side and repositioned pedals (early “flat floor” E-Types have notoriously cramped footwells), revised ventilation, altered seats, and a few other minor details. The changes you can’t see included new piston rings, an aluminum oil pan, and a 3.07:1 axle ratio (compared to 3.31 in the standard car).

Magazine features for 6162 RW included Italy’s Quattroruote, Germany’s Auto Motor und Sport, and Britain’s Motoring News. During his test for the European magazines at Monza, famous racing driver/journalist Paul Frère hit 256 km/h (159 mph). Motoring News topped 160 mph in the car. It then served as a press car during the 1962 Tour de France, and by 1963 the car was in private hands. It got a full multi-year restoration in the early 2010s and hasn’t been shown publicly since Salon Privé in 2018.

Will this be a world record E-Type? Probably not. Genuine Lightweights have sold well into the millions in recent years. It will, however, probably be the most expensive E-Type we’ve seen in quite some time. Two very early, very rare (Jag built about 20) U.S. market flat-floor E-Type coupes have sold in the past couple of years, one for $720,000 and one for $626,500. This example’s stellar history and unique factory features should see it to at least that much.

Like this article? Check out Hagerty Insider, our e-magazine devoted to tracking trends in the collector car market.

The post This 1961 Jaguar E-Type hides unique factory upgrades and a fascinating history appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Set your clock back to 1967 for a moment. Back when MG sports cars still roamed the earth. It was before the dark days of British Leyland, but MG was still part of the British Motor Corporation (BMC), which also owned Austin, Morris, and others. Thanks to corporate cost-cutting and U.S. safety regulations that year, MG found itself with the unenviable task of building a replacement for the revered Austin-Healey 3000. Remember, the Healey was a quintessential classic English roadster—a car almost impossible to dislike. It was a tough act to follow, and MG didn’t have a lot of resources at its disposal. Imagine showing up to an open mic night and realizing you’re up after Dave Chapelle.

MG’s answer was essentially a softer six-cylinder version of the MGB, called the MGC. Unlike the body-on-frame Healey the MGC could meet American safety rules, but it failed to live up to expectations, being neither sporty enough nor distinctive enough to make an impression. A swing and a miss, the MGC is as much a footnote in the history of the ever-popular MGB as it is a model in its own right, but for those in the know it’s an attractive, rare vintage cruiser that doesn’t break the bank.

To turn a B into a C, the chaps at Abingdon swapped out the B-Series 1.8-liter four-cylinder and wedged in a C-Series 2912-cc straight-six from the Austin 3-Litre saloon, coupled to either an all-synchromesh four-speed or three-speed automatic. To make the longer engine fit, they replaced the MGB’s coil spring suspension with torsion bars. They also had to position the larger radiator further forward in the engine bay, which necessitated a massive bulge in the hood, trimmed by a chrome strip across the front. Aside from badges and 15-inch wheels (up from 14 in the B), that bulge is the only thing distinguishing the MGC from its four-cylinder cousin.

The six in the MGC was good for 145 horsepower, 50 percent more than the MGB’s 95 horses, and 170 lb-ft of torque. Top speed jumped to 120, and a 3.70 final drive made for relaxed highway trips, especially with the optional overdrive. But that extra grunt didn’t come for free, and the engine was far from perfect, at least in a performance car. While rugged and quite smooth thanks to its seven-bearing crankshaft, the C-Series was lazy and “reluctant to rev,” as Autocar put it in a period review. It was also heavy, with the MGC coming in at about 400 pounds more than the B.

More mediocre reviews followed the C’s big debut at the Earls Court Motor Show in October 1967, with Autocar also noting that “somewhere in the large BMC complex it has lost the ‘Abingdon touch.’” The C developed a reputation for understeer (in part thanks to early press cars having low tire pressure) and critics called out its high price. At $3350 in 1968 it wasn’t exactly expensive (an E-Type Jaguar cost over five grand), but it was pricier than other cars in its class despite looking almost exactly like the everyman MGB. You often only get one first impression in the car business. With the Big Healey leaving big shoes to fill, the MGC—compromises and all—had a hard time right from the beginning.

Not all the press was bad. Prince Charles may be an eco-warrior now, but back in his college days his first car was a blue MGC GT. And despite the C’s softer nature compared to the livelier MGB, a special lightweight MGC coupe also finished tenth at Sebring in 1968. Another finished sixth at the 84-hour Marthon de la Route at the Nürburgring.

Even so, a royal endorsement and some decent race results were never going to save the MGC. Most reviews were lackluster and the price was too high, so not enough people were buying one. MG also now came under the corporate yoke of British Leyland (BL), after the merger of British Motor Holdings (the successor to BMC) and Leyland Motors. After the merger, Triumph was no longer an external rival but a stablemate, and Triumph had two straight-six two-seaters of its own. The TR6 roadster and GT6 coupe were sportier and considerably cheaper than the MGC. BL generally favored Triumph over MG, anyway, so rather than develop the C and turn it into the car it should’ve been, BL gave it the axe. It quietly disappeared after 1969. The cheap and cheerful MGB, meanwhile, soldiered on for another decade. According to Hagerty insurance data, it’s the most popular classic British car in the country.

The final tally was about 9000 MGCs sold worldwide, with U.S. sales split between about 2500 roadsters and 1800 GTs (coupes). A major flop when you consider that MG sold over half a million MGBs and nearly 225,000 Midgets. And, being a flop is something that will always stick with MGCs, but over half a century later they have their fans and they are indeed collectible. They’re not highly coveted dream cars, but not cheap, either. Prices vary depending on condition, as they do for many British cars, and the gap between flawed cars and great ones is wide.

Like MGBs, Cs haven’t moved much in value recently. Although they’ve gained about 35 percent over the past decade, they’re down 3-4 percent from this time in 2015. For roadsters, MGC values range from $7300 for a rough car in #4 (Fair) condition to $49,500 for a car in #1 (Concours) condition. Condition #3 (Good) drivers can be had in the mid-teens, while solid restorations in #2 (Excellent) condition carry a value of $32,600. This is a little less than twice the value of the equivalent 1968-69 MGB Mk II, but also between half and a third the value of a 1967 Austin-Healey 3000.

Coupes, naturally, are a little cheaper. MGC GTs range from $6100 in #4 condition to $34,400 in #1 condition, with most cars (#3 and #2 condition) falling in the low teens to low-20s range. For all MGCs, the optional overdrive for the four-speed is a big plus but the three-speed automatic, a more popular option than you might think, commands a significant discount. The most anyone has paid publicly for an MGC was €140,000 (about $181,000 at the time), but that was a one-of-six factory-built lightweight race car.

As for driving an MGC, the grumbles about understeer are largely overblown (especially on modern radial tires), and in most situations you’ll never be pushing hard enough to find out, anyway. It is decidedly less lively than an MGB, both in terms of handling and picking up revs, but it does have a better ride. The C’s extra power and torque also allow it to cruise at highway speeds or more all day long. That’s when a B will run out of breath and start beckoning for the backroads.

If you don’t want the tradeoffs of an MGC (namely, sportiness and fun traded for that extra power), but still want a faster MGB, there is another avenue: the Rover V-8. Technically, MG did build a V-8-powered MGB in the ‘70s. MG never sold it in America officially, but plopping a Rover V-8 into an MGB is a common, straightforward, and affordable upgrade. You could probably do the swap yourself for less than the value difference between a B and a C. Plus, because the Rover V-8 is compact and aluminum (it actually weighs less than the B’s four-cylinder), it doesn’t change the car’s balance or character.

Imperfect but interesting, the MGC perhaps never got the chance it deserved. So what if it never lived up to the Healey that came before it? Today, it’s a much rarer, much more affordable classic that still looks great, and is still ideal for both tours and longer, more relaxed drives.

Like this article? Check out Hagerty Insider, our e-magazine devoted to tracking trends in the collector car market.

The post The 1968–69 MG MGC had size 3000 shoes to fill appeared first on Hagerty Media.

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.

The post It’s Britain vs Italy in the Concours Virtual appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The 1992 McLaren F1 was something that world had never seen before. Until Gordon Murray delivered the new T.50—revealed in detail here—it’s something we never expected to see again. It was a car made completely without compromise, and perhaps that’s why it is now one of the most sought-after cars in the world.

The F1 story began when Murray’s flight back from the 1988 Italian Grand Prix was delayed. He sketched his first ideas for a high-performance three-seater and persuaded Ron Dennis and the management team to build the finest road car yet created.

From its world-first carbon-fiber-tub chassis, which took 3000 man-hours to make, to its titanium subframe and magnesium alloy wheels, the F1 was designed to be as light as possible. Even the toolkit was titanium, to save weight.

Its bespoke 620-hp, 6.1-liter V-12 engine was developed by Paul Rosche and his team at BMW Motorsport. It had the highest specific output of its day to give the F1 a top speed of over 230 mph. Such was the heat output from this mighty motor that McLaren lined the engine bay with the best heat-reflective material available: pure gold.

The F1 was sculpted by designer Peter Stevens to cleave through the air and yet remain stable at any speed without the need for ungainly wings, with the airbrake only popping up when necessary. Its unique one-plus-two seating arrangement put the driver center stage, while still giving passengers sufficient space.

With a manual gearbox, unassisted steering and brakes, and a naturally aspirated engine, the F1 offered the most pure, undiluted driving experience.

Onboard diagnostics fed back data to the factory so every single one of the 64 road cars made could be monitored for performance. If a customer had a problem McLaren would fly out a technician to fix it. Or there were eight  official service centers worldwide.

Money was no object when the car was developed and, despite the F1 costing £540,000 ($815,000) new, McLaren didn’t profit from the road car program. But owners certainly did.

For those willing to play the long game, seldom has a car proved to be such a wise investment. F1s were changing hands for just over the original asking price until 2006, but by 2008 prices had trebled and the F1 was valued at £1.5 million ($2.78 million).

Since then there’s been a seemingly exponential rise in values. By 2014 you’d need over £5 million ($8.24 million) to get behind the wheel. A year later Rowan Atkinson sold his F1 for $12.2 million, despite crashing it twice and making possibly the world’s biggest insurance claim.

Even that looks like a bargain today. In 2017 s/n 44 sold at Bonham’s Quail Lodge Auction for $15.6 million, and just last August s/n 018—a “base” model converted to LM specification—set the record for most expensive McLaren sold at auction with a hammer price of $19.805 million. The Hagerty Price Guide now values the cars at $21 million in top Concours condition.

It’s hard to imagine any other investment of any kind offering such an amazing return over 20 years, let alone one that could offer as many thrills to its owner. Now the world will have to wait and see if Murray is able to repeat the party trick all over again and create both the greatest driver’s car available, in the guise of the new T.50, and one of the most rewarding investment devices money can buy.

The post How the McLaren F1 became the ultimate investment appeared first on Hagerty Media.

You probably know ex-RAF officer John Haynes (1938-2019) as the man behind the popular repair workshop motor manuals. He once said that his book publishing was very good to him, and that Haynes International Motor Museum was his way of giving something back. (The museum is an educational trust.) Opened in 1985 under the direction of Richard Noble, who is known for breaking the land speed record in 1983 at a velocity of 633.468 mph, the Haynes International Motor Museum is located the village of Sparkford in the heart of rural Somerset, U.K. It is a living and working environment with over 400 superb cars, bikes, and motoring memorabilia from around the world in collection displayed in 19 individual exhibitions. Staff call it a “Museum in Motion.”

Of these exhibitions, the most famous is “The Red Room,” displaying more than 40 red sports cars from around the world. Most vehicles are owned by the museum but it accepts donations and long-term loans for the collections.

As you enter the sea of red steel you are bathed in a crimson hue of royalty. “The Red Room exhibition began when museum founder John Haynes realized the growing collection of sports cars in the museum were primarily in red, a color he felt expressed the passion, dynamics and soul of a sporting vehicle,” says museum curator Chris Marsh. “What began as an instinctive selection process became a key gallery within the museum.”

The Red Room is stocked with cars in varying shades of striking and passionate red, which the museum says helps you focus on the shape of each car instead of just the paint. The whole concept of the room is a kind of cleaver to your vision, with the red so overwhelming that it disguises the cars in such a way that you are forced to walk each row to identify the different models.

Among the collection of cars in The Red Room when I visited the museum a number of years ago is the all-aluminum 1965 AC Shelby Cobra (above). It’s still on display in the new building that was completed in 2014 with increased exhibition space, a new frontage and conference facilities, a new restaurant, improved test track, and a children’s playground. This car was John Haynes’ favorite sports car and is now presented proudly in the foyer of the museum.

Some of the other cars on display and leading the red pack is the striking ’95 Jaguar XKSS replica built by L&R Roadsters. The car was based on a “67 Jaguar 3.8 type saloon and incorporates real pieces of Jaguar engineering. The XKSS was a road going version of the ‘50s racer the D-type; you can find the ex-Steve McQueen XKSS on display at the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles, California.

Want more red? A 1963 Alfa Romeo 2600 Spider and the 1966 Lancia Flavia are on display in The Red Room, too. The Alfa Spider was basically an upgrade for the old 2.0-liter cars, and only 2255 were produced. A big high-revving six-cylinder twin-cam of cast aluminum block and head power the car. The Lancias were renamed after Roman roads throughout Italy, built by Carrozzeria Vignale, and had rear-facing red lights on the door which illuminated as they were opened.

The first Haynes owner’s workshop manual came together in 1965, when Haynes helped an RAF friend rebuild an Austin Healey “Frogeye” Sprite. Haynes completely stripped and reassembled it, photographing the complete procedure and creating the first Haynes manual, which was published to great success in 1966. The example below in The Red Room is a 1959 Sprite; in concept it is based on the Austin A35/Morris Minor parts and semi-monocoque chassis-less body. In U.S. it was known as the “Bugeye.”

A 1956 AC Ace Bristol is a British open-two-seater sports car was produced according to the design of John Tojeiro. It had a lightweight tubular chassis with fully independent suspension, with a number of different engines that was fitted during the production. This beautiful example houses a 2.2-liter Bristol engine and is regularly maintained to keep it fresh. The Ace was a key foundational point for Carroll Shelby’s famous Cobra.

A very rare red racer is the 1951 Turner 196, established by Welsh engineer Jack Turner. About 670 cars were produced and were also available in kit form, with the prototype housing a rear mounted Hillman IMP engine. This Turner is one of the earliest, rarest, and looked like the Ferrari 166 Barchetta—with a much cheaper cost of entry.

The color of passion is fitting for the 1969 Marcos in the collection, powered by a 3.0-liter Volvo straight-six for the American market in order to pass exhaust emissions regulations. Jem Marsh and Frank Costin founded Marcos in Bedfordshire, England in 1959. While Costin worked on the De Havilland Mosquito fighter-bombers he got the idea to build a chassis out of marine plywood with an outer shell of glass-reinforced plastic.

In early 1960s, the Daimler SP250 “Dart”—built on a Triumph TR3 chassis and powered by an Edward Turner 2.5 liter V-8 engine and three-speed auto—went into service for London’s Metropolitan Police. The Dart was meant to keep up with cafe racer motorcycles and “encourage courtesy on the roads,” but the program ended allegedly because the policemen were have way too much fun.

Some of the more recently added red performance cars in the new building now include a 1968 Rochdale Olympic coupé of mainly glass-fiber body produced between 1959 and 1973, a 1971 Gilbern Invader Estate powered by a Zodiac 3.0-liter V-6 engine with an overdrive gearbox as standard and an automatic gearbox option, and a 1970 Ginetta G15 which was produced from 1968 to 1974 and initially available only in kit form. (Later, some factory built examples were available.) The powertrain was a rear-mounted 875-cc Coventry Climax 14 linked to a four-speed manual with independent coil springs at the front and rear.

Finally, for a taste of American flavor, the 1966 Ford Mustang (200 hp) is a timeless symbol of the 1960s.

Aside from the Red Room, the Hall of Motorsports is of particular interest; the Hall was opened a number of years ago by the late Sir Stirling Moss, a true British icon said that it “represents motoring through the ages from all over the world, concentrating not just on the great and glorious but also the popular and simple,” according to the museum catalogue.

The Haynes International Motor Museum remains closed to the public until further notice to prevent the spread of COVID-19. The Museum now plans to possibly reopen in mid-October 2020 although the Workshop and Restoration Centre remains open to customers.

The post The Red Room is the crimson jewel of the Haynes International Motor Museum appeared first on Hagerty Media.

In 1993, the now-defunct U.K. magazine Fast Lane was feeling pretty pleased with itself. “We Beat the World” read one of the headlines on the front cover of its May edition.

Beat the world it did. On Monday, March 8, 1993, Mark Hales, a respected journalist and racing driver, found himself strapped into a Caterham 7 JPE (Jonathan Palmer Evolution) lining up at the mile straight at Millbrook, a vehicle testing and development ground in Bedfordshire.

His job was to see if he could settle the revs of the 2.0-liter Vauxhall engine at just the right spot, play with the bite of the clutch and decide whether to slip it delicately or just drop it, brutally, like kicking a rugby ball to touch, then launch the latest Caterham 7 hell-for-leather off the line. There was no gear change to make, because first had been geared to run to 66 mph, and it was the run to 60 mph that Hales cared about.

In the end, after all manner of trial and error, nasty smells from the clutch, wincing from the passenger and chunks of rubber from the disintegrating Yokohama back tires, man and machine found a perfect harmony and the 7 surged off the line with every explosion of energy it could muster, setting a new Guinness World Record for the fastest-accelerating unmodified production car over the 0–60 mph benchmark.

The engine’s sweet spot turned out to be exactly 6250 rpm—no less, no more. Writing in Fast Lane, Hales described the brutal process. “Hold it for long enough to settle the engine and stop the needle flickering, but not so long that the clutch flutters and trips the timing gear. Then drop foot from pedal as if red hot. Throttle pedal bending against bulkhead. Revs stay constant around 7000 rpm, neither rising nor falling until about 55 mph when the forward speed catches up with the spinning wheels. JPE does a little waltz as revs dip a needle’s width, speed of wheel matches speed of car and I snatch second just in time to stop the limiter cutting in. And there it was.

“Silver record tape revealed a 3.44 second run to the North, and a 3.48 to the South. An average of 3.46 seconds. Under the current rules, the fastest-ever run from rest to 60 mph with an unmodified production car.”

The Caterham 7 JPE made a Ferrari F40 seem slow

That wasn’t the only achievement chalked up by Caterham’s wildest 7 to date. The year before, in October, Autocar & Motor subjected the JPE to its 0–100–0 Challenge. The record holder at the time was the Ferrari F40, which sprinted to 100 mph and screeched to a stop in 15.9 seconds. The JPE would smash that by nearly three seconds, with a time of 13.1. (You can watch the video below, to see Derek and Justin Bell performing a record attempt, with the team from Caterham.)

For little old Caterham, a company working from a glorified shed within spitting distance of the Dartford Crossing, to come along and leave trailing the mightiest car Maranello had to offer at the time, then claim a Guinness World Record, was impressive. However, it’s only when you look back through the Guinness records, and see which car captured the record from the 7 JPE, that appreciation for this underdog can truly sink in: It was the McLaren F1.

By now you can probably sense that the 7 JPE was out of the ordinary. It was born of a special time—a time when Caterham was owned and run a little like a hobby shop; a time when emissions legislation and single vehicle approval was yet to impact on the way small, independent manufacturers like Caterham developed sports cars; and a time when projections, forecasts and profit-and-loss accountability didn’t get in the way of good ideas.

Which is how I find myself standing in the showroom of Sevens & Classics, the largest independent dealer of Caterham 7s. Located a stone’s throw from Brands Hatch’s Paddock Hill Bend, it is run by Andy Noble, the former sales and marketing director for Caterham Cars.

Noble was the ideas man behind the 7 JPE, who worked in close partnership with Jez Coates, the former technical director for the company. They reported to Graham Nearn, the owner of the business, who, as a Lotus dealer, bought the rights to the Lotus 7 from Colin Chapman, in 1973.

Sevens & Classics has a 7 JPE for sale, a rare occurrence in the UK. Only 53 were built over the decade or so it was available, and around 10 are believed to be here, with the rest mostly exported to France and Japan. And happily, its generous owner, Matthew Stears, has agreed to let me drive it.

The history of Caterham’s wildest 7

Noble takes us back to the car’s gestation and laughs when asked whether there was a prolonged period of research and development for this, the most super of Sevens.

“It was a different environment. In those days we used to stay behind at work and mess around with cars and build stuff. We used to go racing and we’d work on a car till midnight, bolt it together, come in at six in the morning, stick it on a trailer and go racing, come back on Saturday night and just put it back in the workshop. There was no accounting for parts, there was no costing it, there was there was none of that; we just cracked on with it. And whilst that sounds scary in today’s climate, the company made a good profit and as long as Graham was happy we were left to crack on with it.”

Nearn, recalls Noble, rarely shared the accounts with those around him. So when Noble suggested the idea of creating both the most affordable, simple Seven yet, and the most extreme, high-performance derivative, there were no presentations, no development cost meetings and no need for sales forecasts. Nearn simply told Noble and Coates (they sound like a Caterham double act, and they really were) to go for it.

