The Prius has earned this. Whereas the humble city car once represented the avant-garde of electrification, it’s now a veteran in the space and, in some sense, the victim of its own success. The vehicle’s hybrid technology—what Toyota calls Hybrid Synergy Drive—now powers the RAV4, Corolla, Highlander, Crown, Sienna, and a litany of Lexus models. Even as fully electric models have proliferated over the last few years, both conventional (parallel) hybrids and plug-in hybrids from automakers across the globe are in huge demand. As Toyota group Vice President and General Manager Dave Christ put it, “The weight of the Prius name is heavy—it carries with it the identity of an entire category of vehicle powertrain.”

The new Prius, launched last year for 2023, may not deserve your undying passion as a driver. That would be a stretch. But it does deserve your respect. Not only is this fifth-generation the best-driving Prius in the model’s nearly three-decade run, it’s by far the best-looking, all while remaining a committed MPG maven.

Heavy may lie the crown, but this latest Prius is only marginally porkier than its predecessor. Base curb weight is up between 50 and 150 pounds, give or take, depending on trim. That’s despite a larger, 2.0-liter gas engine and significantly more overall power than the outgoing fourth-generation car. Whereas the prior Prius’ 1.8-liter engine and hybrid system peaked at 121 hp and 105 lb-ft of torque, here output ratchets up to 194 hp and 139 lb-ft (or 196 hp with all-wheel drive). That translates to a 0-60 time of 7.2 seconds for the new front-drive Prius, versus 9.8 seconds for the car it replaces.

Toyota says that the new Prius’ second-generation TNGA-C platform is lighter and more rigid than before. The battery pack now uses lithium-ion chemistry rather than nickel chemistry, saving space and as much as 40 pounds while increasing output by 15 percent.

Specs: 2024 Toyota Prius Limited AWD

Price: $37,160 (base); $39,938 (as-tested)
Powertrain: 2.0-liter four-cylinder gas engine, two electric drive motor/generators (one front, one rear), one integrated starter-generator; electronically controlled continuously variable automatic transmission
Output: 196 hp combined; 150 hp @ 6000 rpm, 139 lb-ft @ 4400 rpm gas engine
Layout: All-wheel-drive, four-door, five-passenger liftback sedan
EPA Fuel Economy: 49 mpg city, 50 mpg highway, 49 mpg combined
Competitors: Honda Civic Hybrid, Hyundai Elantra Hybrid, Kia Niro

Given that we’d previously reviewed a 2023 Prius Prime, the plug-in variant that comes exclusively with front-wheel drive, for 2024 we went with a Prius Limited with all-wheel drive. The $37,160 Limited is the loaded trim, incorporating the XLE’s standard features plus a 12.3-inch touchscreen, JBL eight-speaker audio system, heated steering wheel, heated and ventilated seats, eight-way power driver’s seat with memory, and a power rear liftgate. Optional extras on our loaner: the Advance Technology Package’s 360-degree camera and automatic parking ($1085), heated rear seats ($350), carpeted floor mats and cargo mat ($299), door sill protectors ($250), a rear bumper appliqué ($69), mudguards ($150), and a dash camera ($375). All in, MSRP came to $39,938 including destination fees.

For nearly 40 grand, a mainstream car better turn heads, and the Prius does. We got a number of neck snaps and stares from Prius drivers in particular. The new design is sleek and elegant, rather than the drab or dorky appearance that usually results from cars drawn exclusively for their aerodynamic efficiency. Sure, the car’s lines are significantly cleaner and simpler than the overwrought fourth-gen Prius it replaces, but the success of this design starts with its proportions. The car’s roughly one inch of extra width allows for a more planted stance and a lower hip point. The roofline is two inches lower, and the wheels are pushed out closer to the bumpers. Our Limited tester rides on standard 19-inch wheels, which hamper fuel efficiency by about 4 mpg over smaller wheels, but look damn stylish in the process.

Nothing about the interior suggests outright luxury, but neither does it betray obvious cost-cutting. Behind the better-than-average-quality plastics is a logical, practical, unfussy design. The starter button is right where you expect it to be. Climate functions operate via two rows of buttons positioned below the center screen. Two of the car’s six USB-C ports are situated just below that, alongside a 12-volt accessory port and conveniently above a handy phone tray. Press the release lever on the tray and you’ll find yet another storage tray—this one perfect for hiding valuables out of view when the car is parked. I wouldn’t call the center console generous, but given the other storage options in the vicinity, it’s alright. As for the phone slot in which you can lay your phone on its side—twofold brilliance. It charges in there wirelessly, and while stored there it seemed much less tempting to reach for at long stop lights. 

Longtime Prius fans may notice a few other important shifts. For starters, the giant iPad-like screen from the upper trims of the outgoing car has been replaced with a much more handsome center touchscreen. Beyond that, the instrument cluster now sits behind the steering wheel on a little perch, rather than up in the center of the dashboard behind the display. The shifter, too, is positioned in a more conventional location between the seats rather than on the dashboard like some electro-mechanical proboscis. All of these choices indicate a kind of design maturity—the Prius doesn’t have to constantly remind you it’s a hybrid, because the West has already been won. Instead it can focus on, well, being a thoughtful and useful car.

To wit, the new Prius’ liftback body style works great in daily use. The trunk is nice and wide, with a reasonably low load height. The all-wheel drive hardware on the rear axle—an electric motor and its accompanying components—contribute to a slightly taller trunk floor, but it’s within reason. On either side of the main floor are useful cubbies, perfect for the odd single grocery bag or tote. My favorite feature: a molded plastic piece on either side of the rear seats that, when said seats are folded, keeps the seat belt in position and out of the way of large cargo. 

The interior’s sole weak point I found during a week with the Prius is that rear-seat headroom is worse than before. (The price we pay for that sweeping roofline.) The seats could use a bit more support for longer drives. Oh, and when the windows are open at speed, the wind causes the moonroof shade to flap like a beached carp.

My only other major gripe concerns the noise of the gas engine when it kicks on from pure-electric operation. (It stays on if you select B mode, which better charges the battery.) The 2.0-liter sounds hoarse and unhappy, as if it just swallowed a cylinder of black peppercorns. 

That clatter arrives in contrast with what is otherwise a serene driving experience. The ride is composed, comfortable, and not excessively floaty. Turn-in isn’t exactly crisp, and the steering feels artificially weighted, but the Prius changes direction with poise. It’s sure-footed on bumpy roads, twisty roads, freeways, you name it. The car’s biggest achievement is how it blends brake feel, resulting in a seamless transition between mechanical and regenerative braking—no easy feat. (Those brakes do groan a bit at low speeds, however.)

In several hundred miles of mixed driving, the Prius had no problem getting 50 mpg, equaling its mixed highway rating from the EPA. The new car’s combined rating of 49 mpg is 2 mpg greater than the outgoing XLE e-AWD’s 47 mpg, but the older Prius highway rating beats this car’s 50 mpg rating by 1 mile. Suffice to say, the new car is about as efficient as the Prius it replaces while offering much more useful passing power and far superior handling. 

All that said, unless you live in an area that experiences severe winter weather, I’d much sooner buy a set of top-shelf winter tires for a base Prius LE ($29,470) or a mid-grade XLE ($32,490) and stick with front-wheel drive. This Prius makes a lot more sense as a mainstream car that punches way above its weight than it does as a luxury-adjacent commuter, and the LE returns an impressive 57 mpg. 

In fairness, the heated seats are nice and the 360-degree camera works flawlessly, but for $40,000 a Prius—even one this good—is facing competition from the Audi A3s and Mercedes-Benz CLAs of the world, not to mention the more spacious Honda Civic Sport Touring that comes with a standard hybrid powertrain for 2025. Hell, for the same price you could lose 6 or 7 mpg and pick up an Accord Hybrid Touring, which is a whole lot more spacious and luxurious.

Naturally, none of the above can boast Toyota’s track record for reliability. That and low long-term maintenance costs remain major factors in new-car decisions, which also explains the Prius’ generally fabulous resale value.

So far in 2024, its first full year of sales, Toyota is on pace to sell about 45,000 examples of the new-generation Prius. That’s a long way off from the heyday of the early 2010s, when sales topped 200,000 for three years running. However, don’t take that to mean the Prius has lost its way—if anything it has found it, maturing into a well-sorted and sophisticated hybrid commuter nobody should be embarrassed to drive. Think of this fifth-gen car as the Prius entering its golden years as a silver fox—older, wiser, and relieved from the burden of carrying so much early water for hybridization. Like it or not, this is the Prius’ world; we’re just living in it.

2024 Toyota Prius Limited AWD

Price: $37,160 (base); $39,938 (as-tested)

Highs: Useful power, practical interior, handsome styling. Excellent brake feel. And, of course, 50 mpg.

Lows: Sub-par headroom in the back seat. Noisy gas engine. Limited’s nearly-$40K price pits it against more spacious rivals.

Takeaway: Far and away the best-driving, best-looking Toyota Prius in history.

The post 2024 Toyota Prius Limited AWD: Elder Statesman, Youthful Verve appeared first on Hagerty Media.

If the Acura Integra Type S is a turn-key track animal, the TLX Type S is a buttoned-up road warrior. Like the two generations of TL Type S before it, Acura’s V-6 sport sedan aims to blend back-road performance, luxury feel, and comfort at a competitive price compared to German four-doors—think Mercedes-AMG C43, Audi S4, and BMW M340i. In many respects, the TLX Type S still trails behind these rivals, but the gap has never been narrower. Let’s take a look.

Acura refreshed the entire TLX lineup for 2024, three years after introducing the Type S model for 2021. Changes are pretty minor, which means underneath we’re dealing with the same exclusive Acura platform, 3.0-liter V-6 engine packing a single turbo, and the brand’s trademark Super Handling All-Wheel Drive with torque vectoring. Updates for the 2024 TLX Type S include revised front and rear fascias, improved throttle response in Sport+ mode, and a new all-digital 12.3-inch instrument cluster. A surround-view camera that was previously optional is now standard. 

For enthusiasts, however, the most significant change is that the lightweight wheel and summer tire package—previously an $800 extra—is now a dealer add-on costing a whopping $3493. The factory standard is a new 20-inch wheel with Pirelli Cinturato7 all-seasons. For summer rubber die-hards, this one stings.

Otherwise, the Type S is loaded up with everything Acura can muster as standard. The only option on our $58,795 test car was its $600 Urban Gray Pearl paint—essentially a new-for-2024 also-ran meant to evoke Audi’s Nardo Gray or BMW’s Brooklyn Grey Metallic.  

Specs: 2024 Acura TLX Type S

• Price: $58,795
• Powertrain: 3.0-liter turbo V-6; ten-speed automatic transmission
• Output: 355 hp @ 5500 rpm; 354 lb-ft @ 1400 rpm
• Layout: All-wheel-drive, four-door, five-passenger sedan
• EPA Fuel Economy: 19 mpg city, 25 mpg highway, 21 mpg combined
• Competitors: Audi S4, BMW M340i, Mercedes-AMG C43, Infiniti Q50 Red Sport 400

It’s a handsome color, and it looks great in a variety of light conditions, but unfortunately for Acura it does little to distract from the TLX’s bizarre proportions. The designers’ intent here was to make this front-drive-based sport sedan appear more like a rear-drive one, but the uncanny valley effect is palpable. There are few angles where the TLX looks of one piece. The profile view in particular accentuates the hood’s height, which disturbs the overall silhouette and visual balance. 

On the plus side, the Type S has some attractive details, which are subtle enough to look cool without veering into shouty territory. The widened air intakes and front splitter are sharp and purposeful, and they accentuate the tension of the redesigned front grille without distracting from it. Around back, the trunklid spoiler and diffuser add a sense of aggression without drawing too much attention from the main appeal—the Type S’ striking quad exhaust.

Many Acura customers end up with a car like the TLX because they want a luxury model without the social baggage associated with the German brands. And with its gorgeous red leather, supportive front seats, sensational ELS 3D audio system, and super-crisp center display, this interior feels upscale if not quite as refined as an Audi, BMW, or Mercedes. Acura’s quality fit and finish make the Cadillac CT4 and Alfa Romeo Giulia seem cheap by comparison, but some of the TLX’s details still won’t fool longtime luxury-brand customers. The steering wheel, for instance, appears suitably fat and dimpled to the eye but feels hard and slightly tacky to the touch. 

Happily, climate control buttons, including heated and cooled seats, are simply and clearly laid out, with no gimmicks or endless menu-diving necessary. The Type S’s standard heads-up display works excellently, and drivers will appreciate the large buttons on the left side of the dashboard to adjust its position. Acura’s new all-digital instrument cluster is fine, but the semi-analog setup it replaces benefitted from a much more sophisticated view from the driver’s seat. The push-button shifter in the center waterfall takes no time to figure out, and there is a dedicated volume knob and track-change button next to the touchpad. 

But oh, that touchpad—an awkward, imprecise nightmare that combines the worst aspects of physical controls and touchscreens. Lexus learned its lesson and moved away from the technology, which soured a lot of people to that brand’s last-generation vehicles, and Acura should know when to fold ‘em as well.

Packaging could be better. The TLX’s back seat is surprisingly small given the roughly Audi A4-ish size of this car, and the trunk isn’t especially generous. Even more puzzling is the fixed X-brace between the trunk and the back seat, which makes storing long packages impossible. 

Acura says that 25 percent of TLX buyers go for the Type S, which, despite the $7000 increase in cost makes sense if you’ve driven both it and the lesser A-Spec model. This a fast, satisfying daily driver. The 355-hp turbo V-6 makes its maximum 354 lb-ft of torque at just 1400 rpm, and the engine feels responsive and willing all the way to about 5500 rpm. It’s paired with a 10-speed automatic transmission that manages to avoid the sensation of constant shifting in pursuit of fuel economy. Sport+ mode—activated by holding the drive mode knob all the wait to the right for a few seconds—turns throttle response, exhaust noise, shift mapping, and torque-vectoring on the rear axle to their most aggressive settings. This is a solid, punchy powertrain that drivers will happily choose over the workaday four-cylinder in the TLX A-Spec, but the engine lacks the juicy smoothness and aural charisma of BMW’s B58 inline-six.

Sport+ is highly entertaining for your favorite back road, however. Most impressive is the all-wheel drive system, which can send 70 percent of torque to the rear and then distribute 100 percent of that torque to either rear wheel. The Type S is sure-footed no matter the situation and never has issues putting down power, though dialing in the adaptive suspension to Comfort using the Individual settings does cut down on head-toss over small- and medium-sized bumps. We’d suspect that the summer tires also improve initial turn-in, which can be a little vague in elevation changes. Steering is accurate and predictable. The brakes (Brembos up front) are by far the dynamic high point, though—powerful and reassuring when the car is at full blast, with a consistent, fantastic feel through the pedal. In normal traffic, they totally disappear into the background.

Overall the TLX is not the most aggressive sport sedan out there, and purists will definitely balk at its 4221-pound curb weight, but it is impressively competent and satisfying to drive. Compared to past Type S iterations—the 2002-03 TL and 2007-08 TL—this TLX Type S comes across as much more considered and carefully engineered. At just under $60,000 this Ohio-built TLX Type S costs almost exactly the same, when adjusted for inflation, coming in at $4000-$7000 cheaper than today’s German competition, depending on exact options. While those prior Type S models were fun in their own right, they didn’t exhibit this level of dynamic refinement beyond their respective base models. Drivers of the 07-08 TL Type S may remember its considerable torque steer under full throttle. (That second-gen car was, however, astonishingly better-looking.)

Those earnestly cross-shopping the TLX with a 3 Series or C43 won’t find them to be in the same league. That’s perhaps more a reflection on the TLX than the Type S in particular, which is a more-than-respectable effort for a performance badge that has appeared only in staccato fashion up to this point. With a TLX this good, not to mention the thrilling Integra and swift MDX Type S, we hope these performance models are here to stay. 

2024 Acura TLX Type S

Price: $58,195/$58,795 (base/as-tested)

Highs: Sweet powertrain. Sophisticated all-wheel drive that never gets caught out. Supportive seats with nice leather and soft suede-like fabric. Killer audio system.

Lows: Digital gauge cluster is a downgrade from the pre-refresh model, as is the new summer tire/lightweight wheel pricing. Some materials feel not-quite luxurious. Touchpad controller needs to go.

Takeaway: The TLX Type S shows signs that Acura still cares about satisfying enthusiast drivers, but European brands need not panic. This 2024 refresh doesn’t much move the needle.

***

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The post 2024 Acura TLX Type S Review: German Alternative appeared first on Hagerty Media.

For the 2023 model year, BMW discontinued the standard-issue, 600-hp M8 after three years on the market. That left only the hotter, 617-hp M8 Competition. It’s unclear what percentage of buyers picked the base model over the “Comp,” as the in-crowd says, but I can’t imagine it was high. What customer strolling into their local BMW dealer with $150,000 to plop on the table walks out with the second-most powerful car on the 8 Series roster?

That base car was more like a bait car. Any Porsche salesperson, for instance, knows which of their customers simply want the most expensive, most excessive version of the car they like. (These people never fail to receive dealership Christmas cards.) Think about it: maybe you’ve seen a few new-ish Cayenne or 911 Turbo S examples in the wild … but have you ever seen a regular Turbo? I’m neither Kahneman nor Tversky, but I’d wager the mere existence of the latter psychologically bolsters the desirability of the former.

Most BMW buyers would be plenty satisfied with the silky straight-six in the 840i. And they’d be downright charmed by the healthy 523 horses in the twin-turbo-V-8-powered M850i. Six-hundred and seventeen horsepower is indeed excessive, albeit here that’s true in the more delicious, wonderful sense of the word. The M8 gobbles up back roads and eats up highway miles with an insatiable greed for speed.

BMW claims it can bang off 0-60 sprints in 3.0 seconds, which feels conservative given the violence with the M8 launches and the relentlessness of the engine’s 553 lb-ft torque. This kind of burly, boisterous attitude in a big two-door such as the M8 Coupe is logical for a car that’s all about making a statement.

Specs: 2023 BMW M8 Competition Coupe

• Price: $155,345
• Powertrain: 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8; eight-speed automatic transmission
• Output: 617 hp @ 6000 rpm; 553 lb-ft @ 1850-5860 rpm
• Layout: All-wheel-drive, two-door, four-passenger coupe
• EPA Fuel Economy: 15 mpg city, 22 mpg highway, 17 mpg combined
• Competitors: Mercedes-AMG GT, Aston Martin Vantage, Porsche 911

The statement that a flagship two-door makes in 2024 is in the language of sportiness, rather than elegance. Thus, the M8 Coupe looks like a Mercedes S-Class piped through a particularly aggro Betty Crocker decorating tip. The design is hardly pretty, but it commands attention in traffic. Proportions are almost comically chunky, the stance is wide, and the 20-inch rims really fill out the wheel wells. A standard quad-tip M Sport exhaust guarantees the 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 will be heard, though at idle and low speeds the noise never verges on obnoxious. New for 2023 was a 12.3-inch center display, a handful of new colors, and the optional M Carbon bucket seats already offered on the M3 and M4.

The total MSRP of $153,345 placed our Brooklyn Gray Metallic test car closer in price to the 577-hp AMG GT 63 and 655-hp Aston Martin Vantage than the Porsche 911 Turbo. We borrowed an M8 for a road trip to some of Ohio’s greatest roads near Hocking Hills State Park, complete with a spendy suite of options appropriate for a car so committed to excess: Sakhir Orange full leather interior ($3500), Driving Assistance Pro Package ($1700), carbon-ceramic brakes ($8150), M Driver’s Package ($2500), and the M Carbon Exterior Package ($5400).

You can safely skip the expensive carbon bits, but the M Driver’s Package—which raises top speed to 189 mph from 155 mph—is interesting particularly because it comes with a ticket to an M driving academy at either California’s Thermal Club or the BMW Performance Center in Spartanburg, South Carolina. The carbon-ceramic brakes, too, are appropriate for a car this large, fast, and heavy. Thanks to their heat-shedding properties, these high-diameter discs—400mm front and 380mm rear—don’t quit when you really need them.

Though our previous test of the M8 Coupe—a 2019 track outing at BMW’s Spartanburg facility—showcased the car’s immense capability, it was clear that few customers would flex its muscles in this fashion outside of a BMW-sanctioned setting. That said, the M8 is not entirely at home on curvy country roads, either. For one thing, the Bimmer’s 191.8-inch length and 75.1-inch width make it difficult to place on roads that don’t have visible corner exits. Then there’s the 4300 pounds of mass, heft which the M8 never lets you forget as it heaves its way over twisting ribbons of pavement. You don’t dance through corners so much as you march through them with righteous indignation, constantly stomping on the sharp-grabbing brakes and relying on the handy all-wheel drive and M differential to right the ship.

Though it does not require any special skill to drive quickly in this fashion, the M8 is nevertheless entertaining. Imagine riding a mechanical bull that never quite throws you off into a cheering crowd of Tecate drinkers. The sensations of speed, power delivery and weight transfer are always apparent; I suspect this is in part a consequence of BMW’s choice to stick with adaptive suspension rather than an air ride setup, as well as traditional rather than active anti-roll bars. The chassis never responds unnaturally or feels disconnected from inputs, though the steering feel on center could use more nuance. The variable-ratio steering setup does result in quick reflexes at speed, however, and the all-wheel drive system maintained the M8’s composure despite changing road surfaces, temperatures, and sections with slick leaves. The chassis is, I must admit, supremely engineered and tuned to handle abrupt transitions with casual indifference. And despite the ride’s appreciable stiffness, the M8 glides across the interstate, its V-8 purring as you whisk away the miles.

Perhaps that last bit isn’t so surprising, given that the 8 Series is more of a luxury GT model than a true sports car. The 8 employs a modified version of BMW’s aluminum-intensive CLAR architecture, which is also used on the 5 Series, X5, and 7 Series. Though the four-door 8 Series Gran Coupe is more practical, the two-door is surprisingly spacious compared with a 911. With the back seats folded I was able to squeeze in three days of camping gear, groceries, and an extra-long pop-up tent. The standard M seats are all-day supportive and cosseting, and every single thing you touch feels high-quality. There are no squeaks, rattles, or fitment gaps. A lovely little compartment with a fold-up door, just in front of the gear lever, makes for convenient phone storage. Buttons and clear displays render radio and climate controls simple. There is a touchscreen, but the familiar iDrive rotary controller is much less awkward and more intuitive to use.

BMW’s major miss here is the design of its all-digital instrument cluster, used across a variety of M and M-lite products, which is hopelessly illegible as it is aesthetically unimaginative. Other small demerits: the too-thick steering wheel—which never feels reassuringly handy when conditions call for fast work—and the wide center tunnel that noticeably impinges on the size of the pedal box. Harman Kardon’s surround sound audio system is solid, but it’s bottom of the pack compared with Audi’s Bang & Olufsen system, Volvo’s Bowers & Wilkins, or Mercedes-Benz’s Burmester.

After that track drive five years ago, our chief gripe was with the conventional eight-speed torque converter automatic transmission. Though it was a bit too eager to upshift when on maximum attack on a road course, that fault was not nearly as apparent on Ohio’s back roads where the gearbox—happiest in Sport mode, rather than the most aggressive Sport Plus—did not miss a step. In Comfort mode the powertrain settles nicely into the background, so you can drive through subdivisions and downtown areas without needing to manage rowdy power delivery. A touch of tire noise reaches the cabin at higher speeds, but I didn’t notice any wind noise, which can get tiresome on multi-hour drives.

I find it particularly delightful that BMW even offers the M8 in coupe form. Big two-door bruisers like this are all but dead, though the AMG GT has been reimagined for its second generation as a four-seater rather than a two-seater. More impressive still is that a car with so much girth, muscle, and appetite for absurd velocity remains balanced and even enjoyable on public roads. Some of the larger Mercedes AMGs and Audi RS products suffer in all-out performance guise, but the M8 manages to avoid this fate.

Too much, in this case, is just the right formula for a luxury car with an evil streak. So crank the volume to turn up the noise on Dave Matthews’ “Too Much” and chow down on whatever unsuspecting stretch of road appears in the M8’s windshield:

I told God I’m coming

To your country

I’m going to eat up your cities

Your homes, you know

I’ve got a stomach full it’s not

A chip on my shoulder

I’ve got this growl in my tummy

And I’m gonna stop it today

2023 BMW M8 Competition Coupe

Price: $131,995/$153,345 (base/as-tested)

Highs: Relentless V-8 engine. Drives smaller than it is. Materials quality inside is outstanding.

Lows: Ungainly styling. Illegible gauge cluster. Steering could be more lively.

Takeaway: Excess means little if it doesn’t add up to a memorable experience, and this ballistic missile version of BMW’s flagship coupe is hard to forget.

***

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The Accord Hybrid you see here possesses a more refined powertrain than ever—hushed and impressively consistent in operation. The packaging of that system is top-notch, so the Hybrid model suffers no carrying capacity penalty compared with the standard Accord. Fuel economy is stellar. The car even looks pretty good, and the interior materials are better than what you get in a base BMW 2 Series. It would be fair to say the 2023 car is the best Accord Hybrid that Honda has ever made. But is it the best Accord? 

For my money, no. That honor—still—goes to the 2013 Accord Sport with V-6 and manual transmission, which even was briefly offered as a coupe. I always thought of this four-door as a 2010s version of the 326 V-8-powered ‘64 Pontiac Tempest—healthy power in a decent-looking, spacious family sedan. By the next-generation Accord, launched for 2018, the V-6 was gone in place of a turbocharged 2.0-liter four-cylinder and the option of a six-speed manual or a new, 10-speed automatic. This Accord Sport lacked some of the bullishness of the V-6 version but was fundamentally excellent—quick, agile, comfortable, and fairly priced at about $35,000.

When Honda redesigned the Accord for 2023, it killed the 2.0T and now pitches the Hybrid powertrain as a sporty performance alternative to the base 1.5T/CVT setup. Offered on Sport, EX-L, Sport-L, and top-dog Touring trims, its max output of 204 hp and 247 lb-ft (up 2 hp and 15 lb-ft from the 10th-generation car) is more than sufficient in normal operation, but the setup is optimized for short bursts in traffic. This is great for stop-light take-off and quick lane changes, but it’s not an outright barn burner anymore. Car and Driver clocked the 2023 Accord Hybrid Touring at 6.5 seconds sprinting from 0 to 60 mph, which is down a full second compared with the outgoing 2.0T/10-speed-auto car. (The V-6 Camry still scoots at 5.8 seconds, 0 to 60.) 

Specs: 2023 Honda Accord Hybrid Touring

Price: $38,435
Powertrain: 2.0-liter four-cylinder gas engine (146 hp; 134 lb-ft) with generator, single electric motor (181 hp; 247 lb-ft), and 1.1-kWh lithium-ion battery
Combined Output: 204 hp; 247 lb-ft
Layout: Front-wheel-drive, four-door, five-passenger sedan
EPA Fuel Economy: 46 mpg city, 41 mpg highway, 44 mpg combined
Competitors: Toyota Camry Hybrid, Hyundai Sonata Hybrid

The automaker expects that, for this 11th-generation car, 50 percent of examples sold will be Hybrids. The gas-only Accords, the entry-level LX and EX, are 192-hp 1.5-liter turbo-four affairs. All that is a long way of saying that Honda has spoken, and the hot Accord is no more. Boo hiss.

Fortunately, Honda’s hybrid system is excellent. Power delivery is so consistent and smooth that most people won’t even be able to tell the electrified Accord apart from a pure gas variant, other than to notice how quiet it is. Most of the time, the 2.0-liter Atkinson-cycle four-cylinder (now with direct injection) is not connected to the drive wheels; instead, it works in tandem with a generator to power the 1.06-kWh battery and/or electric motor, the latter of which drives the front wheels. In certain situations, such as highway cruising, the engine can engage a clutch to drive the front wheels. The four-cylinder is completely disengaged while the car is decelerating, stopped, or when the system determines battery power is sufficient. Unlike many of the start-stop systems in modern gas cars you may be familiar with, both shut-off and restart here are imperceptible. 

I did encounter an issue, however. After stepping outside the car for a minute to return a library book, I left it running with the hazards on and the key in my pocket. I got back in, drove off, and at the first stop light the car completely shut down with the transmission somehow still in D. The car would not move, the wheels would not turn, and all of the screens were black. I couldn’t get it to restart until I shifted into Park, pressed the starter button to fully turn the car off, pressed the starter button again to reactivate it, and then put the car back in D. There was no indication at any point that the car no longer recognized the key. It was a one-time problem that I tried and failed to replicate, but being trapped in traffic for thirty seconds, for any reason, is nonetheless disconcerting. 

The drive motor runs in reverse during coasting or braking to recharge the battery, and the tuning for the mechanical braking system is spot-on, such that the two systems blend seamlessly in normal operation. Integrating the two while producing a natural feeling is extremely difficult, and Honda nailed it. There are six levels of regenerative braking, selectable using paddles behind the steering wheel, and the most aggressive level can bring the car nearly to a stop, so it’s not truly one-pedal capable like many EVs are. Wearing the top-tier Touring example’s 19-inch wheels, the Accord Hybrid has an EPA rating of 44 mpg combined (48 mpg for the EX-L). In mixed city and highway driving, our results were closer to 42 mpg. For context, the Accord Hybrid is 8-10 mpg off the Toyota Prius’s EPA rating, but its powertrain is smoother and the vehicle itself is meaningfully larger, quieter, and more comfortable.

The Accord’s underlying platform is essentially the same as before, though this 11th-generation car is 2.7 inches longer and has a 0.4-inch wider rear track. Honda says it made the chassis more rigid and implemented suspension and steering updates—one of those changes is that the Touring model no longer gets adaptive dampers, sticking with a more traditional fixed setup. The Accord’s steering is not quite as sharp and lively as before, particularly mid-corner, but the ride is immaculate. The Accord comports itself with phenomenal composure regardless of the conditions. It could be city streets, country roads, or long stretches of highway—the car’s balance, responsiveness, and overall comfort best every new entry-level luxury car I’ve driven.

Unfortunately, the Accord doesn’t look quite as luxurious on the outside. This is a rather plain redesign, in my opinion. The faster roofline over the second row is attractive, but the front end has a dull bluntness to it that I wouldn’t call flattering. The curved, C-shaped air intakes at the lower corners of the front fascia do not blend well with the rest of the nose, which is covered in almost exclusively sharp, geometric angles. Out back it’s a little better, with the full-width taillight treatment adding a modern, minimalist sort of flair. The prior, 10th-generation car was perhaps aesthetically busier, but it was also a lot more interesting. The new Hyundai Sonata, in particular, blows the new Accord out of the water when the two are parked next to one another.

It’s a different story inside. The revised interior uses many of the same design cues as the smaller Civic—mesh-pattern HVAC vents across the dashboard, in particular—albeit with far superior materials. I’d be curious to try a lower-level Accord, say, the $30,000 EX for comparison, but the interior of the Accord Touring is among the highest-quality and easiest to settle into for under $40,000. (The 2024 model, at $39,985, just squeaks under that threshold.) The leather padding on the door armrests feels cushy and natural, rather than plasticky or sticky. None of the switches come across as cheap. Outward visibility is outstanding, which is rare in a modern car. It’s hugely spacious, with wide seats up front and gobs of rear legroom, and the trunk can easily swallow a bike with its front wheel detached. Or luggage for a family of four on a weekend getaway. You might want a bit more room than the Accord offers in the center console, but that’s about it.

The Accord Touring packs a number of niceties over the next-down Sport-L: wireless phone charging, ventilated front seats, heated rear outboard seats, a head-up display, 5G Wi-Fi hotspot, parking sensors, a Bose 12-speaker premium audio system, and Google Assistant/Maps built into the 12.3-inch center screen and infotainment. When it comes to infotainment technology, Honda has neither been particularly willing to swing for the fences nor especially competent at integration, but this system works great. It’s fast-responding and unfussy. The visuals are pretty crisp, and the Google navigation system is clear and easy to follow when it pops up in the HUD. The Bose system is nothing to write home about, but this is a lot of feature content in a $38,000 car. Okay, Honda! 

Well, this particular test car was too connected for its own good. Who can say why, but at one point, I went to start the car in the early morning and it refused to do so, citing a pending, over-the-air System Update. No amount of button pushing or cursing could convince the car to knock it off. It finally relented after 10 minutes or so, lighting up the dashboard as usual aside from a rather lippy message in the instrument cluster that the car’s software update was interrupted and would resume at the next shut-off. 

Listen, car. You do what I tell you to do … right?

Aside from those two oddball bugs I experienced, the Accord Hybrid is an impressive package. I miss the outright performance of the 2.0T, but the 2023 Accord Hybrid zips around happily, handles better than practically every other mainstream family sedan, and sips fuel while generally not letting on in any way that it has a battery and electric motor. Our Touring test car even convincingly cossets you in near-luxury. In every way other than ground clearance and sheer carrying capacity, the Accord Hybrid is a compelling reason to skip a milquetoast crossover and keep it classy with a sedan. Best Accord Ever? Not in my book, no, but for most Accord folks there’s good reason to hail the ascendance of the Hybrid.

2023 Honda Accord Hybrid Touring

Price: $38,435

Highs: High-quality interior materials. Efficient powertrain that doesn’t reveal itself as a hybrid. Exquisite ride and handling for a mainstream family sedan.

Lows: Ghosts in the machine that gave us two separate no-start conditions. Plain exterior design feels stodgier than the outgoing-generation car.

Takeaway: A hybrid family sedan that compromises nothing to hit its mpg marks. The Honda Accord Hybrid deserves serious respect, provided you don’t have the same bugs we did.

***

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Silver Needle is among the most expensive, most prized tea varietals in the world. Traditionally grown in the mountains of China’s Fujian Province, Silver Needle is made exclusively from the fuzzy, shoot-shaped top buds of the tea plant, plucked before they open. Harvesting of the most prized buds takes place during the March-April “first flush,” and ideally in the early morning when the sun has dried any overnight dew. Plucked shoots are then laid out in baskets to further dry under the sun, lightly oxidizing before they are baked at low temperature. Silver Needle tea is savored worldwide for its delicacy, light sweetness, and exquisitely refined flavor lacking any astringency. It is, in many ways, the Rolls-Royce of fine teas. The Spectre is that British automaker’s latest brew.

Rolls-Royce has always been about outright elegance and extreme refinement. I’ve ridden in a handful of old ones, including a ‘50s Silver Cloud, and driven newer examples—the Wraith, Ghost, and Cullinan. Each felt wonderful in its own way. The 2024 Spectre, Rolls-Royce’s first all-electric car, is remarkable not because of any particular advancement, but rather for how effectively it harnesses EV technology to deliver the brand’s trademark characteristic: effortlessness.

An electric drivetrain has scarcely ever been more suited to its intended use. Everything that makes EVs impractical as daily drivers (cost, available charging infrastructure, charging speeds) and uninspiring for sports cars (vapid-feeling motors, lack of sound, weight) is unimportant for an ultra-luxury machine like this. A range of 266 miles (for models with 23-inch wheels, or 291 miles with 22-inch wheels) should be plenty when the average Spectre owner has seven cars, any number of which may have gas engines for longer trips. Still, it’s not much for a car costing this much money, and it should be noted that newcomer Lucid’s base Air claims more than 400 miles of range. Contrary to reputation, Rolls owners in the United States tend to drive their cars themselves and don’t have a chauffeur. Which is to say, they drive because they want to, not because they need to. When a car trip isn’t to their preference, yachts or private jets suffice. 

Barge-like mass is practically a requirement for a Rolls-Royce, and exquisite quietude has long been a hallmark of these cars, whether they packed V-8s or V-12s. Spectre engineers targeted a 0-60-mph sprint of 4.4 seconds—optimal, in their view, to deliver immediate passing power that nevertheless remains smooth and doesn’t throw passengers around. The sheer concept of Tesla’s Ludicrous Mode, to the comfort-obsessed boffins in Goodwood, must seem, well, ludicrous.

Specs: 2024 Rolls-Royce Spectre

• Price: $500,000+ (est.); $424,750 (base)
• Powertrain: 102-kWh lithium-ion battery, 2 separately excited synchronous motors (190 kW front; 360 kW rear)
• Output: 584 hp; 663 lb-ft
• Layout: Twin-motor, four-passenger, all-wheel-drive coupe
• EPA Range: 266 miles (23-inch wheels); 291 miles (22-inch wheels)
• 0-60 mph: 4.4 seconds
• Competition: Strictly speaking, nothing lines up apples-to-apples.

New for 2024, the Spectre rides on the same Architecture of Luxury platform as the Cullinan SUV and Ghost sedan. According to a company press release, the all-aluminum spaceframe was engineered and designed from the outset to accommodate pure electric power “as and when the technology became available.” The Spectre uses a 400V electrical system and includes two separately excited synchronous electric motors, one on each axle, capable of producing 584 hp and 663 lb-ft of total output. The battery is a 102-kWh lithium-ion unit, shared with the BMW i7, and alone accounts for 1543 of the Spectre’s 6371 pounds. Rolls-Royce boasts that by integrating the battery into the body structure, the spaceframe is 30 percent stiffer than any prior model from the brand. Another bonus: the battery’s low position serves as a large brick of insulation from road and wind noise.

The base price for a 2024 Spectre is $424,750, before options. Most owners will spec their cars beyond $500,000. Our Arctic White test car wore no official window sticker, but the spec sheet glittered with the following goodies: Aero Two-Tone paint, polished 23-inch wheels, a Navy and Charles Blue interior scheme, open-pore Mimosa Negra wood interior trim, contrast stitching in white, stowable blue umbrellas, a “bespoke” clock, illuminated treadplates, ventilated massage seats, and a “Starlight” headliner that extends onto the doors with 4796 individual points of lights.

The interior is eerily quiet, such that the HVAC system produces substantially more noise than the powertrain. Every single object and texture within reach is utterly beautiful to touch or look at. Knobs find their little detents with satisfying precision. The steering wheel is gorgeous, simple, and has a pleasant but controllable heft at any speed. The exposed wood is finished in such a way that you can appreciate the grain of the wood while also sensing that it is almost perfectly even and smooth in its curvature. Despite this downright overwhelming exuberance, the interior’s fundamental layout is crisp and simple—a far cry from the tech-laden, pixelated song-and-dance in BMW, Audi, and Mercedes flagships. This is intentional, as if the car wants you to say “hmm,” and “oh,” rather than an immediate “wow.” The lambswool carpet on the floor of the back row feels orders of magnitude softer than any piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. The new instrument cluster is all-digital, but the display mimics traditional gauges and is blessedly free of corny gimmicks.

The Spectre seats four, but only nominally in the way that the Porsche 911 does. What oil baron is going to shame their friends, colleagues, or even children by asking they duck in the back row, plush and extraordinary as it is? That sloping roofline does not allow for generous rear-seat headroom. More so than the Cullinan or Ghost, the Spectre is for the driver rather than the passenger. Even without a companion on board, you can feel like an entire orchestra is there with you thanks the the 18-speaker, 1400-watt Bespoke Audio system. It offers a stunning tapestry of sound that is all the more impressive and enjoyable with no competing sound from the rest of the car to distract your ears.

Out on the roads in metro Detroit’s more posh suburbs, the Spectre glides over potholes and rough pavement like they’re not even there. The floatiness is at first bizarre and even disconcerting, especially when approaching a corner, but you quickly learn to trust the car’s electronic body control. Using a variety of sensors and GPS data, the Spectre can automatically disconnect its anti-roll bars on straight roads to let each wheel react to road conditions without disrupting the wheel on the other end of the axle. Over highways with repeated, visible expansion joints, it works so well you’d think the road was runway-smooth. (Not having to think about it at all is more the point.) When a corner approaches, the system reconnects and stiffens suspension dampers in anticipation.

It is not an exaggeration to say I could have one-handed the steering wheel and comfortably sipped a cup of hot tea. Probably wouldn’t have spilled a drop, either.

Part of what makes all this possible is a new software architecture known as Decentralized Intelligence; the setup features dedicated data processors positioned close to their sensor source, rather than through a single central processing unit, to “respond more quickly to driver inputs and changing road conditions.”

A four-wheel steering system aids handling; engineers chose to use a 12-volt motor for this application, rather than a 48-volt unit, because the latter’s torque would have required a stiffer attachment where the half-shaft meets the wheel, resulting in harsher feedback for the driver. The system is most noticeable at low speeds and in parking lots. At 215.55 inches long, the Spectre is less than an inch shorter than the outgoing Wraith, so every bit of help turning it on its axis is necessary. It’s no tougher to park than a mid-size sedan, which feels odd when you remember this behemoth is six inches longer than a regular-cab F-150.

Out of curiosity, I floored the accelerator from a dead stop on an empty, picket-fence-lined road. There was no scramble of clawing wheels, no cheesy Tron-like whir noises pumping through the speakers, no dramatic thrust back into the leather throne as the car reared on its ample haunches. The Spectre simply… went. Not unpleasantly, mind you, but rather in the very English sense of simply getting on with it. For me, the real achievement of this car is that driving it doesn’t feel like an artificial cloud devoid of feedback. The body moves when you swing it into a hard corner, but just so. Braking hard from a high speed does elicit a sense of sheer mass, communicated through the pressure in the brake pedal, that’s quite distinct from what you feel slowly rolling to a stop. It’s one of the only moments you remember what a large vehicle you’re driving. One-pedal driving in max-regen “B mode” is also possible, but at times the brake pedal felt strange and unnatural when used in this mode.

We didn’t have the opportunity to use any charging services, but Rolls-Royce claims that the Spectre’s battery takes 34 minutes on a 195-kW DC fast charger (Level 3) to go from a 10 to 80 percent charge. Just don’t expect to see a Spectre parked at a city charging station or the dinky setup at to your local Kum & Go—Rolls owners drive their cars, on average, just 3200 miles a year and one can expect that almost all EV charging will happen at owners’ homes, luxury hotels, or similar tucked-away locations.

Rolls-Royce has said it plans to have a fully electric lineup by 2030. The brand’s embrace of EV technology is strategic not just because of the perceived benefits to its products, but also as a means of aligning with its customer base’s preferences. According to PR spokesperson Gerry Spahn, Rolls has been working hard to lower the average age of its clientele over the past decade or so. The average owner is now 43, which is “considerably less stodgy” than when the modern Phantom launched in 2003. “That first Phantom was very formal, targeted at older drivers,” said Spahn. “By 2009-2010, the Ghost was bringing in younger, newer wealth in the 40-to-50 age range. Then, the Dawn and Wraith, around 2015, brought in a whole wave of young entrepreneurs who struck it big.” 

Forty percent of Spectre buyers will be taking delivery of their first Rolls-Royce, and, Spahn said, many of these customers “want the car for its social benefits.” Translation: the ability for an owner to say that they drive an EV, rather than an emissions-spewing gas car. Notwithstanding the ongoing debate around the true environmental impact of electric cars and batteries, let alone the contradiction of an average owner of six cars and a $425,000-plus Rolls-Royce trying to make any statement about sustainability, it’s obvious that cachet and status are important considerations in this ultra-elite social stratum. 

The Spectre is, in many ways, the slab-sided silent hovership of the ultra-elite’s dreams. It can be completely personalized to the customer’s taste, such that it represents not only their preferences but functions “as a monument to their achievements,” in Spahn’s words. Rolls-Royce points out that, in 1900, company co-founder Charles Stewart Rolls saw potential in the electric car: “The electric car is perfectly noiseless and clean. There is no smell or vibration. They should become very useful when fixed charging stations can be arranged.” 

Charging stations are being arranged nationwide, albeit piecemeal and with inconsistent reliability for the masses. A Rolls-Royce, however, makes a highly convincing use case as the ideal application of EV technology—among the most economically privileged class, anyway. These fortunate few can lay back in their gorgeous leather seats, stare at the simulated stars in the headliner, and fondle the painstakingly crafted materials in their cockpit that have been shaped from untold man-hours of expert processing. It is a haven from which the astringency of life is reduced to less than a whisper, quiet enough to practically hear the steam rising from a cup of Silver Needle.