And they duly did. “It’s not like you got a business proposition, or, ‘Right, we’ve got to sell 40 of these to pay for development,’ because development was in a shed banging these things together. We bought in each engine, we bought in the gearbox, had the best tires, so it was just a case of putting it all together,” remembers Noble.

The choice of the Vauxhall engine was a natural extension of Caterham’s HPC model, at that point the fastest model in the range. It used the 2.0-liter Vauxhall twin-cam engine, in 175-hp spec. Caterham picked up the phone to Swindon Racing Engines, which built the motors that powered the likes of John Cleland in the his BTCC Vauxhall Cavalier GSi, and placed an order for the same motorsport engines. Each one is reputed to have cost roughly $23,400 (£13,000), partly explaining why a 7 JPE was so damned expensive—at nearly $60K (£34,950), twice the price of the next nearest model.

It was introduced at the 1992 British Motor Show. At the time, Graham Nearn told fans and media, “This car is not for the faint hearted and represents the best value for money in the supercar league table as it outperforms every other car in the sports car class for a fraction of the price. Jonathan Palmer has intimate knowledge of what we were looking to achieve with the car because of his F1 development, and world sports car racing experience. Caterham Cars is delighted to be involved with Jonathan Palmer on this exciting new car and we are pleased to announce that purchasers will have the opportunity to meet Jonathan, and assess their driving ability.”

Noble explains how the relationship with Palmer was established. Initially, Palmer approached Caterham about lending demonstration cars to support his fledgling PalmerSport driving experience business, which he launched in 1991 after walking away from Tyrell and Formula 1, at the end of ’89. He and Noble had previously met at a Ford corporate day, racing against one another on quad bikes, Palmer crashing off and later suggesting he had gifted the guest, Noble, the win. Ultimately the chance encounter laid the foundations for the JPE.

“There was no fee involved,” adds Noble, another reminder of how this is a car born of different times.

Today, Sevens & Classics is asking £51,995 ($65,254) for this JPE. If that strikes you as a lot of money for a Caterham, bear in mind that for those that grew up devouring motoring media, its sale represents a chance to own one of the highlight cars of the ’90s. S/n 19 of the 53 built, it’s a 1994 model that is said to have been bought new by the son of Peter Stringfellow. It was then sold to a gentleman in Jersey, before its current owner, Stears, snapped it up in 2015.

Now, I’ve driven and raced a fair number of Caterhams in my time, including various Superlights, the R400, R500, and 620R, but never a JPE. So this was too good an opportunity to miss.

The geeks out there will be disappointed to see that the body is painted. Some cars weren’t, as Caterham suggested it shaved 4.4 pounds (2 kg) from the car’s 1168-pound (530-kg) curb weight. But it wears its signature exhaust with the heat shield stamped with “JPE” (note to Caterham: this should be a signature across the Caterham range) and the bright graphics on the bodywork are a tribute to a Tamiya model.

At some point a race-spec rollcage has been fitted, which adds some torsional stiffness to the chassis and, more significantly, enhances protection for occupants. And the gearbox is Caterham’s six-speed unit, an option offered on JPEs just as soon as Caterham launched it in the early ’90s. But other than that it’s entirely representative of the way the JPE drives.

With the battery isolator switch armed and ignition switched flicked, a red starter button brings the Vauxhall engine to life. There are no histrionics, just a clean, loud idle that burbles away as you fasten the Luke six-point harness and look around to take in the surroundings of the cockpit.

The fixed carbon-fiber Tillet seat isn’t the original version; they were lost during the car being shipped to the U.K., so later versions were added—a good thing, too, as the original chairs lacked a headrest. The rev counter features a green painted sweep between 6500 and 8000 rpm while the 150-mph speedo is marked with 10-mph increments, unlike the first car’s, which only started reading at 70 mph, causing something of a stir.

There’s a quick-release Momo steering wheel, engraved with the Jonathan Palmer Evolution name, and a plaque on the dashboard tells curious onlookers that s/n 19 was built by Gary May. (All JPEs were built by May, I’m told.) The dashboard is a slither of carbon-fiber and the instruments wear a fluorescent yellow background, while a set of shift lights is perched on top of the dashboard.

The pedals are a stretch, the clutch action is best described by Stears—“it’s digital”—and the throttle pedal’s action is delightfully precise—but you’ll need to brush your right foot deliberately against the aluminum panelling to steady yourself and avoid pogoing up the road like a learner driver.

Despite boasting featherweight Cosworth pistons, wild cams and a compression ratio of 12:1, and carrying a rather exotic looking set of inlet trumpets to channel air to the Cosworth-designed cylinder head, the first surprise is how tractable the engine is. The touring car specification lump had Weber Alpha fuel injection added to make it drivable, and it shows. It pulls eagerly from low in the rev range, with the only hesitation, ironically, just before all hell breaks loose at about 6500 rpm.

That hesitation is a feature of the engine’s design but you’d be forgiven for imagining someone, somewhere at Swindon Racing Engines, wanted to give the driver the chance to opt out and ease off the power before entering warp speed.

When it goes, it flies. The engine spins up to the red line with an energy and enthusiasm that is entirely absent from modern motors, surging hungrily for the rev limit and forcing the 7 JPE through the air so violently that your ear drums flex from the resonance. You grimace, involuntarily, grab another gear, grimace some more, then find your face breaking into a smile as you start to appreciate that this is so much more than a 7 with a hot engine.

The rest of the package has been beautifully resolved. The JPE rides the road with a surprising suppleness. It doesn’t hop or skip like some Caterhams. Instead, its suspension keeps the wheels in just enough contact with the road surface so that, when the full 250 hp reaches the back wheels, the rear performs just the gentlest of squirms that you can ride out in confidence. All the while, the messaging through the steering and the seat of your pants is exquisite.

The wide-track, double-wishbone front suspension gives the car a planted feeling and the brakes, fitted with an uprated motorsport servo and four-piston alloy calipers offer wonderful bite at the top of the pedal travel and drag speeds down to sane levels in no time at all. Little wonder it managed the 0–100–0 mph challenge in just 13.1 seconds.

It is a consuming, thrilling experience. And the surprise that comes with miles under the belt is that the JPE’s driving experience isn’t intimidating—isn’t dominated by the engine or found to be only fit for the drag strip at Santa Pod. This is a well-resolved car which has so much more to offer than straight-line speed.

But then we already knew that. For a while, the JPE was on top of the world. And even after 28 years, it still feels like a record breaker.

With thanks to Matthew Stears. Contact Sevens & Classics for further information about the Caterham 7 JPE that’s for sale. Via Hagerty U.K.

The post The Caterham 7 JPE is a record-breaking blast from the past appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Seventy years ago, it must have been difficult to imagine two cars more divergent than the Morgan Plus 4 and Land Rover Defender. But recently Morgan and Land Rover found themselves at the same crossroads: both were custodians of instantly recognizable and idiosyncratic English icons, but both cars had evolved glacially from post-war roots and were dated, cramped, not particularly safe in an accident, and saddled with shaky ladder chassis and live axles that bucked and tremored at the merest suggestion of B-road. They drove as though possessed by the same gyrating Elvis, but thankfully both were to be reinvented with new aluminum chassis and independent suspensions.

The new Defender you may know, the Plus Four quite possibly not, but nearly three quarters of a century after the release of Morgan’s core model, in 1950, the British firm has reengineered it so comprehensively that it claims just three percent of parts carry over, and this might be a cautious estimate given those parts are actually bonnet latches. Even the name is subtly different, now written Plus Four in a change that mellows from seeming daft to perfect, because as much as things have changed with this Morgan, they haven’t changed at all.

In fact, the car looks identical, to the point that you doubt Morgan’s “all-new” tag. Surely some body panels carry over? The mohair top? The windshield? Apparently they don’t. The front wings are super-formed aluminum rather than hand-formed, the door shuts follow the curve of the rear wheel arches for the first time, and while the overall dimensions are similar, the wheelbase is 0.78 inch (20 mm) longer. Small details, wholesale change.

Touring Morgan’s red-brick factory buildings in Malvern—a sensory adventure that begins with the sweet smell of hot worked wood, then metallic swarf in the machining shop, and finally the rich aroma of Muirhead leather—you soon appreciate the depth of change.

It starts with a bonded aluminum chassis, built in Northampton and closely related to the wider CX-Generation chassis introduced in the larger, six-cylinder Plus Six in 2019. That was Morgan’s 110th year, or CX as the Romans had it.

To this chassis, Morgan attaches double wishbones all-round, made to a compact design that allows for deep-dished wire wheels, and manufactured on site. The old Ford GDI engine makes way for the BMW B48 2.0-liter (Morgan’s first turbocharged four-cylinder engine), and a choice of six-speed manual or ZF automatic transmissions. There is electric power steering, another Morgan first.

Yet a structural ash frame continues to be placed on top of the chassis, the wood sourced from Lincolnshire (the former Belgian supply was ditched; too much shrapnel, sorry chaps) and around which aluminum panels are hand-formed. There is ABS, yet still no airbags or stability control. Morgans are of course still hand-assembled (at a rate of around 900 annually), and there’s still a waiting list, though typically three to six months these days, not the decade of the 1980s, during which period some patient customers would actually die. Speaking of which, if your old ticker isn’t what it was, you’d best sit down for the price, which rises from £48,000 to £62,995 ($61,000 to $80,000 at current conversion rates). But then neither is a pint a shilling these days.

Hop between old and new and already you notice one big advantage of the CX chassis—there’s loads more room to slide the low and flat driver’s seat back, even for six-footers, and wider door apertures make climbing aboard less like stepping through a hula hoop.

Like outside, the Plus Four appears near identical inside—the speedo and rev counter are frustratingly out of the driver’s line of sight in the middle of the dash, petrol gauge and water temp dead ahead—but changes include a conventional handbrake (not fly-off) and a small digital readout that at last puts mph somewhere ahead of the steering wheel.

The BMW four settles to a purposeful, bassy idle, the clutch is friendlier than its heft initially suggests, first gear slots lightly if precisely, and soon we’re turning heads and climbing the Malvern Hills. The difference to an old ladder chassis car takes meters rather than miles to appreciate. The new model doesn’t shudder or shake, it rides over potholes far more serenely and overwhelmingly this feels the more composed machine. It’s not perfect, there’s still the occasional undamped thud over transverse ridges and it can bobble over imperfections, particularly at low speeds, but this is a multi-generational leap in one single step. Already you feel encouraged to be liberal with the accelerator, especially as there’s annoying wind whistle at middling speeds.

BMW helped calibrate its 2.0-liter engine to suit this 2233-pound (without fluids, around 175 pounds heftier than before) sports car. There’s a tiny pause of turbo lag, but throttle response is very prompt and the lack of mass means the Plus Four bursts forward with true urgency: easy in the mid-range courtesy of an ample 295 lb-ft of torque, downright rapid when you work it harder thanks to 255 hp (both figures well up on the outgoing Ford motor’s 154 hp/148 lb-ft). Like a young athlete disguised in pensioner fatigues, this speed seems out of kilter with expectations and figures of 0-62 mph in 4.8 seconds (or 5.2 seconds with the manual) and 149 mph back up your gut feel.

Stripped of a series-production car’s heft and soundproofing (and given full voice by an optional sports exhaust), the powerplant also bustles with mechanical chatter, a bassy simmer through the mid-range, subtle pops on the overrun, even Darth Vader exhalations of turbocharger when you lift the throttle. You fear it might sound inauthentic, but it suits this Mog, and the nicely spaced pedals and snicky manual gear shift encourage you to indulge the tunes with flourishes of heel-and-toe and playful throttle blips.

You can perk things up with a push of the Sport Plus button, and you can also option the eight-speed paddle-shift auto, which I tried and liked very much. I’d take the manual as much for the experience as the fact the auto gear stick is a slightly jarring lift from BMW, but there’s no bad choice here.

There is, however, only one setting for the electric power steering, and while its ease and lightness recalls earlier Morgans, it initially feels too effortless to my palms, even in town. That feeling persists up in the picturesque Malvern Hills, where the steering swings the long nose quickly in to turns, but so quickly that I want more on-center weight to lean on. There’s also a sense that the rear end lags a fraction behind your steering, like the owner of a tugging dog caught off-guard. Perhaps more rear roll stiffness would help.

For a more sporting version that’s probably true, but Morgans are bought for touring and ride comfort as well as speed, and as miles whizz past, so I come to trust the Morgan’s handling and steering and those initial uncertainties fade. I work the chassis hard into a large roundabout and it behaves predictably and benignly and we’re soon into the virtuous circle of extra confidence helping me extract the best from a sports car that recalls the old days, drives like nothing else and yet doesn’t feel in the least bit antiquated.

For less money, you could buy mass market roadsters like the Jaguar F-Type and Porsche Boxster. Or how about an Alpine A110? Then there are the British companies such as Ariel and Caterham, both able to sell you something that’s as interesting as it is thrilling. But none is like the Morgan, and for that, we should be thankful. The Malvern-based carmaker continues to have a place on our roads.

By the time I burble back to the Morgan factory gates, I’m really very taken by the Plus Four, pondering just how far the company could push it in terms of performance given its better sorted foundations.

While even quite keen car spotters can’t tell the difference between Plus 4 and Plus Four from the curb, from behind the wheel there’s no question this is a break with tradition of the best possible kind. And unlike that Land Rover Defender, it’d be a surprise if every Morgan customer, even deceased ones, didn’t wholeheartedly approve.

Via Hagerty UK

The post Review: The new Morgan Plus Four has been 70 years in the making appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Lotus built its reputation on the “simplify, then add lightness” philosophy. Nevertheless, one of the coolest Lotuses is a big, heavy commuter four-door with wood trim and air conditioning. Infamous for its speed but subtle in its styling, the U.K.’s Vauxhall Lotus Carlton (sold as the Opel Lotus Omega elsewhere Europe) could blow the doors off any other sports sedan in its day, embarrassing even some Porsches and Ferraris. To the casual observer it looks like little more than a luxury sedan with a spoiler and some alloy wheels. It was so fast that some people wanted it outlawed, a suggestion that was debated in Parliament.

The Carlton is one of the all-time great sleepers, but with just 950 built from 1990–92, examples are not easy to find. That’s why the 1992 model up for grabs at Silverstone Auctions’ May 23 online auction caught our eye. The sale contains several high-dollar Astons, 911s, and even a Peugeot 205 T16 rally car, but this dark green Vauxhall is a clear standout.

In the late 1980s, General Motors’ two main European operations—Vauxhall in the U.K. and Opel in Germany—needed some spice to liven up their bland model ranges. It just so happened that GM also owned Lotus (from 1986–93), so the General turned the performance wizards at Lotus loose on the solid, but somewhat boring, Opel Omega executive sedan platform. The resulting Vauxhall Lotus Carlton, called the Type 104 in Lotus-speak, was for several years the world’s fastest four-door automobile.

The process of turning a plain-old Omega/Carlton into a super sedan was not simple. Running and driving Omega/Carltons rolled off a dedicated line at Opel’s plant in Russelheim, Germany, then went to Lotus in Hethel at the old English engineering center used for the DeLorean. Lotus then had to remove the engine and gearbox and widen the transmission tunnel for the new gearbox, not to mention trim the interior with new seats, cut into the shell to fit the body kit, and more.

Lotus took the 3.0-liter 24-valve straight-six from the Carlton GSi, enlarged it to 3.6 liters, and added a new intake and exhaust, Mahle pistons, a forged crankshaft, new connecting rods, and two Garrett T25 turbochargers with intercoolers. This resulted in 377 hp (nearly 200 horses more than a standard 3.0-liter Carlton) and 419 lb-ft of torque. To handle the extra grunt, Lotus dropped in a six-speed manual gearbox from the original Corvette ZR-1 (which, by the way, had a Lotus-designed DOHC engine). Although Lotus experimented with four-wheel drive during testing, all production units were rear-wheel-drive.

Even with 3600 pounds of heft, this was still a Lotus, so the suspension was considerably upgraded. Lotus redesigned the front struts and adden an extra link to the semi-trailing arm on each side, as well as self-leveling dampers in the rear. The Carlton also got vented AP disc brakes, measuring a massive 13 inches up front, behind 17-inch Ronal alloy wheels that are wider in the rear. Traction control was never fitted.

All production Lotus Carltons/Omegas feature Anthracite Connolly leather seats and Imperial Green Metallic paint, which looks black unless you look very closely or the car is under certain light. Each Carlton took about 150 hours to complete and production settled at a rate of about 13 Carlton/Omegas per week as Lotus targeted a production goal of 1100.

The 1990 Lotus Carlton cost £48,000 new, which was a whole lot of money in 1990. (The recession in the early 1990s didn’t help.) It was hard for people to justify paying more for a car with a Vauxhall badge than they would for a BMW M5. Then again, the Lotus was way quicker than the Bimmer. The M5 came with “just” 311 hp and 266 lb-ft of torque and it weighed more. While German OEMs were limiting their sedans’ top speed to 155 mph, Lotus quoted the Carlton/Omega’s top speed at 176 mph. A 1991 Porsche 964 Turbo topped out at 168.

Then, some controversy. Road safety campaigners expressed concerns over a “family car” being able to hit the kinds of speeds typically reserved for exotic six-figure supercars. In 1990, the House of Commons even briefly debated such a vehicle’s morality and right to existence. GM stopped advertising the car’s top speed, but little else came of the squabble other than some bad PR.

Lotus completed only 950 examples of the Omega/Carlton from 1990-92, with less than half of those staying in the U.K. as right-hand drive models. Most sold in Europe as Lotus Omegas. But despite the low sales figures, the Carlton developed a reputation and, like the Ford Sierra Cosworth we wrote about a few weeks ago, was such a favorite among car thieves that insurance premiums for Carltons in the ‘90s were astronomical. One group of thieves reportedly terrorized the West Midlands in the early 1990s, stealing thousands of pounds worth of liquor and cigarettes. They regularly escaped police pursuit in a Lotus wearing registration number “40RA.” Legend has it they even outran a police helicopter.

Now that 30 years have passed, and given the car’s notoriety, it’s only natural that Lotus Carltons/Omegas have become collectible. Over the past few years, several particularly clean Carltons have sold for big money. The most expensive of them was a £78,750 car sold by Silverstone Auctions two years ago. Silverstone also has the Carlton you see here, scheduled to sell at the company’s May Live online auction. Well maintained but showing 99,392 miles, it carries a much more modest estimate of £28,000–£32,000 (about $34,900–$39,800). This would be a fantastic car to buy and import to the U.S. under the 25-year rule.

The post The Vauxhall Lotus Carlton is one of the all-time great sleepers appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The Amelia Island auctions and surrounding car shows are known for attracting some of the world’s most desirable Porsches, but those with a penchant for the English motoring tradition won’t be hung out to dry at this year’s festivities. On top of that, some of Britain’s finest V-8s will be on display. So get out your checkbooks and boil the tea kettle, because we’ve rounded up four of the best V-8s that the British have to offer at the Amelia Island auctions March 4–7.

2000 Aston Martin Vantage Le Mans V600

Let’s start with the most ridiculous engine on the list (and possibly the most interesting at Amelia 2020). When the Aston Martin Virage was first introduced to the public in 1989 as the brand’s flagship model, the main critique was that it wasn’t very sporty and lacked power. To fix this, Aston Martin improved the suspension and added two superchargers to the 5.3-liter V-8 engine. You read that right; this Aston Martin has a Twin-Supercharged V-8—not twin-turbos, twin superchargers. This gave the Virage an additional 200 horsepower, bumping the total up to 550 hp, and resulted in an entirely new model called the Vantage.

If for some reason customers weren’t satisfied with 550 horsepower, starting in 1998, they could bring their Vantage back to Aston Martin for the V600 treatment, which upgraded the intercooler and increased boost resulting in 600 hp and 600 lb-ft of torque. It was the most powerful car in the world at the time, after the 618-horsepower McLaren F1 ceased production in 1998. About 75 of the 288 Vantages produced received the V600 upgrade. 

This insanity didn’t last long. Due to upcoming safety and emission regulations, the V-8 Vantage would soon be obsolete. So, Aston Martin decided to go out with a bang. It made a special edition V-8 Vantage to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Aston Martin’s 1–2 finish at the 1959 24 Hours of Le Mans—the year Carroll Shelby and Roy Salvadori won. Many design cues, like the side inlets, reference the 1959 Le Mans-winning DBR1. I wouldn’t call this car beautiful, but it certainly has a presence.

Aston Martin made a total of forty Vantage Le Mans—almost all of which were given the V600 treatment. The Vantage Le Mans V600 had a claimed 0–60 time of 3.9 seconds, but journalists at the time had trouble getting anything lower than 4.6 seconds. This makes the 200-mph top speed more suspicious, beyond the fact that it weighs close to 5000 pounds and is shaped like a brick. Even after massive improvements, the suspension and chassis were never up to handling 600 horsepower, and the Vantage was called “violently unpredictable” due to the incredible amount of boost the twin superchargers would create at low RPM. Still, not a bad way to send off the last hand-built Aston Martin.

All Vantage Le Mans were fitted with a plate indicating its production number and the name of the first owner—Sheikh Abdelaziz bin Khalifa Al Thani ordered this one that’s on offer at RM. To make the car more special for the Sheikh, the Al Thani royal crest is embroidered throughout the cabin. Since this car was never imported to the U.S. and is not over 25 years old, it can only be used under the “Show and Display” exemption, which limits mileage to only 2500 a year. But I doubt the new owner will be driving it much anyway.