2024 Rolls-Royce Spectre

Highs: As quiet as a car could reasonably be. Rides like a dream. Looks, feels, smells, sounds like a Rolls-Royce ought to.

Lows: Occasionally odd braking feedback in regen mode. Though it may not strictly be necessary (no element of such a car is), more than 300 miles of range should be doable for a car at this price point.

Takeaway: That the Rolls-Royce Spectre is a damn-near perfect EV (and a damn-near perfect ultra-luxury coupe) is a strong indicator of the class to which this technology, in its current state, is most suited.

***

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Almost 25 years ago, in the comedy classic Meet the Parents, Greg Focker arrives at ex-CIA spook Jack Byrnes’ front door in a green Ford Taurus. The nice color, Focker admits, was the rental counter attendant’s choice. “They say geniuses pick green,” he tells Focker, laying a trap for his daughter’s nervous boyfriend. “But you didn’t pick it.”

If that same scenario were to play out today, with a 2023 Volvo XC40 in metallic Sage Green, even a dunce like Focker would have taken credit for the selection. The XC40 is a rare thing in a sea of forgettable compact crossovers—a stylish, attractive city car with a range of unconventional color choices and useful features. And unlike Ben Stiller’s hapless Focker, who flubs and fumbles at every opportunity, the XC40 comes across as thoughtful, wise, and savvy in its intended urban environment. 

The XC40 is Volvo’s smallest crossover, launched for the 2018 model year. It’s the first car to use the automaker’s Compact Modular Architecture, which also underpins the all-electric Polestar 2 (along with a number of Geely and Lynk & Co vehicles sold primarily in China). Since the original XC40’s launch, Volvo has added a coupe-like C40 variant as well as plug-in hybrid and pure-electric powertrains, but for 2023 the changes to the gas-powered XC40 were minor. Aside from a new mild-hybrid system that’s standard, a built-in Google/Android infotainment system, and revised front-end styling, it’s more or less carryover.

Not that we’re complaining—the XC40 is arguably the best luxury compact crossover out there, competing with the BMW X1, Mercedes-Benz GLB, and Audi Q3. Being a luxury product, the XC40 is fairly expensive for a car this size at $50,190, but it really does look twice as good as a Honda HR-V that costs $25,000. The short overhangs, chunky D-pillar, and clean body lines give the XC40 a sophisticated air without being overwrought. The pale metallic green paint looks daring and upscale, distinct from the grays, silvers, and blacks in every suburban cul-de-sac. It’s exactly the type of vehicle wealthy parents buy their fortunate teenagers as a first car, or that a young professional with a well-paying gig stretches to afford when a Toyota Corolla Cross starts to feel low-rent.

Specs: 2023 Volvo XC40 B5 AWD Ultimate

• Price: $47,595/$50,190 (Base/as tested)
• Powertrain: 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder; hybrid integrated starter-generator; 8-speed automatic transmission
• Horsepower/Torque: 247 hp, 258 lb-ft
• Layout: All-wheel-drive, four-door, five-passenger SUV
• Curb Weight: 3861 lb
• EPA-rated fuel economy: 23 mpg city, 30 mpg highway, 26 mpg combined
• 0–60 mph: 6.1 seconds
• Competitors: BMW X1, Mercedes-Benz GLB, Audi Q3, Alfa Romeo Tonale

Despite Volvo selling about a third of BMW’s volume in the U.S., the XC40 has outsold the X1 in each of the last four years. (2021 was Volvo’s best year in the segment, with 26,802 XC40s sold.) One reason for that is the variety in the model’s lineup, which has included the pure-electric Recharge since 2020. Another reason, we’d wager, is the overwhelming appeal of the XC40’s interior. 

Compared with the fairly rote and dull X1 or Q3, the inside of the XC40 is bright, airy, and optimistic. Our top-trim Ultimate test car features the tasteful “Driftwood” trim, along with a Harman Kardon sound system, crystal gear selector, leather seating surfaces, the blonde-colored headliner, and a panoramic moonroof. At least at this trim level, this is a small luxury car that does not feel cost-cut. The door handles are metal and feel hefty. Buttons actuate with a pleasant click. The only obvious evidence of penny-pinching is the speaker grille treatment for the rear doors, which uses plastic rather than the handsome metal employed up front.  

The main weak point of the environment is that the primary touchscreen is designed for the outgoing Sensus system’s vertical orientation, while Google/Android’s tile-like software arrangement (and Apple CarPlay’s) is optimized for horizontal display. The result is somewhat awkward to use, particularly when the car is backing up and the top half of the screen turns more or less into a black box because the rear-view camera feed has to render in a discernible aspect ratio. In general, the icons appear somewhat small, and the system can be frustrating to navigate while the car is moving. 

The driver sits high up, which is what most buyers in this segment want—a sense of command from behind the steering wheel. Shoulder room is excellent for a subcompact car, and there are a number of helpful storage compartments. The door pockets are positively huge (lined in fabric rather than scratchy plastic) and inside the center console is a handy removable wastebasket for gum wrappers and McNuggets boxes. If you’re getting takeout, rather than place the bag haphazardly in the footwell or second-row floor, you can hang it safely on a deployable “curry hook.” Inside the glovebox is a designated pocket for the manual, keeping it tucked away for when you need it. Back seats are more than reasonable for the subcompact class, and the mesh map pockets behind the front seats are genuinely useful. In the trunk, too, is a foldable divider that better contains groceries and prevents them from flying around. Lift up the trunk floor and there to greet you is another rarity in the world of modern luxury cars: a spare tire with a jack.

Comfortable as the XC40 is for short trips, the seats are a bit firm and don’t have the support for multi-hour trips without needing to stop and stretch. Indeed, the XC40 doesn’t feel nearly as planted and sure-footed as the larger SPA-platform cars like the XC60 and XC90, which barrel down the interstate like bullet trains. The XC40 is much more at home darting through city traffic, where its short wheelbase and compact dimensions shine. Despite the Ultimate trim’s 20-inch wheels, the ride is controlled and smooth even over big impacts. There’s a small amount of body roll and head toss when making sharp turns, but it’s nothing egregious. Spanking the XC40 over your favorite road will reveal no hidden fun, but for the concrete jungle, this is an expertly tuned suspension.

The powertrain, too, is suited to the city: low-rpm torque in quick bursts. The XC40’s sole gas powertrain is a 2.0-liter, direct-injected turbocharged four-cylinder packing 247 hp and 258 lb-ft of torque. It’s a punchy little powerplant with a workaday personality, happier below about 3400 rpm than anywhere else in the rev range. It’s mated to an eight-speed automatic transmission that could be a bit quicker to downshift but is otherwise unobtrusive.

What’s disappointing here is the mild-hybrid setup. Volvo makes a big deal out of this in its marketing materials, particularly on its website. The automaker touts how the 48V battery and 13-hp integrated starter-generator aid in acceleration and braking to improve performance and reduce fuel consumption. In practice it adds just 1 mpg city (and 1 mpg combined) on the EPA rating system, for a total of 23/30/26 mpg city/highway/combined. Perhaps it’s a good thing that the system is unnoticeable when accelerating, but it causes the brake pedal to, at times, feel oddly firm and difficult to modulate. Meanwhile, the non-hybrid BMW X1 xDrive28i makes similar power and 295 lb-ft of torque from its 2.0-liter engine yet manages 25/34/28 mpg highway with one fewer transmission gear. Fuel economy isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker in luxury segments, but we’d expect better from any hybrid, mild or otherwise.

At just over $50,000, the XC40 is a few thousand dollars more expensive than a comparable X1 or GLB. Stooping to the next-down XC40 Plus model saves about $3500 and forgoes the 20-inch wheels, adaptive cruise control, and Harman Kardon audio system without sacrificing much else, so that’d be our pick. Green or not, it doesn’t take a genius to realize Volvo has a great little car on its hands.

2023 Volvo XC40 B5 AWD Ultimate

Highs: Fantastic styling, practical interior, great ride quality over rough city pavement.

Lows: Lackluster fuel economy for a hybrid, inconsistent braking feel, seats not up to usual Volvo standards for long trips.

Takeaway: The XC40 nails exactly what entry-level luxury customers want from a small crossover, whether it’s fashion or function.

***

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Though the news shouldn’t come as a surprise, it stings nonetheless: Dodge is done with the Hemi V-8. Speaking to journalists at the reveal of the 2024 Dodge Charger, CEO Tim Kuniskis confirmed that the heart of the brand for the outgoing generation of Dodge performance cars is truly gone.

“We love performance. We love to go fast. We don’t have a V-8 in the plan,” Kuniskis said.

There is, however, still a gas option. Though the 2024 Charger will arrive exclusively as the electric Daytona model, in early 2025 Dodge will introduce the Sixpack variant, carrying Hurricane twin-turbo inline-six power.

“We looked at many different powertrains. But I think you’ve probably driven the Hurricane [many times], and it is a fantastic powertrain,” Kuniskis argued. “If you want to count cylinders, sure, it’s different. But if you want to put a 550-horsepower Hurricane up against a 5.7 or even a 6.4 V-8, the numbers tell the story. It’s a pretty amazing package.”

Indeed, the S.O. and the H.O.—the two states of tune for the 3.0-liter Hurricane six—outpower the 5.7-liter and 6.4-liter Hemis, respectively. The Charger Sixpack S.O. will make 420 hp against the outgoing 5.7’s 370, while the H.O’s 550 hp tops the 6.4’s 485. Official torque figures for these engines are not yet available, but in the Ram 1500 pickup the S.O. is good for 469 lb-ft and the H.O. for 521 lb-ft. Both of these figures, while potentially even higher in the 2025 Charger, beat the 5.7 Hemi’s 395 lb-ft and the 6.4’s 475.

Of course, numbers are not everything. The new Hurricane does not have a voice equal to the Hemi’s deep snarl, as our senior editor Brandan Gillogly noted during his first drive of the 2025 Ram 1500: “The straight-six delivers a well-tuned exhaust note, but it’s more understated than bellicose throughout its operation,” he said.

If you’re taking the Hemi’s departure hard, at least take solace in the fact that Dodge isn’t planning to resurrect the Hellcat nameplate with any other powertrain. Kuniskis told Road & Track that he doesn’t think customers would accept it any other way. With the Hemi gone, however, so goes the beloved Hellcat. (We sent all five cars with the crazy-kitty motor out in style last year—read Sam Smith’s full story here.)

***

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Dodge has no plans to use the Challenger nameplate for any of its current product plans, according to brand CEO Tim Kuniskis. That means the end of a 15-year run for the muscle machine par excellence, which was re-introduced for the 2008 model year after last appearing in 1983.

“We own the Challenger nameplate. We own a whole bunch of nameplates we’ve got in the drawer,” said Kuniskis, speaking to the media at the preview for the just-revealed 2024 Dodge Charger. “So I don’t know what we’ll do with it, if we ever do anything with it, but [we’re] not using it on this car.”

The first Dodge Charger was a two-door that landed in the middle of the 1966 model year. Based on the B-body, the Charger had much in common with the Dodge Coronet which was available as a two- or four-door. Before the LX-based car revived the name for the 2006 model year, enduring until just recently, the prior Dodge Charger was the front-wheel-drive, fifth-generation car that bowed out after 1987.

The Challenger’s hiatus gives way for the new Charger to appear as both a two-door coupe and a four-door sedan. Production will begin this summer on the Daytona (pure-electric) version of the Charger coupe, with deliveries expected by the end of 2024. Early 2025 will mark the arrival of the four-door Charger, appearing in both electric Daytona and combustion-engine Sixpack form—the latter using the same Hurricane twin-turbo inline-six we’ve seen in Wagoneer and Ram models.

The decision to go with one name, according to Kuniskis, stems from a desire for maximum commonality between two- and four-door versions of this new Charger. The project’s chief engineer, Audrey Moore, told us that this was her team’s biggest challenge but also its most rewarding. According to Stellantis chief engineer Ralph Gilles, the new coupe and sedan share the same length, floor, and roof in a bid for manufacturing efficiency.

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Our guess is that the Charger name was appealing for its obvious connection to electric propulsion. Imagine a salesperson explaining how a Challenger must be plugged into a charger when a Charger is sitting next to it on the showroom floor.

Dodge has never been shy about special editions, however, and we wouldn’t be shocked to see the Challenger name appear on a hardcore variant down the road. If Kuniskis was clear about one thing during the reveal event, it’s that he and his team are constantly innovating and iterating and that most plans are in a constant state of flux.

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America’s muscle car is entering a new era. This is the 2025 Dodge Charger. You may notice that this hulking two-door looks almost identical to the Charger SRT Daytona concept that broke cover in August 2022. That’s no accident—Dodge head honcho Tim Kuniskis made a conscious effort to put more or less the final design out in the open so it could marinate for 18 months in people’s minds. Now, the steak is ready to sizzle, and it’s coming in a few different cuts—electric, gas, two-door, and four-door.

Kuniskis projected deep confidence in the two new powertrains, which include a 100.5-kW battery with dual electric motors for the EV model and Stellantis’ new 3.0-liter twin-turbo inline-six for the gas model. “They told us we couldn’t sell Hemis,” Kuniskis said in a promotional video, shown to journalists at a Detroit location requested we keep secret, “but they never said they had to be boring and slow.”

Though there is no V-8 anywhere in the product plan, Kuniskis stands behind the new powertrains as a way “not to comply, but to compete.”

We had the chance to walk around and sit inside the new Charger coupe. It’s a great-looking machine with an imposing presence, differing from the concept car only in the side mirrors, door handles, B-pillar treatment, and wheels.

New Charger, New “Multienergy” Platform

Planned from the outset as both a pure EV and a traditional combustion-engine vehicle, the new Dodge Charger is the first-ever production model to use the STLA Large platform of parent company Stellantis. The platform supports both 400-volt and 800-volt architectures, with each electric drive module (EDM) consisting of a three-in-one motor, inverter, and gear reduction hardware.

The initial run of Charger Daytona models will exclusively use a 400-volt system, but the forthcoming Banshee model—which the SRT Daytona Concept previewed—will employ the more powerful 800-volt system. All new Chargers will be built in Windsor, Ontario, Canada, with Samsung battery modules. They will initially be sourced from South Korea, though production is expected to move to the United States within a couple of years.

These same underpinnings will support six other new Stellantis vehicles under the Jeep, Alfa Romeo, and Maserati umbrellas.

The overall footprint is 1.5 inches wider and a meaningful 8.7 inches longer than the outgoing Challenger Scat Pack Widebody, which means the new car is a sizable thing, indeed. Still, it doesn’t look ungainly. And Dodge designers did a remarkable job of integrating classic and modern design cues that both respect and evolve the outgoing design—arguably the most effective and enduring automotive design of the 21st century thus far. The full-width taillights, thick C-pillar, and squared-off front end read as recognizable Dodge cues, but with a futuristic treatment to replace the retro language. That the new car looks so good and also offers the utility of a liftback and a large trunk (22 cubic feet with the seats up, 33.3 with the rear seats folded) is a major achievement.

2024 Charger Daytona: Power, Suspension, Brakes

As expected, this new Charger will launch first with a pure-electric powertrain. That car, known as the Charger Daytona, will begin production in mid-2024 as a two-door coupe with a liftback-style rear hatch and seating for five.

Two models will appear at launch—the base R/T with 496 hp and the high-performance Scat Pack with 670. Max torque totals 404 lb-ft for the R/T and 627 for the Scat Pack. All-wheel drive is standard, courtesy of two identical electric drive modules (EDM), one for each axle, and independently capable of 250 kW (335 hp) and 314 lb-ft of torque. A standard mechanical limited-slip differential sits on the rear axle. Drivers will have the option to deactivate the front axle motor, enabling burnouts and donuts.

These initial Daytonas will come factory-equipped with Direct Connection upgrades. The standard Stage 1 kit for the R/T adds 40 hp (456 hp otherwise) and the standard Stage 2 kit for the Scat Pack adds 80 hp (590 hp otherwise). Later on, customers will need to buy these upgrade kits via Dodge’s Direct Connection performance catalog to unlock said power.

Drivers can experience maximum output from the twin electric motors but pushing the “Power Shot” button on the bottom right of the steering wheel. Power Shot adds 40 hp and lasts for 15 seconds, after which you’ll need to wait another 30 seconds to activate it again.

Dodge says the 0-to-60 sprint for the R/T Stage 1 model is over in 4.7 seconds, with a quarter-mile time of 13.1 seconds and a top speed of 137 mph. Scat Pack Charger Daytonas can do the same deeds in 3.3 and 11.5 seconds, on the way to a top speed of 134 mph.

2024 Charger Daytonas—both the R/T and Scat Pack—will also come with standard Track Pack stopping power: Brembo’s 16-inch, two-piece, vented front rotors with six-piston calipers and 16-inch, one-piece, vented rear rotors with four-piston calipers. Later Scat Pack models without the Track Pack will come with 15-inch brakes up front and 14s in the rear. Scat Pack Track Pack models feature 20-inch wheels and Dodge’s largest-ever tire package on a production model: Goodyear Eagle F1 Supercar 3s sized 305/35ZR20 up front and 325/35ZR20 out back.

All new Chargers come with multilink suspension all around. Daytona R/T models wear fixed monotube shocks, and Scat Pack models utilize the same setup with a higher spring rate. Those opting for the Track Pack version of the Scat Pack can expect dual-valve adaptive dampers on all four corners. Dodge was proud to point out that, compared with the outgoing Charger Scat Pack, there are three times as many accelerometers, four times as many ride height sensors, and four times as many wheel-hub accelerometers to monitor body position and handle various road conditions across all of the available drive modes.

Those drive modes include Auto, Eco, Sport, Wet/Snow, Track, and Drag (the last exclusive to Daytona Scat Pack). Within the Race Options menu there are a handful of special modes, such as Donut, Drift, Line Lock, and Launch Control. Race Prep mode sets an optimal battery temperature for the given conditions—cooler for road course lapping to allow the battery to heat up, and hotter for short bursts on drag strips.

2024 Charger Daytona: Battery, Range, Weight

Every Charger Daytona has a 100.5-kWh lithium-ion battery with a nickel-cobalt-aluminum chemistry. A big battery in a big coupe means a lot of weight: 5838 pounds for the R/T and Scat Pack alike. That is hundreds of pounds heavier than every starting weight for the 2025 Ram 1500, save the hybrid REV. For reference, the outgoing Challenger SXT tipped the scales at about 3800 pounds, while the Hellcat Redeye Jailbreak Widebody weighed 4445 pounds.

Kuniskis made a big to-do about how Dodge doesn’t care about range and instead optimized performance (because this is a MUSCLE CAR!), but buyers definitely care and want to know when they’ll run out of juice. The R/T Stage 1 is good for 317 miles of range and the Scat Pack Stage 2 for 260. Naturally, those figures will improve for future Daytona models without the standard Stage 1 or 2 kits.

Using shift paddles on the steering wheel, drivers can adjust the regenerative braking force by selecting one of three levels.

Peak charging using a 350-kW DC fast charger is 183 kW, which can take the Daytona from 5 to 80 percent capacity in 32.5 minutes. Level 2 charging comes in at 11 kW. The standard plug is the CCS type, though Kuniskis hinted Dodge would soon reveal plans for an adapter that would permit access to Tesla’s Supercharger network.

Sixpack Power with Two or Four Doors

Combustion engine fans can rejoice, too. Prior rumors of a gas power proved true, and Dodge is calling this 3.0-liter Hurricane twin-turbo straight-six model the Charger Sixpack. When it joins the lineup early next year as a 2025 model, the Sixpack will also come in two states of tune: the base-model S.O. (Standard Output, 420 hp) and the high-performance H.O. (High Output, 550 hp). Every Sixpack comes with an eight-speed automatic transmission and all-wheel drive.

Kuniskis was adamant that the new Hurricane motor outperforms the old Hemi in every metric.

Sedans fans can rest easy knowing that the four-door Charger is back, also coming in early 2025, at the same time as the Sixpack. Four-door models will be available both in gas and electric form and the same output options as the two-door.

Slick as the two-door Charger looks, the four-door is even better. We only saw a design prototype, rather than a finished production model, but it has a powerful presence in person. It is somehow both imposing and impressive, though those attributes take nothing away from its elegance and sophistication. For my money, it’s the best-looking design out of Auburn Hills since the modern-era Chrysler 300.

2024 Dodge Charger: Interior and Infotainment

The new Charger’s interior is basically exactly what we saw on the SRT Daytona concept two years ago, minus the full-length center console and dual rear bucket seats. Fans of the vintage Charger may delight to hear that the vertical-slat pattern and texture on the instrument panel are meant to evoke the famous ’68 grille. Another classic touch is a new interpretation of the pistol-grip shifter. We’ll reserve final judgment once we can operate it for real, but after sitting in a very early production prototype at the reveal event, we can confirm it looks the business and feels good in the hand.

The steering wheel is big and fat, with a flat bottom and flat top that frames the optional 16-inch all-digital cluster. (A 10.25-inch screen is standard.) The center screen is a 12.3-inch unit showcasing the fifth generation of Stellantis Uconnect infotainment software. A row of physical buttons below the center display handles climate duties, and there is a knob for music/radio volume.

An electronic mechanism operates the doors of the 2024 Charger. There is a familiar external door handle, but inside the car you operate the mechanism via a button on the door. For those fearing being stuck inside the car with a dead battery, there is a redundant manual lever to disengage the latch that’s located on the bottom of the door card, near the footwell.

The materials in the top-trim, pre-production model (with Nappa leather) we sat in felt about on par with or a little better than those in the current Alfa Romeo Giulia and Stelvio. To be clear, that is a big, big step up from the interior of the outgoing Charger/Challenger. The cabin is not downright luxurious, but the feel is firmly in premium territory, and everything in sight looks fantastic. Our only complaint is that there is no way to fold the rear seats while standing behind the trunk opening—no automatic button or physical lever. Lowering the rear row requires reaching past the front bucket seat into the second row.

“Fratzonic” Chambered Exhaust

Perhaps the most controversial feature of the 2022 SRT Daytona Concept was the Fratzonic Chambered Exhaust. It’s an actual exhaust chamber that functions as a resonator for sound generated by speakers. The noise, Dodge says, will meet or exceed current Hellcat decibel levels and is engineered to mimic the cadence of a Hemi V-8.

We didn’t get to hear it at the Charger’s reveal event, a withholding which felt deliberate given the media’s unfavorable reaction to the initial sound back in 2022. Since then, Kuniskis said, the engineering team has worked through “hundreds” of iterations to get the sound just right. Chief Engineer Audrey Moore told Hagerty that for her it was the most fun part of the Charger project. (The toughest? Minimizing complexity and maximizing shared componentry between the two- and four-door Charger variants.)

The Charger Is Back, Baby

What the 2024 Charger will cost remains to be seen. Kuniskis told journalists that final pricing was still being enthusiastically debated at Dodge, so he refused to give even a shred of information on the subject. Given that all 2024 models will come with standard Track Pack brakes and Direct Connection kits, we expect a relatively high price compared with entry-level models that may trickle in down the road.

For now, it’s simply outstanding to see a new Charger coming our way. With the death of the Camaro, and the Mustang taking on more of a sports car role, Dodge has definitively cornered the market on the modern-day American muscle car. And, it seems wise at this juncture for Dodge to give people two avenues: dive in with both feet on an electric car or stick with a tried-and-true gasser. What’s more American, after all, than the power of choice?

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There’s nothing quite like a concept car—the promise it holds, the way it can capture the imagination. The seeds of enthusiasm and inspiration it can spread to all corners of the automotive landscape. Even more dramatic is when such a visionary project amounts to more than a pure flight of fancy; a running, driving show car that looks near-ready for production only heightens the thrilling sensation that the future is right around the corner.

Chrysler built a legendary run of concept cars in the first half of the 1950s, perhaps none more dazzling, promising, and seemingly production-ready than the 1954 Dodge Firearrow IV roadster concept. Chrysler big-wigs ultimately did not green-light the car for the masses—a missed opportunity to take on the Corvette and Thunderbird that Hagerty senior auction editor Andrew Newton considers one of the greatest automotive “what-ifs” of the 1950s. A one-off sold to a buyer in Venezeula, this phenomenal show car survived. Now, 70 years later, it’s crossing the block with Broad Arrow at this weekend’s auction at The Amelia in Florida.

The Firearrow IV was the final so-named two-seater concept, following the first, Firearrow I, which debuted at the Turin show in November of 1953. (That first Firearrow was a static display car.) Based on the standard production Dodge Royal 119-inch-wheelbase chassis, these cars were coach-built by Italy’s Carozzeria Ghia, whose ties with Chrysler and “Forward Look” designer Virgil Exner began in 1951 with the Chrysler K-310 concept. Exner’s influence on Chrysler styling in the 1950s and beyond was far-reaching, and such “Idea Cars” were essential for testing public reaction to new design language as well as specific features. Spectacular, iconic ’50s designs ranging from the Chrysler 300 to the De Soto Adventurer and the ’57 Imperial owe much to Exner’s “Forward Look,” a gutsy effort to inject some life into Chrysler’s stalling postwar momentum.

Facing declining sales and a reputation for stodginess in the late 1940s, Chrysler’s big bet with the “Forward Look’s” was to establish the automaker as a design leader. It was a risky tack given that the company was still a bit gun-shy following the flop of the design-intensive Chrysler Airflow in the 1930s. The concept cars of the early 1950s proved immensely popular, however, and part of their appeal was that—unlike many of Ford and GM’s exercises at the time—they were mostly drivable.

Firearrow IV was the most production-ready of the Firearrow series, incorporating functional elements like a manually foldable convertible top, roll-up side windows, and exterior door handles. More fanciful were the quad exhaust tips that poke through the rear fenders, as well as the eye-popping black-and-white diamond-pattern interior scheme. There was even a 16-jewel, Swiss-movement “Dodgematic” clock positioned in the steering wheel. The hardware was all state-of-the-art, incorporating the top shelf of performance technology Chrysler had to offer: 150 horsepower from a “Red Ram” 241-cubic-inch Hemi V-8 with a four-barrel carburetor, a then-new PowerFlite two-speed automatic transmission, Safeguard hydraulic brakes, Oriflow shocks, and Safety Rim wire wheels.

Though there is plenty of chrome to elevate the sense of glamour, the Firearrow IV’s fundamental beauty is its smooth shape and clarity of design. The four-seater’s prominent front fenders rise above the curved hood and create a line that extends the full length of the car, terminating in subtle rear fins. The square-ish, grid-pattern grille evolved to be wider and more trapezoidal in shape in Chrysler’s later production cars, but the effect here is sophisticated when framed in a ring of chrome between four recessed headlights. In the Firearrow IV, European taste and craftsmanship meets American exuberance.

Though Firearrow IV was never produced en masse, the general idea of it did reach limited production. Businessman Eugene Casaroll purchased the rights to the design from Chrysler and contracted with Ghia to build the Dual-Ghia. Between 1956 and 1958, Ghia made 117 of them at a hefty price of $7646 (about $88,000 today). As writer Richard Dredge noted, “the V-8-powered Ghia soon became the luxury car of choice for the wealthiest film stars, with Frank Sinatra and Ronald Reagan each buying one of these drop-tops.”

What came of the Firearrow IV show car is a tale all its own. Following its U.S. press tour, the car was apparently sold to a dealer in Venezuela and on to a private owner in late 1954. A decade later it found itself on a used car lot in Caracas, after which it appeared for sale in the pages of the December 1964 issue of Motor Trend. It vanished for a bit after that, resurfacing in the 1980s at a hacienda about 90 miles outside of Caracas. The images below show it in that era finished in silver with a tan convertible top, along with years of dust and from being stored—complete—in a barn. Once rediscovered, Firearrow IV received a comprehensive restoration in the early ’90s that brought back its original Regimental Red paint scheme and diamond-patterned interior. From there it bounced around between several noted collectors, got another round of extensive mechanical restoration, and won the Chairman’s Award in Memory of David L. George II at the St. Michaels Concours d’Elegance in September of 2021.

Broad Arrow estimates that Firearrow IV will sell for $1.5–$2M. For context, Hagerty senior auction editor Andrew Newton points out: “Back in 2007, Barrett-Jackson sold Firearrow IV as a package with Firearrow II for $1.1M. Firearrow III sold in Monterey in 2011 for $852,500, and Firearrow II sold again in Monterey in 2021 for $1,050,000.”

This is a one-of-a-kind car, with the flash and panache of a chromed 1950s concept but the utility and drivability of a real car from the era. For a passionate fan of Italian coachbuilding, post-war American optimism and automotive leadership, or Chrysler design in particular, the Firearrow IV is an utter dream machine. Seven decades after it first appeared, it promises to inspire considerable admiration when it drives up on the stage at The Amelia this weekend.

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Almost ten years ago, I was part of the team that gave birth to a much-loved Hagerty U.K. event: The Festival of the Unexceptional. FOTU, to this day, is a celebration of extraordinary examples of the most mundane—and in some cases, plain disappointing—automobiles ever built. The event made people realize how low the survivorship rate is for many of these generally unloved cars. These days, the market is perhaps finally waking up to the fact that many of the cars that were the butt of jokes—the rides that were the one-time Nickelbacks of the automotive world—are now legitimately rare and interesting collector cars. Lately, we’ve taken note of some eye-popping sales (and enthusiastic bids that somehow didn’t meet reserve) of what are, almost certainly, the sweetest examples of some of the most maligned cars ever made. We submit these for your disapproval:

1977 Chevrolet Chevette

Sold for $22,050

When the Chevette debuted in the U.S. for the 1976 model year, it already seemed like a vestige of a prior era. It was rear-wheel drive at a time when small cars like the Fiat 128 and VW Golf/Rabbit had demonstrated that the future of the compact car was in powering the front wheels. The Chevette was middling but apparently sturdy, until rust claimed almost all of them.

This light blue one showed 5000 miles on the odometer and was lavishly equipped with full wheel covers and an AM/FM radio. Oh, and it had A/C too, something which no doubt sapped at least 15 of the 60 available horses. The shocking final price of $21,000 reflects the fact that while these cars have all but disappeared, nearly everybody of a certain age seems to have a fond Chevette story. Good memories in maligned cars are still good memories.

1976 Chevrolet Vega

Sold for $12,337

The Vega was less of a joke than a genuine Greek tragedy. It could have been a really decent car but for GM’s dreadful execution. It was pretty, handled well, and it was affordable. Sadly, the prone-to-overheating aluminum-block engines had a two-stroke’s appetite for oil, and the only way in which Vegas were competitive with Toyotas of the day was in their penchant for the tin worm.

True story: My best friend in high school owned a five-year-old Kammback just like this one. It only had 40,000 miles on it, but it used a quart of oil with nearly every fill-up. The car’s cowl had rusted so badly that the windshield was slipping down towards the firewall, leaving a half-inch gap at the top where air would rush in. My solution was to wad up some newspaper to prop up the piece of glass. Pretty elegant if I do say so myself. This example is almost impossibly rust-free, especially for one with 70,000 miles. For heaven’s sake, there’s even a receipt for rebuilding the 8-track player. And that pretty much explains the car’s state of preservation. The new owner shipped it to France, where it’s reputed to be the only one in the country.

1989 Maserati BiTurbo

Bid to $16,750

The BiTurbo had among the worst reputations of cars sold in the U.S. in the 1980s. Early carbureted examples had a propensity to catch fire from running too rich of a mixture through the cats, and the fallout nearly destroyed Maserati’s status as a prestige brand. I suppose it made sense at the time; the BiTurbo was positioned as a more potent, more luxurious, and slightly more expensive competitor to the E30-generation BMW 3-series. Instead, to many, it came off as a cynical cash grab by Maserati’s owner, Alejandro De Tomaso. To my eyes, it also looked disturbingly like a Cadillac Cimarron.

More of these cars seem to survive in Europe, where they are unencumbered by emission controls and their mechanical bits are better understood. In the U.S., most BiTurbos tend to be of the “ran when parked” variety, perhaps discovered when the new owner of a distressed property cuts the grass for the first time in ten years. This example was a later, much-improved fuel-injected car that attracted a bid over fifteen grand.

1969 Subaru 360

Bid to $35,500

Road & Track summed up Subaru’s first effort in the U.S. thusly: “Any car that takes over 27 seconds to cover a standing quarter-mile, and is only going 46 mph at the end of that quarter, has no business in American traffic.” Consumer Reports said that the bumpers were ineffective against anything sturdier than a watermelon. Until the Yugo came along several decades later, the 360 was probably one of the most scorned new cars ever to be tested by U.S. magazines.

Today, it’s largely forgotten by everyone, including Subaru. Surviving U.S. market cars are indeed unicorns and, as such, are likely to attract more attention at your local cars and coffee than a Koenigsegg. Still, it’s nearly incomprehensible that even in a heady 2022 market, a $35,500 bid wasn’t enough to get this car sold. (To read our 2021 market deep-dive on the surprising Subaru 360, click here.)

1980 Pontiac Phoenix

Sold for $17,587

Entire books have been written for the sole purpose of excoriating the GM X-cars. They were GM’s first mass-market front-wheel-drive sedans, and they had immense potential to be very good cars. In fact, they initially sold quite well. But it’s called the Malaise Era for a reason, so you know how this story ends—”ignominiously” is probably too kind of an adverb.

GM made a number of tweaks to the X-body’s braking system before the new platform entered production, but it didn’t take long for problems to arise. “Media criticism and consumer complaints of X-car stability during braking” drew the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration’s attention, according to an internal NHTSA memo dated June 26, 1981. A lengthy and public back-and-forth ensued between the agency and GM about how to resolve the issue, and the public quickly soured on the cars. Braking wasn’t the only issue, either—the cars were prone to rust, and quality control was lacking. It was an unfortunate misstep in the pivot to more economical front-wheel drive architecture.

Extant X-cars of any variety are rare, and this four-speed manual, nicely equipped 32,000-mile Pontiac Phoenix, with a lurid red velour interior, an insanely full gauge package, and a CB radio, might just be one of the best X-cars left. The price: over $17,500 with the buyer’s fee. Remarkable!

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Ordinarily I’d hesitate to ask anyone to set their mental clock back to 2020, but the latest news from Audi calls for an exception. That year wasn’t all bad—maybe you remember the colorful Audi RS 6 GTO concept, inspired by the 1989 Audi 90 Quattro IMSA GTO race car. To celebrate the 40th anniversary of quattro GmbH (known today as the performance arm Audi Sport), Audi will produce a highly limited edition of the 2025 RS 6 Avant, dubbed the RS 6 Avant GT, complete with the concept car’s rowdy IMSA GTO-esque aesthetics and a few performance tweaks.

And we do mean a few: Sorry “from our side,” race fans, no roll cages or side-exit exhausts permitted on the production line.

But first, how limited, you ask? A mere 660 examples of the RS 6 Avant GT will roll off the production line at Audi’s Böllinger Höfe plant, also home of the e-tron GT and now-departed R8 supercar. RS 6 Avants destined to become GTs are partially hand-assembled; they leave Audi’s nearby Neckarsulm plant and are then transported to Böllinger Höfe for completion by a special seven-person team (plus one logistician). The United States will receive 85 of these cars, while only seven will go to Canada. Audi very much considers the RS 6 Avant GT a “future collectible,” according to the product briefing we attended. So, let’s explore what this German swag wagon brings to the table beyond a standard RS 6 Avant.

It must be said: “Standard” seems a rather underwhelming descriptor for the RS 6 Avant Performance on which this new GT model is based. As the most powerful Audi road car ever built, the Performance model packs 621 hp and 627 lb-ft of torque from its twin-turbo, 4.0-liter V-8 engine, routing that Teutonic terror to all four wheels via an eight-speed automatic transmission and a torque-vectoring electronic limited-slip rear differential. While the powertrain is unchanged for the GT, the rear differential has unique software parameters for the control unit that—particularly while the car is in Dynamic mode—”focus on greater ability and rear bias.” The RS 6 Avant’s carbon-ceramic brake system also comes standard. Top speed is limited to 190 mph and the 0–60 mph sprint remains unchanged at 3.3 seconds.

The main hardware bit distinguishing the RS 6 Avant GT is its three-way, manually adjustable coilover damper setup. Sitting 10 mm (0.39 inches) lower than the RS 6 Avant Performance with RS sport Dynamic Ride Control (adaptive suspension), the GT comes with a toolkit and instructions for optimal settings (suited to street or track use, for example). Audi said in its briefing that customers can perform this job easily at home provided they have a lift; otherwise, it’s a dealer or independent shop job. Other suspension changes include stiffer stabilizer bars: 30 percent stiffer up front and 80 percent stiffer at the rear.

Customers can, if they choose, order their RS 6 Avant GT without the manually adjustable suspension. In those cases, the alternative is Audi’s RS sport air suspension—an optional extra offered on the standard RS 6 Avant Performance.

As befitting of any limited-edition, the RS 6 Avant GT sports a fair bit of carbon fiber: hood, front fenders, and side mirror caps. The hood features exposed carbon elements, and inside the fenders are new vents positioned behind the front wheels for increased brake cooling. The front end is an all-new design featuring a prominent chin spoiler and wider air intakes. Out back is a new roof-mounted spoiler whose vertical elements match the redesigned diffuser under the rear bumper.

U.S.-bound RS 6 Avant GTs will get fewer options than those destined for Europe and other worldwide markets. All U.S. models will come with a panoramic sunroof but no roof rails, as well as a single exterior color scheme: an Arkona White paint finish combined with a black, gray, and red wrap to evoke the Audi 90 IMSA GTO car. New six-spoke wheels, sized 22 inches, come exclusively in high-gloss white for U.S. models. American customers will also make do without the Euro market’s racing-inspired bucket seats and their carbon-fiber backing, though our RS 6 Avant GT will get a similar appearance and materials for the interior—red and copper seat stitching, plus an extended Dinamica microfiber treatment to cover the armrests, dashboard, center console, and door waist rails. Other markets will get a wider variety of exterior choices, including one of three wrap schemes and several solid colors. All examples will come with a serialized number plate in front of the center armrest.

At the briefing, Audi refused to confirm whether an RS 7 GT was in the pipeline, but representatives also didn’t rule it out. Given that this limited-edition RS 6 Avant will likely sell out and generate a tidy profit on a car that launched four years ago, we’d expect any savvy product planner to bang the drum again if given the chance. I last drove the RS 7 about two years ago; it’s a ruthlessly capable but not especially feedback-rich autobahn missile. The upgrades articulated on the RS 6 Avant GT are relatively minor, in the grand scheme, and I have a hard time imagining a the average RS 6 Avant owner will miss out on much other than collectibility and street cred. If the changes described are going to be noticed anywhere, they would be most evident on a race track. I offer a generous hat tip to any RS 6 Avant owner who tracks their car and a deep bow to any future GT owner who does so.

Audi will begin deliveries of the 2025 RS 6 Avant GT in the second quarter of 2025. No word yet on pricing, but for context, the 2024 RS 6 Avant starts at $126,895. We’d expect a decent chunk more, not just for the added performance but also the exclusivity and special build process.

***

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If you’re a regular reader of this site, you may have seen that we named the sale of a 1954 Ferrari 500 Mondial Series I by Pinin Farina, #0406MD, our most significant of 2023. Ordinarily, an old Ferrari race car changing hands for more than a million dollars would not constitute anything newsworthy in our niche little world. In this case, the car—if you can even call it that—is far from ordinary. It is a twisted mass of bent, dented, and corroded metal, the victim of a racing career, a massive crash, time, and a building collapse amid a 2004 Florida hurricane. As Monty Python would say, “This Ferrari has ceased to be! It is no more! It is an EX-FERRARI!”

The buyer, who did not bid on a parrot, seems to feel otherwise. Yes, it may look like a near-$2M paperweight now, but with at least that much more cash in reserve to pay for the mother of all restorations, this might once again be a 1954 Ferrari 500 Mondial. Even if said restoration involves, as Hagerty Price Guide editor Dave Kinney mused, “every single nut and bolt.”

When most people outside the car world hear about such a plan, they wonder: Is the end product even the same car? Indeed, many people within the car world do too.

That question got me thinking about a centuries-old philosophical paradox, one that may ring a bell. It’s called “The Ship of Theseus.” Some of the world’s most brilliant thinkers have wrestled with the problem and examined it in various ways, but the crux of the question is fairly straightforward.

Imagine a sailing ship whose best days are behind it—rotting planks, tattered sails, empty bottles of grog, et cetera—that gets a complete and total makeover in which every single component is replaced with identical, shipyard-fresh components. Is it still the Ship of Theseus when the final plank is laid, or is it now… something else?

In other versions of the conundrum, the worn parts are subsequently rebuilt into another ship, producing two ships in total, one new and one old. Which, then, is the real Ship of Theseus? In other versions still, pieces are replaced bit by bit over a period of many years, engendering other questions such as, “If the ship at the end of the transition is no longer the Ship of Theseus, at what point did it stop being the Ship of Theseus?”

If your head hurts, don’t feel too bad. It’s a paradox. There is no definitive answer. However, in trying to come up with one, philosophers dredge up all kinds of titillating ideas and explanations. Old cars, it turns out, introduce fascinating nuances to this age-old metaphysical quandary.

“The Ship of Theseus is one of many different puzzles that puts pressure on intuitive judgments about artifacts, starting with the idea that ordinary artifacts survive gradual change,” says Dr. Maegan Fairchild, assistant professor of philosophy at the University of Michigan. “Cases of art restoration are already challenging enough, and interestingly, different issues arise when we start thinking about mass production. Classic cars are a tremendously rich intersection of these questions.”

Fairchild admits she is not a car enthusiast, but her study of metaphysics and aesthetics examines how some objects seem to deal with change successfully while others don’t. “In the Ship of Theseus, we’re negotiating how much of the ship we can change. You can take your car to the mechanic for new brakes and when you pick it up a few days later, it is still the same car. But imagine, instead, it was my grandfather’s truck that only he had ever repaired. I’d be quite reasonably furious if you had it fixed at a shop, by some other mechanic, without my permission. It’s a case where an ordinary object is more than just its physical parts.”

Cases in which a car is with its original owner speak to something similar. The moment a car is sold to a second owner, it loses that quality.

Questions of restoration or conservation can get even thornier. Often, the goal of such endeavors is to “protect an artifact from other changes—the rust, for example, that might spread to the rest of the car—that threaten to destroy it,” Fairchild says. “But with mass-produced objects, are we trying to restore their condition or their function?” What’s more important, how it looks or how it actually drives? And what does “original condition” mean? Is it the design? Parts? Materials? How it operates?

Ensuring a car persists with all of its original parts may, in some instances, doom it to never run again if the caretaker does not have the ability, knowledge, or tools to make it work reliably as designed. Certain pre-war cars and technologies come to mind. Is it more “original” in that state, or, if it runs and drives but uses, say, an electric starter instead of one activated by a vacuum switch?

Originality and restoration are concepts that depend on perspective, Fairchild argues. “Going back to my grandfather’s old truck, restoring it to the out-of-box condition would make it valuable to someone who cares generally about that model, but in the process you’d be destroying the thing that I personally care about. The stakeholders matter here—the car may be of interest as a historical artifact, sentimental object, art object, functional object, or even a financial investment.”

Nobody has explored these discussions from an automotive perspective in greater detail than car collector Miles Collier, founder of the Revs Institute and author of the fantastic book The Archaeological Automobile. On the subject of the Ship of Theseus, his mind immediately goes to a 1990 English court case concerning whether a 1929 Bentley race car known as Old Number One could truly claim that title, given all of its changes in the intervening years.