1967 Sunbeam Tiger Mk II

Some might not consider this a British V-8, but I’m counting it because it was built in the UK by a British company, even though it used an American engine. For those who don’t know, the Sunbeam Tiger was a performance version of the Sunbeam Alpine, a typical small British sports car of the time. Rootes Group, which owned Sunbeam, wanted to sell the Alpine in North America but knew it needed more power if it was going to attract American buyers. Rootes was originally in talks with Ferrari to up the power of the Alpine’s inline-four, but unfortunately the negotiations fell through. Eventually, the job went to Carroll Shelby (to name-drop him a second time), who had success with a V-8 conversion for the AC Cobra a few years prior. Shelby swapped in a 260-cubic-inch Ford V-8 and stiffened up the suspension, resulting in a very capable little sports car they named the Tiger. The new 260-cu-in V-8 was twice as powerful and only 3.5 inches longer than the four-cylinder it replaced. The Tiger was only 20-percent heavier than the original Alpine while still staying close to a 50/50 weight distribution.

In 1967, the Tiger went through a design change and received Ford’s 289-cu-in V-8, upping the power to 210 horsepower, an increase of almost 50 hp over the 260 V-8. Tigers with the 289-cu-in factory engine are called an Mk II. As well as being faster, the 289 in the Mk II was improved over the original 260 with upgraded valve springs that would no longer “self-destruct” if pushed past 5000 rpm. The Mk II had a 0–60 time of 7.5 seconds, which was very fast for the mid-1960s.

The Tiger Mk II was only built in the final year of production, 1967. Production ceased when Chrysler bought Rootes Group and didn’t have a suitable engine to replace the Ford V-8. Chrysler’s 273 small block was too large, and the distributor was positioned in the rear. That wouldn’t work. Chrysler’s big block had a front-mounted distributor, which was good, but the engine was much too large. Hopefully they at least tried to squeeze a 440 in the already tight engine bay before giving up. When Chrysler took over, the “Powered by Ford” badges were replaced with “Sunbeam V-8.”

More than 7000 Tigers were built, but only 633 of them were Tiger Mk IIs. Many Mk I owners swap out the 260 in their Tigers for the 289, making a Mk II clone, but this one at RM is a genuine Mk II. With an extensive restoration and only two owners from new, it’s about as good as it gets. There is also a Mk I Tiger being offered at RM to allow any losing bidders a second chance.

1980 Rolls-Royce Cornice

Rolls-Royce was very early to the V-8 game, building its first in 1905. The “6¾ Litre” V-8 that powers this 1980 Rolls-Royce Corniche Convertible is based on the Rolls-Royce/Bentley L-Series platform that has been in production since 1959 and is still used today in the Bentley Mulsanne. It’s the second-longest produced engine, behind the Chevy small-block V-8 (which is only sold as a crate engine anymore).

The least-expensive way to look rich is to buy an old Rolls-Royce. Not surprisingly, luxury cars from the 1980s don’t hold their value. This right-hand-drive Corniche Convertible is no exception. Offered at no reserve by Bonhams with a low estimate of $25,000, it’s a lot of car for the money. It’s one of the softest rides ever, with coil springs and hydraulic self-leveling on a fully independent suspension. The car is fully original, never been restored, and is in pretty good condition for its age, although the paint is starting to fade.

The car basically only had a single owner—“basically” because it was originally purchased by world-renowned car hoarder His Royal Highness, The Sultan of Brunei. Rumored to have at least 7000 cars (600 of which are Rolls-Royces), it’s very likely that The Sultan never took the time to drive this Corniche. He only owned the car for two years before the current owner bought it in 1982. In the 40 years since it was built, this Rolls was barely driven and has only 31,000 original miles.

If you’re looking for something with a little more provenance, the 1967 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow Coupe from The Thomas Crown Affair is offered the same weekend.

1998 Bentley Turbo RT Mulliner 

No list of British V-8s is complete without a Bentley. There’s a plethora of limited-production Bentleys offered at Amelia Island this year, all featuring the firm’s classic “6¾ Litre” Twin Turbo V-8—an evolution of the L-series V-8 in the Rolls Royce Corniche above. The 1998 Bentley Turbo RT Mulliner stands out from the other limited-production models. Based on the ultra-exclusive Turbo RT, of which Bentley only produced 252, the Mulliner was available only by special order for the 1998 model year. A total of 55 RT Mulliners were produced, only 39 of them left-hand-drive like the one offered at RM.

The 6.75-liter Turbo V-8 produced 420 horsepower and 643 lb-ft of torque—good enough for a 0–60 time of less than six seconds. That’s very fast for a car that weighs nearly three tons. The car’s power is emulated in its bodywork. The Turbo RT Mulliner just looks brutal. It sits long and low with flared arches accommodating the wider track. Each Mulliner was built to individual customer specifications. This one features milled aluminum on the interior where most Bentleys have some species of endangered wood. With a high estimate of only $120,000 and no reserve, the winning bidder could be walking away with a very unique car for a great price.

The post 4 great British V-8s invading the 2020 Amelia Island auctions appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The Flying Spur hasn’t been at its best in recent years, but as the storied model turns 61, things are finally looking up for the littlest Bentley sedan. 

For starters, the all-new 2020 Spur looks like a proper Bentley again—grand, muscular, imposing—rather than the awkward cousin of a Volkswagen Phaeton. The new car is, however, still a far cry from the coachbuilt original that to this day defines the brand in the mind of those who work at Bentley’s home in Crewe, England.

A pristine first-year 1958 example from Bentley’s own collection is perched on a white pedestal, sun-dappled in the afternoon light, outside an ancient Chateau somewhere near the French Riviera. There we find Flying Spur product line director Peter Guest admiring the work of his mentor, George Moseley, who led the development of the original Flying Spur. It’s an appropriate setting for a car that, when new, would have cost £8034—10 times the average UK salary at the time. (In America today, the equivalent price would be roughly $500,000.)

“The stories about the development of this car are absolutely astonishing,” Guest says. “Back in those days, there was literally just George Moseley and a couple of draftsmen and that was it.”

Guest studied car body engineering under Moseley at the University of Hertfordshire. Moseley worked for H.J. Mulliner, one of the preeminent UK coachbuilders at the time. Officially, the Flying Spur was the name given to H.J. Mulliner-bodied—and only Mulliner-bodied —four-door Bentley Continentals. According to Bentley, of the 432 original S1 Continentals (two- and four-door) that were produced, Mulliner bodied 217 of them.

In its day, the Flying Spur was relatively fast and light. Early S1 cars were powered by a 4.9-liter straight-six good for 180 hp, while later S2 cars got a much more muscular 6.3-litre V-8—the great grandfather of the engine found in today’s Bentley Mulsanne.

How the Flying Spur was made

“Bentley would provide the rolling chassis—engine, steering wheel, cowl panel—and then the coachbuilders would put on the body and interior,” explains Guest. 

Moseley and two or three draftsmen came up with basic design and layout, in full-size drawings of the side, front, and rear of the car. From there, “everything would be pure sculpture,” says Guest. They’d create a wooden buck in 10 sections, and then a team of craftsmen would have to figure out how to make the body. Aluminum was easier to get than sheet steel after the war, so that’s what they used for the Flying Spur, according to Dave Kinney, publisher of the Hagerty Price Guide.

“The body craftsmen would have started as apprentices at 14 or 15 years old and work at it their whole lives,” explains Guest. “You probably had 10 sheet-metal workers producing a body like this: six to 10 hours just to produce a single panel, each one produced in seven- to 12-inch sections, each one hammer formed, welded, and pinned.”

On a steel-bodied car, the gaps and imperfections would have been loaded with something like 100 pounds of lead. On the Flying Spur, everything was trimmed and welded from aluminum.

The body alone would have taken 400–500 hours to make, Guest estimated. The panel gaps put modern cars to shame; they are barely wider than a fingernail.

While the Flying Spur is undeniably gorgeous, it is cramped. At 5’11” my knees are splayed either side of the steering wheel and my head grazes the roof. People were smaller back then. “They were trying to make a guy who was 5’3” feel good,” says Kinney.

Sitting inside the finished product is like landing in a mid-century London gentleman’s club; you half expect the ghost of Winston Churchill to harrumph into the passenger seat smoking a fat cigar. The dashboard and door trim is solid oak. The metal hardware is polished stainless steel and chromed brass. It smells musky and rich, like old money.

Flying Spur collectibility

“The Flying Spur really defined that combination of power, performance and luxury that Bentley sedans have today,” says Guest. He looked to the original for inspiration when developing the 2020 Spur.

For such a gorgeous car and an important piece of Bentley history, prices aren’t as high as you might imagine. The value of 1958 Flying Spurs has climbed from $94,500 in 2006 to $275,000 today for an example in Excellent (#2) condition. Considering the more famous 1954 R-Type Continental two-door would run you $1.6 million in similar condition, the Spur seems like good value.

“Early Flying Spurs are sought after, as they are very useable,” says Kinney. “S Series Bentleys are not finicky cars, are comfortable high speed (for their time) tourers, and will transport four people and their stuff in style.”

Just be wary of non-Mulliner bodied cars that have “grown” the Flying Spur name over the years, Kinney advises.

In general, most coachbuilt European cars from the ‘50s and ‘60s are collectible. “[Flying Spurs] are blue chips, absolutely no doubt about it,” he continued. “They’ve aged very well. Personally, I didn’t like the look of them in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Now? Let’s call it a standard bearer—rather than an icon—of 1950s coachbuilt design. They continue to look like old money, which I think is important in a car like this.”

The S Series Bentleys were the last to have a separate chassis. According to the company, the Flying Spur was part of “the last flourish” of the coachbuilt era.

“In the ‘60s, the cost of labor increased dramatically, so the cost of building these cars by hand in the UK became much more expensive,” says Guest. “Most all of the independent coachbuilders were taken over by the main manufacturers by the mid-late ‘60s.”

61 years on, the Spur’s spirit endures

Fast-forward 61 years and we find an all-new Flying Spur that is definitively mass-produced, rather than coachbuilt. Worldwide, Bentley sold 10,500 cars last year. 

For 2020, the Spur has at least regained some of the swagger of the original thanks to the fact it now shares an architecture with the Porsche Panamera, rather than the Phaeton-based platform it used since 2005. 

The 6.0-liter twin-turbo W-12 motor—which makes 664 lb-ft of torque from 1350 rpm—helps the car feel lithe, but most credit must go to the chassis. Recent technological advances have made sports cars better, sure, but they’ve been transformative for luxury cars over the past, say, five years. Active anti-roll bars, next-gen pneumatic suspension, rear-wheel steering, smart all-wheel drive: these things now work together in computer-controlled harmony to make this gargantuan Bentley feel much smaller than it really is on a twisty road.

Because of those new bones, this Bentley is very game when you’re in a hurry. Lay into the throttle mid-corner and instead of hellish understeer, it digs in, and holds its line as 5374 pounds of metal slingshots out of a bend. It’s delightful. There’s less of a compromise between handling and comfort than ever before, albeit for a price.

The new 2020 Flying Spur starts at $214,600 before destination. Unless you really prefer the look of the Continental coupe, there’s really not much point in foregoing the Spur’s extra two doors.

Seeing the new and old Flying Spurs next to each other, the lineage is obvious. Despite being separated by six decades, the cars wear familiar character lines, including the muscular rear haunches and the arc that runs back over the front wheel.

Of course, the body of the new car took significantly less than 500 hours to make; it was stamped out of aluminum by machines, rather than painstakingly hammered and rolled by hand. For that reason, as beautiful as it is—and it really is—the new Flying Spur won’t likely ever be as collectible as its coachbuilt ancestor. That said, Bentley’s latest ever is a luxury machine that is through and through worthy of the Flying Spur name.

The post 61 years of the Bentley Flying Spur: Then and now appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Car enthusiasts in the UK are concerned about a report from a bipartisan select committee of Parliament that effectively calls for eliminating private automobiles and trucks by the year 2050—battery electrics and fuel cell vehicles included—to achieve the goal of making Britain carbon-neutral. The Science and Technology Select Committee report also says that the ban on combustion-powered cars and hybrids should be accelerated to 2035 from 2040.

Though EVs themselves do not emit carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases, the same can’t be said about the factories that make electric vehicles and their components. As the report puts it, “Although ultra-low emissions vehicles generate very little emissions during use, their manufacture generates substantial emissions.” Eliminating those emissions will likely necessitate eliminating the manufacture, sales, and ownership of private cars if the UK is serious about meeting its carbon-neutral target.

It should be noted that the report from the committee is only a recommendation, as there isn’t even any proposed legislation yet. However, the report has pricked up the ears of motoring fans as well as the general press.

Though the committee’s recommendation doesn’t call for an outright ban on private vehicles (at least not yet), that would be the inevitable result of such legislation. We don’t want to sound like hyperbolic scare-mongers, but these are the committee’s own words: “In the long-term, widespread personal vehicle ownership therefore does not appear to be compatible with significant decarbonisation. The Government should not aim to achieve emissions reductions simply by replacing existing vehicles with lower-emissions versions.”

The post UK bipartisan committee recommends banning gas and hybrid electric cars by 2035 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

What are the chances of finding an Alfa Romeo 33 on the streets of the UK? Not great: of the approximately 1 million built, just six are still registered. So, to find a stunning example of this boxer-engined hatchback in Hagerty’s Concours de l’Ordinaire at the 2019 Festival of the Unexceptional was a real treat. To find another in the public car park, painted the same color, was extraordinary.

“There are only two left in this color,” owner James Vincent told me. “The concours one, and this. This is the 1700cc; the other is a 1500,” he adds with a hint of pride. His car shows the battle scars of a hard life: patchy paintwork, a faded red carpet and a tweedy interior with the famously un-ergonomic driving position more suited to an orangutan than a human. It’s a great car and it attracted a huge amount of attention: when I first spotted it, James was being interviewed by a radio presenter from the BBC.

Hagerty’s Festival of the Unexceptional is now in its sixth year and was again a sell-out event. It’s a celebration of the “normal” cars of the past, those that used to sit on the driveways of every suburban house, ferry kids to school or their owners to work and back. It’s a homage to cars that sold in their millions but are now unbelievably rare. With a concours of 50 specially selected cars, an invitational class of manufacturers’ vehicles, a stunning selection of “unexceptional” commercial vehicles and a new Anniversary Class it’s not a joke at the dull cars’ expense, but a true celebration of those vehicles that most of the visitors have a true emotional connection to.

It also has a very other-worldly vibe. What other car show would have a special advanced parking area that allows in such cars as British Leyland Princesses, Citroen 2CVs, and rusty Alfa Suds, but relegates a shiny McLaren 720S to an also-ran space right next to the portaloos?

Back on the concours, the judges had their work cut out. Top motoring writer Andrew Frankel, Goodwood’s Gary Axon, The Gadget Show TV presenter Jon Bentley, Practical Classics Editor Danny Hopkins and British Leyland expert Tanya Field worked their way through the 50 concours-standard vehicles ranging from a Rover Metro to a 1990 Honda Zook moped. This year there was also a new Anniversary Class full of cars celebrating major birthdays this year, the assessment of which veteran Unexceptional judge Sam Skelton was entrusted.

Even in this crowd there were some stand-out cars. A gleaming Ford Cortina Mk 5 was a firm favorite, as was Vauxhall Heritage Fleet’s own Bedford CF van. A Simca 100 GLS sported a very special blue metallic paintwork, and a Trabant P601 Kombi displayed full Interflug livery in exceptional detail including original stickers.

At 2 pm, the sell-out crowd assembled to hear the judges’ decisions. Announced by an enthusiastic Danny Hopkins, the People’s Choice Award went to Simon Gaisford and his wonderful 1982 Peugeot 305 SR Estate while Sam Skelton’s choice of the Anniversary Class was a superb 1982 Vauxhall Astra GL 1300S owned by David Loasby. The “Feast of the Unexceptional,” an award for the best period picnic, was won by Mike and Judith Burkett who presented a full 1970s drinks cabinet and nibbles next to their immaculate 1979 Colt Sigma GLX. The Junior Judge’s prize, awarded by kids for their favorite, went to Hagerty’s own Dan Goff and his 1989 Citroen BX 19 DTR, displayed in taxi specification and enhanced by Dan’s outfit of shell suit, Kappa trainers and gold-effect Casio digital watch.

Then it was on to the main concours. The runner up was a 1978 Vauxhall Chevette E owned by Philip Hunt, the judges impressed by its total base specification, but Best in Show was secured by Michael Carpenter’s 1977 Morris Marina 1.3 Deluxe Estate. Despite its name the car also represented a very low-spec edition and the judges loved its story: a previous owner had kept it in long term storage and attempted a restoration that apparently resulted in him losing three fingers. When Carpenter bought it, the car was covered in years of grime, but this somehow protected the bodywork and when cleaned, the gleaming original paint re-emerged.

Hagerty’s Festival of the Unexceptional 2019 proved again the affection so many people have for the cars that were once a huge part of their lives. We’ll be honest: the concours is great, but that’s not what makes this event special. It is the enthusiasm you see in people’ faces, the memories that come flooding back, and a day spent with others who totally understand that passion. We know we’re biased, but it’s our highlight of the year.

The post The 2019 Festival of the Unexceptional was anything but normal appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Noted American classic car collector Peter Mullin has received approval to build a $190-million car museum in England’s West Oxfordshire, according to the Oxford Mail. Members of the district council’s Development Control Committee approved the project in a split 12-7 vote after three and a half hours of debate.

To be called The Driving Centre, the facility will be built on the grounds of a decommissioned RAF base, Enstone Airfield. It has been designed by architect Norman Foster and will feature about 60 vehicles, about half of them from Mullin’s personal collection of 250 vintage cars and the other half belonging to those who lease the 28 luxury cottages that will be part of the development.

Mullin, 77, has a private car museum in Oxnard, California, featuring one of the largest collections of vintage Bugattis in the world as well as other classic French cars. He also chairs the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles.

In support of the new museum Mullin told the committee, “The project has a huge opportunity, particularly in this gorgeous area of the Cotswolds, to create a number of positive things – both in education and visitor appreciation… The automobile and Great Britain are indivisible. Its impact on our modern way of life is immeasurable… Our goal is to create jobs, generate significant business rates and taxes and most of all to leave a legacy for the generations of the future.”

In previous remarks, Peter Mullin said, “I have made a 30-year commitment to this project. My great-grandchildren will probably never drive a motor car – at least not as we know it. Instead they will travel in secure autonomous pods by a computer. They will only ever experience the wonder and awe of the automobile by coming to a destination like the Mullin,” referring to his Oxnard museum.

Mullin’s application had initially been recommended for refusal back in March but a final decision was put off, allowing him to provide more information and alter the plan to deal with concerns about traffic and congestion. A revised proposal was submitted, cutting the number of planned events in half to five per year, along with a transportation plan that included cyclists, pedestrians, and public buses. The plan also included funding for affordable housing in the community, a car park, and public transit. Five percent of any profit made by the museum will be earmarked for community initiatives.

Local activists had opposed the development, in particular the luxury cottages. District councillor Nigel Colston, said, “The museum is a great idea but has 24 lodges on a brownfield site and four in a greenfield land. This could be anywhere in the UK and doesn’t sit well with my social conscience.”

Former Top Gear personality and the current host of Amazon’s The Grand Tour, Jeremy Clarkson, had earlier urged area residents to support the revised plan.

Scheduled to be open six days a week, it’s estimated that about 200,000 people would visit the museum annually.

The post Peter Mullin’s UK Driving Center gets the green light appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Generally speaking, three wheelers sound like a bad idea to me. Except here I am, chilled to the bone and grinning like a loon in Worcestershire, England, with an air-cooled vee-twin spitting brimstone in front and just one wheel behind me. It is not a Morgan, the name most associated with cars missing their fourth wheel, but a Pembleton V-Sport, a name and model you’ve probably never heard of. Does the world need another one of these refugees of automotive history? Yes, absolutely.

Of the self-selecting bunch of lunatics who pilot vehicles like this, not all of them want a $40,100 Morgan 3 Wheeler (or, for that matter, a Polaris Slingshot). True, Morgan’s model is the icon in the trike market, but it’s expensive, very fast, and requires expert driving with its single driven rear wheel. Is there an alternative, perhaps something a little more gentle, perhaps driving the front wheels instead of the rear?

Enter the Pembleton. “The what?!” I hear you cry. This rather lovely steel-framed and aluminum-bodied trike first saw light 20 years ago, conceived, it turns out, because of an anomaly in the price structure of the ferry that runs from the Holyhead in Wales to Dún Laoghaire in Ireland.

“We were planning a cycling holiday,” says Pembleton designer Phil Gregory, “and my wife noticed that motorcycles and trikes went free, so she said I should build one—it was after a few ciders. I ordered the steel and we called it Pembleton after the name of the caravan which we stripped for the aluminum.”

Gregory is one of those wonderfully instinctive engineers that often get left on the fringe of industry. He’d already built a Ford-based mid-engined coupé kit car with his brother Roger. The first Pembleton, using chassis and drivetrain parts from a front-wheel-drive Citroën 2CV, was a well-designed and pretty successful ride. Known as the Pembleton Grasshopper Super Sport, it sold 450 examples in three- and four-wheeled kit form for two decades, mainly powered by Citroën engines.