“The car had experienced so many modifications and evolutions in and out of period that there was a real question of whether the new buyer had the authentic item or a pile of parts from subsequent evolutions,” Collier explains. “The judge determined it would be hard to argue the car was Old Number One. But if there was anything that could be Old Number One, this was it.”

In Collier’s mind, it was the proper conclusion.

“Ultimately, the reality of material things in a material world is that everything vanishes and disappears,” says Collier. “The only thing that survives the ages is essential, called The Platonic Aspect—the design and its conception, in the case of a car. We have to accept that matter of any kind is always in a state of becoming, transitioning, into one thing or another.”

Following that thread, Collier has a particular view on restoration.

“All restoration is fictional. That doesn’t mean it’s bad, but when you’re doing it, be aware you’re introducing fictional artifact as the kind of methodology, materials, and choices. Even the very fact that you are a person of the 2020s dealing with a car from 1935 means your values, your perceptions of the world, are limited to the scope of this moment. If it’s an 8C Alfa, you know it’s worth $15 million or something, and that makes you want to be careful and meticulous. But in 1935 the 8C was simply a product that Alfa Romeo needed to go down the road and eventually make some money. The factory approach was to have great fit and finish on what the customer could see, but on what wasn’t visible… not so much. That kind of thing is extremely difficult to replicate in restoration.”

Collier’s view that all restoration is fictional has a parallel in philosophy. Mereological essentialism is the view that no object can survive any change in its component parts—that the moment a car drives off the production line and microscopic bits of rubber wear off the tires, it is no longer the same car.

“From that point of view,” Fairchild says, “the sense that there can be any continuous object in existence requires some kind of fiction-telling. In real life, mereological essentialism is usually plausible only in rarefied cases. What it does is get us a clean view of what is important to objects.” Think of, for example, driving gloves that Paul Newman wore; we understand that the leather may have cracked and aged, but we still treat them as the same pair of gloves. The story that we tell ourselves, the one that matters most to the object, is that this material was once on Newman’s hands.

Still, for Collier, the most intrinsically valuable and culturally significant cars are the super-rare “all-there” examples that survive unmodified from their original state. Unmodified but not unmarred; unlike Han Solo frozen in carbonite, cars are real-world material objects that suffer degradation even in the best of storage conditions. The value of such cars, in part, is their testament to the vehicle’s original configuration that serves both as a historical record and as an example to guide future restorations of similar cars.

“The important thing is to maintain the role of archaeology, which is to maintain the vehicle’s connection to both past and present. However, I’m sympathetic to wanting to make things more practical, usable, convenient. I would much rather have an old car that has had minor modifications but is usable, rather than a technically perfect thing that nobody drives so it goes into the junkyard.”

So what about the destroyed Ferrari? Is it still the same car?

“The 500 Mondial is evocative,” Collier says, “and [after the fact it will be] maybe not so different from cars with what I call anonymizing restorations—in which every element and indicator of the car’s idiosyncratic history make it an individual rather than the one that is one of a series of industrial objects.”

Some in the hobby assign special meaning or value to a factory restoration from, say, Aston Martin, Jaguar, Ferrari, Porsche, or Mercedes-Benz. However, Collier doesn’t correlate those services with any greater authenticity than he would another top-tier operation.

“A replica made with authentic parts on which every original material has been transformed, and in which everything fits perfectly and there is no sign of wear, has nothing to tell us about the car from the past. It can, however, have some value in terms of how that car in the past operated, particularly if the mechanical restoration was done with fidelity to the original systems.”

Despite what some owners and experts deem to be original, there are numerous “documented” cars out in the ether that are anything but. Kinney, the Hagerty Price Guide publisher, remembers one in particular:

“I know of a Ferrari that in the 1970s was wrecked—and I mean it basically fell off a cliff, so it was destroyed. I don’t think anyone who owned the repaired car since then has an idea there was ever damage. The point is that, at the time, it was never a particularly important car, so all of the work was done in an Italian body shop where pieces were either fabricated or parts were purchased from the factory. Now, it’s aged appropriately so nobody would ever come to the conclusion that this has happened.”

Like it or not, money is often a critical factor at this tier of the collector realm. Certain truths are not the sort owners want to go digging for, as any indication a car is not what it purports to be could come back to bite the owner upon resale. We should point out, however, that wholesale bodywork, in particular, makes no difference for some cars while it means everything for others:

“In the world of Cobras,” Kinney notes, “a re-body is a huge detriment to value because people want to protect the authenticity of the originals amid all of the replicas out there. But in other worlds a re-body is an improvement; you can buy body shells for a Mustang and it’s known as an acceptable substitute. The same is true for some British cars.”

In some ships, it seems, an entirely replaced hull is no big deal. However, the status that originality represents, Kinney wagers, can play an important role.

“There is an element of elitism that surrounds the car when an owner is able to declare it all-original. And then, be careful what you wish for: The cars that we covet now, almost all of them, at some point existed as used cars that weren’t worth very much and were treated as such. This is especially true of race cars.”

Race cars, especially those with notable competition history, tend to be worth a lot of money. Big money means big incentive to ensure a car’s survival, and even the most heinous damage, abuse, or modification may be washed over if the financial juice is judged worth the squeeze at the other end of the restoration.

“Look no further than Ferrari Classiche,” says Rudi Koniczek, a veteran high-end restorer with a particular expertise in Mercedes-Benz 300 SLs. “All they need is a chassis number. Fifties and Sixties race cars were trashed, wrecked, burnt to the ground, and generally clobbered. People died in them. However, if a car like that raced at Le Mans and there’s a fender left or chassis number, someone is gonna build a car around it.

“It’s not so different with Mercedes, either. I’ve fixed cars that had been completely wrapped around telephone poles or destroyed in house fires. Cars like that can go on to win shows.”

At this tier, the invisible rules that seem to govern what cars are deemed worthy, or valuable, can seem arbitrary and even alien. As an owner and a restorer, part of the process is navigating that labyrinth and deciding what rules you choose to follow, followed by what constitutes bending versus breaking them.

“Let’s take an alloy-bodied 300 SL, cars that were very fragile,” Koniczek says. “Many were re-skinned and rebodied. If a perfect, flawlessly restored alloy car is worth $7M, what about an original example that is so screwed up you wouldn’t drive it? That’s not an easy judgement.”

As a metaphysician and philosopher, difficult judgments come with Fairchild’s territory. A pretty good heuristic—a mental shortcut for solving similar problems of a type—for Ship of Theseus puzzles is tracing the history of a given object.

“If what is essential to an object is its causal history, the story that we tell about it concerns its path from creation to now,” she says. “Like a winning race car, or a car that belonged to an important celebrity, sometimes that history is what we care most about. Think about sourdough bread that uses the same starter—what matters is not the particular bits of the bread like the flour, but the continuity from the source. Often this is the best approach to apply to complicated objects that by their nature are going to incur a lot of causal change in their lifetime, because of wear and tear. Houses are another good example.”

If history isn’t of primary importance, maybe it’s how the object is used. For race cars competing in period, their chief focus was maximum performance. From that point of view, individual parts did not always matter. A team might swap engines, transmissions, or aerodynamic parts without a second thought; it follows that what is essential to that object is that it continues to be treated that way when it is used on the race track now. Whatever changes it experiences simply become new chapters in the story.

Jazz music, another discipline that cares deeply about what its creators and practitioners intend, offers an interesting parallel. “In many jazz pieces,” Fairchild says, “improvised sections are extremely important. But novelty with each performance is part of the experience—it would not be a proper rendition of the original if the music is repeated exactly from a previous performance.”

A different heuristic might be making sure the object has its essential parts—number plate, engine, transmission, et cetera. This is particularly difficult in cars, though. There are just so many parts, combined with the understanding that some—tires, oil, brakes—are by definition meant to wear, while others are meant to last much longer. Even still, two identical cars with identical parts may not be identical in their significance. The final air-cooled VW Beetle ever built is a lot more important than the twelfth-to-last.

There are no easy answers here, which is part of what makes these questions so interesting. As sold, the Ferrari 500 Mondial in question did not have its original 2.0-liter Lampredi-designed engine but rather a later, still-period-correct 3.0-liter engine. Does this matter? Apparently not to the buyer, and, as collector car analyst Rick Carey points out, it likely helps that Ferrari did sell 750 Monzas with this engine in the ’50s. After all, nobody expects that the car will be original when the entire thing will have to be rebuilt almost entirely from scratch.

What matters is that the car is understood to be what it professes to be. And on the other side of its restoration, the car’s right to call itself Ferrari 500 Mondial #0406MD will be examined, judged, and evaluated by many interested parties. It’s their perspectives that will carry the most weight.

Our guess? Given the dollars and reputations in play, the end product will go over a bit better than Monty Python’s distressed parrot owner looking for recompense:

SHOP OWNER: “Sorry gov, we’ve run out of parrots.”

CUSTOMER: “I see, I see, I get the picture.”

SHOP OWNER: “I’ve got a slug.”

CUSTOMER: (glares) “Does it talk?”

SHOP OWNER: (shrugs) “Not really, no.”

CUSTOMER: Well, it’s scarcely a replacement, then, is it?

***

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It was February, 1988, and Georgia’s Doraville Assembly was filled with gleaming new Oldsmobile Cutlass Supremes. Five years and $7B had been spent on the new front-drive Cutlass and its W-body (at first “GM10”) siblings, the Buick Regal and Pontiac Grand Prix. These were boldly styled, aerodynamic, high-tech cruise missiles aimed at Ford Thunderbirds and Honda Preludes alike. Unfortunately, the car market was more interested in Mercury Sables. The early W cars were a costly swing-and-miss.

First impressions really count in the car business. They looked awesome, but the early Ws never met their over-optimistic sales projections. The sporty, high-tech image was undermined by 1988 models landing only with the 130-hp 2.8-liter V-6, an engine shared with the Chevy Cavalier.

In March of 1989, Doraville was idled for a month because of overstocked dealers. GM was also losing $1800 on every W it built. GM’s gleaming, robot-filled factories—each dedicated to a single model—couldn’t flex with demand and operated way below capacity, a symbol of Roger Smith–era dysfunction.

There was one W-body everybody seemed to love: the Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Convertible. Based on a small run of convertibles built for the 1988 Indy 500 pace car program, the full production version looked great and demand outstripped supply for much of its 1990–95 run. The droptop Supreme ended up being Olds’ final ragtop, and 35 years later, both the coupe and convertible have come into their own as classics. The styling still stands out.

As a car-obsessed kid, I loved the wild design of the Cutlass coupe and convertible. But I always wondered how such a radical departure from the previous Cutlasses happened. How did that convertible get made? To get the answers to those questions, I sat down (separately) with Ed Welburn, GM’s VP of global design from 2005 to 2016, and David Draper, former CEO of Cars & Concepts (C&C), who engineered and converted the cars.

In the mid-1980s, Welburn was an Oldsmobile studio staffer working under design leads John Perkins and, later, David North. While Welburn was helping shape the Cutlass and the streamlined Aerotech, Draper was designing convertibles for Chrysler and Ford as well as projects for Olds that Welburn also worked on, like the 1983 Hurst/Olds and the 1985 Cutlass Calais pace car, both projects Welburn also worked on.

“It happened that C&C was in Brighton [Michigan], right between Oldsmobile in Lansing and GM’s tech center in Warren,” Welburn said. “That made them an easy partner but they also put real quality into what they did. I recall many drives to Brighton.”

The Aero Cutlass

Work began on the W-body in 1983–84, when the “aero look” was king. Welburn credits that aesthetic to the influence of the Audi 5000 and Ford Sierra. “GM had also done concepts like that, but we’d never put anything like them into production.” As it turned out, that would soon change—possibly because CEO Roger Smith had been skewered in Fortune magazine in 1983 for the company’s “cookie cutter” cars and seeming lack of interest in design. The magazine parked four burgundy A-body sedans next to each other to hammer home the point.

“I’d worked on the previous three Cutlasses and they were all big sellers,” Welburn said, “but the edict, from Smith directly, was that change was needed. In the studio, I did a whole lot of sketches, evolutionary and revolutionary, but when the time came to choose, the direction from the top was definitely ‘revolutionary.’”

Smith had a specific example in mind: the Aero 2000 concept car created for GM’s exhibit at Disney World’s Epcot Center. “It was a very aerodynamic, sleek-looking car, but also very small because it had to fit in the exhibit. It had a glass-to-glass roof with no conventional sail panel, which was part of our inspiration,” explained Welburn. Aside from its electroluminescent dashboard, the interior was less radical and more of an evolution of the previous car.

“As designers, we were all excited to work on something that cutting edge. But the whole time we were working on it, market research kept saying that this wasn’t exactly the right car for the moment.” It was, however, what leadership wanted.

Part of the issue, Welburn said, is that the market was trending away from coupes and towards sports sedans. “The Taurus really fit that bill, and we were only working on coupes.” There was a Chevy sedan in the pipeline but the other sedans didn’t arrive for two years after the coupes because they were added very late in the game. In 1988 and 1989, four-door buyers would be shown to the Cutlass Ciera, one of the Fortune cover cars.

Sure enough, Once the Cutlass arrived, it didn’t meet sales aspirations. “We got really good press and the car looked really distinctive,” but as predicted by the researchers, the lineup only having coupes to sell didn’t help the launch. Nor did the memorable but incoherent “This is not your father’s Oldsmobile” ad campaign promoting the new Supreme, which demeaned existing Olds customers while simultaneously failing to win new ones.

The pace cars

The Indy pace cars of 1988 were part of that initial marketing push, but they also had another purpose. In talking with Welburn about my own recollections of the cars, I mention my favorite NASCAR driver, Harry Gant, who famously piloted a Cutlass to four straight wins in September 1991.

“It’s funny that you mention Gant,” Welburn said. “Towards the end of the design program, we created a special fascia meant for drivers like Gant and A.J. Foyt in NASCAR, Paul Newman, and Paul Gentilozzi in IMSA, and Warren Johnson in NHRA. The car was very aerodynamic for that time, but for racing we knew it needed more of an edge, so we went into the wind tunnel and tested out an altered version of the front fascia. We homologated it by building the pace cars.”

Oldsmobile turned to Cars & Concepts to build its planned 200 pace-car coupes and 50 convertibles, including the three race-use vehicles. Co-founded in 1976 by Draper, a former White Truck engineer, and a veteran of the original Hurst/Olds programs, Dick Chrysler, one of the company’s first jobs was the modifications on the 1976 Hurst/Olds. “We often worked with [Oldsmobile chief engineer] Ted Lucas back then,” Draper said. That first project led to many more.

The coupes were just a paint and trim job, while the race-day cars were repurposed development mules powered by heavily massaged Quad-4 engines and no provision for a top or exterior door handles, though they did have a super-cool Hughes Electronics head-up display. But Olds also wanted working convertibles for dealers.

A gaggle of droptops were laboriously built and later distributed to dealerships but, clarified Draper, “It was impossible to build them properly in low volume and in that time frame.” GM quickly bought most of the cars back, ostensibly because of a “certification issue,” but the exact details are unclear. Several dealers refused to part with the cars, and thus, a small number survived. Draper isn’t sure if the full run of 50 was actually finished. “I was, after all, the CEO, and focused on bigger projects.”

Though rough compared to what came later, these droptops made a big impression. “The pace car got people excited about a convertible, and that’s what really got the ball rolling [for production],” said Welburn.

The challenge of convertible conversions

At first glance, the Cutlass’ glassy roof looks like an easy starting point for a convertible adaptation … until you see the door handle on the B-pillar. “If you want to move that handle you have to retool the whole door and everything in it,” said Draper. It would have been a huge expense. “Our solution was to design a concept that retained all of the interior door mechanism and used a hoop. It was not a roll bar but a design element.”

Nor was the approach inspired by Volkswagen and the Cabriolet, he confirmed. “Some people who loved it and some people hated it.” The hoop was part of the car from the start, even on the pace car units.

The convertible’s engineering was a 50-50 collaboration between C&C and Lucas’ engineering team at Oldsmobile. The most important part of the production conversion development, Draper said, “was convincing Oldsmobile to do all the body changes in the body in white,” the phase at which all the structural elements of the unpainted car are complete. Starting the conversion later would have also driven the price too high.

All this meant a very involved process at Doraville.

C&C pulled bare-metal coupes off the line and trucked them to a parallel shop. “There, we’d remove all the parts that weren’t necessary and add the parts that were, including rebuilding the door and strengthening the floor and rocker panels, the whole works.” The bodies were then trucked back to Doraville and inserted on the line in their original slot. “So their line kept running and so did ours.” After trimming, the cars returned to C&C’s shop for the rear seats and top.

“The system worked really well, and I think we built it to a standard we couldn’t have any other way short of building the whole body ourselves. We might’ve changed the door if we’d done that, but the car would have been unsalably expensive,” said Draper.

As it was, the production convertible was about $4500 pricier than the coupe. The hoop design was later integrated into the limited-production Chevy Beretta convertible, “which was also a pace car and also had those door handles,” Draper laughed. Logistical and crash-test hurdles prevented that one from getting built in volume.

Welburn was also pleased with how the car translated into a droptop: “I remember many afternoons working with C&C on that project making sure everything looked right. I’m not an engineer, but visually it was a good result.

“One of the things I think is nicest about this car is that it’s a convertible with a meaningful back seat, which you rarely see now. I have a friend in Italy who has one of these Cutlass convertibles and he loves the car both for the style and the practicality. Plus, the top is fast. Sixteen seconds, I think?”

Mechanically, the cars were identical to the standard Cutlass coupe but 370 pounds heavier. They delivered the same competent and smooth but relaxed driving experience, although in 1990 and 1991 Oldsmobile started to add more punch to the coupe. The 140-hp 3.1-liter LHO V-6 was added for 1989, then 1990 brought the Quad-4 (160 or 180 hp), and in 1991 the 200-hp 3.4-liter LQ1 V-6 was made optional. Convertibles came only with the 3.1 or, after 1993, the 3.4.

The collector convertible

The Cutlass’s big wheelbase and usable back seat made it a rarity among convertibles in the early 1990s—and a hit with upper-middle-class buyers—with demand outstripping supply for much of the car’s run. In the summer of 1992, Olds marketing manager Lisa Crumley called the car “a real success story for Oldsmobile,” and sales soared from 1340 cars in 1991 to 8638 in 1994. Unfortunately, the story ended soon after.

Part of the problem was that GM had originally planned to build 250,000 Cutlasses a year at Doraville; it never managed more than 116,000. After years of running under capacity, production was moved to Fairfax, Kansas, in 1995, where the Pontiac Grand Prix was built, and the plant in Doraville was retooled for the GMT200-generation minivans. Moving convertible production was unfeasibly expensive, so it ended. Nobody could have known that it would be Oldsmobile’s last ragtop, but that anticlimactic end disguises the fact that collectors liked it from the start.

“We actually had two of them for a while,” says Ed Konsmo, owner of the silver ’91 featured here. An Olds collector since the 1980s, he started with a ’65 Cutlass convertible and currently also owns a 1950 98 Futuramic sedan, but the W-car’s cool styling and practicality were a big draw. “We bought our first one, a white ’92, in 2010, but later on a friend in the Olds club who owned this ’91 passed away, so my wife and I bought it.”

In the first two years, Cutlass Convertibles were not easy to get, and the original owner special ordered it and waited months for delivery, but rarely used it. It may be one of the nicest, most original examples in the world. “It’s one of only three in this color combo, and it had 17,000 miles on it when we got it three years ago. It’s a sunny day, date night kind of car.” Everything on the car is as it left Doraville and 100 percent original. Aside from the tires and a horn that doesn’t honk, it all operates like a new car.

Konsmo and the car got a warm reception at the 2022 Oldsmobile Nationals in Tennessee, but it draws lots of attention even at more casual events, taking “raddest in show” at the 2023 Radwood PNW event. He was surprised at the interest in the car from younger people, and also happy to learn that these Cutlasses and other post-1980 GM front-drivers are inspiring a thriving online fandom.

His message to fans who want to preserve this era of Olds history? “Get involved with clubs, they need you!”

***

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

Pininfarina Rondine (1963)

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

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

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

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

Bertone Ramarro (1984)

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

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

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

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

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

Bertone Nivola (1990)

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

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

ItalDesign Moray (2003)

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

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

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

Bertone Mantide (2009)

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

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

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

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

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Midnight in faux Paris: Tourists stand near the Eiffel Tower waiting to catch a glimpse of Formula 1 cars roaring past. According to the official schedule, Free Practice 2 has just started.

I refer, of course, to the Paris Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. Home of Petit Eiffel, and like every other faux destination hotel and all the casinos in this city, it doesn’t have clocks. They prefer guests lose track of time when most are being separated from their money.

It was supposed to be quite the opposite for Liberty Media, the owners of Formula 1, who watched the clock as they gambled big. They fully expected to run the tables in Las Vegas during their week in control of the city, confirming the sport they manage has entered a new epoch—whether die-hard fans care to look past the Petit Eiffel and see it or not.

Three and a half hours earlier, however, during Free Practice 1, a loose water valve cover on the track surface struck midnight, destroying one car and damaging another, and their $600 million Cinderella story turned into a giant pumpkin. But just for one night.

Welcome to the Formula 1 Heineken Silver Las Vegas Grand Prix. What better location to host such an event than a place built upon an oasis of the real and surreal, descended upon by rabid race fans from across the globe? Who lustfully fantasize about endless possibilities in a city whose motto is “What Happens In Vegas Stays in Vegas”? It’s also where many locals pray it would all just go away.

The locals almost got their wish.

Free Practice 1 ran for all of eight minutes before it was canceled to make repairs to the track. Nearly six hours later FP2 got underway and ran without an incident.

Except for one minor detail.

In the city which hosts the biggest names and best shows in the entertainment industry, it was as if Liberty Media said to magician David Copperfield, “hold my beer,” and made every fan disappear.

The order requiring everyone to leave came down at 1:30 a.m., and within 30 minutes all of the grandstands and F1 Paddock Club suites were empty. Poof. Gone. “Logistics” was the reason given: concerns over transportation issues of the fans exiting the circuit, including the delay of the track operations team reopening the streets for public traffic by the 4 a.m. cutoff.

Fans attending the first day of the most hyped race on the F1 calendar witnessed just eight minutes of cars on track.

One of the motivations for this late-night schedule was to please the global television audience. Take Paris (the city) for example, home of the magnificent structure Gustave Eiffel completed in 1889. Multiple time zones separate the original in France from the imitation in the Nevada desert. The French are part of the large European fan base, targeted to watch the televised Vegas sessions during their daylight hours, and less concerned with the 1.25 million or so American viewers who tune in for each F1 race.

Similar to the appeal of the seven million people who pay to ascend the real Eiffel Tower each year, instead of the multitude who trek to Las Vegas, walk past the scaled-down version copy for free, and consider that good enough. This probably suits many Parisians just fine, as it means fewer tourists and less need to mutter to themselves about American tourists.

According to Applied Analysis, a local data crunching and consulting firm, the overall economic impact of F1 coming to Las Vegas was projected to exceed $1.3 billion. That’s double the projected economic impact of the upcoming Super Bowl to be played there in February, 2024.

Applied Analysis did not measure the frustration and anger of a significant part of the Las Vegas residents who grew tired of months of construction, fought snarled traffic, and had little interest in the sport to begin with.

All this should not diminish the view many have of Liberty Media and what it is attempting to accomplish in Formula 1. Mercedes team principal Toto Wolff was extremely vocal in the press conference following the opening night incident:

“It’s FP1—how can you even dare trying to talk bad about an event that sets new standards to everything?” was his retort to a question asked by an American journalist. “You are speaking about a f—— drain cover that has been undone. That has happened before. That’s nothing, it’s f—— FP1.

“Give credit to the people that have set up this grand prix, that have made this sport much bigger than it ever was. Liberty has done an awesome job and just because a drain cover has become undone we shouldn’t be moaning.”

Toto has a point. If every other professional sport is measured in eras, Formula 1 must be measured in epochs.

The first, the Historic epoch, ran from the sport’s launch in 1950 when Ascari and Fangio won early and often, covered Sir Jackie Stewart’s dominant reign from the late 1960s to early 1970s, and ended when Mario Andretti captured his lone World Championship title in 1978.

Second is the Bernie Ecclestone epoch. From the late 1970s, when the diminutive British businessman outmaneuvered Jean-Marie Balestre, President of the FIA (FISA before that), in securing the ability to negotiate the international television rights for Formula 1. This transformed the already glamorous racing series into a commercial and economic giant in the world of sports. Over the following three-plus decades, he made himself, the FIA, and virtually every F1 team owner and backer more money than anyone thought possible.

In 2016, at a $4.6 billion purchase price, began the Liberty Media epoch.  A period when people with no prior knowledge of motorsports have become ardent Formula 1 fans. Yes, thanks in part to Netflix’s Drive to Survive streaming series, but more so to leadership which drives change, no matter the costs. A 23-race schedule which has teams, especially the crews, stretched to their limits. More races than ever before in the Middle East. More consistent races than ever before in the United States after a period of start-stops in different cities and states.

Plus, international bankers, hedge funds, celebrities and athletes investing in the sport. A time where the value of an established F1 team may be worth more than the Dallas Cowboys, the New York Yankees, or Manchester United. And if you believe the paddock gossip, Apple is in talks with Liberty Media to secure all of the international broadcast rights at a cost of $2 billion per season. Good times. La Belle Époque indeed.

Perennial winner Max Verstappen offers a slightly different view than Toto, one that many understand and appreciate. The three-time F1 world champion referred to the Las Vegas event as “99 percent show and 1 percent sporting event.” He went on to describe his mandatory appearance at the Wednesday evening opening ceremonies, where each team of drivers were introduced as they were elevated on platforms along the front straight as, “…just standing up there looking like a clown.

“Some people like the show a bit more, I don’t like it at all. I grew up just looking at the performance side of things and that is just how I see it… So for me I like being in Vegas, but not so much for racing.”

The main attraction and highlight of the show was the race itself, very possibly the best actual racing of the 2023 F1 season. There were 50 laps of serious battles, especially at the front of the field with Charles Leclerc, Sergio Perez, and Verstappen fighting for the lead. The cool evening temperature meant longer runs and less degradation on the Pirelli tires. The Dutchman captured his 18th victory of the season. Leclerc passed Perez on the last lap to snatch a much deserved second place for Ferrari. More of this type of action on the 2024 calendar will grow the popularity of the sport in the United States. A middle-aged American man we came across summed it up during the grid walk: “I don’t know anything about Formula 1, but this is fantastic.”

Those comments are surely music to Greg Maffei’s ears. The CEO of Liberty Media is directing the seismic shift from traditions of motorsport to an all-encompassing entertainment experience. More fan engagement through an opening ceremony with driver intros, concerts, driver post-race interviews off site (in front of the Bellagio fountains), and a podium constructed on the front straight, minutes following the race, bringing the victory celebration front and center to the fans who paid $2500 for their main grandstand seats.

The action started earlier in the week, too, with a host of launch events, special liveries and parties keen to please sponsors. Even the recently constructed MSG Sphere was a star of the weekend with its bright, fluorescent advertising emanating from its more than 1 million LED bulbs, beginning as early as Tuesday’s The Netflix Cup that featured an F1 driver and PGA Tour golfer crossover event promoting two of Netflix’s biggest sports shows. F1 took the Sphere over for the weekend as well and temporarily ushered U2 out of its residency in the process. While U2 may still not know what they’re looking for, it appears F1 now does.

Is it all a bit over-the-top for Verstappen and the old-school purists of the sport? Yes. And get used to it.

No grand prix would be complete without celebrities and athletes appearing in the corporate suites and on the pre-race grid. Las Vegas was no exception… Brad Pitt, Patrick Dempsey, Sofia Vergara, Usain Bolt, and David Beckham to name just a handful. And that’s before the onslaught of new celebrities who appeal to the coveted younger audience introduced to the world via social media, and appeared all over various platforms. It’s a content-driven event in a content-driven series.

During driver introductions, no one received cheers louder than Lewis Hamilton, while no one endured such a chorus of boos as Max Verstappen did a few moments later.

I am not sure if actor Owen Wilson was on the Las Vegas grid or not. He should have been. Wilson starred in Midnight in Paris, the 2011 Woody Allen film about a writer from Hollywood who goes to Paris for vacation and travels back in time each evening of his visit. His character, Gil Pender, is obsessed with nostalgia. At midnight he is driven first to the 1920s where he meets Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dali, and Picasso. Next he travels further back to La Belle Époque, the Golden Age. He sits in a restaurant and listens to Toulouse-Lautrec, Gauguin, and Degas.

What a beautiful time it was. From around the 1870s to the beginning of World War I in 1914 the arts, culture, science, and architecture flourished. Building great things are not always appreciated at first. Gustave Eiffel faced significant pushback and criticism from Parisians during the design and building of his tower. Once completed it was the main attraction of the 1889 World’s Fair and quickly became a cultural icon and a global destination for travelers of every generation.

Gil Pender ultimately decides as wonderful as it was, there is no future in living in the past.

The Liberty Media epoch is here. It will hopefully be remembered for capitalizing on the enormous growth and redefining sports entertainment industry while respecting and honoring the lessons and rich history of Formula 1. Enjoy it. One day, this epoch will fall. Another will rise.

Louis-Hector Berlioz, the great French composer, whose life ended just as La Belle Époque began, said it best: “Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils.”

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Jack Swansey holds a degree in anthropology with a focus on car culture, and he is the world’s leading ethnographic authority (by default, if you must know) on NASCAR fandom. His love of the automobile fuels him to discover what cars mean to the people who own, drive, and love them. Read more Auto Anthro here. —EW

Racing movies are a Hollywood fixture, an action and drama genre to which cinematic storytellers regularly return. You might have noticed, however, that these films tend to be polarizing; mainstream audiences and real-life racing fans rarely agree on what makes a good racing movie or a bad one. I’ve met true gearheads who will defend Days of Thunder, Cannonball Run, or Sylvester Stallone’s Driven to their dying breaths, despite filmmaking gaffes or cheesy dialogue. And for every Ford v Ferrari that earns broad critical acclaim and undeniable box-office success, there’s a chorus of car enthusiasts eager to pick apart its every technical and historical inaccuracy.

The recent Gran Turismo summer blockbuster produced such a familiar dynamic. Despite $117M in box-office sales (against a $60M budget), car-savvy critics contend that it plays fast and loose (“on the edge of out of control,” some might say) with the order of events in the real-life racing career of Jann Mardenborough.

To understand from what or where these different perspectives stem, it helps to break down the medium of film into the most common narrative building blocks. There is a series of story beats that tend to occur in good movies—I often see screenwriter Christopher Vogler’s 12-step “Hero’s Journey”—but the most basic version is the famous “three-act structure.”

In the three-act form, the first act establishes the world in which the hero’s journey takes place. This act also defines what the journey is going to be about. In the beginning of Gran Turismo, Jann Mardenborough (Archie Madekwe) has a loving father who nevertheless disapproves of his son’s only ambition: to race cars. Success in this field seems impossible, since Jann’s only competitive experience behind the wheel is in the virtual world of PlayStation’s Gran Turismo. His eventual invitation to Nissan’s GT Academy, which gives gamers the chance to train as real-life racing drivers, serves as what Vogler would label the “call to adventure.” That opportunity is what sets the story in motion. Through it Jann meets a mentor figure, Jack Salter, (David Harbor) to help him improve his skills. Jann ultimately signs a contract with Nissan—“crossing the threshold” as Vogler would put it—into the world of professional racing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbqBqBwdRi0

Act two, usually the longest act in a good film, shows Mardenborough exploring and adjusting to his new environment in motorsports. He experiences success in some races and failure in others, eventually arriving at his lowest emotional point. In the case of the Gran Turismo movie, this nadir is his real-life accident in the Flugplatz section of the Nürburgring, in a VLN endurance race that claimed the life of a spectator. In reality, this crash happened in 2015, two years after the events that inspired the third act of Gran Turismo, in which the hero finds the power deep inside himself (“resurrection,” to Vogler) and emerges changed, if not triumphant.

According to Ben Queen, the screenwriter of Pixar’s Cars 2 and Cars 3, basic facts about racing make it tailor-made for a great film narrative: “built-in protagonists and antagonists—the other characters racing against our guy —the team element, the authenticity of the world.” You can check off all Vogler’s boxes here: the mentor, the threshold, et cetera—but it goes deeper than that. Because of humanity’s instinctive love of a good story, racing is a narrative medium in real life.

Vogler’s “Hero’s Journey” is directly based on the work of Joseph Campbell, the scholar widely credited with identifying the “monomyth” that bridges Hollywood scripts and Homeric poetry. (There are narrative structures other than Hollywood’s three acts: Shakespeare plays are told in five, for instance, and Game of Thrones’ many twists and turns resist easy categorization.) Campbell argues that humanity, throughout history, has always mythologized stories about heroes, be they real or fictional.

NASCAR, for instance, has stood the test of time because of the story arcs of its driver-heroes. The 1992 Hooters 500 at Atlanta Motor Speedway witnessed six drivers enter with a shot at the Winston Cup championship, but it soon came down to two: Bill Elliott, NASCAR’s most popular driver who drove for Junior Johnson’s Budweiser-funded powerhouse operation, and Alan Kulwicki, a Wisconsinite outsider who built his own engines. While battling Elliott for the win, Kulwicki’s Ford Underbird (he had special permission from Ford to run without the Th-) broke the first three gears in its transmission, seemingly dooming Kulwicki’s championship charge. A brilliant strategy call to delay pitting and lead the pack for one lap more than Elliott earned Kulwicki just enough bonus points to win the title, though he lost the race.

It’s the monomyth, a perfect hero’s journey (unless you’re an Elliott fan). But this wasn’t a movie, which means the real-world race lasted three hours, 44 minutes, and 20 seconds. Fans had been watching Kulwicki’s entire career point to that moment; at the same time, Richard Petty was making his final Cup start in that race and Jeff Gordon was making his first. That race, considered by many NASCAR’s greatest, takes on its emotional meaning only in the context of the rest of the sport’s history. A feature film doesn’t have the time to establish that depth of context. As Queen warned me: “Even if the cars are moving forward, the story might not be.”

Racing’s narrative structure, so familiar to fans of the sport, is near-impossible to drop directly to the silver screen. Just like a novel or a TV show, it has to be adapted. And adaptations always make changes to the source material. They have to, in order to make it work in a new medium, but those changes can be frustrating to those in the know. Anyone expecting the film adaptation to be just like the book is almost inevitably disappointed. It can’t be exactly like the book because it’s a movie, which means a movie about racing will never be just like watching a race.

If done well, adaptation adds something only the new medium can provide.

Let’s take a look at 2013’s Rush. The film tells the story of James Hunt and Niki Lauda’s rivalry leading up to the 1976 Formula 1 championship. It ends with a quiet scene in an airplane hangar, with Hunt (Chris Hemsworth) and Lauda (Daniel Brühl) reconnecting weeks after the season is complete. It’s only the two drivers on location—no media, no fans, no cars even—and they just talk. They argue about the rainy conditions at the Japanese Grand Prix, when Lauda decided the conditions were too dangerous to drive; Hunt continued on to win the title. They argue about their different approaches to racing, yes, but it’s from the audience’s perspective in that narrative moment that we understand something more: They’re really arguing about life.

Lauda then delivers a monologue in voice-over, during which the film intercuts archival footage of the real Hunt and Lauda, with Brühl watching Hemsworth walk away. “People always think of us as rivals,” Brühl’s Lauda says, “but he was among the very few I liked … and even fewer that I respected. He remains the only person I envied.”

You can read books and articles about the 1976 Formula 1 season and the lives of Hunt and Lauda. Maybe you were lucky enough to have watched them race in real time. Their rivalry and friendship is rich with subtext, two very different men with very different philosophies that came into peak conflict that day at Fuji Speedway. Rush, the film, is about delivering the essence of that tension, whether or not the audience has a particular affinity or background in racing. It’s that rare film that succeeds in pleasing both casual viewers and serious racing fans.

With Ferrari coming out on Christmas Day this year, Michael Mann has his work cut out to thread that same needle. We car people are a tough crowd, but the movies that get it right we remember forever.

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Last year marked a new generation for the Mercedes SL, including some significant changes to this stalwart of Stuttgart luxury. All-wheel drive is a first, standard on SL 55 and SL 63. Then there’s that second row of seats—this is the first SL in the U.S. to seat four since the R107 generation’s SLC, back in the 1970s. (The subsequent R129 did offer rear seats in Europe.) More important, perhaps, is that the SL is now a fully AMG-developed model, effectively a topless version of the AMG GT coupe. Nevertheless, Mercedes has seen fit to offer a more tame version of the SL roadster, sans fire-breathing twin-turbo V-8. Behold the 2024 Mercedes-AMG SL 43, which we drove for a few late-summer days earlier this month.

Because Mercedes model names and designations practically require a decoder ring these days, allow us to assist: The SL 43 is the entry-level, turbocharged four-cylinder model, equipped exclusively with rear-wheel drive. That information suggests that lightness is a priority in the SL 43, and the model’s press release does reference weight reduction—an astonishing 16 times. Weight reduction is also one of the reasons AMG selected the M139 four-cylinder, an AMG spokesperson told Hagerty. (Another reason: the inline-four offered better packaging, and thus, superior weight distribution, than Mercedes’ inline-six.) The M139 is complemented, in the SL 43, by legitimate lightening measures—a soft rather than a hard top, aluminum composite construction, forged aluminum suspension and steering components, and composite-metal brakes, to name a few.

Still, the SL 43 comes in at 3825 pounds, exceeding the Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet by—get this—288 pounds. We’re talking a silverback gorilla of mass difference here, despite that the 911 has two extra cylinders. Why so strapping? Footprint, for one: The SL 43 is 7.3 inches longer, 2.5 inches wider, and 2.4 inches taller than a 911 Cab, with a whopping 9.8 inches more wheelbase. It also boasts wonderful luxuries such as massaging front seats with heaters built into the headrests (Airscarf, in Mercedes speak), so you can parade across the interstate in your own little private spa.

Specs: 2024 Mercedes-AMG SL 43

Price: $111,050 (base); $117,035 (as-tested)
Powertrain: 2.0-liter turbocharged I-4 with electric belt-driven starter-generator; nine-speed multi-clutch automatic transmission
Horsepower: 375 @ 6750 rpm
Torque: 354 lb-ft @ 3250–5000 rpm
Layout: Rear-drive, two-door, four-passenger convertible
Weight: 3825 pounds
EPA-rated fuel economy: 21/27/23 mpg city/hwy/combined
0–60 mph: 4.8 seconds
Top speed: 170 mph
Competitors: Porsche 911 Cabriolet, Lexus LC 500 Convertible

Apart from all this, the SL 43’s M139 four-cylinder engine is paired with a 48-volt mild-hybrid system, a technology not known for its light weight. Mercedes does not specify the size or weight of the onboard battery, but we know that the electric motor is teeny tiny, only 1.6 inches wide. The idea here is faster throttle responsiveness and better low-end torque; the motor is meant to spin up the turbo right away until exhaust gasses can take over in conventional fashion.

Whereas past versions of Mercedes-AMG hybrids—such as the six-cylinder AMG GT 53 4-Door and AMG E 53—used a small electric supercharger to perform a similar function, the 48-volt system in the SL 43 powers both a belt-driven starter generator and that little electric motor. The e-motor is integrated directly into the turbo housing so that it can spin the turbocharger shaft in the most efficient manner. Mercedes is very proud that this tech trickles down from the AMG Petronas Formula 1 team. The starter-generator can provide 14 hp of additional grunt in certain situations, on top of the 375 made by the engine.

None of this performance comes without an AMG-worthy price—$117,000 as tested. Our loaner car’s options list included aluminum exterior trim ($750), 21-inch AMG Y-spoke wheels ($2450), a suite of driver assistance features ($1950), plus a few other odds and ends. That seems like a lot of spaetzle until you price out a 911 Cabriolet with comparable equipment, much of which comes standard on the Mercedes but costs extra on the Porsche: sport exhaust, keyless entry, a high-end Burmester surround-sound audio system, seats that are heated and ventilated. You quickly end up with a 911 that costs north of $140,000. Yikes.

As a luxury environment, the SL 43 far outshines a base 911. It’s more beautiful, for one, wearing a truly elegant design that seems to have been envisioned as a roadster from the start. (Every 911 Cabriolet looks like, well, a 911 coupe with its roof slashed off.) The SL’s leather is rich and soft. At night, the ambient lighting provides a futuristic, spaceship-like atmosphere. (Maybe too spaceship-like for some, who may also balk at the giant tablet screen and haptic-touch steering wheel functions.) Seats are all-day comfortable. Even the round little air vents possess a pleasant weight when their position is adjusted, something we are certain a cadre of German engineers fussed over for weeks.

This hybrid four-cylinder, on the other hand, does not feel ready for prime time. It’s a coarse, clinical torque-implementation device compared with AMG’s characterful twin-turbo V-8, or even with Mercedes’ silky straight-six. When fired up, the engine sounds on the rough side of raspy, a note accompanied by unpleasant idle vibrations and resonances in the cabin. In the CLA45, the hot hatch that debuted this M139 engine in 2019, some of these characteristics seemed to complement the car’s youthful, pocket-rocket attitude. Farty four-pot upshift noises seem all wrong in this otherwise-distinguished SL.

The engine is paired with a nine-speed automatic transmission, a multi-clutch affair that uses a wet start-off clutch in place of a traditional torque converter. It’s smooth off the line, but the gearbox programming is frustratingly hesitant to downshift in city conditions. You notice this most when attempting quick maneuvers, like a quick lane-change followed by sharp acceleration to match traffic speed. When the downshift arrives, a second and a half or so later, your opening has often passed—or you’ve completed the lane change and cut somebody off in your $117,000 car. The automatic top might fold in 15 seconds, but trust us, that’s not quick enough to protect you from a targeted barrage of expletives in Metro Detroit.

Once you start caning it on a back road, the SL 43 finds an easier rhythm. The powertrain is much happier in its mid- and upper range than at its low end, and the gearbox programming reacts more like you’d expect when speed and steering input increase. Throttle response is excellent in these conditions, and the four-cylinder makes plenty of power way up to redline, with peak power at 6750 rpm. On the way there, however, thrills are few. Torque delivery is more of a steady stream than a dramatic swell, and the whole experience falls shy of the muscle-car emotion that once defined AMG engines. If you treat the SL 43 as a long-distance cruiser, however, the four-cylinder is happy to play that part. It’s smooth, reasonably quiet, and comfortable at 80 mph, with usable torque even in eighth and ninth gear.

It’s really a shame about the engine, because this might be the most well-rounded chassis of any modern AMG product. For a car so long and wide, the SL is wonderfully balanced and agile. The rear end naturally follows the front, such that you rarely need to make steering adjustments to reposition the car on twisty roads. Using conventional dampers, the suspension walks the line between controlled and supple. Fine body motions communicate what the chassis is doing without making it feel unsettled. More often than not we looked down at the speedometer and saw a number 15 or 20 mph higher than we expected. Whereas the outgoing AMG GT roadster was overly stiff on bad pavement, the SL subtly squats over rough bits and keeps on going, not a care in the world. Brakes are responsive, with strong pedal feel and consistent behavior throughout the stroke.

This is fundamentally a luxury roadster, but it can roll up its cuffs and satisfy when need be. If it’s raw speed you’re after, the 911 is appreciably faster, more rewarding to drive quickly, and much more alert-feeling in city traffic. For something more stripped down there’s always the Lotus Emira, which in base form uses this same AMG engine.