“It was only supposed to be for fun in the first place,” Gregory says. “I wanted to make something a good hands-on guy could make a lovely car out of.”

And that’s where the Pembleton Grasshopper would have remained, marooned up a charming motoring cul de sac, but for Gregory’s son, Guy, who between college and university decided to build his own version of his father’s car. This got him thinking.

“I always wanted to be making things; I was very hands on,” Guy says. He thought the Pembleton could have a second life, still hand-assembled but sold as a fully-finished car, built on a jig for accuracy, with laser-cut panels and a different engine.

“I was very flattered,” Gregory says. “I only started to worry when he said we needed a complete redesign. It’s been a massive amount of work.”

The Grasshopper name was deep-sixed, along with the 2CV suspension and engine in favor of a new Moto Guzzi air-cooled vee-twin supplied from the factory (although the Gregorys are not allowed to mention the name in their marketing). In this case, it’s the fuel-injected, 744-cc, 51-horsepower, 44-lb-ft unit from the V7 III Stone motorcycle. It bolts to a reconditioned four-speed Citroën 2CV transaxle driving the front wheels. An all-new suspension still follows the 2CV pattern, with horizontal springs and dampers actuated via bell cranks and pull rods. This means the weight is mounted low in the frame and loads are taken by those stronger chassis members. Brakes are all discs, inboard at the front.

The V-Sport is beautifully built, partly as a result of those accurate panels, which make assembly a cinch. The aluminum coachwork fits snugly with narrow panel gaps. And in bare metal, the beetle-back style looks fantastic, though some owners prefer the somewhat easier-to-maintain option of paint.

With no prop-shaft tunnel, the cockpit is spacious and Spartan; door liners are a $320 option. It has a great driving position, but it’s best to slide yourself across the bench, vintage style, from the passenger side. The wood-and-aluminum steering wheel is a thing of great beauty, and there are surprising amounts of practicality. There’s even a big boot behind the seat, and you can specify a luggage rack if you are packing a trousseau. Undo the leather hood straps (a nice touch) and you can access the Citroën transmission and even change the inboard discs, which any mechanic will attest is virtually impossible on a 2CV.

Press the starter and the Guzzi motor graunches into grumpy, lumpy life. As with the old Citroën, the gear lever punches out of the dashboard, though this is a lot more accurate and precise as it’s all connected with rod end bearings. Shift quality is light and fast with a lever that’s a finger’s stretch from the steering wheel. The shift pattern is reversed, with first towards you opposite reverse, but it’s quickly learned. The clutch is light but sharp, and with narrow 110/80 R19 Pirelli Scorpion Rally STR tires, you can burn rubber from a stop with little effort. Rivals tend to use an adapted car wheel and tire combination on the rear, which gives more grip and more safety in the event of a blow out. Pembleton, however, sticks with the purity of a motorcycle setup on a reversed Citroën rear suspension. On dry, abrasive black top, the result is grippy and incredibly positive, though you’d need to be careful when it is wet.

Jam the gas pedal and the vee-twin’s exhausts sound off like a following artillery barrage and forward progress is fast. Hardly surprising since the whole car weighs just 657 pounds. There’s great mid-range punch, and it’s hard not to blip the throttle between ratios just for the hell of it. No performance figures were available, but I did achieve an indicated 100 mph and it feels like 0–60 mph in under seven seconds is easily attainable on the right surface.

The Pembleton’s ride is sensational, floating over bumps and crests, comfortable to a fault, although the rear will bunny hop when it catches the bump you tried to straddle with the front wheels. The handling is pretty good, although I recall the wise words of the late Tony Divey, the former Lotus draftsman who designed the Triking, which was acknowledged to be one of the finest handling three wheelers. “All three wheelers are unstable,” he said. “It’s how you use that instability that’s the important thing.”

While rear-drive three wheelers such as the Triking and Morgan can be steered on the throttle by spinning up the rear tire, the Pembleton’s layout rules out that possibility, but makes it more predictable for drivers raised on front-wheel-drive cars. This isn’t an unsafe vehicle, but as with all three wheelers, you need to concentrate. You can provoke danger by waggling the steering wheel about, but if you simply get on with the business of driving, it’s not an issue.   

In the UK, the V-Sport starts at £21,995 (about $28,770), but there’s a sizable options sheet and there will soon be some form of roof. I’d also want door cards and some carpet for the bare cockpit. The Gregorys are a bit cagey about supplying kit cars again, but they have done so for U.S. customers in the past, and no carmaker turns away willing customers. In other words, if you want a V-Sport in the U.S., you’ll have to ask nicely and assemble it yourself. And if you do give them a ring, you’ll never stop grinning.

The post The Pembleton V-Sport is rich in smiles per mile appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Notorious for his drifting antics in new cars, Top Gear’s Chris Harris has a way of finding speed—even in cars not known for it. For example, check out his laps behind the wheel of a vintage Mini during the 77th annual Goodwood Members Meeting. The trick to getting around the circuit fast in these little cars? Don’t use the tiny brakes—just hammer the go-pedal.

The Betty Richmond Trophy race was set up to celebrate the 60 years of Mini, bringing a group of 60 bulldog-stanced racers to the start line during the Goodwood Members Meeting on April 6-7. Chris Harris might not own a Mini race car, but thanks to Nick Swift of Swiftune Engineering, he was able to get in on the action.

The spec front-wheel-drive Minis feature a 1293-cc four-cylinder that pumps out 130 horsepower. That power feeds through a four-speed gearbox and a limited-slip differential. The 10-inch wheels don’t allow for the big brakes typically found on race cars, but based on Harris’ description of a lap in the Mini, that doesn’t seem to matter.

See, the trick to running one of these 1300-pound racers is to keep your right foot down. It sounds simple, but watching the in-car camera during a lap seems like an exercise in laughing through the fear. For multiple corners, rather than braking to weight the front wheels and rotate the car a bit, Harris merely lifts off the throttle and the weight transfer invites the rear axle to come around and set the angle of the car as it goes through the corner. Roll back into the power, set the line for the next corner, rinse and repeat.

With a top speed on a lap in the 120-mph range, it’s not about screaming velocity here. But the 90 mph average speed is evidence these cars are ripping around the track, as drivers act as if they were at a kart track with the speed limiters set low. It’s all about momentum and carrying as much as you can. Looks like fun to us.

The post Watch Chris Harris pitch a vintage Mini around the Goodwood Circuit appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Combining traditional metal shaping with the latest technology, Aston Martin has completed the lightweight aluminum body for the first of 19 DB4 GT Zagato Continuation cars that it will be building for the $7.86 million Aston Martin DBZ Centenary Collection. In addition to the recreation of one of Aston Martin’s historic grand tourers, the collection will also include the new DBS GT Zagato,

Artisans and craftsmen at Aston Martin’s Heritage Division, which Aston bills as “the largest, best equipped and most knowledgeable Aston Martin restoration centre in the world,” have taken thin, 1.2-mm flat sheets of aluminum alloy and traditional tools, like the English wheel, to shape the body panels. While the team uses fabrication methods in use when the original DB4 GT Zagatos were constructed six decades ago, the results are checked against a modern digital body buck created by Aston Martin engineers to ensure that the Continuation models are authentic. Though old-world craftsmanship is deliberately part of the process, when appropriate, Aston Martin is “sympathetically” endowing the recreations with performance enhancements and 21st-century engineering.

The hand-formed aluminum panels sit on a lightweight tube space frame that will eventually be powered by a 380-horsepower version of Aston Martin’s historic race-proven, twin-spark inline-six originally designed by Tadek Marek. A period-correct four-speed manual gearbox and limited-slip rear end will put that power to the ground.

The building of continuation cars is now an ongoing venture at Aston Martin. The DB4 GT Zagato Continuation follows the 25 DB4 GT Continuation cars AM sold in 2017, and it will be followed by the Aston Martin DB5 Goldfinger Edition tribute to the James Bond DB5, to go on sale next year.

It looks like it takes less time to build a vintage car than it does to develop and build a modern one. Deliveries of the DB4 GT Zagato Continuation will start in the third quarter of this year, while the DBS GT Zagato will arrive in late 2020.

The post Here is the first completed body for the Aston Martin DB4 GT Zagato Continuation car appeared first on Hagerty Media.

From cheap and cheerful roadsters to posh luxury saloons and million-dollar hypercars, the British have done it all. Yes, we could make the same tired old jokes about Lucas electrics all day, but Americans fell in love with British cars back in the 1940s and for many of us the spark is definitely still there even if the likes of MG, Triumph and Austin-Healey are no longer with us.

With such a variety of cars coming out of the UK over the years, some are naturally faring differently in the market, so we’ve scoured the Hagerty Price Guide values and insurance quoting activity to compile a list of six British cars to buy, sell, or hold right now.

Vehicle
BUY: 1976-96 Jaguar XJ-S	54
Even though the XJ-S was never intended as a direct replacement for the E-Type, comparisons were inevitable, and the XJ-S was just always going to come up short. One of the prettiest cars ever made is a tough act to follow, and the XJ-S’s reputation for being a nightmare to live with doesn’t help. The large V-12 under the hood is complex, difficult to work on, and likes to overheat. Parts are surprisingly hard to find because of all the running changes over a 20-year production life. XJ-Ss have also been cheap for years and not worth enough to put serious money into, so many owners neglected the biggest jobs, instead leaving them to the next owner. But maybe we’re being too hard on the XJ-S. A V-12 Jag is silky smooth when it’s running right, and the XJ-S has serious performance chops with success in Trans Am Racing, the European Touring Car Championship, and the Cannonball Run. Jaguar sold 115,000 of them worldwide, so plenty should be available in good condition. And if prices are any indication, people are starting to look at these big cats with a little less skepticism. If you’re taken with the idea of a 12-cylinder engine (an easier-to-run and cheaper-to-buy straight-six was available for a few years, and some people actually prefer it), the XJ-S is still just about the cheapest V-12 you can buy, but average prices were up anywhere from 10.5 to 19.7 percent for coupes at the beginning of the year and look set to increase further. Convertible prices are flatter, but a serviceable open car still commands about 7 to 9 grand more than a coupe. Insurance activity has been steadily increasing, and younger buyers are showing a surprisingly keen interest, both encouraging trends. Most coupes cost between $15,900 and $17,400 in #2 (excellent) condition. The key is to find a well-maintained XJ-S. It will it be kinder to your wallet in the long run, and the gap between good examples and ones with needs is growing for these cars and will probably only get wider.
BUY: 1962-80 Triumph Spitfire	60
Triumph’s response to BMC’s Austin-Healey Sprite/MG Midget twins was prettier, more practical, and sounds more badass with a name from a World War II fighter plane. The model changed quite a bit over its nearly two decade run, but values are broadly similar and every iteration of the Spitfire has its pluses and minuses. Earlier ones with their swing axle rear suspension have tricky handling at the limit but look better, while later ones have better suspension and more creature comforts but have less power and less attractive bodywork. All Spitfires, however, are fun to drive, cheap to buy, and cheap to maintain. Parts are easy to find, and the cars are simple enough that you can fix most problems yourself. And while you’ll never get rich off a Spitfire, you probably won’t lose money on one, either. Median #2 (excellent) values are up 10.3% over the past two years, and buyer interest is up as well. Younger buyers (Gen X and Millennials) make up 48 percent of insurance quotes for Spitfires which bodes well for long-term appeal. Currently, any Spitfire in decent driver condition can be found for less than $10,000, and a #2 condition car goes for less than $12,000. With so much fun per dollar on tap, they’re unlikely to get any cheaper than they are now.
SELL: 1964-67 Sunbeam Tiger	19
A lightweight British two-seater and a big Ford V-8 stuffed under the hood – that’s the Shelby Cobra formula that Sunbeam decided would spice up its Alpine sports car. The Anglo-American hybrid that resulted, called the Tiger, was more compromised than the Cobra and never as successful, but it’s still an exciting little roadster that comes at a fraction of the price of a genuine Shelby. At one time, the Tiger was one of the hottest cars on the market, quickly going from a “poor man’s Cobra” to just a “slightly less rich man’s Cobra”. Median #2 (excellent) values rocketed from $43,300 at the beginning of 2012 to a peak of $113,000 toward the end of 2016. Since then, though, values have been consistently dropping, with the Mk IA dropping 20.5 percent in the past two years, while the later Mk I and Mk II have dropped 13.5 and 9 percent, respectively. No other signs point to Tigers bouncing back, so it looks to be as good a time as any to sell. If you’re still looking to add one to your garage, however, check out or buyer’s guide.
SELL: 1955-62 Triumph TR3	26
The TR3 has a lot going for it. The swoopy lines are exciting, the cut-down doors make you feel connected to the road, and it costs about the same to buy as an MGA despite offering more power. For whatever reason, though, the TR3 is getting no love in the market lately. If you want to get the most money for your TR3, your best bet is to find a time machine and crank the dial back to 2013. TR3 values peaked that year at over $41,000 for #2 (excellent) cars, but have steadily retreated since then and are down 12.75 percent over the past two years alone. Younger buyers show surprisingly little interest in them despite their relatively affordable price, and insurance activity is among the lowest of any of the cars we track. Values for the comparable MGA have retreated as well, so there’s still room for the TR3 to drop. If you love your TR3, then by all means keep driving. Just don’t expect to be pleasantly surprised when it comes time to put it up for sale.
HOLD: 1980-1998 Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit/Silver Spur	50
The first Rolls-Royce to feature the retractable Spirit of Ecstasy, the Silver Spirit and long wheelbase Silver Spur are far from the best things to roll out of Crewe, at least from a styling perspective. But at a median #2 value of $16,600, you could have a hand-built, 5,000-pound, V-8 barge of magnificence with power everything, and that flying lady on the nose that will fool at least some people into thinking you’re filthy rich. Yes, there is a catch. Things on the car will break, and the bill to fix them will probably have an extra zero or two more than you’re used to. But after a 5.1 percent drop in #2 values at the beginning of 2017, they’ve been flat ever since and Silver Spirits/Silver Spurs appear to have hit their bottom. Younger buyers make up 25 percent of quotes (surprisingly high for a brand otherwise more popular with older folks), which bodes well for long-term collectability. It’s hard to see these cars getting any cheaper than they are now, but no signs point to them growing, either.
HOLD: 1958-61 Austin-Healey Sprite	47
While not exactly the prettiest thing on four wheels (and certainly not the fastest), the Mk I Bugeye Sprite is solidly in the running for the cutest. It’s hard not to fall in love with a car that literally smiles at you, and the Sprite has the added benefit of being fantastically fun to drive, simple to work on, and cheap to run. They’re not all that cheap to buy, though. Bugeyes (called Frogeyes in the UK) have just 43 horsepower to work with and they don’t even have a trunk or windows, but with a #2 (excellent) value of $19,500 they’re worth nearly twice as much as a later, better-equipped square-body Sprite. Charm, as it turns out, counts for a lot, and there isn’t much out there that can touch the cute-factor of a shiny Bugeye. Bugeyes have retreated a bit since #2 values peaked at $23,900 in mid-2016 and are down 12.5 percent since two years ago, but the curve has flattened and shows signs of holding steady. Roadster season is right around the corner and there’s no reason to worry about prices, so just go out and drive.

The post 6 beautiful Brits to buy, sell, or hold appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Bentley turns 100 this year, and to celebrate its centenary, the venerable automaker sent a Blower Bentley out for some beauty shots on a road course, where it belongs. By the looks of it, the Blower is basking in the light at Silverstone.

Company founder W.O. Bentley did not take kindly to racing hero Sir Henry “Tim” Birkin suggesting that he add a supercharger to the Bentley 4½ Litre. Bentley’s engine was quite advanced for its time, with a single overhead camshaft and four valves per cylinder. Fitted with twin SU carbs and dual Bosch magneto ignition, the engine made 130 horsepower in racing trim.

Though a privateer won the second 24-hour race at Le Mans in a 3.0-liter Bentley, the company’s cars were not successful at the next two races. Other manufacturers were catching up to Bentley’s technical prowess. The addition of a supercharger to the 3.0-liter engine allowed Bentley to take another win in 1927, but by then W.O.’s engine was nearing the end of its product cycle.

Bentley had raced his 6½ Litre six but even the best tires of the time couldn’t handle the mass of a car weighed down by huge cast iron engines. (Ettore Bugatti called the six-cylinder Bentleys the world’s fastest trucks.) W.O. solved the problem by lopping off two cylinders. The 4½ Litre model won the 1928 Le Mans race with Woolf Barnato and Bernard Rubin driving.

Barnato and Rubin were among a group of wealthy British men W.O. Bentley brought together to race and wrench his cars.  Like many inventors, W.O. Bentley believed his creations were exactly as they should be. If they needed more power, he favored increasing displacement, not adding forced induction.

Tim Birkin, whom Bentley considered the greatest British racer of his day, disagreed. By the late 1920s, Mercedes-Benz had been supercharging its racing engines for years. By this time, W.O. had lost financial control of his company to financier and Le Mans winner Barnato, who approved the construction of 55 supercharged models to homologate the car. Birkin directed the development of the supercharged Bentley, with the financial backing of Dorothy Paget, a wealthy horse racing enthusiast.

Amherst Villiers made the superchargers, powered them off the front of the crankshaft, and assembled the modified cars in his workshop. The official introduction of the “Blower Bentley” occurred at the 1929 British International Motor Show.

Blower Bentleys were big cars, 172 inches long with a 130 inch wheelbase and a curb weight of 3583 pounds. They were also very fast, and set a lap record at the Brooklands course. The front-mounted supercharger boosted output to 175 horsepower and gave the car a distinctive look. As fast as they were, though, the Blower Bentleys were not reliable.

Had Birkin been less of a flat-out racer and more concerned with preserving his machines, he might have had more wins and lived longer. Neither driver finished the race, but his 1930 Le Mans duel with Rudolf Caracciola at the wheel of a Mercedes-Benz has become the thing of legend, with Birkin making a high speed pass on Caracciola with two wheels off of the track, on grass. By then, tires had improved a bit and Barnato won the race in a Bentley Speed Six.

To take on the Brooklands banked track, a Blower Bentley was rebodied as a single-seater and power was increased to 240 horsepower, allowing Birkin to achieve a 137.9 mph lap average in 1932, then a record. Birkin was a World War One combat veteran, an adrenaline addict, and a fearless racer. Contemporary observers to the Brooklands record attempt said he was frequently airborne due to the uneven track surface.

The post Bentley at 100: Looking back on the Blower appeared first on Hagerty Media.

We earlier reported that British specialist Lister was working on a new Knobbly roadster. Now, Lister owner Lawrence Whittaker has confirmed that the revived Knobbly will indeed go into production. Whittaker used his personal Twitter account and Lister’s corporate Facebook page to announce, “NEW LISTER KNOBBLY – and yes, we will build it!”

The announcement was accompanied by a front-three-quarter beauty shot of the curvaceous new Knobbly. The long hood and short rear deck give a strong indication that, like previous Knobblys, it will likely have a front-mid-engine layout with rear-wheel drive.

Lister started out making Jaguar based road and racing cars in the 1950s. After decades of financial instability, the firm was purchased by Lister enthusiast Whittaker and his father Andrew in 2012. Two years later Lister started selling a continuation series of the Knobbly, built to original 1950s-era specification. Lister also sells performance-modified Jaguars, including an F-Type branded as the Thunder. An F-Pace SVR-based Lister Lightning SUV is also in the works.

No details on features or pricing for the modern day Knobbly have been released. It’s probably safe to assume that the resurrected Knobbly will be based on Jaguar mechanical components, as previous Listers have been. AutoExpress reports,  though, that the new car will be the first Lister in the company’s history to be designed completely in-house.

The post The new Lister Knobbly is planned for production, and here it is appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Change is afoot at Morgan, the British automaker so wedded to tradition that it still uses wood frames and only now decided that perhaps turbochargers aren’t a passing fad.

The company just announced its first new model in 15 years, a lovely little roadster called the Plus Six that will ride on the company’s new aluminum CX platform and use a turbocharged BMW straight-six.

A big change for sure, but nothing compared to the other announcement out of Malvern: For the first time since H.F.S. Morgan founded the company in 1910, someone not named Morgan will be running things. Investindustrial, the Italian investment firm with holdings in everything from Aston Martin to plastics manufacturing to high-end shoes, just acquired a majority stake in the company. Neither company disclosed terms of the deal, which provides equity shared to every employee. Morgan said the partnership will allow it to “accelerate new product development after the launch of the new Plus Six.”

The new model replaces the Plus 8 as Morgan’s flagship, a change necessitated by the fact BMW stopped producing the V-8 engine found beneath the 8’s bonnet. The Plus Six get the turbocharged B58 engine found in the Z4 and its hardtop cousin, the Toyota Supra. This is the first time a Morgan has relied upon forced induction.

Although the Plus Six features the curvaceous, sweeping lines that would have fit well in the 1930s, the underlying platform is entirely new. It is slightly wider and longer than the Plus 8, with an aluminum platform the company claims provides 100 percent greater torsional rigidity. That said, the aluminum body still sits on a frame handcrafted from English ash, and still rides on the sliding pillar front suspension Morgan designed 110 years ago.

The engine makes 335 horsepower and 369 lb-ft of torque, about 10 percent less than the V-8. You shouldn’t notice the deficit, though, because the Plus Six weighs a bit less than 2400 pounds. It sprints to 60 mph in 4.2 seconds, shaving half a second from the Plus 8’s time. You can have any transmission you like, as long as it’s BMW’s eight-speed automatic. The shifter, by the way, looks totally out of place in the Morgan’s wonderfully old-fashioned cockpit. The loss of a manual transmission for a car from an old-world brand like Morgan is a tragic oversight.

You’ll find the leather-swaddled interior roomier than those in earlier models, and the Plus 6 gets a full-color LCD display. So much change at Morgan!

Anything this cool rarely comes cheap, and the Plus 6 starts at $102,524. No word yet on when, or if the car is headed to to the U.S. At the moment, the only Morgan sold new in North America is the 3-Wheeler.

The post The Morgan Plus Six starts a new chapter for the English boutique brand appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Porsche guys can keep their Mezgers, and Alfa fans their Bussos, because the trophy for greatest-sounding European six-cylinder engine belongs in Coventry, home of Jaguar’s XK-series inline-six. Don’t believe me? Listen for yourself on the latest episode of Jay Leno’s Garage, which features a meticulously-constructed Jaguar E-Type and the glorious music that emanates from it’s center-exit tailpipes.

Dan Mooney, president of Classic Jaguar, joins Leno for a walkthrough and quick drive of the company’s latest project, a 1963 XKE built for the sole purpose of driving. While not an all-out tribute to the legendary lightweight variants of the early ’60s, the car possesses a number of callbacks to those cars—most notably an all-aluminum bodyshell. Knock-off-style wheels, hood latches and belts, and a bumper delete round out the sleek, race-inspired package.

The theme continues inside, with a carpetless interior that trades any frivolous comfort items for only what the driver needs in front of him. Gauges up front, switchgear to the right, and a modern shoulder harnesses complete the spartan setup. Behind the driver sits a 35-gallon fuel cell, providing the Jag with a surprisingly-long-legged range of 400+ miles.

Lifting the clamshell hood, however, gives us a glimpse of where this build’s magic truly comes from. The original 3.8-liter inline-six has been stroked out to over 4.0 liters and fitted with a set of sidedraft Weber carburetors. These changes, in conjunction with a warmed-over wide-angle cylinder head and bump in compression, boost this vintage feline’s horsepower to a healthy 350.

Leno slides behind the wheel and turns the key, and the ferocious Jaguar roars to life. Yes, 350 horsepower is far less crazy than it used to be, but power-number-numbness be damned; the 2200-pound roadster is a reminder that there’s plenty of fun to be had in a featherweight, purely analog machine. Any human with a pulse and properly functioning ear drums would be easily convinced that this was one of the most sensational experiences you can have in a vintage car.

When deliberating on the different paths for building Jaguars, Mooney says he often asks himself, “Would Sir William Lyons have approved?” In the case of this aluminum XKE and its symphonic six-cylinder, we think Mr. Jaguar would absolutely love it.

The post Jaguar’s E-type might just have the best-sounding European six-cylinder appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Lister is a British specialist automaker that earned its reputation making Jaguar-based road and racing cars in the mid 1950s, with the occasional interruption in activity due to financial instabilities. (Not unusual for specialist UK automakers.)

Last week, Lister CEO Lawrence Whittaker used Twitter to reveal an image of a new, modern Knobbly roadster that gives the cars’ voluptuous 1950s curves a modern spin, accompanied by the text, “Sneak Peak of the new Lister Knobbly concept we’ve been working on.” There’s no word on specifications, but based on Lister’s long relationship with Coventry, it’s probably safe to assume the recreated Knobbly will be based on Jaguar mechanical bits.

The original Lister sports car did not have a model name of its own in the beginning, but its round contours evoked the name Knobbly, and the moniker stuck. It’s hard to judge the new car’s appearance from the single profile image provided by Whittaker, but it looks like Lister retained enough of the original’s voluptuous curves for a familial appearance while being contemporary enough to appeal to modern eyes. It looks appropriately aggressive.

In 2012 Lawrence Whittaker and his father Andrew, who own extended warranty providers Warrantywise, went to the Lister factory in Cambridge to get parts to restore their vintage Lister Knobbly. They ended up buying the entire George Lister Engineering company, including intellectual property, original drawings, and plans for Lister cars. The pair brought on much of the original Lister crew as consultants, including Brian Lister, whose designs were the basis of the company’s products. Renamed Lister Motor Company, in 2014 the reborn outfit started selling a continuation 60th Anniversary Knobbly edition, built to 1950s specs, and priced at £295,000. In 2016, it announced production of 10 examples of the Lister Knobbly Stirling Moss, a replica of the car Sir Stirling raced at Silverstone in 1958. Price? A cool £1 million each.

Skeptics of the new Knobbly pointed out that about a year ago Whittaker also used Twitter to announce the $2.78 million Storm II—an all-new version of a car Lister made in the 1990s. So far, there have been no additional news or updates surrounding the project.

The post Lister previews its resurrected Knobbly roadster appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Considering that the classic Mini already looks like a remote-control toy, it only makes sense that someone would electrify one. Sixty years after the birth of the original Mini, a UK tech company is electrifying a limited run of 100 surviving examples.

Swind, a UK tech outfit normally focused on prototypes for supercar OEMs, is honoring the legendary British hatchback with its recently announced E Classic Mini. It pairs a fully restored classic Mini body with an electric powertrain, utilizing a 80kW (107-hp) electric motor produced in-house by Swindon Powertrain. The cars can accelerate from 0–60 mph in 9.2 seconds and have a top speed of 80 mph, and the battery allows 125 miles of range.

Swind says the E Classic Mini, which was recently revealed at the London Classic Car Show, “instills all the affection of the original with state-of-the-art EV technology to create an individual, nippy, zero-emissions city car with character.”

“The classic Mini has such a special place in people’s hearts, not only in the UK but around the world,” says Raphaël Caillé, Swindon Powertrain’s managing director. “The packaging of Sir Alec Issigonis’ 1959 design was truly groundbreaking, and now we are making it relevant again.”

According to Swind, the Classic E Mini has “a raft of modern features under its skin to ensure it can be used year-round.” That includes underfloor heating as well as heated leather seats and front and rear glass. Other modern amenities include a navigation and infotainment system, USB ports, power steering, a full-length sliding fabric roof, and air conditioning. The Classic E Mini is available in left- and right-hand drive, and in six colors.

With the gas tank removed in favor of a compact lithium-ion battery, the car has more cargo space. Other advantages are a lower center of gravity and a more balanced front/rear weight ratio.

So how much does this classic-meets-modern-tech Mini cost? Try $100K. Ouch. At that price, you might be tempted to find a specialty shop to do the conversion for you.

Swind, which also makes the EB-01 electric bicycle, is not affiliated with Mini. In fact, Mini is coming out with an EV of its own later this year. Something tells us the classic will have a bit more personality.

The post UK’s Swind E Classic Mini EV has 125-miles of range, costs $103K appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The only thing more awesome than a Morgan Three-Wheeler is a Morgan Three-Wheeler with a fourth wheel.

Wait. What? Isn’t that just a car? No. The RIP Special is so much more amazing than that. It cobbles together the best bits of two British cyclecars—a Morgan Three-Wheeler and a GN—to create something far more than the sum of its parts. Or wheels.

Goodwood Road & Racing featured this insane track car in a video promoting the upcoming April members meeting. Charlie Martin regularly flogs the car at events throughout the UK, and comes across as a thoroughly likeable chap as he explains the intricacies of this crazy concoction.

All of the parts are from the late 1920s, so you won’t find much in the way of sophisticated hardware. The V-twin hanging off the front slurps methanol pressurized with a hand pump. The exposed valvetrain is drip-oiled, its flow controlled by a knob on the dash. And it seems there’s two of everything: cylinders, magnetos, carburetors, brakes, and speeds. About those: they’re both chain-driven, shifted via a dog clutch on the rear axle. Martin jokes the car is geared “high and higher” for the Goodwood circuit.

This wild machine appears almost terrifying to drive. Given that the brakes are only on the front axle and the four-wheeler has a wickedly quick steering ratio—Martin says it’s about two turns lock-to-lock—taking corners at speed is not for the timid. Perhaps that’s why Martin calls the car the RIP Special.

The post The four-wheeled Morgan RIP Special is built for the brave (or crazy) appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s easy to forget that Aston Martin, preferred conveyance of both James Bond and Tom Brady, also makes four-door vehicles. The current Rapide is in its tenth year of production, and while Aston Martin doesn’t publish precise figures it’s a safe guess that the total sales volume wouldn’t match the number of yards gained by the Patriots in even the most defense-heavy Super Bowl. It’s not just the Rapide; all Aston Martin sedans are rare. Yet that doesn’t translate to higher prices, meaning that the weird cousins to a few better-known Aston Martin sports cars can be had for a steep discount.

And when we say weird, it doesn’t get much weirder than the 1976–1990 Aston Martin Lagonda. The wedge shape seems to hint at contemporary GT cars such as the Lotus Espirit, De Tomaso Pantera, and Lamborghini Countach, only without any of their elegance. At the time, that awkwardness was showroom poison; today, it makes the Lagonda delightfully kitschy.

Only 645 Lagondas were built (along with another seven Series I versions with styling based on the Aston Martin V8). Which makes it notable that two are for sale at RM Sotheby’s Paris Retromobile auction: a 1983 Tickford Series II and a 1989 Series 4. Together, they span the breadth of Lagonda production from early (and buggy) LED instrument panels to the later, also buggy, vacuum fluorescent instrument panels. Admittedly, any 1980s Aston Martin is a dicey proposition from a reliability standpoint, which is why the Hagerty Valuation Tool says “The very best cars…are the ones to buy.” Put another way, you don’t want a #4-condition (poor) Lagonda, even at the suggested $25,900 price.

Luckily, both cars in the RM Auction are represented as being top-notch examples and, thanks to their specification, rare even within the already-recherche subset of Williams-Towns-styled Lagondas. The earlier car sports the Tickford body kit, an option on 1983 models that features, among other things, exhausts poking through the flat rear valence and BBS wheels. The later model is a Series 4 (one of 105), with the six sealed headlights as the giveaway to the revised styling. Look closer and you’ll see more rounded edges to the bodywork as well.

Both Lagondas have an estimate at the high end of the Hagerty values, converted from euros to approximately $100,000–$140,000. Yes, it’s a lot of money. But that much will barely get you into any two-door version of the Aston Martin V-8 that was sold alongside it.

One other Aston Martin sedan is in the same sale: a 1962 Rapide. This model was converted from the DB4 by Touring of Milan. (Commonly referred to as Touring Superleggera, the words on the company’s badge, which simply means “Touring Superlight.”). Only 55 were made, and several of those are no longer in service–though not, as you might guess, from a collision with the ugly stick. As such, an original Rapide at public sale is rare. The most recent we could find was this 1963 example that went for  €187,920 ($214,444 today) in 2014. Yes again, that’s a lot of money. But it’s half of what it will take to get into a roadworthy DB4 coupe, to say nothing of the higher-valued GT, Vantage, or Zagato variants.

That’s not to say that either sedan is the bargain entry point into classic Aston Martin ownership, if such a thing even exists. If you only look at the twin criteria of limited production and a storied brand, however, it’s possible to see a bargain or two here. As outsiders to the main line of succession, these cars will always have some degree of hipster appeal; some subset of the car collecting world will always love these cars more for being so different. In other words, people will forget that Aston Martin makes sedans, and that’s what makes Aston Martin sedans cool.

The post Aston Martin sedans are rare, but relative bargains are out there appeared first on Hagerty Media.

According to Triumph, the 1975 TR7 was supposed to be “the shape of things to come,” but it wound up being the shape of a tanking company. But how?

A radical departure from the old-fashioned but well-liked TR6 it replaced, the TR7 looks like a wedge of cheese, its pop-up headlight doors look a lot like toilet seat covers, and the character line on the body sides is just distracting. Legend has it that Giorgetto Giugiaro, the designer who helped popularize wedge styling in the first place, exclaimed “My God! They’ve done the same thing to the other side” when he first saw Triumph’s new sports car.

On top of the looks, the TR7 wasn’t built very well. And much of the time, it wasn’t even built at all. In those dark days of late-70s British Leyland, the workforce tended to be a bit strike-happy, and labor stoppage was regular. Triumph shut its doors not too long after the last TR7 rolled off the line in October 1981, and ever since the TR7 has been the butt of jokes and largely dismissed by traditional British sports car fans. The car’s main appeal these days is that it offers a quirky, fun-to-drive little sports car package—for dirt cheap.

But even though the TR7 is something of a rolling punchline, it surprised us with a Hagerty Vehicle Rating of 77, which is up a whopping 57 points over the past year and ahead of anything else with a Triumph or MG badge.

[If you aren’t familiar with our Hagerty Vehicle Rating, it’s the result of crunching the numbers we collect from the industry, which includes insurance quote activity and auction sales. Comparing the data to other models allows us to rank vehicles performance in the market overall. A vehicle that’s keeping up with the market would have an HVR of 50, and those that are outperforming the market are scored as high as 100.]

Don’t expect the TR7 to be the next big thing, however. This is mostly driven by buyer interest (measured by insurance quote activity) rather than any big prices that we’re seeing. The number of quotes is up 25 percent over the past year, and that’s sizable. The number being added to Hagerty policies is also ahead of the rest of the market. Other than those two metrics, however, it’s not all coming up roses for the TR7.

Condition #2 (Excellent) prices saw a 10-percent bump in May 2017 and a 6-percent increase in September but have been flat ever since, including with our latest update in January. And even though buyer interest is up, it’s mainly up among older enthusiasts. Two-thirds of TR7 quotes are coming from Baby Boomers and older, even though those groups make up only half of the quotes overall. Gen-X and Millennial buyers, meanwhile, are somewhat indifferent to British sports cars in their buying habits, and that translates to the TR7 as well.

As for auctions, we just don’t see a ton of TR7s cross the block. In fact, only two of them made it to auction last year, and both sold for below their average value. An absolutely mint 1000-mile convertible sold for a whopping $24,200 in Scottsdale two years ago, but that sale was something of a fluke and you’d be hard-pressed to find a TR7 selling for more than $15K. Most of them out there are asking less than 10.

There are a few reasons why TR7s are unlikely to catch on despite some encouraging numbers. One is that they aren’t exactly rare. Despite its flaws, the TR7 handles well, is a lot more refined than its predecessors and was competitively priced in its day, so Triumph sold over 100,000 of them. Another is build quality and reliability (or lack thereof). Even though things got better as production moved from Liverpool to Coventry and finally to Solihull, TR7 quality was never excellent.

And since TR7s have been so cheap for decades, the years (and their owners) haven’t been kind to them. That’s why most of the ones on eBay are falling apart. In the grand scheme of things, buyers increasingly show a preference for reliable, “ready-to-go” collector cars, which doesn’t bode well for the many mechanic-special Triumphs out there.

Lastly, TR7 prices have a natural ceiling, commonly known as the TR8. Triumph jazzed up its wedge sports car with a 3.5-liter Rover V-8 for 1978, and the TR8 is just a much more exciting car. And with a little patience (fewer than 3000 were built), the huge step up in performance and rarity from the TR7 to the TR8 is a tempting value. Prices range from a little over 4 grand for a running project to less than 25 grand for a Condition #1 (Concours) example.

The TR7, meanwhile, ranges from $2000 to $14,200. For whatever reason, TR8s have also remained very affordable and don’t show signs of picking up. Because the 7 will never be worth more than the 8, TR7 prices don’t have much room to grow. And TR8 aside, there are lots of vintage Japanese sports cars (not to mention earlier classic British roadsters) that are waiting to be snapped up for entry-level prices. So even though the TR7 is getting more love from buyers than it has in the past, don’t expect them to appreciate any time soon.

The post Is the Triumph TR7 going to be dirt cheap forever? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The love for a first car can cause one to make some questionable financial decisions. But as many eventually appreciate, the memories and thrill of the drive can outweigh the instinct to preserve your funds. Steve Nelson, owner of a tastefully modified 1965 Morris Mini Minor, went through this exact dilema, managing to walk away with fantastic results. So good, in fact, that it was featured on a recent episode of Jay Leno’s Garage.

Nelson acquired the Mini Minor 40 years ago, at age 17. It was his first car. A right-hand-drive version that was imported to the U.S. from Bournemouth, England, the copper-colored Morris suffered from body rust not typical of sunny California, but not enough to prevent him from enjoying the car as a daily driver for many years. But when an exhaust valve seat managed to clink-clink-clink its way out the tailpipe, that shelved the car for 18 years.

World renowned Cooper expert Graham Reid of Heritage Garage took on the project in 2013, suggesting to Nelson that it would be easier to just start with a fresh shell. Nelson declined, of course, as he didn’t want to lose the essence of his first car with a different body. So the rust and rot was repaired and a number of hot-rod updates were made to improve driveability. The 850-cc inline-four now produces 60 horsepower (up from 34) through the use of twin carbs, hotter cam, “998” cylinder head, higher compression, and a few other tricks.

The nearly-six-foot-tall Leno slides behind the wheel of the Mini Minor and proceeds to take it for a rip on the twisty mountain passes surrounding Burbank. Leno finds the sensation of speed to be the little car’s greatest asset, commenting that it’s easy to have fun without needing actually go all that fast. The Mini’s rowdy exhaust note and upgraded four-speed manual only add to that experience.

The Mini is the quintessential car of the U.K., and one could easily argue (as Jay does) that it was as important for England as Ford’s Model T and VW’s Beetle were for the rest of the world. Its simple, front-wheel-drive layout and excellent packaging was tremendously influential on the automotive world for decades to come. And Steve’s spritely, powder blue Mini Minor serves as a great example of its ability to just make people smile.

The post This resto-mod Mini is a 60-horsepower, street-legal go kart appeared first on Hagerty Media.

One look at the priciest cars sold during this year’s Arizona auctions is enough to see that when it comes to getting top dollar, Ferrari is still the king. In fact, Italian cars steal a lot of the spotlight at elite-tier auctions. Lest we not forget, though, that when it comes to cars that truly exude class and elegance, the British know a thing or two. So sit down with a frothy English bitter or a cup of tea and take in these seven most expensive British cars to sell at the 2019 Arizona auctions.

1957 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud I Drophead Coupe by H.J. Mulliner

Sold for $417,500 (Gooding & Company)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: $473,000

Similar in style to contemporary Bentleys, but in Rolls-Royce form and finished by H.J. Mulliner, this is one of 12 left-hand-drive examples produced. Delivered new to Dorothy Staniar Assheton of New York City (one of her several residences) in 1956, and kept until 1974, the car features “Windtone” horns, summer and winter radiator thermostats, “puncture-proof tires,” an automatic transmission, and power steering. Arguably not as pretty as the Bentley lower down on this list, this Rolls-Royce also sold for less than half of what the Bentley did, which seems like a good deal.

1967 Rolls-Royce Phantom V State Landaulet by Mulliner Park Ward

Sold for $445,000 (RM Sotheby’s)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: $114,000

This opulent State Landaulet is one of five. Originally ordered by the Communist dictator of Romania, Nicolae Ceaușescu, its luxuries include a cocktail bar, entertainment cabinet with a television, dual air-conditioners, overhead fluorescent lighting for nighttime parades, and a refrigerated wine cooler. The final cost of just less than ₤20,000 made it the most expensive Phantom V ever produced. The higher-ups in Moscow did not approve, however, and the car went back to England after a year. The historical connection here is part of the cause for such a high price on this car, which ordinarily averages $129,000 in #1 (Concours) condition.

1947 Bentley Mk VI Drophead Coupe by Franay

Sold for $483,500 (RM Sotheby’s)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: $146,000

Not all Bentleys were bodied in England. This Mark VI is a one-off by French coachbuilder Franay of Paris. The Parisian design features flowing fender lines and chrome accents. Restored in the early 2000s with a two-tone brown paint scheme, the brown tones also continue inside—the combination of colors was reportedly inspired by chocolate bars of Hershey—where the car was anticipated to debut at the AACA National meet. Even in totally flawless condition, coachbuilt Bentley Mk VI dropheads usually top out at around $185,000, but this is a one-off car in truly outstanding condition and it has two Amelia Island Best in Class awards under its belt.

1954 Aston Martin DB2/4 Sedan by Bertone

Sold for $566,000 (Gooding & Company)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: $N/A

S.H. “Wacky” Arnolt of Chicago ordered seven Aston Martin DB2/4s from Bertone. Six were open cars, which includes three spyders, and this is the only coupe—a one-off from Bertone. While not nearly as pretty the spider, this coupe was displayed on the Bertone stand at the 1957 Turin Auto Show. Today they’re worth about a fifth of the Bertone-built spyder. These Bertone-bodied cars likely led to Aston Martin to Touring (and Zagato) for the DB4.