We have a few other quibbles. The SL 43’s convertible top cannot be operated immediately when the car starts, which is usually the first thing you want to do before backing out of the driveway, and the system takes a few seconds before it’ll accept the command—either a swipe on the tablet or a double-tap of a physical button beneath the screen. Second, morning condensation on the windshield tends to bead up into larger drops and drop over the A-pillars, often onto the driver or passenger’s door-adjacent thigh. Last, the door handles never quite seem to work the way you expect them to; getting them to pop out from the doors requires reaching just so—not too fast! Pulling them to open the door seems to require the same monkish patience. Every passenger we took for a ride experienced the same phenomenon, which then required the driver to explain how the doors work with some insufferable phrase such as, “No, you have to open it like this.”

With some tweaking to this engine, or perhaps a different one entirely, the SL 43 would be quite a compelling alternative to the open-top Porsche 911, a Mercedes more concerned with comfort and grace than with corner-carving. With a base price of $111,050, it is more accessible than the next rung up on the SL ladder, the $137,400 SL 55, to say nothing of the $184,150 SL 63. Yet at the same time, no luxury roadster on the market so effectively combines refined chassis dynamics with the SL 43’s level of luxury and creature comforts. We suspect the powertrain will nonetheless be a deal-breaker on many test drives; even in 671-hp tune, it has won few friends in the new C 63 S E-Performance. Maybe AMG needs to take the hint and consider this miniature horse might not be fit to pull certain carts. Especially one as lovely as this SL.

2024 Mercedes-AMG SL 43

Price: $111,050 (base); $117,035 (as-tested)

Highs: Spectacular design. Uncompromising materials and luxury features. Refined chassis with handling that belies the car’s size.

Lows: Gruff engine. Lethargic transmission in city driving. Steering wheel busier than Shibuya Crossing.

Takeaway: A convincing modern-day Mercedes roadster in search of a deserving heart.

***

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The standard Z sports car makes no claim to track-worthiness. More of a grand touring car, Nissan says. We agree; our handful of laps at Las Vegas Speedway in the Z Performance last year revealed noticeable body motion, a bit of softness in the brake pedal, and an automatic transmission that was overeager to downshift. The car is nevertheless entertaining on the street, however, so we had high hopes that the hotter Z NISMO—new for 2024—would feed the fun and dial up the capability.

At Nissan’s invitation, we met the Z NISMO on the winding roads of Sonoma, California, and turned a few laps at Sonoma Speedway. Because this isn’t a mystery novel, we’ll spoil the ending: In its pursuit of track performance and durability, Nissan’s latest NISMO model improves on the standard Z in almost every respect imaginable. On the other hand, the new car is practically irrelevant to anyone who hasn’t already decided to buy it.

What does that mean, exactly? Nissan freely admits that it developed the Z NISMO for the model’s—and the brand’s—most die-hard adherents. The design maintains the familiar shape of the original Datsun 240Z, amplifying it with genuine aerodynamic improvements without going overkill. Subtle design details like the elongated “G-Nose”—an homage to the 240ZG Group 4 homologation special of the early ’70s and its similar rhinoplasty—speak to a deeply passionate and knowledgeable fanbase.

The Z NISMO has to be for these people, if for no other reason than that few others will be able to justify the cost. Pricing for the NISMO starts at $66,015, which is almost 13 grand more than the Z Performance. For context, that’s a few thousand north of the BMW M2 and just shy of a base 2024 Corvette. Not the point, said Paul Hawson, Nissan’s Director of Advanced Product Planning and Strategy: “We are really focused just on our customers, and not so much on conquest.”

Put another way, if you wanted a Z NISMO when it was a poster on your wall in 2008, this one is true to that lineage, benefitting from 15 years of model development and technological advancement. On flip side, it’s $66K for a car whose fundamental underpinnings haven’t changed a ton since the first Obama administration, before he went gray.

Let’s run down the list of important tweaks, starting with the engine. Nissan squeezed 20 more horses and 34 lb-ft of torque from the Z’s VQ-series 3.0-liter twin-turbo V-6, totaling 420 hp and 384 lb-ft. The extra spice comes courtesy of a faster-spinning turbo, an additional intercooler up front to reduce the temperature of the intake air, and the GT-R supercar’s independent ignition timing control to optimize combustion in each cylinder.

You can have any gearbox you want as long as it’s Nissan’s nine-speed automatic. In the NISMO it’s fortified with new clutch packs that reduce slip and, in turn, boast higher heat capacity. The clutch stroke is also shortened, which, combined with revised programming, reduces shift times. Downshifts, when using the NISMO’s specific Sport+ drive mode, are almost twice as fast as in the Performance.

The suspension is significantly stiffer, and combined with a number of body, steering, and structural reinforcements, it improves the Z NISMO’s response to inputs. There are minor changes to the front suspension geometry, but the soft stuff is where NISMO focused its efforts—larger and stiffer dampers, unique stabilizer bars, stiffer bushings, and higher spring rates. You still get 19-inch RAYS forged wheels as in the Performance, but here they are wider (totaling 10 inches up front and 10.5 inches in the rear) and lighter.

Larger brakes, along with additional sub-radiators that include an engine oil cooler, make up the bulk of the NISMO’s 100-pound weight gain over the automatic Z Performance. Rotors are enlarged to 13.8 inches in the rear and 15 inches up front, with larger calipers. Pads are said to be considerably more aggressive so they can hold up to track abuse.

Specs: 2024 Nissan Z NISMO

Price: $66,015
Powertrain: 3.0-liter twin-turbo V-6; nine-speed automatic
Horsepower: 420 @ 6400 rpm
Torque: 384 lb-ft @ 2000–5200 rpm
Layout: Rear-drive, two-door, two-passenger coupe
Weight: 3704 lb
EPA-rated fuel economy: 17/24/19 mpg city/hwy/combined
0–60 mph: low-4 sec (est.)
Competitors: Toyota GR Supra, BMW M2

Abuse the Z NISMO is exactly what Christian Spencer, Senior Manager of Performance Development, and his team did for months as they tuned the car at California’s Buttonwillow Raceway. The BMW M2 and Toyota Supra 3.0 served as primary benchmarks. “Our objective was to ensure the Z NISMO could hold up to non-stop punishment for 30 minutes,” he said, which they figured was a bit longer than most track-day sessions.

With a mere four laps on Sonoma Speedway to sample the car, we can’t say how this Z holds up to that goal. We can, however, confirm with confidence that the NISMO is leaps and bounds better than a Z Performance around the same road course. For starters, the Recaro seats are more comfortable than the base seats, keeping us more snug without resorting to excessive bolstering. By far the biggest improvement to the driving experience, however, comes as a result of the Dunlop SP Sport Maxx GT600 tires—more immediate turn in, gobs more grip, more predictable breakaway than the lesser Bridgestone Potenza S007s. The GT600s are drawn from the aforementioned GT-R, which meant they were familiar to the NISMO team and could benefit from the company’s existing relationship with tire development engineers at Dunlop. Beyond that, Spencer says, he likes the tire’s durability over multiple track outings.

On track, thanks to those grippy tires, thanks to the recalibrated suspension, the Z NISMO feels agile and planted. There’s a subtle lean as you set your steering angle before corner entry, and the trick from there seemed to be balancing on the tire and waiting for the earliest possible moment to add throttle. You have to be both patient and delicate with that last part, because ham-footing will break loose the rears. It’s catchable, however, and never does the Z NISMO feel unruly or capricious. Most reassuring are the brakes, which offer impressive response and powerful stopping force right at the top of the pedal travel.

Less trustworthy is the automatic transmission, which—just as in the Z Performance—would often roughly downshift at inopportune times and take us by surprise when left to its own logic. The shift paddles in manual mode were much more reliable, and switching into Sport rather than Sport+ mode provided more rheostat-like throttle control.

We noticed the same thing on the street, compounded by a tendency to lurch when upshifting as the car descended big hills. Otherwise, the Z NISMO is a peach out in the real world—sharper in every way than the Z Performance yet only slightly less livable from a ride comfort perspective. This is a titanic departure from the outgoing 370Z NISMO, whose ruthless suspension left drivers worse off than if they’d sparred with Tyson. The 2024 NISMO is generally pleasant on surface streets, less so over longer stretches of uneven pavement where the ride gets busy and unsettled. The upgraded engine’s beefy mid-range makes easy work of Sonoma’s considerable hills, however, riding on a wave of healthy, usable torque. Our only wish is for a sweeter, louder exhaust note (it’s the same as the standard Z’s), especially because the Dunlops roar above pretty much every other sound, even with the windows up. The stereo offers no relief in this respect, despite the fact that it pumps into the cabin synthesized engine noise.

Though Nissan says it eschewed a manual gearbox for the NISMO because customer feedback suggested they prioritize lap times, it’s hard to take that statement seriously. For one, Spencer says that if there’s enough customer demand a manual Z NISMO is possible. Second, the most serious road-course speed demons in pursuit of a turnkey showroom solution seem unlikely to choose the Z NISMO, when a 500-hp Mustang Dark Horse costs about $6000 less—and sounds a whole lot better, too. As is the case with most road cars that claim to be for track use, most Z NISMO customers will never take their car lapping, and enthusiasts really should have the option to row their own if feasible.

Leaving aside everything we’ve covered thus far, the Z NISMO’s low production will mean it finds its way into the hands of precious few outside its most dedicated fanbase. Just look at the limited production of the ordinary Z, whose U.S. sales this year totaled just 966 cars through June. Part of that is due to production delays related to semiconductor shortages, as well as a new manufacturing process at Nissan’s factory in Tochigi, Japan, but it’s also a deliberate strategy. “It’s getting harder and harder to make sports cars,” explained Hawson, the product planning director. The days of us making 15 or 25 thousand 350Zs is long gone, which means the Z NISMO is a limited version of a limited car.”

Such are the times. An optimistic approach would be to just celebrate that Nissan has delivered a NISMO version at all, and quite a good one. Great-looking, fun to drive on the street, and fulfilling on track. From a Z fan’s perspective, the NISMO might even be considered $13,000 more sports car, given all of the meaningful improvements—the ultimate Z car to which they can aspire. And for everyone else, those who can’t wrap their head around why anyone would pine for a Z NISMO over an M2 or Mustang Dark Horse? They’ll be happier running along and playing with their own toys, anyway.

2024 Nissan Z NISMO

Price: $66,015

Highs: Appealing design. Balanced chassis suitable for road course or street. Rock-star engine for those who bow at the VQ altar.

Lows: Tough price to swallow, given the competition at that level. Guaranteed scarce production volume. No manual gearbox.

Takeaway: Although it’s certainly one for the fans, the best-performing Z car ever is surprisingly well-rounded.

***

***

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Three decades have passed since two of Japan’s finest sports cars, the MK IV Toyota Supra Turbo and Nissan 300ZX, were on top of the world. There were successful iterations of both cars prior, but never did their performance so challenge the likes of Porsche and the Chevrolet Corvette. Now here we are, yet again, with the Toyota Supra and Nissan Z back for sports car fans to relish. Is this just another reboot, or the revival of a long-lost rivalry?

With popular culture positively dripping in nostalgia—Barbie is suddenly toy royalty again, and fashionable teens are inexplicably embracing Birkenstocks and ripped jeans—it’s tempting to look at the latest Supra and Z with the kind of cynicism fitting of another Marvel sequel. You may remember when two proud Japanese companies, investing all of their technological and engineering might into cutting-edge performance, sought to strike fear into the heart of European sports-car makers. These were moonshot cars with, at the time, ambitious technologies like sequential turbocharging and rear-wheel steering. The infinite wisdom of The Animaniacs—Yakko, Wakko, and Dot—apply nicely here now:

Reboot it, renew it
Reshoot it, redo it
And reuse it, retool it
Abuse it, just do it
If you wanna make some easy cash, just recycle and rehash!

However, a lot has changed in thirty years. Neither the new Supra nor the Z you see here reflects Toyota or Nissan at the peak of their powers. For one, underneath the Supra’s curvy exterior lurks a BMW in almost all but name, including its chassis and 3.0-liter turbocharged inline-six shared with the current Z4 M40i roadster. Nissan’s handsome Z Performance may resemble the classic 240Z, but in reality it’s a heavily breathed-on update of the outgoing 370Z, itself a dinosaur dating back to 2009. The Z’s twin-turbo 3.0-liter V-6 should be familiar to Infiniti fans from the Q50/Q60 Red Sport 400. Neither the new Nissan Z (generation RZ34) nor the Supra (A90) breaks barriers from a technological standpoint.

All this is to say that we aren’t dealing with a Michigan/Ohio State, Red Sox/Yankees, Camaro/Mustang battlefront here. It’s almost a rivalry by default, as sports cars in 2023 with two seats, two doors, and three pedals have become downright rare. The only other such cars currently sold in the U.S. are the Mazda Miata and the Porsche 718; at about $30,000, the Miata is quite a bit cheaper but also a lot slower and less powerful, while the least-expensive 718 Cayman starts at $70,000. Smack in the middle are the Z and Supra, both wearing MSRPs in the $50,000 range.

Specs: 2023 Toyota GR Supra 3.0 MT

• Price: $56,745 / $57,945 (base/as-tested)
• Powertrain: 3.0-liter turbocharged I-6; six-speed manual transmission
• Horsepower: 382 hp @ 5800-6500 rpm
• Torque: 368 lb-ft @ 1800-5000 rpm
• Layout: Rear-wheel-drive, two-door, two-passenger coupe
• EPA-rated fuel economy: 19/27/21 mpg (city/hwy/combined)
• Curb weight: 3389 pounds
• 0–60 mph: 4.2 seconds (est.)

Specs: 2023 Nissan Z Performance M/T

• Price: $51,015 / $52,360 (base/as-tested)
• Powertrain: 3.0-liter twin-turbocharged V-6, six-speed manual transmission
• Horsepower: 400 hp @ 6400 rpm
• Torque: 350 lb-ft @ 1600-5200 rpm
• Layout: Rear-wheel-drive, two-door, two-passenger coupe
• EPA-rated fuel economy: 18/24/20 MPG (city/hwy/combined)
• Curb weight: 3536 pounds
• 0–60 mph: 4.5 seconds (est.)

Which brings us to our two test cars. You won’t have an easy time tracking down either model for MSRP at dealers, especially with a manual, but the window stickers nonetheless say the following:

Coming in at $52,360 we have the Nissan Z Performance, packing 400 hp and 350 lb-ft of torque under the hood. Standard kit includes a mechanical limited-slip differential, 14-inch front brake rotors with four-piston calipers, and 19-inch forged RAYS wheels. That price includes two options added to this Gun Metallic gray over Red Accent example: a floor mat package ($400) and illuminated kick plates ($500).

The Supra demands a bit deeper pockets, with this Stratosphere blue over black tester totaling $59,040. The Bavarian straight-six summons 382 hp and 368 lb-ft of torque, delivered via an active, electronically locking differential. Adaptive dampers are standard, as are Brembo four-piston front brakes and 19-inch forged wheels. Options include the Driver Assistance Package ($1195) which bundles blind spot monitoring, rear-cross traffic alert, and parking sensors. The carbon-fiber mirror caps cost $925.

Driving the Z and Supra back-to-back on back roads near our editorial home base in Ann Arbor, Michigan, revealed cars with two distinct personalities.

The Z is your old friend who got, like, really into Crossfit. If you liked the outgoing 370Z, the new Z is improved with upgrades to the engine, transmission, suspension, and interior. The V-6 still emits that distinctive VQ-series mix of howl and groan, particularly in the upper reaches of the rev range. On the way there it’s all about the boost. You can feel the urgency and shove of the turbos as they spool into action, the engine getting increasingly feverish as the tach needle climbs. At full throttle the Z will chirp its tires in the first three gears, which rarely fails to evince a smile. The six-speed is a friendly gearbox with relatively easy throws and clear spacing between the gates. No complaints.

It’s a bit of a loose cannon, this Z. The suspension is compliant enough to allow for a bit of body roll, as well as noticeable compression and rebound over bumps. This isn’t a bad thing—you know what the car is doing, which helps you feel involved. Everything is relative, which is to say the Z Performance is still fairly stiff, but even over bad pavement and a pockmarked dirt road we didn’t wince every time a tire dropped. If there’s a weakness here it’s the front end, which can feel vague especially on corner entry. Hard to tell if a sharper-responding tire than the stock Bridgestone Potenza S007s would fix that, but either way a bit more grip and bite would not hurt.

In terms of over-the-road speed and composure, the Supra simply outclasses the Z. (It also works out, but with a private trainer and a real-time blood-glucose monitor.) The engine in particular is more refined, delivering silky-smooth torque on demand in whatever gear you like. It arrives with little drama, as in the Z, but rather with a sense of ever-present inevitability that suggests a deep well of reserve muscle. The intake sounds content, sweet even, compared with the nine-o-clock shadow brashness of the twin-turbine VQ. A precisely cut gem, happiest and most responsive at about 5000 rpm. We’d love to tell you what the exhaust sounds like from inside the car, but the wind buffeting above about 40 mph with the windows down is so aggressive we couldn’t bear it long enough to listen.

Suspension is considerably more taut than in the Z. That tautness translates into quicker reflexes, mostly noticeable in quick transitions, like over crests or when the radius of a corner decreases. The car simply pivots and then sticks, wherever you point it, and the nose responds adroitly to steering corrections. It probably helps that the Supra is about 150 pounds lighter, weighing in at 3389 pounds to the Z’s 3536 pounds. Standard adaptive dampers mitigate major potholes better than you’d expect, but the busy ride and gentle head toss over ordinary broken pavement might tire owners living in regions without manicured roads.

The Supra’s brake pedal stays firm and immediate even after half an hour of punishment. All of this speaks to solid, familiar BMW engineering and intelligent Toyota tuning, except for the six-speed manual. What a thing, one of the lovelier gearboxes on the market today and distinct in feel from the shifter in, say, the M4. Shift action is light—more snappy than toy-like—with a pleasant mechanical clack with each gear engagement. Though this is technically a BMW ‘box, Toyota says it comprehensively tweaked it to suit the character it wanted for the Supra. Having driven the automatic version, this manual utterly transforms the car, enlivens it. Why it wasn’t offered from the get-go boggles the mind.

For longtime Z fans, the looks of the latest iteration could well be enough to seal the deal. The design is a home run, melding the silhouette of the original 240Z with the more linear geometry of Nissan’s current language. There’s no question the Z got more attention than the Supra around town. Toyota’s design looks best from the rear three quarter, emphasizing the duckbill rear spoiler and length of the hood, but in general it comes across as more overwrought. A try-hard.

The Supra’s interior is more sober, business-like. You sit nice and low, gazing out over that mile-long nose. The roof feels right overhead, a result of that steep rake above the driver. The double-bubble helps, as do the widely adjustable seats, but taller drivers might not fit comfortably and still be able to see well. Gauges are clear and legible, and the infotainment system is a somewhat dated version of iDrive that nonetheless works quite well.

The Z is airier and gets the nod in this respect, but on longer drives its hard seatbacks and deep, concave seat shape begin to take a toll. The Z also suffers from precious little trunk space compared with the Supra, with a cargo floor that seems five inches too high and not especially deep. And while there is plush leather and a modern-looking center screen, the big, chunky climate control knobs and other switchgear are frequent reminders that the cabin was designed in the mid-2000s. (For old-school types who hate complex interfaces in new cars, this may even be a selling point.)

The people who lusted after Supras and Zs in the ‘90s and 2000s may now be at the place in life that they’d actually be able to afford a new one. Nostalgia undoubtedly fueled the return of these two cars, which means fans of one or the other would need a very good reason to turn traitor. There isn’t one here. The Supra is the better all-rounder, the one more people would be happy to drive and live with every day. The Z stays more true to its roots, for better and for worse, and a quick romp in it is all you need to get the blood flowing and hair standing up. With so few sports cars left, both the Z and the Supra feel like winners for their part in restoring the rivalry, such as it is.

2023 Nissan Z Performance

Price: $51,015 / $52,360 (base/as-tested)

Highs: Gorgeous design. Thrilling engine. Comfortable ride, for what it is. A Nissan through and through.

Lows: Poor cargo capacity, even for a sports car. Stiff seats, and a cheap interior if you look too closely. Turn-in could be sharper.

Summary: A familiar beast, much improved, and at a friendly price.

***

2023 Toyota GR Supra 3.0

Price:$56,745 / $57,945 (base/as-tested)

Highs: Impeccable chassis balance. Sweet-shifting six-speed. Interior that feels modern yet focused on the driving experience above all. Reasonable trunk space for a weekend getaway, or even daily use as a second car.

Lows: Maddening wind buffeting with windows open. Won’t win any design awards. BMW bones may dissuade Supra purists.

Summary: Entertaining, capable, and confidence-inspiring in just about any situation. It’s not the Supra some remember, but it’s damn good and we’re happy it’s here.

***

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Throughout automotive history, few expressions have been misused more often than this marketing standby: “race car for the road.” Cliché, indeed, but accurate in the case of the 1967 Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale.

Development of a road-going version of the Alfa Romeo “Tipo 33” sports prototype started before the latter’s racing career had even begun. Company president Giuseppe Luraghi’s target for Carlo Chiti—the head of Alfa’s racing department, Autodelta—was as simple as it was ambitious: The 33 Stradale had to deliver no less than 95 percent of the racing car’s overall performance.

As time and resources were limited and legal requirements for homologation hardly an issue, the 33 Stradale inherited the race car’s exotic chassis design and highly-strung 1995-cc V-8 engine with remarkably few modifications. The result, presented in August of 1967, was a featherweight 1500-pound supercar that delivered Miura-esque performance with an engine half the size.

Despite this achievement, its extreme specification and blistering performance aren’t what people first think about whenever the 33 Stradale is mentioned. Attention instead lands on the voluptuous curves Franco Scaglione penned for the car, which earned the 33 Stradale a well-deserved reputation as one of the most beautiful automobiles ever made.

As a former car designer myself, I imagine the scale of reinventing such a classic design to have been monumental. As an Italian, as well, it would involve seriously conflicting emotions: On one hand, it is an Alfa Romeo supercar, which is the sort of assignment of which every designer dreams. On the other, however, it sets any work up against an ideal that is near-impossible to equal.