1965 Aston Martin DB5 Saloon

Sold for $610,000 (Bonhams)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: $1.15M

This UK-delivery right-hand-drive DB5 is painted the popular color of Silver Birch, made popular by 007’s car in Goldfinger. The recipient of subtle upgrades (sadly not of the Q-branch variety) including A/C and a synchromesh transmission from Beachum in New Zealand, this car sold for below the condition-appropriate value according to our data. An amendment to the catalog stated the car did have a matching numbers engine, and the car was reported as a post-block sale, so someone probably got a deal. Additional non-original updates included power steering, soundproofing, and central locking. The DB5 model remains the centerpiece for many Aston Martin collectors.

1956 Bentley S1 Continental Drophead Coupe by Park Ward

Sold for $1,077,500 (RM Sotheby’s)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: $1.05M

One of 31 left-hand-drive examples out of a long-term collection, the S1 Continental Drophead Coupe by Park Ward features an aluminum body and tiny tail-fins. While this car’s first owner was Mary Stevens Baird of Bernardsville, New Jersey, and has always remained in the states, another example of the 31 LHD cars was commandeered by Saddam Hussein.

2019 McLaren Senna Coupe

Sold for $1,457,500 (Barrett-Jackson)

Average value in #2 (Excellent) condition: N/A

When McLaren launched the P1 in 2014 with a plug-in hybrid-electric drivetrain, many asked what the car would be like without the heavy batteries and electric motor. The 2019 McLaren Senna is the crazy-looking answer to that question. The track-bred but still street-legal Senna is aesthetically… brave, with its massive wings optimized for huge downforce. The fact that it is the top sale for all English cars across the Arizona auction week suggests that collectors are warming up to the Senna.

The post The 7 most expensive British cars at the 2019 Arizona Auctions appeared first on Hagerty Media.

When it comes to race-winning British sports cars, the big names usually come to mind: Jaguar, Aston Martin, MG, and even BMC if the Mini’s rally exploits appeal to you.

Of course, “big” is somewhat of a misnomer when discussing the British auto industry; even today the UK’s most popular export brands move only a tiny number of cars compared to giants like GM or Toyota. But even Aston Martin could be considered a behemoth when you consider how small Peerless was in its heyday.

Peer-what?

If the name Peerless doesn’t ring a bell—or if it instead calls to mind the separate American manufacturer from the early 20th century—you aren’t alone. In the finest built-in-a-shed tradition, the company sprang up seemingly out of nowhere in the mid-1950s and shone brightly for only a handful of years before its founders moved on to other projects.

The shared name is more than a coincidence, as the facility in Slough, where the British incarnation of Peerless built its vehicles, had once been a plant used by a subsidiary of the Yankee concern to produce armored cars during World War I.

Peerless founders Jimmy Byrnes and Bernie Rodger were about as far from the rough-and-tumble truck world as you could get. The former was a club racer who was tired of racing off-the-shelf rides and who wanted to try his hand at campaigning something built almost entirely to his own tastes—and, if possible, sell a few on the side to feed his motorsports habit. The latter was a local legend in engine building and tuning who had early gotten his hands dirty on a number of other straight-to-the-track one-off projects.

A third principal, John Gordon, was roped in to provide feedback about what would and wouldn’t work from a marketing perspective. Gordon was a Rolls-Royce vendor and amateur racer himself, who would go on to found the automaker Gordon-Keeble after Peerless dissolved.

Borrow from the best

In another nod to Britain’s sports car past, both Byrnes and Rodger agreed that starting completely from scratch in building their racer didn’t make much sense from a financial, engineering, or strategic perspective.

Byrnes was a restaurateur, and one of his eating spots was a favorite among the execs at Standard Triumph. It didn’t take much pressing of the flesh before the racer had secured the backing of key members of the automaker’s board in getting Peerless off the ground—built around the Triumph TR3 platform, of course. The founder constructed a series of prototypes in order to convince the rest of Triumph’s brass that it would be worthwhile partnering with the upstart firm.

In order to be taken seriously, the car—which would first be dubbed the Warwick before landing on its eventual Peerless GT moniker—couldn’t be a mere clone of the TR3 from either a styling or performance point of view. Although the drivetrain was lifting directly from the Triumph, the 2.0-liter, 100-horsepower four-cylinder engine would be placed within a full arc-welded tube frame nest that added significant structural strength (needed at its top speed of just under 110 mph). The engine, which also produced 117 lb-ft of torque, was mated to a four-speed gearbox that used a Laycock overdrive system allowing for a full seven gears of fuel-savings, if desired.

The redesign added six inches to the overall length of the GT versus the Triumph. Other key differences between the TR3 and the Peerless GT included a much wider track (five inches), a De Dion rear axle design, as well as elegantly crafted fiberglass body that would conceal a 2+2 four-seater layout. The decision to choose such a seemingly exotic material for the exterior panels of the Peerless GT, instead of going with a more traditional steel construction, was actually made by the company’s accountants. There was no way the tiny Peerless could afford to tool up with the gear required even to hand-build body parts, but at the time working with fiberglass was considerably less expensive.

Le Mans-bound

After the Peerless GT got an encouraging amount of attention at the 1957 Paris Motor Show, the company sought an even greater share of the spotlight by competing in Le Mans the following year. Drivers Percy Crabb, Peter Jopp, Dick Gibson, and Ian Bailey piloted the primary and reserve cars for the race. The race versions of the GT had hand-built engines, additional fuel tanks, and a lowered suspension.

It was an inspired decision: the GT not only won its class, but it finished 16th overall. This was a massive overachievement for Peerless, which had intended simply to showcase the car’s speed and resilience on a race track, not duke it out with some of the fastest racers in the world at speeds of well over 100 mph and emerge victorious. Suddenly the orders came pouring in from customers interested in a capable sports car that could double as a family hauler thanks to its tiny rear seat.

Perhaps “pouring in” is a relative statement, because only 325 Peerless GTs were produced before the company went out of business in 1960. That figure is related primarily to the small factory that was doing its best to churn out GTs at the rate of five cars per week, but which eventually fell hopelessly behind.

Of those, 275 were in original spec. The remaining 50 were Phase 2 cars that reflected a number of improvements that the Peerless design team had deemed necessary. Primary among those was a move to eliminate the nearly 60 individual body seams that made up the original GT in favor of one molding that avoided the need for extensive bonding and riveting—and which also improved the rigidity of the car while dropping its curb weight. Smaller changes to minor features, trim pieces, and equipment was also part of the package.

Shockingly cheap

Internal squabbles and boardroom intrigue cut Peerless at the knees during a critical point in time, and although Bernie Rodger would do his best to keep the dream alive by building the Warwick (a somewhat modified version of the GT that used almost all of the original tooling) for an additional two years, even fewer of these saw the light of day than the Phase 2 GTs.

Peerless GTs are exceptionally rare in America, but even still, prices are extremely reasonable. The average value of a #1 (Concours) Phase 2 is just over $50,000—an amazing bargain for a Le Mans class-winning sports car, especially when considering there are more Ferrari Enzos in the world than Peerless GTs.

When’s the last time you saw an ultra-low-volume European sports car with legitimate race heritage cross the block for so cheap? The Peerless GT isn’t just a gorgeous Jaguar-alternative, it’s a piece of automotive history that’s as compelling now as it was during its brief heyday, and certainly more of a story at the next car meet than your typical Triumph TR3.

The post Peerless GT: England’s forgotten, hand-built, Le Mans-winning sports car appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Now that the new Mini has been around for 20 years as a subsidiary to BMW, we’re all pretty used to seeing them out on the road. And in that span of time, various non-traditional variants—like the Paceman, Countryman, Convertible, Coupe, Roadster, and Clubman—have muddied the waters when it comes to the classic city car’s true roots.

Mini is now introducing a special 60 Years Edition to honor six decades since the first 1959 Morris Mini-Minor, but juxtaposing the modern Mini with the vintage example says a lot more about how the cars are wildly different, rather than part of the same tradition.

The 60 Years Edition is available in the U.S. on Cooper and Cooper S variants of the hardtop two-door and four-door Mini, where it adds special badging on the hood, side scuttle, door sill, and throughout the interior. It also comes with unique 17-inch wheels and a host of equipment like LED headlights and fog lamps with white turn signal lenses, LED taillights with a Union-Jack signature, and interior ambient lighting. There are a handful of available colors, along with your choice of contrasting white or black roof.

But compared to the original, blissfully pure Mini city car, all of those extra bits and bobs seem extraneous and chintzy. Yes, people often personalized their classic Minis to their taste, but the soul of the car was its simplicity of form and function. The front-wheel drive layout and rubber-cone suspension was used to maximize interior space, so that taller drivers could also be comfortable and even manage to carry a suitcase or a few passengers in the back. The dashboard is uncluttered and beautiful in an industrial sort of way. The Mini was approachable and cute on its own design merit, not because of cute add-ons.

On top of all that, the original Mini’s light and nimble attitude made it an ideal platform for racing and hot-rodding. Today, the supercharged first generation (2000-06) of the modern Minis are about the only examples for which you could say the same.

The days of Mini being a true small-car brand are long gone, with Minis getting bigger with every generation. But when I see a new one next to the Mini of old, all I want is to zip around in that tiny little classic and watch as people point and smile.

The post Mini 60 Years Edition just makes me want a vintage Mini appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Before there was the Mazda Miata, there was the MG Midget. Well, technically the Austin-Healey Sprite was first. That car rolled out of the MG factory a few years before the badge-engineered Midget debuted. But the Midget was in production for far longer (1961–80, compared to 1958–71 for the Sprite). Semantics aside, the Sprite/Midget (aka “Spridget”) was the tossable little everyman sports car three decades before the Miata took up the mantle in 1989.

And since the death of the British sports car at the end of the 1970s, the MG Midget remains one of the two least expensive (the Triumph Spitfire being the other) points of entry into that segment of the classic market. Endlessly fun to drive, simple to work on and cheap to buy, there’s tons of appeal for buyers across the demographic spectrum. But even as more and more classic sports cars have appreciated beyond the reach of many enthusiasts, the Midget has remained pretty much as cheap and cheerful as it’s always been. Prices have inched up a bit, but value trends show them staying steady for the foreseeable future.

How the MG Midget was born

The Sprite, which spawned the Midget, started as a collaboration between Donald Healey and the British Motor Corporation (BMC), which owned MG, to sell a bare-bones sports car at the very bottom of the price spectrum. The Sprite used a modern unibody construction and offered sharp handling, while power came from a 948-cc version of the famous BMC A-Series engine. This first “Bugeye” Sprite—a car so fun that it’s literally smiling at you—was a huge hit, although a more practical and conventional-looking “square-body” version came out in 1961. Its success encouraged MG, which was assembling the Sprite anyway, to start producing its own version the same year.

Little car with a big personality

It may not exactly be politically correct in this day and age, but MG began using the Midget name at the end of the 1920s and continued to use the label on the T-Series cars into the mid-1950s before resurrecting it for its re-badged square-body Mk II Austin-Healey Sprite. Midgets and Sprites are identical for the most part, but early Midgets have extra chrome trim and a nicer interior (including available leather), which resulted in a higher price when they were new. The 1964 model year brought the first major update with the Midget Mk II, which featured wind-up windows, lockable doors, available wire wheels, suspension improvements, and a few more horsepower.

Acceleration in all Midgets is modest, to put it nicely, but 1966 brought a lot more pep under the hood with the famous twin-carb 1275-cc version of the A-Series. It was similar to the engine found in the Mini Cooper S, although down to 65 hp compared to 75 hp in the Mini, thanks to lower compression and smaller valves. There weren’t many more changes, aside from minor cosmetic updates for several years. The Sprite dropped out of the lineup in 1971, leaving the Midget to carry the cheap roadster torch for nearly another decade.

The biggest update in the Midget’s history, both on top and underneath, came in 1974 with the addition of energy-absorbing black plastic bumpers similar to the MGB, and the 1498-cc engine from the Triumph Spitfire under the hood. While the Midget and Spitfire had been chief rivals in the entry-level sports car market, they came under the same corporate umbrella with the creation of British Leyland at the end of the 1960s. Both little roadsters soldiered on through 1980 mostly unchanged, but that year the MG plant in Abingdon closed after operating since the 1920s. With the disappearance of MG and Triumph, the traditional British sports car was gone. But it wasn’t forgotten; those roadsters became collectible classics.

MG Midget values are stable

Speaking of collectibility, Midget values are very similar across the board, with only the Mk I (1962–63) and Mk II (1964–66) commanding a significant premium, but even those are well within the realm of affordability with #1-condition (Concours) values at barely $18,000. We have no record of any production Midget selling for more than $19,000 at auction. Values took a big dive in 2009, as they did for most classic cars at the time, and stayed mostly flat for the next seven years. From 2016–18, average values have risen by a noteworthy 15 percent, but with cars this affordable you’re still talking about a few hundred bucks rather than a few thousand. And there’s no reason to expect bigger changes in the near future.

It’s a similar story with buyer interest (measured by insurance quote activity), which had been largely flat before an increase in the past two years. About half of Midget quotes come from Baby Boomers, and about a quarter each come from younger Gen X and Millennial buyers. Compared to other classic British cars, Midgets have 30-percent more quotes from the two younger generations, which is likely due to their lower price.

An MG Midget for you is out there

Because Midgets have never been anything but cheap (some of them for over half a century now), many cars have had all sorts of work and modifications done, reversed, and redone over the years. For example, later 1275-cc engines are commonly fitted to early 1098cc cars, as are brake upgrades, Weber carbs and five-speed gearbox conversions. A lot of people also (mercifully) yank the rubber bumpers off Mk IV cars. Plenty of Midgets have been painted half a dozen times or more, and some have been turned into race cars and then put back to street trim.

But while such modifications and checkered histories can wreck the value of more expensive classics, that’s not necessarily the case with Midgets. As long as any alterations are done reasonably well and tasteful, they don’t necessarily harm the value of a Midget since all of the above is common. And in the case of 1275 and five-speed swaps, they make the car both more usable and fun.

Provided you check for the usual rust and overall soundness, you can’t really go wrong with a Midget. While the Mk IV offers more creature comforts and more torque from its 1500cc engine, the earlier chrome bumper cars have more of a proper classic charm to them, and BMC’s A-Series engine has more tuning potential as well as more aftermarket support. Your Midget will break, but when it does you’ll find that parts are widely available and that the Midget is so darn basic that most DIY-ers with a little mechanical know-how can usually fix it themselves. It’s also one of the easiest and most popular ways to go vintage racing. Finally, despite its name, a six-footer can drive a Midget comfortably, provided he’s OK with a little wind in the hair (and on forehead).

Some collector cars are cheap to buy because they’re expensive to own. Well, the MG Midget is cheap to buy and cheap to own, a rare combination. In terms of fun and style per dollar, it’s hard to beat, and still makes an ideal starter classic.

The post An “everyman” roadster, the MG Midget is the perfect starter classic appeared first on Hagerty Media.

After its European debut, Bentley is showing its third-generation Continental GT coupe and convertible in Los Angeles. While familiar in overall design, several tweaks yield an athletic appearance that’s backed up with impressive performance and luxury in what Bentley promises to be its best grand touring package yet.

We spoke with Simon Blake, director of body and trim at Bentley, who walked us around the car and showed us some of the new features and improvements. Most noticeable: the proportions, with the front wheels pushed forward 135 millimeters for less front overhang.

The top on the convertible is one of Blake’s favorite aspects, as it stows neatly below a tonneau without interrupting the flow of the bodyline that starts at the top of the doors. “It was a challenge getting this roof, which is so well insulated, into this really tight package,” Blake explained. The Z-folding soft top goes down in just 19 seconds and can be operated at up to 30 mph. Even more impressive is that with the top up, the new convertible is quieter than the previous generation Continental coupe.

Part of the challenge of packaging the new top is the added structure above the rear suspension that helped make the convertible’s chassis five percent more rigid than the previous model’s hardtop. Additional structure was also included under the rear seats that’s unique to the convertible, otherwise, from the doors forward the coupe and convertible are virtually identical, sharing a tall center tunnel that also increases rigidity, evident in the tight door gaps.

Despite the added structure, the body shell of the convertible shed 20 percent of its mass compared to the model it’s replacing. Credit that to increased use of aluminum, high-strength steel, and other lightweight materials. Bentley’s hot-forming process allows for intricately sculpted aluminum body panels, which make up the majority of the exterior, while the deck lid is reinforced polymer that allows for antennae to be mounted discreetly underneath.

The opulent interior features detailed embroidery on the upholstery and numerous luxury touches that keep passengers comfortable during top-down cruises. For example, the armrests in both the center console and front doors are heated, and there’s a heater vent just below the headrest to keep your neck toasty.

We must admit that we were impressed with the rotating digital display at the top of the center stack. Depending on driver preference, the center can display a 12.3-inch high-definition touch screen for navigation, audio, ventilation, and car settings, or press a button and have it rotate to show three analog gauges displaying outside temperature, a compass, and a lap timer. When the car shuts down, a third face is revealed that is devoid of gauges or displays and simply continues the dash’s theme uninterrupted. The convertible that Bentley had on display used piano black below a wood burl, while the coupe used wood veneer top and bottom. No matter your choice—and Bentley will provide several—the upper and lower trims will be separated by chrome trim and feature ambient lighting strip below that, which is also customizable for color, saturation, and brightness.

You can’t have a proper GT car without some serious power, so every Continental will use a twin-turbocharged 6.0-liter W-12 engine that produces 626 horsepower and 644 lb-ft of torque from 1350–4500 rpm, enabling a 3.6-second sprint from 0–60 mph and a top speed of 207 mph. Also standard is the ZF eight-speed, dual-clutch transmission and all-wheel-drive that sends up to 38 percent of engine power to the front wheels.

With that kind of potential for speed, handling was also a priority. Roadholding improves with Bentley’s Dynamic Ride system that counters body roll by way of a 48-volt system that applies torque to the sway bars, pressing down on the outboard wheels and providing an opposite lifting force on the inside wheels, keeping the car flat through turns.

Blake described the new GT as the “ultimate refined grand touring machine,” and we’d love to put it to the test. The combination of powerful engine, splendidly appointed interior, and fantastic proportion may just set the new standard for grand touring luxury.

The post The 2019 Bentley Continental is a leaner, sportier grand touring champion appeared first on Hagerty Media.

“Welcome to the secret world of the vintage Sports Car Club,” begins the YouTube video. “This is the story of fast cars,” continues the young woman in a dulcet, upper-class British accent, “of mud, of competition, and of true British eccentricity at its best.”

What follows in this video from 2013 is, as promised, totally mike-foxtrot eccentric. It’s 15 minutes of valuable old cars being mercilessly pummeled up rutted tracks and through muddy pastures as their ancient engines float the valves at the wailing limit and their tires sling roostertails of sticky mud, the occupants violently bouncing in the seats. Called “trialing,” it looks like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang meets Deliverance meets Downton Abbey, and it makes no more sense to a Yankee than the two other major British sports obsessions, cricket and cheese rolling.

Of course, we had to try it, so one full year after first laying eyes on Harriet Collings and her YouTube exposé, we were there. Two Americans standing ankle deep in muck. In a pasture on the soggy sceptered isle that William Shakespeare called “this precious stone set in the silver sea,” watching a local put his finger up the tailpipe of our 85-year-old Austin Seven as if giving a rectal exam to a Holstein. He pulled it out, showed us the water on it, and declared that we needed to change the head gasket. There. Now. Just as it was starting to snow.

Trialing, or the participation in trials, is a very old and serious form of car “racing.” But it is as far from Kyle Bush ripping donuts at Bristol as the writings of John Keats are from the collected works of Hank Williams. To understand trialing, you must imagine England as it was in the early 20th century, a lushly verdant quilt of bucolic farmsteads and manor estates interlaced with dirt paths barely wider than the mostly horse-drawn brakes that served them. Cars were a relatively new invention, doing their best to triumph over a landscape that was frequently sloppy.

Out in the vast shires, a motorcar’s ability to traverse ground without getting stuck was far more important than its top speed. Eager to market their new Humbers and Vauxhalls and Singers and Austin Seven Chummys, automakers engaged in events that took their inspiration from the steeplechase, in which horses bound over hedges and streams to test the capability of the mount over varying terrain. Fast-forward eight decades, and trialing remains an active British pastime—no doubt in part because it is the only form of racing that fully embraces English weather, in that the trialing season launches in September and concludes in April, before summer arrives to make Britain’s weather too fine and dry for the liking of the mud warriors.

The newest cars in the trials held by the Vintage Sports Car Club are 88 years old, although slightly later Austin Sevens are allowed. Being Britain’s Lilliputian answer to the Ford Model T, with a 747-cc side-valve four-cylinder with 7.2 horsepower, and having the dimensions of Molly Brown’s handbag, they were produced with only minor changes from 1923 to 1934. Still being relatively affordable, Austin Sevens of various species represent perhaps half the field in any event. It’s hard to understate the size of an Austin Seven. A couple of adults in full winter gear look like two grizzlies sharing a Radio Flyer wagon. People must have been smaller back then, or at least so happy not to be on horseback or walking that they didn’t mind being mashed into a buggy that is three feet shorter and almost two feet narrower than the original Mazda Miata.

Through a series of leads, we were directed to an available car, a scarlet red 1933 Austin Seven converted in more recent times into a replica of a so-called Ulster racer, with cycle fenders, cutouts instead of doors, twin Brooklands windscreens, a side-pipe jauntily slung over the rear wheel, and a wasp tail. It needed something American on it, but also period contemporary, so I pasted on the squadron mascot of the Lafayette Escadrille, the all-volunteer band of American World War I pilots whose planes bore the image of a screaming Sioux in full-feathered headdress. Henceforth, our Austin became known simply as the Chief. Needing a “bouncer,” I sent Collings’s YouTube video to my oldest friend, also named Aaron, currently working as a U.S. State Department visa officer in Belfast, Northern Ireland. After watching it, Aaron, who at 49 is once again under the care of an orthodontist, wrote back: “My braces will probably become dislodged from my teeth, but that would be welcome anyway.”

On an especially frigid Saturday this past March, when a churning overcast sky threatened mayhem and a 20-mph polar wind knifed easily through four layers, we two Aarons arrived in western England’s ridiculously quaint Wye Valley for Day One of the Herefordshire Trial.

The meeting place for the event, How Caple Court, is an old manor house and popular wedding venue that abuts a 13th-century church. In the yard, mixed in with the many battered and mud-spattered Austin Sevens, were a few cars of noble distinction that had been in families for generations, including a couple of prewar Bentleys that looked like they hadn’t been washed since granddad Bertie went off to war. You could tell their owners apart because, unlike the Austin crews dressed in modern nylon outerwear and Timberland hikers, the fancy stuff was manned by nobles in oilskin coats and Harris Tweed.

We had reports of sightings of Harriet Collings herself, British trialing’s one celebrity, there to drive her family’s 1903 Mercedes. We had hoped to meet the Siren of Muck, but by the time we arrived, scrutineering was largely over and most of the 114 cars entered in the event had departed for their first hills. Anybody who has raced cars knows that once you’re behind the clock, it’s hard to catch up. After we coaxed the safety marshal away from his tea and back out into the cold, he gave a halfhearted tug at each of our wheels, checked to see that we had the mandatory extra throttle return spring and fire extinguisher, plus a “spill kit” amounting to a plastic bag with a piece of absorbent cloth. (“I’ve never seen anyone use a spill kit,” said our car’s previous owner, Jeremy Brewster, “even when the cars were spilling fluids everywhere.”) Our risk of dying in the trial deemed acceptable, we were sent on our way.

But to where, exactly? In a trial, the “hills” can be spread across 50 miles of countryside. Before jumping with his bouncers into his own 1930 Lea-Francis and roaring off, Jeremy had kindly supplied us with a marked map indicating the locations of the day’s hills. Copilot Aaron Braceface turned the map over and over, picked a direction largely on prayer, and we puttered off into the byzantine maze of damp country lanes.

The published rules for trialing are incredibly short and, to an outsider, completely incomprehensible. “The point of failure,” begins one passage, “will be considered to be that at which any marker is first struck, or the point at which the boundary of the course is first crossed by all wheels of the competing vehicle.” It continues: “Should this point of failure coincide with the division between two subsections, the marks lost will be those appropriate to failure in whichever of the two subsections provides the greater penalty.”

Yeah. What you need to know is this: Unlike normal racing or rallying, in trialing there is neither a stopwatch nor any passing for position. Nobody knows or cares how fast you go or how long you take to complete the “hill” or the measured section of some challenging dirt trail that is defined by small flag poles and numbered markers. Your score for the hill is based on how far up it you go without stopping, blowing up, or otherwise getting stuck. Along the way, the numbered markers indicate to the scorekeepers standing next to the trail how many points you’ve earned as you pass each one. A hill can take anywhere from a minute to five minutes to climb, and if you make it to the top without stopping, you get the maximum number of points, usually 25. As a sort of extra credit, some hills feature a “stop box” marked by spray paint. You must fully stop your front wheels within the box and then get going again to earn the extra points.

By the rules, your starting hill for the day is selected for you. After that, you are free to do any of the hills in any order you like. The organizers had graciously paired us rookies with a veteran, one Simon Blakeney-Edwards, who looked a little like Mr. Bean in a scarf and ski hat. As with the Lea-Francises, Humbers, Rileys, and Singers running in the trial, his hulking black 1930 Amilcar M2, a large fabric-roof touring sedan, sported yet another long-extinct name from Britain’s glorious automotive past.

The chipper Blakeney-Edwards met us at our first hill, called Deans Place, which everyone assured us later was the worst hill for a rookie to start on. He bade me climb out of the Chief and walk with him up the hill so I could see what we were getting into. From the starter’s position, an initial steep two-track incline went up a few hundred feet before turning sharply into an ancient sandstone quarry that was filled knee-deep with mud.

“There, stay right,” Simon advised, pointing to a section of the quarry’s brown ooze that was slightly less oozy than elsewhere, “then left, then wheels straight and bang on, full throttle!” The next incline the cars were meant to follow out of the quarry was so steep and slick that Simon and I could barely climb it without slipping. “It’s easier if you drive,” yelled a wag from above. At the top, my guide pointed out the hill’s next slope as well as the optional stop box and then said, “You probably won’t make it this far. We didn’t.”

Back in the Chief, Aaron and I braced ourselves, having no clue what to expect. The marshal waved us on, and I gunned the tiny engine. A vapory exhaust plumed from the eensy side pipe, pouring a surprisingly loud brrraaaap! into our ears. The Chief stormed confidently up the first section and then slithered through the quarry like a marsh snake. Hey, this was easy! I aimed the nose at the next ramp but, mindful of Simon’s advice, found that I already had the gas pinned. The car climbed about 10 feet, wavered, and then, with its wheels still spinning furiously and my copilot bouncing as though trying to dislodge a kidney stone, started sliding backward on the slime.

A volunteer dressed like Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep from Oliver Twist, came over and marked our card: 18 points. Not so bad, but not so easy, either. I gingerly backed the Chief out of the quarry and through the gate that served as the exit for part finishers. Well, at least we weren’t dead, and all four of the Chief’s pistons were still in its block.

As in any competition, there is technique involved. For one thing, you want to air down your tires for maximum traction. The rules establish a bottom limit of 7 psi, and veteran competitors know to glue their tires to the rims to prevent them from spinning on the wheels at low pressure. Once done with the hill, you air up again to transit to another hill, which could be miles away. Which is why the competitors all carry foot pumps or, in the nicer setups such as the Chief had, an onboard electric air pump with a coil hose.

Another critical technique is the bouncing, in which the passenger(s)—and the driver, if possible—bounce in the seats to momentarily load the rear tires with additional weight. Bouncing actually has subtechniques. Sometimes you want to bounce up and down, sometimes side to side, and sometimes not at all because it’ll actually make traction worse. However, we never really decoded that one. Aaron would look at me and say, “Now?” and I would say “Yeah!” even though I was usually trying to avoid a stump or a ditch deep enough to swallow a Chevy Tahoe.

After airing up our tires, and feeling pretty good about our first hill, Aaron and I followed the big Amilcar and another Austin Seven to the next hill at Chandos Manor. A country château straight out of Harry Potter, Chandos stood slightly saggy against the march of time, with stone and half-timbered walls netted by leafless winter ivy. Three soaring chimneys spiked the jutting gabled roofs, and somewhat haphazard stone pilings served as wall buttresses. A huge, plump pig grunted and snuffled from its pen at the waiting cars.

Chandos is a favorite of the event because the hill course winds up through an orchard that is scenic and fairly easy on the cars. Plus, the owners of the estate, Richard White and his wife, Ali, laid out a royal spread of tea and cakes for the trial trolls, most of whom were already thoroughly coated in cold mud. When I asked White, who still goes by his schoolboy nickname of Chalky (White, blackboard chalk—get it?) how old the house is, he replied, “Well, we know it was rebuilt in 1554.” Listening raptly, Aaron and I bit into chocolate and caramel confections called millionaire’s shortbread and nearly fainted, they were so good.

The Chief liked Chandos. It tackled the first slippery section with ease, a 20-degree grade that led through a livestock fence to the second section, where the cars slalomed around some trees and then gunned for the stop box. Simon and I had already walked the course, watching a sleek and sporty Wolseley Hornet spit clods 30 yards off its back tires as it scrabbled up the hill. At the box, Simon had suggested jigging left to take advantage of a slight slope that would help the Chief get going again out of the box. In the driver’s seat, I heeded his advice and jigged left as planned—but a little too far, brushing a course boundary marker. No points for that section. The marshal seemed as disappointed as I was, although we did collect 14 points for the lower part (don’t try to keep track, just go with it). Deflated, we rolled down the hill as a 1923 Bugatti Brescia pottered past, looking cartoonishly French with its pearshaped grille and crescent moon of a windshield.

The trouble began at Marcle Hill, the next stop. Climbing the long, forested grade to the top of a high ridge, the Chief was earning points until, suddenly, it started losing power. Eventually, our car could go no farther, quitting with just five points added to our folded-paper scorecard. Getting a push to the top, we tried to follow the Amilcar to the next hill a couple miles away, but the Chief was having none of it, coughing and refusing to accept more than a quarter-throttle. We limped to the next hill, the Hyde Halt—the hill names are so fabulously British: Pelham’s Penyard, Sipping Cider, Jim’s Joker, James’ Jolly, the Ancient Briton—and went in search of Simon.

Soon a team was gathered around the Chief, peering at the tiny flathead engine through its butterfly-hinged hood and tossing around theories. The ignition points were deemed fuzzy and burned, so we scavenged a new condenser from the line of waiting Austin Sevens. When that didn’t work, Simon discovered the water in the exhaust pipe. I called Jeremy—luckily, we both had cell service— who was at another hill but headed our way, and he was able to scrounge a new head gasket from another team, because Austin Seven drivers come fully prepared for disaster.

With the Chief’s water drained and the head off, Jeremy looked at the top of the engine dubiously. “Does that look bad to you?” he asked, holding before me what looked like a perfectly sealed head gasket. No, I had to admit with growing dread as well as a loss of sensation in my frozen fingers, it didn’t look bad. “I think we’ve been led down the garden path,” he said with sad resignation. At that point, there wasn’t much to do except slap the new gasket on, fill the radiator with water from the farm, and see if it helped. After a half-hour, we had the head torqued down and the engine running. I drove it around in circles in the farmyard and it felt maybe a little better, but it was still stumbling. “Go up the hill,” Jeremy commanded, then he jumped into his Lea-Francis and whisked away, determined to finish the remaining hills.

Mindful of words of Sir Winston Churchill, “If you’re going through hell, keep going,” we bounced up Hyde Halt, a short, steep ascent through a thick wood that was nonetheless mostly firm ground and thus not too challenging, and headed for Foxhalls, the next hill. There, I spent more time playing with the Chief’s throttle linkage to its single, tiny SU carburetor as it was refusing to return to idle. Cars passed headed for the hill. Maybe one of them had Harriet Collings aboard, but we were pretty absorbed. A young guy named Nick stopped his ratty 1929 Vauxhall to chat. He was wearing a fleece-lined leather bomber jacket that made him look like a waist gunner on the Memphis Belle. When I told him of our troubles, he said, “Aw, never mind, mate, you and I are just here to make everyone else look good.”

Foxhalls was the longest hill yet, a grueling incline up to windblown cell towers on one of the highest points around. Rain and snow runoff had eroded a deep ditch to the outside that pulled cars into their sloughy doom. Teams that had failed the climb came back with advice to hug the left embankment all the way up to avoid this chasm, no matter how much brush the poor codriver had to take to the face. As Aaron found out, it was quite a bit, but the Chief kept going, even as I felt the throttle again go limp about halfway up. We bounce-nursed the car to the top to collect our full 25 points, but it was 5:30, quitting time for the day. We would get zeros for the three hills we missed, a bitter letdown because the Chief was clearly a pretty competent mud slayer when the engine was running on all four of its little pots.

We limped the Austin back to How Caple Court, there to meet Jeremy and deliver the news of the Chief’s continuing problems. Attention now turned to the carburetor. As the heavens finally split open and giant Christmas-card flakes began piling up on the cars and ground, Jeremy disassembled the simple carburetor and fidgeted with its parts. By using the car’s air hose, he was able to blow a few specs of dirt out of the needle hole. After putting it back together, the Chief once again ran like a 7-hp Grand Prix car. So it was dirt in the carb all along.

We retired to the group dinner. Tales were told of an all-women team that “selected second and third gear at the same time” and was forced to do a transmission repair in a field. “They just got on with it, didn’t they?” said the storyteller, exhibiting that endearing British habit of ending a statement with a question. The team seated next to us as the roast chicken was served lamented a lost day of only three hills done because a nut holding the steering wheel onto their Riley 9 Tourer Special kept coming loose 89 years after it fell out of warranty. “These cars should all be sitting in museums, not being flung at rocks and trees,” said Andrew Read, the car’s owner, down from north of Liverpool. “I hope they don’t do that to me when I’m 89.”

As we tucked the Chief in for the night in the central square of the old market town of Ledbury, a passerby came up and said, “Austin Seven—could’ve bought one for 500 quid, could ’ave.” Another older gent with a beard ran his eyes back and forth over the Chief’s mud-encrusted body and kept saying over and over, “You lucky man…you lucky man…” If England has one automotive sweetheart, it’s the Austin Seven.

We collapsed into our beds, having renewed confidence in the Chief’s engine and having formulated an attack plan for Sunday’s remaining six hills. It was in vain, however, as when we awoke in the morning, four inches of snow lay on the Chief as well as the rest of western England, enough to completely paralyze Her Majesty’s subjects and their pitifully small fleet of plows and salt trucks. About 7:30 a.m., an email from the organizers confirmed that the rest of the event was canceled, and there was nothing to do but toast some proper English crumpets and sit around bemoaning our wasted plan.

We cried out in agony to Harriet Collings, the YouTube siren who lured us onto these rocks of disappointment. Her agent never returned our calls.

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

The post England’s mud warriors fight in the fields and in the hills, never surrendering appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I’m always looking for unusual machines at cars and coffee events, so when I spotted a little green sports car at a Metro Detroit gathering that I couldn’t identify, I hustled over to have a look. Others were curious, as well, and the owner, John Ruth, was holding court alongside his machine. What is it, I asked. A 1963 Turner Mark III, he replied.

I still had no idea what I was looking at.

What’s a Turner?

Fortunately, Ruth was more than happy to tell the tale of the little car that could.

The car was created by Jack Turner, a Welshman who cut his engineering teeth prepping race cars for competition. All of his Turner sports cars were built by hand on tubular steel ladder frames and fitted with fiberglass or steel bodies. Initial production models came with Vauxhall, MG, or Lea France engines. Later models were equipped with BMC, Coventry Climax, and Ford engines, the most powerful of which was a Cosworth-modified 1.5-liter Ford. All had fully independent suspension. Turner’s rear suspension, which featured transverse torsion bars, trailing arms, tubular shocks, and a panhard rod was considered key to the car’s prodigious handling.   

The first Turner built on what would become the marque’s ubiquitous chassis was the 1950 two-seat sports car. A 2.0-liter Formula 2 car followed in 1954. From 1955–58, Turner built the A30/803 sports car. Some had steel bodies. The 950S, which was very successful in racing, followed in 1958, yielding to the equally successful Mark I in 1959. The Mark II and Mark III followed, each having a three-year production run. The Mark III is the most sophisticated and most potent of all the Turner machines.

Racing pedigree

Turner sports cars were produced in minimal numbers from 1949–66, but they had a substantial impact on the world’s road-racing circuits.

Estimates of total production vary, but the consensus seems to be that fewer than 700 were built. Constructed initially at a blacksmith shop in Seisdon, South Staffordshire, England, Turners were later manufactured at an airport in Wolverhampton. Regardless of where they were built, the little sports cars outran quite a few highly regarded machines of the day.

Agile and lively on the street and the race track, the lightweight machines were adroit in the twisty bits. When production numbers are considered, Turners won far more than their share of races, often showing their taillights to the best of the small-displacement British sports cars, including Lotus, MG, Morgan, Austin Healey, and Triumph.

In 1958 and ’59, Turners took the UK’s sports car racing team prize and emerged as class champion in the 1960 Autosport competition. In club racing they were regular winners in both the UK and the U.S., where they developed a sizeable following. At the 12 Hours of Sebring in 1959, a Turner completed the grueling event, finishing fourth in class ahead of a Lotus Eleven Climax, an MGA Twin Cam, a Ferrari 250 GT LWB, and a Triumph TR3.

In 1963, John E. Miles drove a Ford-powered Turner to 15 class and overall wins in 17 outings. In 1966, Ron Kistler won SCCA D-Production honors at several national events.  In ’84, Larry Moulton won F Production in his Turner at the SCCA Runoffs. A Saab Sonnet was second best and an Alfa Romeo was third. In 1966, Car and Driver proclaimed Turner “an unholy terror” in SCCA production racing.

To this day, Turners are successful in vintage racing, and at least two Turners will be competing in SCCA production racing in 2019. That’s serious amateur sports car racing, and both owners are optimistic about their chances. One of the two is the car that Moulton drove to victory at the 1984 SCCA Runoffs. Can the wee sports car beat up some big boys again, 35 years later?

How a Turner turned a Mustang-lover

While Turner remained relatively unknown among the general population, serious sports car racing enthusiasts are generally aware of the marque and its successes. John Ruth first saw a Turner in the ’90s when he was driving a Mustang in vintage road races. He didn’t know exactly what it was at the time, but its excellent handling left a favorable impression.

Years later he came across a magazine article about Turner racing and recalled the nimble machine he had seen. That recollection spawned a passion, and Ruth started looking for a Turner. He eventually found the 1963 Mark III pictured here in the stable of a California car collector. Thinking the owner might be interested in his ’66 Mustang, he proposed a trade that included some cash and the Turner in exchange. And just like that, Ruth had his dream machine.

The car is extremely well documented and in excellent survivor condition. The five previous owners kept good records, and one of them put the car in storage for 15 years. With 38,300 miles on the clock, Ruth’s Turner has not been driven more than a typical three-year-old car.

An entertaining performer, it’s equipped with the original Cosworth-modified 1.5-liter Ford engine. The powerplant’s approximate 160 horsepower is enough to make this 1100-pound machine scramble out of corners with alacrity.

In the nine years he’s owned the Turner, Ruth has been content to just drive it briskly on Michigan roads in good weather. But he lives only a couple dozen miles from the Waterford Hills road racing circuit, which stages some great vintage races. Don’t be surprised if he shows up there sometime soon and leaves onlookers asking, “What in the world is that little green car?”

And so the Turner turns another.

The post This unsung British sports car was a tiny terror on the race track appeared first on Hagerty Media.

When Jaguar design director Ian Callum thought about how to celebrate 70 years since the introduction of the XK120 in 1948, he and his team didn’t just slap together yet another track-only, high-performance special edition. No, Callum opted instead to pay respect to the XK120’s success off pavement. The result? An F-Type rally car.

Jaguar built just two examples of the 296-horsepower F-Type convertible rally car, harking back to the XK120 roadster’s success in the early 1950s at the RAC, Tulip, and Alpine rally races. The registration on the rally-winning XK was “NUB 120.”

“We decided to use a convertible because NUB 120 was a convertible,” Callum said. “The best engine would be the four-cylinder—it’s a perfect weight balance for the car. And it would be rear-wheel-drive, of course, not four-wheel-drive.”

From there Jaguar welded in a roll cage, stripped out the interior, added a fire extinguisher, racing-style seats with five-point harnesses, and upgraded the car’s suspension and brakes, along with fitting gravel-specific wheels and tires. And, of course, the quad rally lights mounted on the hood let you know this is indeed meant for dark gravel and dirt roads.

“This is a celebration of Jaguar’s history in open-top sports cars,” says Jaguar studio designer Wayne Burgess. From the XK 120 came the beautiful C-Type and world-beating D-Type, while the E-Type, XJ-S, XJ220, and XK8 would fill Jaguar’s sports car niche before the F-Type arrived for 2014.

Clearly Jaguar had a bit of fun with this one, as the end of the video shows the test driver sliding around like a madman. He gets a few wheels in the air on several occasions, and at one point launches into a full-on airborne flight before landing back down on the gravel and powering on with the joy run.

Jaguar will sell the two rally F-Types exclusively in the UK for £62,335 each, or about $80,100.

The post Jaguar’s rally-ready F-Type is a wicked homage to the XK120 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

We all have cars that echo in our memories. We likely remember our first cars fondly, and look at them through hormone-impregnated rose-colored glasses. As we get older and purchase cars for more practical reasons, they often become less memorable. If you order that list from most-loved to least-loved, there’s bound to be a car that, due to mediocrity and unreliability, you particularly despised.

In my case, it’s not even close. By a country mile, the worst car I ever owned was, in fact, my first—a 1970 Triumph GT6+. It’s something of a tragic story, really. But it’s also the car that set me on my path to being a car guy.

All through my adolescence, I was a bicycle guy. I found bikes, rebuilt bikes, and rode bikes throughout New England. As I progressed through my senior year of high school in 1976, I was queued up for the natural climax of this activity—to ride cross country the following summer. My mother was livid. She tried the big bribe. “If you don’t go,” she said, “I’ll buy you a car.”

It worked, of course.

I have been a BMW guy since we took in a college student who drove a 2002, and I’ve been forever impressed with what that boxy little German sedan could do. However, even though my mother gave me a budget of $1500—not a trivial amount in 1976—BMW 2002s were still in production, and even used ones were enormously popular. Plus, for all their automotive wiles, they were a little, well, stodgy for an 18-year-old male. So I didn’t run out and buy a 2002.

Instead, I did what many young men did: I went British. After all, if I wasn’t going to be pedaling cross-country, I’d be hanging around for the summer, and I wanted something to, you know, help attract girls (did I mention that I was an 18-year-old male?). I looked primarily at MGs and Triumphs. I even looked at a well-priced Austin-Healy 3000 Mk3, but—and let’s all laugh together—I didn’t like the lines. Mostly I looked at Spitfires, MGB GT hatchbacks, and MG roadsters, as these had a long production history, creating a ready supply of older cars well within my budget.

And then I saw a 1970 Triumph GT6+ and was immediately smitten. It was a two-seater hatchback like the MGB GT, but instead of the little four-pot, it had a 2.0-liter six-cylinder engine (a de-stroked version of the TR6 motor) and was much quicker than the Spits and Bs I’d been looking at. It had a wood dashboard and Smiths gauges. It looked and felt like a little Jaguar E-Type. Like Frye on Futurama, I did the “shut up and take my money” (or my mother’s money) thing, and for $1500, the GT6 was mine.

There was one problem. Well, there were actually many problems, but there was one immediate problem: The car had a homicidal rear suspension. I need to delineate this from the general rear suspension issues that GT6s have. The early ones had the same swing axles as the Spitfire, which made the rear wheels tuck under during cornering (heaven help you if you lifted off the gas). Mine had the second of three rear suspension designs, with reversed rear A-arms, Rotoflex couplings, and a single transverse leaf spring.

But the immediate issue was that, on my car, the attachment point on the floor where the left rear radius rod (the rear suspension component that affixes the tow-in) had rotted out. Not surprisingly, this caused lethally unstable handling, especially when you nailed the accelerator, which of course, like any red-blooded 18-year-old male, I did as often as possible. So a few days after I bought it, and after a near-miss with a utility pole (the adolescent brain is a frightening thing), I took it to a welder and had the floor fixed.

Initially, the car was great. It served its intended purpose. Mom wasn’t up nights wondering if I was sleeping in a ditch somewhere in North Dakota, and I had a very cool, very visible, very quick little British car. And the previous owner had installed both an 8-Track and a cassette deck (I kid you not), so I had plenty of tunes. To this day, I can’t hear Gary Wright’s Love Is Alive or any of the Eagles’ Greatest Hits without instantly being transported back to the GT6’s cockpit and those Smiths gauges.

I’d enrolled at University of Massachusetts-Amherst for the fall, so I began frequently traversing the 100 miles from Boston to Amherst in the Triumph. The straight sections out Route 2, combined with the sweeping curves on Route 202, were heavenly. It was on the latter that I experienced my first failure. The car’s temperature shot up, and steam began clouding the windshield. I made it to a friend’s house and tried to figure it out. As I said, I’d been a bicycle guy, and a car was just another mechanical system. I could see water streaming out behind a pulley that had a belt on it. I inferred that this was the water pump, and deduced that the bearing and seal must’ve gone bad. I got a ride into town, bought the parts and some antifreeze, borrowed some tools from my friend’s father, and fixed it in his driveway. I can trace my entire automotive repair career back to this single moment.

A water pump is a normal-wear-and-tear part, so I can’t hold it against the car. But it was just the beginning. In the 30 months that I owned the Triumph, I had things break that I’ve never had break on any other car. I had the clutch release fork break on its pivot point, requiring removal of its transmission. Another break—the metal tube that the clutch throwout bearing slides on—required removal of the transmission a second time. The universal joint on one of the rear half-axles ripped out. The driveshaft literally cracked. A contributing factor to some of these failures was likely the fact that much of the GT6’s running gear was inherited from the Spitfire, and it wasn’t designed to take the torque of the larger 6-cylinder mill. For the others, I used to joke that these problems were traceable to the fact that the British used up their steel in World War II, so Spitfires were made from recycled Spitfires. There’s probably a good deal of truth to it.

And those were just the mechanical issues. Of course, there were also the electrical problems. It would be surprising if anyone reading this doesn’t know that vintage British cars have Lucas electrical systems, and that Lucas, due to reputation for failure of its electrical components, became known as “The Prince of Darkness.” It is difficult to exaggerate the electrical problems that the GT6 had. I’d drive it at night and the headlights would spontaneously cut out. I’d drive it in the rain and the wipers would suddenly stop working. You can imagine what fun it was at night in the rain. There were times when I limped it in the breakdown lane until I reached an overpass, and sat and waited until things dried out. (Pour yourself a cold drink, Google “Lucas electrical jokes,” and settle in for a good 15 minutes of laughing. Given my experience with the GT6+, my favorite is, “Lucas didn’t claim to invent darkness, only sudden unanticipated darkness.”)

And the rust. The attachment point of the radius rod was just the beginning. The rocker panels began to dissolve as I watched them. The bottoms of the doors turned into Swiss cheese.

In addition, I was a poor college student (the origin story of many of us who began working on their own cars), and I kept the Triumph running on a shoestring budget. If a tire only had a little of its belts showing, it was still good. This, combined with the car’s weight distribution and suspension geometry, made it likely to try to kill you if you did anything unexpected on anything but a laser-straight road with even a hint of moisture on it. I vividly recall rounding a corner at moderate speeds in the lightest of rain, the car swapping ends, and winding up in someone’s front yard. The girl I was with said, “I’ll walk back to the dorm from here.”

By the fall of my junior year in college—about 2 1/2 years after I’d bought the car—I estimated that the GT6 had run about half the time I’d owned it and was laid up waiting for parts and repairs the rest of the time. I advertised it for sale in the local paper, took it for one last drive on the first date with the lovely woman who would become my wife, and sold it the next day. When Maire Anne tells the story, she says “Cute guy, cute car… I thought I had it made. And then he sold it!” It was better that than having the car serially strand us at the beginning of a serious relationship.

The GT6+ has now been gone 40 years. Whenever anyone talks about how old British cars really weren’t all that bad, I nearly do a spit-take and recount my story. With that said, there’s no question that, as my first car, as the car on which I learned to wrench, and as the car that took me and my wife on our first date, it holds a special place in my heart. But there’s also no question that, repair-wise, being-laid-up-wise, and arriving-home-at-the-end-of-a-tow-hook-wise, it was, by far, the worst car I ever owned.

I’m not the first one to note that GT6s look like little E-Types, and the past few years, prices have come up quite a bit. The days are long gone when pretty, shiny, reportedly rust-free cars languished for six grand. The ’71 and later Kamm-tailed Mk3 cars are perhaps the sleekest, but, as is often the case, it’s the earlier Mk1 cars in the best condition that seem to bring the best money.

I will admit that, in my incessant Craigslist browsing, I’ve been known to type “Triumph GT6” into the search window. However, I still own a dead ’74 Lotus Europa Twin Cam Special, and I have a rule that I can own only one senseless homicidal British car at a time. But if I bought another GT6, I’d be sure to pop in an 8-Track of Eagles Greatest Hits, head west on Route 2, and smile.

And hope the headlights stay on.

***

Rob Siegel has been writing the column The Hack Mechanic™ for BMW CCA Roundel magazine for 30 years. His new book, Just Needs a Recharge: The Hack Mechanic™ Guide to Vintage Air Conditioning, is now available on Amazon. You can also order a personally inscribed copy here.

The post My first car was my worst car—by far appeared first on Hagerty Media.

“The right crowd and no crowding,” was the tagline for Brooklands, the world’s first dedicated motor course. Built in just eight months, the 100-foot wide, 2.75-mile banked track in Surrey (about 22 miles southwest of central London), first opened on July 6, 1907, when an estimated 13,500 spectators arrived by train, car, and even horse-drawn carriage. What they witnessed was a variety of race cars including long-lost car marques such as Ariel Simplex, StrakerSquire, Darracq, and Minerva, and some not-so-lost, such as Fiat and Daimler.

Today there is also a spectacular museum, where you can immerse yourself not only in Brooklands’ motor racing past, but also its history as a center of aircraft testing, research, and manufacturing.

Drivers were the bravest and the most skilled of the day. Names like Henry Tyron, Charles Jarrott, and Selwyn Edge drove enormous open-bodied steeds. And if the banking was scary (which it was), they only had themselves to blame, since the previous year those drivers had been consulted by circuit founder Hugh Fortescue Locke-King and his enthusiastic wife, Ethel.

The beginning of Brooklands

With £150,000 of their own money—today about £17 million ($13M)—the star-struck Locke-Kings proposed to build a specialized motor circuit at their Brooklands estate. They hired two talented engineer/designers and an initial workforce of 300 laborers, along with steam diggers and wagons, to lay a track through the woodland and scrubby marsh alongside the main Portsmouth-to-London railway line and the River Wey. The work was considerable and at times there were nearly 2000 men on site clearing 30 acres of trees, shifting 350,000 cubic yards of soil, cutting through a hillside to make one banking, and then raising the ground 20 feet for a mile-long Southern banking, just opposite of where shoppers now heave their groceries into their cars at a Tesco supermarket.

They spanned the Wey with a seven-arch Hennebique ferro-concrete bridge, built 75 paddock stalls, a substantial clubhouse, 28 garages, and raised 5000 spectator seats. This was truly the birth of closed circuit motor racing. It was home to vast speed record breakers, and firms that built and maintained them such as Thomson & Taylor, plus a gathering place for socialites of the day, such as romantic novelist Barbara Cartland, and haunt of the best drivers.

But because automobiles are only half the story, when you call Brooklands today, the cheery voice of race driver and TV personality Tiff Needell proudly welcomes you to “the birthplace of British motorsport and aviation.”

It was in 1908 that Alliott Verdon-Roe carried out the first taxiing and towed flight trials, and on October 9 the following year, Louis Paulhan made the first official flight at Brooklands in his Farman biplane in front of over 20,000 spectators. Stick that in your pipe, race-car drivers.

Home of aviation

By 1910 Brooklands was the site of a variety of flying schools, including that of airplane manufacturers Bristol, Vickers, and, two years later, Sopwith. In 1915 Vickers set up a huge airplane factory at Brooklands, and 100 years ago, at the onset of the Great War in 1918, the site was Britain’s largest aircraft manufacturing center with many developments dreamed up, designed, and built there, including Marconi’s work on the first air-to-ground radio systems.

The airfield was used for the development and production of civilian aircraft between the wars, and in 1939 it (again) became a center for wartime aircraft manufacture, accounting for a fifth of all the Hawker Hurricane fighter and Wellington bombers built during hostilities. After the war the site became crucial to the development of civil airliners. Vickers designed and built the Viking and Viscount there, and in 1960 Brooklands became the home of the British Aircraft Corporation—more of the Concorde supersonic airliner was built at Brooklands than anywhere else.

The Brooklands Museum

The history of Brooklands’ active years, which runs from 1907–88, is complex and diverse. These days the Brooklands estate has been split up and built on, with various residential developments on the outfield and industrial and retail parks, along with corporate headquarters, on the infield. Mercedes-Benz World owns part of that infield and the old circuit’s Railway Straight, which it uses as a conference and driving centre with a hotel and small grass airstrip attached. Across the river sits its neighbor, Brooklands Museum, which attempts to document and celebrate this complex automotive and aeronautical past.

“It’s a 33-acre site,” says newly appointed chief executive Tamalie Newbery, “and most of it is a scheduled ancient monument. Not many 20th century things get to be scheduled as such, but the racetrack is. We have five listed buildings on site, and of our total of about 20 buildings, most have some form of historic interest.

The litany of amazing exhibits is extraordinary. Besides the looming presence of the track itself, there’s Barnes Wallis’s Stratospheric Chamber, designed to study the effects of high altitude flight; Delta Golf, the first Concorde jetliner to carry 100 passengers at Mach 2; R for Robert, the World War Two Wellington bomber ditched in Loch Ness; Z2389, a Hawker Hurricane Mk.IIA, which flew with the American volunteer 71 Eagle squadron; and the Grindlay Peerless, Brooklands circuit 105-mph lap-record holder.

A particular favourite of mine is John Cobb’s 1933 Napier Railton; all 16-foot-3, 24 liters, and two long tons of bare-metal finery. Purchased by the Brooklands Museum in 1997 with Lottery funds and help from a number of individuals, this extraordinary car seems to epitomise a bit of the Brooklands story.

On October 7, 1935, Cobb drove the aircraft-engined behemoth and lapped the banked circuit, including the infamous bump, in 69 seconds, setting a perpetual outer-circuit lap record of 143.44 mph—what a brave man he must have been. “You don’t need to care about engineering, or cars, or planes to be absolutely captivated by the determination, grit, skill, luck, and sheer daring of people that did things here,” Newbery says.

A more recent star is the new £8 million ($10.48M) Aircraft Factory where you can not only see some of the highlights of the museum’s aircraft collection—though the marvellous Vimy World War 1 bomber sits aloof in its own shed—but can also design and build your own take-home model aircraft on modern tools designed for exactly that (I’ve still got mine).

The future of the Brooklands Museum

So what’s next on Newbery’s books?

“The aircraft factory has been the largest project the museum has ever done and it’s been all-consuming,” she says. “With that done and the change in senior leadership, we are taking a year or two to consolidate and deal with a backlog of things. I think people have, for a long time, had lists of projects that would improve the interpretation, the site, and the conservation.”

Further site clear-up and clear-out is on the cards, although Brooklands has been much titivated over the years since it appeared to be a dumping ground for worn-out aerodrome equipment.

“We are a semi-industrial site,” Newbery admits, “and some parts of the museum are extremely attractive and just lovely environments, but other bits are quite post-industrial, and in the middle of the winter when it’s sideways rain, they can feel a bit bleak. We have to really make sure that we put enough into the experience that is comfortable and attractive.”

She’d also like some hard standing for the aircraft park and to do more to promote the role of women in the early days of the circuit, including Ethel Locke-King (her car is in the museum) and racing drivers such as Gill Scott, Joan Richmond, the Honourable Mrs. Victor Bruce, or Kay Petre. She also thinks that Brooklands has a role in encouraging women into engineering.

“In the end, there’s not the funding to do [these things] right away,” she says. “And we need to build up the story and think about the pay off for the things that are urgent because they’re falling down or at risk, versus the things that will do most to help drive up the visitor numbers to make things sustainable in the long run.”

It’s that continual search for funding that dogs big museums like Brooklands, although the London Bus Museum which shares the site (and the gate money) has helped to push up visitor numbers in recent years, as has the Concorde and the Aircraft Factory. And Newbery’s background in museum administration and fundraising should stand her in good stead.

For the moment, however, it’s time to enjoy and take stock; Brooklands is already shortlisted for this year’s Arts Fund Museum Of The Year.

Besides, irrespective of who’s at the head of it, this is one museum with a joyful and chaotically bustling life of its own. Car rallies vie with meetings, talks, workshops, and motorsport events all the days long. I catch glimpse of a flier for the night-time Brooklands ghost walks and the Concorde experience with a “flight” in the genuine pilot training simulator.

And then there are the days when they fire up Cobb’s old Napier Railton. It speaks for itself really. You just need to be there.

The post Brooklands is a 111-year-old Brit that gets better with age appeared first on Hagerty Media.

If you live on an island nation that is pressed for housing and 348 acres of mostly open land come up for sale, the real-estate developers are usually the ones who score. But if it’s England, where history is treasured, and the land is a 98-year-old Royal Air Force base that has remained largely unaltered since bomber crews trained there during World War II, then events might take a different turn. As, indeed, they did five years ago when a pie-eyed pair of classic-car enthusiasts took control of the sprawling military base and turned it into an astounding old-car oasis and event destination that is unique in the world.

Bicester Heritage, as the former RAF Bicester about two hours northwest of London is now called, is the home of 35 companies specializing in the sale or service of classic cars. More than 300 vehicles are also stored by their owners on-site, many of them in a single massive bomber hangar, with thick concrete floors and 36-foot-high ceilings, that has been converted into a state-of-the-art-climate-controlled storage vault. A small test track formed by taxiway sections—the main airstrip remains grass—gives owners a place to exercise their cars as well as learn how to drive a new purchase from one of the several dealers on-site.

Besides being England’s best old-car country club, Bicester Heritage welcomes the public throughout the year with its periodic “Sunday Scrambles” and the annual “Flywheel” car-and-air show that attracted some 3000 cars and 5000 people last year. The site hosts auctions and, starting this September, the Goodwood Survival, a free event at which the proceedings of the Goodwood Revival classic-car races 100 miles away will be live-streamed.

But all of this was a dream just five years ago, when real-estate investors and classic-car lovers Daniel Geoghegan and Bob Meijer cooked up the plan while recovering from a rollover in their prewar Riley during a vintage rally. The vision was for a “motoring marina,” as Geoghegan describes it, where owners could store their cars and get first-rate work done. But for a while it was a dream lacking a suitable site—until the airbase sale was announced.

The RAF had abandoned Bicester (in typical English fashion, the name is not pronounced as it reads, but as “Biss-ter”) in 1976. Except for one hangar used for a time as an emergency hospital by the U.S. Air Force, the rest of the property—with its dozens of stout red-brick structures and three giant hangars—was left to rot for almost 40 years. A line quickly formed of speculators interested in the land, but as the site had by then been designated historic and the best-preserved wartime-era RAF airbase in the country, the government selected Geoghegan and his cohorts based on their willingness to preserve and restore the base and keep it open to the public.

When the new operators took over in 2013, “we were given a bucket of keys, none of which worked,” recalls marketing and business development manager Philip White. An office of sorts was set up in a shipping container by the front gate, and workers started the arduous task of repairing and updating the base buildings so that tenants could move in. The old parachute storehouse, the fire-truck garage, and the administration building were among the structures fixed first. The new landlords spent more than 200 hours alone researching paint colors to get the buildings restored in period-correct hues.

The first tenant to move in was an old-car mechanic who was lured out of his sweet deal occupying a shed on a llama farm. Entering the base the first time “was like discovering a barn-find car,” says Robert Glover, who moved his eponymous company, which focuses on selling prewar sports and touring cars, up from London into a showroom in the base’s old motor-pool yard. “Everything was boarded up, there was graffiti everywhere. It didn’t look great, but you could see what was underneath was important. You just needed to bring it back to life.”

The lease rates at Bicester are two to three times higher than for a typical anonymous garage on a British industrial estate, but tenants don’t seem to mind paying extra to be in a community of like-minded businesses. Glover feels that being at Bicester helps sell his cars, what with the service shops nearby so potential buyers can get questions answered from experts and the test track that allows new owners to be introduced to the wonders of cable brakes and ancient crash-box transmissions away from normal traffic.

Stroll the grounds, and you’ll see a menagerie of classic cars parked in every corner, from Goldfinger-era Aston Martins to prewar Vauxhalls and Lea Francises to classic Porsche 911s. Inside the buildings, restoration specialists fuss over real honest-to-goodness D-type Jaguars, Shelby 427 Cobras, and Maserati single-seat racers. One business on the grounds does nothing but restore magnetos, an ancient device for making spark, and another handcrafts new and authentic-looking radiators for prewar classics (as well as the odd Supermarine Spitfire airplane).

Another dealer of classics operates out of the base’s former power station, which sports three-inch-thick blast walls of solid concrete and a roof capped by three feet of gravel. “If you don’t have power, then you can’t make tea and the empire falls,” explains White, the marketing manager.

At the heart of the base are the three looming hangars. One is the storage facility, and the two others will become event spaces. On our visit, one hangar was partly filled with hundreds of auction cars as well as pedal cars from a private collection amassed by a London dentist who collected more than 580 vehicles during his lifetime.

Although you can drop a lot of money at Bicester, the prices for the events and for car storage ($200 a month including battery tending and periodic tire rotation so they don’t flat-spot) are surprisingly reasonable. “The perception of classic cars is that it’s a rich man’s game,” Geoghegan says. “Our mission is to lower the drawbridge.”

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

The post This defunct Royal Air Force base became a haven for old cars appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Headed to London for vacation next week? Well then, boy, are you in luck! Trust me, bring your checkbook, cancel your return flight, and ride back on a boat across the Atlantic with one of these fine, fine vehicles on offer at the Coys Syon Park auction on October 13. Yes, there will be a lot of elegant, beautiful, downright classy collector cars to dismissively ignore while you await these three wacky wonders to cross the block. But it’ll be worth it. At that point, all that remains is whether you’ll be taking home one or all three.

1958 BMW Isetta 300

Pre-sale estimate: £12,000-14,000 ($15,600-$18,200)

Lot #109

I have so many questions. At what point was this resplendent flame-motif paint job applied? Was the matching flame-decorated interior always in the gameplan, or was it later added in the interest of consistency in case the hot rod theme wasn’t quite clear enough? Are those side exhausts for real? If you did crash this Isetta and catch fire, would anyone be able to tell?

What we know for sure is that this Isetta has the “big” 297-cc engine (compared to the older 247-cc engine) and was good for 13 hp when it left the factory. Coys says this left-hand drive example is a one-owner car with only 2026 miles on the odometer, but the price estimate is way below our database’s average value range for an Isetta of $26,700 for #4-condition (Fair) examples to $81,900 for #1-condition (Concours) examples. Can’t imagine why.

1968 Lamborghini C503 Tracked Tractor