I interviewed Alfa Romeo’s head of exterior design, Bob Romkes, to pick his brain about the fascinating new 33 Stradale supercar. (Read the full story on that debut here.) For Romkes, reimagining the 33 Stradale for the 21st century was: “definitely an enormous challenge. But that wasn’t a reason not to do it. We wanted to dream and put the bar high for Alfa Romeo,” he said. “We have a very capable design team, so we trusted our capability to make something beautiful.”

Beautiful it is indeed. I admit to letting out a big sigh of relief once the smoke cleared and I first laid eyes on the new 33 Stradale. The stakes were high, but Alfa’s designers masterfully captured the 33 Stradale’s essence and delivered a gorgeous design that is a worthy homage to its hallowed namesake.

This is no small feat, especially given how much the world has changed since 1967. Designing a supercar in the 2020s is operating in an entirely different universe. “It was very important to find the right balance between the past, using the right cues from the original,” Romkes stressed, “but also looking to the future, to have something that hits the sweet spot between old and new.”

Like all the best classic Italian designs, the original 33 Stradale was devoid of gratuitous ornamentation, an approach Romkes was keen to maintain: “We wanted to use all the iconic features of the original car and combine them with aerodynamic features.” As an example, he cites the new car’s large headlights, which also integrate a functional cooling duct.

The same is true for the character lines on the front hood, which, as Romkes explains, not only evoke the shape of Alfa’s “shield” grille but also guide the air towards the side mirrors, whose shape was optimized to send the airflow towards the engine air intake on the sides.

Aerodynamics plays a crucial role in a vehicle capable of a top speed of over 200 mph, yet Alfa’s designers managed to avoid adding spoilers or other tacked-on bits. The new 33 Stradale retains the sexy, curvaceous side section that is such a hallmark of Scaglione’s original. That is my favorite aspect of the whole project, and Romkes explained how it was achieved: “Visually, we split the car in two. The lower part is technical and dark, while the upper part is the beauty, the sculpture.

“We passed many hours in the wind tunnel because we didn’t want to have active aerodynamics, so everything had to be in the sculpture, exactly like the original car.”

Still, designers found room to incorporate some neat detail touches. The one that immediately caught my attention is that aforementioned Alfa Romeo “shield,” whose layered, three-dimensional treatment reminded me of the front of the classic 2000 GTV. I wondered if that was indeed the inspiration: “Absolutely,” Romkes said. “That’s one of the most beautiful Alfa Romeo grilles.”

Although it may be purely coincidental, the new 33 Stradale’s reveal comes precisely 20 years after that of Alfa’s previous supercar, the 8C Competizione. That car went on to exert a powerful, lasting influence on the design of subsequent mass-market Alfa Romeos, so I wanted to know whether we could expect the same to happen for the 33 Stradale. Romkes remained predictably coy on that matter, but let on a little: “You’ll see elements of the 33 in the future lineup, but I cannot specify which ones.”

With this halo car, Alfa Romeo has produced a dream car that carries with it the promise of a brighter future for the brand. Speaking as a 40-year-old Italian, I’ve heard bold Alfa Romeo revival plans for as long as I’ve been alive, but looking at the new 33 Stradale makes me feel genuinely optimistic. The project is a shrewd play on nostalgia, yes, but it’s a well-executed one. And if there’s a brand that can pull such a thing off, it’s Alfa Romeo.

Remember, this is a brand with immense heritage yet nothing to lose in today’s market. The automotive world is in flux, facing an uncertain future, which means now is maybe the perfect time for Alfa Romeo to emphasize its unique history, futurism be damned. Because nothing sells like a good story, and Alfa’s rear-view is full of them.

***

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

***

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To recognize 25 years of the Audi TT and commemorate its final year in production, we bring you this light history, drive experience, and market analysis of the Mk1 TT. Come back tomorrow for a deep dive on the car’s design, as well as a road test of the final, 2023 TTS publishing September 14, 2023. -Ed.

Rare is the concept car that makes it to production intact. The 1999 Audi TT was one such design, launching three years after the gorgeous TT concept dropped every jaw in the hall at the 1995 Frankfurt IAA show. Whether in coupe or roadster form (the latter arriving for 2000), this particular Audi’s strength has always been its styling. It was soft yet edgy, cute yet sophisticated. The car still turns heads today, and with driver-quality examples costing under $10,000, the TT is one of the best-looking little sports cars for a budget.

Truly, it’s difficult to overstate the halo effect the TT concept had on the entire Audi brand when it debuted in Frankfurt. At that point, Audi’s lineup consisted of the 100, the 90, and the V8—staid, boxy sedans for Europe’s sober upper-middle management set. Inspired by the smoothness of Bauhaus architecture, designer Freeman Thomas’ show car was sensationally curvy and shapely, but also simple, so comprehensible. The interior was handsome, ergonomically considered, and full of little design delights. The car signaled a shift at Audi, and this invigorated design ethos helped drive the success of the era-defining Audi A3 and A4 in the years that followed.

Displacing just 1.8 liters, Audi’s four-cylinder engine was turbocharged to 180 hp in base form, paired with a five-speed manual gearbox and an optional Haldex all-wheel-drive system (branded as Quattro). Ticking the box for the 225-hp version of this same engine yielded a six-speed manual transmission, as well as standard Quattro.

Though named after the historic Tourist Trophy race on the Isle of Man, the TT was much more of a looker than a cooker. The Mk I model was built on front-wheel-drive Volkswagen bones, sharing its platform with the Golf, Jetta, and New Beetle. Its transverse-engine, front-heavy design put the TT at a dynamic disadvantage compared with rear-drive sports cars like the BMW Z3, Honda S2000, and mid-engine Porsche Boxster. In a 2000 group comparison test, Car and Driver’s Csaba Csere summed it up: “By itself, the TT seems fine,” he wrote. “But in this company, its road manners leave much to be desired.”

Further complicating matters were a handful of high-speed TT accidents on the autobahn that prompted Audi to disturb that perfectly formed booty with a spoiler to increase downforce and stability on the rear axle. The suspension was also largely revised, which combined with updated software for electronic stability control to put the handling issues to bed. Prior examples were recalled and retrofitted with the changes.

Priced right on top of the Z3, the base TT roadster cost about $34,000, or $40K for the 225-hp Quattro version. That made it nearly $10K cheaper than the Boxster or the Mercedes-Benz SLK, but the TT was nonetheless considerably nicer to ride in than either. “Compared with the TT’s interior,” Csere reflected, “[the Boxster] looks as plain as a taxicab.”

The cabin really is a work of art. I borrowed this manual-equipped, 225-hp 2001 TT from Hagerty executive Doug Clark and loved spending time in it so much that he almost didn’t get it back. His particular example is fitted with a deeply distinctive baseball-glove leather interior, complete with laces through the seams of the seats. Now more than two decades old, the twin buckets have aged beautifully, like—as you might expect—a well-worn and well-oiled mitt.

Leather aside, it’s the unified art deco feel of this interior that most impresses. Credited to designer Romulus Rost, it offers a view from the driver’s seat that is downright pleasing. Maybe it’s the ubiquitous circles—circles for the knobs, switches, gauges, and much more—that are so easy on the eyes. In key places these circles are tastefully accented with dimpled bezels, as on the steering wheel, HVAC vents, fuel filler door, shift knob, and even in hidden places such as the base of the roll hoops. Because you sit low in the TT and the top of the doors are relatively high, the cabin feels all-encompassing, even with the top down. That would be a bad thing in any other roadster.

I’ve written on this site several times about my personal BMW Z3, which after a day in Doug’s TT feels like the dark purples in Monopoly. It’s not that the TT is Park Place, but for the same money when new it provides a much friendlier space. The TT feels wider, for one, and the material quality is noticeably better. The convertible top closes with a couple twists of a hefty-feeling handle, and the rear window is made of heated glass instead of my Z3’s plastic. The Audi is just classy.

At the same time, it isn’t quite as much fun to drive. The TT feels most at home when making quick directional changes, such as squirting through slower-moving traffic or negotiating a friendly back road. When you really start pushing it through gnarlier stuff, however, you realize there isn’t a deeper layer of communication or entertainment buried in the chassis, waiting to be revealed. Past a certain point, it’s all understeer, albeit well-managed on corner exit with a boot of the gas pedal. In this respect the TT is very unlike the Porsche Boxster, whose subtle handling nuances provide substantial education and entertainment.

Turbo lag is a given when dealing with a small, boosted engine dating back to the Clinton administration, but here it doesn’t diminish what is otherwise a perfectly friendly four-cylinder. The trick is just to keep the revs right in the middle. In the 2500–5000 range, there’s plenty of usable torque on demand, even in higher gears, and each roll on the throttle evinces a sweet-sounding turbine whistle. That’s about all the aural feedback there is to savor, because the twin exhausts sound rather demure, even with the top down.

For Doug’s part, he drives this TT almost every day in spring and summer as a second car in his household. “I don’t look for it to carry much or be the most practical car ever. I just love the manual and use it with the top down every day I can,” he says.

Given the TT’s combination of around-town drivability and interior comfort, it perhaps does not come as a shock that older demographics favor it. Baby boomers (39.4 percent) and Gen X (31.7 percent) overwhelmingly dominate the Hagerty insurance quote pool for the TT, with Gen Z representing just 4.8 percent of quotes.

Ultimate performance is often a driver of popularity, and thus, a driver of pricing for collector cars, which is one explanation for why the TT’s softer personality hasn’t yet translated to big bucks. The best examples in the world (#1-condition, Concours) of the highest-value variant—late-model coupes with VW’s 3.2-liter VR6 engine—command $35,200. Pristine BMW M Coupes go for more than twice that, M Roadsters inhabit the low-$60,000s at the very top end, and Honda S2000s even in #2 (Excellent) condition average over $40,000.

Driver-condition TTs (#3, Good) come in at about 9 grand, up about $2000 since early 2021, when the TT appeared on our annual Bull Market list. (Coupes go for a bit more than roadsters, as do manuals and cars with the baseball-glove interior.) While #2 and #1 examples are climbing faster than #3s and #4s, there’s no reason to believe the average TT will march out of reach for mortals any time soon. These may well be fun, fashionable, affordable little machines for the foreseeable future.

Part of Doug’s passion for the TT is that he worked at Audi in public relations and helped launch the car in the U.S. market. “I am biased, of course,” he says, “but even trying to put all of that aside I think the design is fantastic. Both modern and like a storied car from the past—it just makes me smile.”

He’s onto something there. The TT has aged more gracefully than perhaps any of its competitors, and even 25 years later the car looks fresh. It might not go down as one of history’s greatest sports cars, but it may well be remembered as one of the most important sports car designs of its era. At under five figures, it’s a Bauhaus bargain.

***

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Via Insider

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When it comes to BMW’s latest design exercise, the Neue Klasse concept that debuted last week in Munich, I can’t help but think of how some rules of design evolve and change. Or perhaps it’s our understanding of them. For instance, a quote: “Negative surfaces have no place in automobile design.” That’s what my professors used to tell me during the first year of my bachelor’s degree in Transportation Design. That was 2003, the same year BMW launched a positively controversial interplay of negative and positive surfaces for the E60-generation 5 Series sedan.

Under the direction of Chris Bangle, BMW’s designers were ripping to shreds the very same rulebook I was being taught to follow. As you can imagine, Bangle’s BMWs were a hot topic of discussion between us design students and our seasoned professors, and there seemed to be no middle ground. People either appreciated BMW for its courage or vehemently hated it for “ruining” the cars we grew up loving so much.

I admit I was closer to the latter camp, and it took me a few years to come around to cars like the E60-generation 5-Series mentioned above, or the E85 Z4 roadster. Twenty years on, these cars arguably look fresher and more modern than their current equivalents, and I revere them as genuine design landmarks. Much of my peers do, as well.

Even though many other BMWs from the “Bangle Era” haven’t aged nearly as well, there’s no denying the lasting impact he and his team’s work has had on the evolution of automobile design. But that was a long time ago, and I’m certainly not the only one who’s now failing to see any rhyme or reason behind the design choices that characterize the most recent crop of BMWs.

In fact, I’ve grown so accustomed to BMW’s repeated recent assaults on our retinas that I was ready to dismiss the latest Neue Klasse concept car as yet more proof that BMW has lost the plot. But that would have been unfair, because the more I look into this project, the more I realize that BMW may be onto something this time.

As most BMW fans will undoubtedly know, the “Neue Klasse” moniker was used for a seminal run of sedans and coupes built between 1962 and 1972, which established BMW as a purveyor classy, sporting cars for decades to come. In the United States, the 2002 is the most celebrated product of this lineage. Much like the rest of the German automobile industry, BMW built its fortune through skillful and incremental refinement of the same winning formula. For decades, all the Germans had to do was give their customers—every few years—a bigger, faster, better iteration of what they already knew and loved. Automakers could charge customers a bit more each time and then laugh all the way to the bank.

However, those days are rapidly coming to an end. The shift to electric propulsion forces BMW (just like other brands) to rethink what it stands for as a company and revise its cars’ unique selling proposition. Thus the resurrection of the “Neue Klasse” moniker for its latest concept car: the start of a new, transformative era in the marque’s history.

In this context, the choice of a classic three-box sedan format is all the more remarkable, given that this body style is currently heading the dodo’s way. It’s but one more clue that, as I’m reliably informed, BMW designers took inspiration from beloved compact sedans like the 2002 and the E30-generation 3 Series while designing the Neue Klasse.

That’s particularly evident in the concept’s slim roof pillars and ample windows, which I really hope will remain so on the production model slated for 2025/6. The front end is once again slanted forward, echoing the distinctive “shark nose” of the 1970s Bimmers. But there’s much more to the Neue Klasse than simple nostalgia for the BMWs of yore. It is a pared-back, refreshingly minimalist design almost devoid of character lines. It’s so far removed from the clumsy, overstyled monsters currently populating BMW’s showrooms that it might as well have come entirely from another company.

The Neue Klasse may have a traditional sedan body style, but its striking proportions show that its designers understood how to exploit the packaging advantages of electric vehicles to the fullest. The large-diameter 21-inch wheels are pushed toward the outer corners of the car, stretching the wheelbase and minimizing front and rear overhangs. Designers love this because it gives the vehicle a planted, purposeful stance that visually suggests roadholding and stability. Moreover, it leaves plenty of room for the underfloor battery and creates a more spacious passenger compartment relative to the car’s exterior dimensions.

If the exterior of the Neue Klasse has a definite retro-futurist vibe, its interior design is anything but. Here, BMW’s designers shunned nostalgia to fully embrace a minimalist aesthetic and digital-centric approach that does away with almost all physical controls. The dashboard is nearly bare, save for a full-width display panel called Panoramic Vision and a trapezoidal central screen. As the Neue Klasse is built on a new, dedicated EV platform, the floor is completely flat, with just a floating center console separating the four seats. It all looks very slick, perhaps too much so. The yellow corduroy upholstery is a nice touch and gives the interior some warmth, but overall, the cabin still exudes a clinical vibe. And no matter how modern and cool your dentist’s studio looks, it will still be the last place you’d like to kick back and relax. Plenty of recent concept cars from other brands have successfully demonstrated that a slick and high-tech can be inviting, as well.

So, has BMW finally rediscovered its mojo? Maybe, but I’d say it’s too early to celebrate. After all, the Neue Klasse is still just a prototype, and although it is a promising sign of things to come, it still looks somewhat half-baked in its execution, especially the rear-end design. Still, I’d much rather drive around in something like the Neue Klasse over a current X3 or X4. The production version of the Neue Klasse is expected to be released in just a couple of years’ time. It will be the first new BMW in years that I’m genuinely looking forward to seeing.

***

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

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Growing up in the Bronx in the 1980s and ’90s, you’d see them all over the place. Boxy, slammed E70-series Toyota Corollas with loud exhausts, usually with a Puerto Rican or Dominican flag somewhere on the car. At first, I didn’t think much of them. After all, Corollas were part car, part appliance, and for every cool one cruising the Grand Concourse, there were 50 more beige ones being driven until their wheels fell off by people who cared nothing about cars. My driver’s ed car was a ratty brown E70 sedan.

But one warm night in 1996, I went down to the famous Hunts Point drag races with a friend who insisted “they’ll blow your mind.” He was right. There I watched a bunch of old Corollas, Starlets, and Mazda GLCs go toe-to-toe with 5.0 Mustangs, to the delight of the crowd. It was a wildly diverse group of cars and people, but two things really stood out: how many Puerto Rican flags were in evidence and the sheer number of old E70s, colloquially called “Punto Ochos.”

This racing scene is certainly famous, and much has been written about it over the years. Vibe magazine’s 1998 “Racer X” article, about Dominican drag racer Rafael Estevez, went on to inspire The Fast and the Furious. But the contribution of both Dominican and Puerto Rican enthusiasts to this world, and Japanese car culture in America generally, often feels underplayed in English-language media.

“Stories of old Japanese cars in America are usually told from a West Coast perspective, and that leaves out a lot of history,” says Peter Diaz, one-half of New Jersey-based Team Toyminator. Peter and his older cousin Ray “Junior” Diaz held huge numbers of old-school Japanese car events under that label for a decade starting in 2000.

To hear the story of how the E70 became a tuner car favorite, and how Japanese tuner culture took root in Puerto Rico and among Boricua (people from the island or of Puerto Rican descent) living on the mainland, I met up with the pair at Junior’s home in Plainfield, New Jersey. Also along for the discussion were Eugenio Colon, Dave Hernandez, and William Rivera—all longtime Corolla fans. They even brought their cars to showcase some of the different ways people build E70s.

Junior alone owns four of them, all two-door sedans. His white car is done up JDM-style with a Nissan SR20 swap, while his blue one is built to resemble Puerto Rico-style builds of the early 1980s. He’s also got a mostly stock silver two-door and is working on a factory-correct restoration of a copper ’83. On the day we met, Hernandez brought along his automatic ’81 wagon and Rivera his ’82 SR5 sport coupe.

Peter and Eugenio drive AE86s, cars which have largely overshadowed their E70 forebear, but between the five men, they’ve had dozens of E70s and been involved with them for decades. Eugenio, who grew up in Puerto Rico in the 1970s, started us off on the island proper.

The Japanese Invasion of Puerto Rico

Japanese cars began arriving in Puerto Rico in real numbers around 1970, and they found a willing audience.

Gas is sold by the liter on the island, and like many other things (including car parts), oil is imported and made pricier by the Jones Act. With fuel prices higher and wages typically lower than on the mainland, fuel-efficient, rock-reliable Datsuns and Toyotas were quickly popular, just as VW Beetles had been 10 years earlier. Brand-agnostic Puerto Ricans also held fewer biases against Japanese products than mainlanders.

Light, small, and rear-wheel drive, it did not take long for people to start modifying Corollas, Datsun 510s, and Mazda RX-3s and exchanging information, says Colon. While the rotary Mazdas were often the fastest out of the box, Toyota dominated sales. “Puerto Rico has 78 individual towns, and by 1979 they all had at least one Toyota club and sometimes more than one.”

Early modifiers went one of two ways, says Colon. “Drag racing is very popular in Puerto Rico, so most builds were about straight-line speed,” but the cars were also often modified just for aesthetics, with lowered or cut springs, aftermarket wheels, fancy paint jobs, and a dizzying array of accessories, some locally made and some from Japan. In lots of ways, these cars mirrored the looks of Japan’s Shakotan-style cars but evolved independently.

Even non-car people were well aware of them. “Instead of booking limos for weddings or Quinceañeras,” Colon says, “People would book cars from the clubs and do a caravan. Usually with a Kojak-style orange flashing light on each car.”

The first Corollas to catch tuners’ eyes were the 1.6-liter 2T-C–powered E20 (1970) and E30 series (1974). Early on the 2T-C E20 belted out 101 hp, far more than some contemporary sports cars like the MGB, and that was before any modifications. Meanwhile, in Japan, Toyota engineers led by Fumio Agetsuma were working on an even better Corolla: the E70.

Peak Corolla

Agetsuma, a Toyota veteran since 1955 and previously a designer on the Corona and Mark II, joined the Corolla team in 1969 and became its lead engineer in 1974. That was just before the E30-series’ debut, but he was stung by critical reviews of that car.

Supposedly, on a visit to the Netherlands, Agetsuma heard the E30’s leaf springs compared unflatteringly to those of a 19th-century carriage. The U.S. press liked the Corolla’s durability and price but also gave it a drubbing for being basic and unsophisticated compared to newer front-drivers like the VW Rabbit.

For the next Corolla, Agetsuma’s team did extensive customer research in hopes of retaining all the things people liked about Toyota’s biggest global seller while addressing the criticisms. Power steering, sunroofs, and a nicer interior (possibly inspired by the Honda Accord) appeared, though there were still very basic versions. Agetsuma didn’t want buyers to move on to bigger or fancier cars but instead return for more Corollas. There was no GM-style “ladder” in his mind, only Corollas for every purse and purpose.

A five-link coil-spring rear suspension supplanted the leaf springs on all but wagons and vans. Yes, vans. Although they all weren’t sold in the U.S., the E70 offered eight body styles, including a commercial van and three coupes: notchback, fastback, and liftback wagon. While they looked boxy and plain, they were also more aerodynamic than previous Corollas. In Japan, there were nine different engines, but only two ever came to the U.S.: the 1.8-liter, OHV 3T-C (1980 to 1982) and the 1.6-liter SOHC 4A-C (1983 only).

The E70-series debuted in Japan in the fall of 1979 to immediate global success. Agetsuma’s improvements worked so well that production soared to record levels. By mid-1980, Toyota City was building more than 2300 Corollas a day. They built them well, too. The car’s only real long-term weakness? Rust.

El Punto Ocho

It was the “1.8” badges that earned the “Punto Ocho” nickname. While the 3T-C made only about 75 hp out of the box, it was ripe for tuning. The improved rear suspension made handling better and the big engine bay made it an easily exploitable—and affordable—performance platform. A huge aftermarket gradually developed around it, and ever-better engine swaps were made possible by the Lego-like interchangeability of newer Toyota parts.

E70s proved as popular in Puerto Rico as they were everywhere else, but their arrival coincided with the formation of large-scale car shows on the island dedicated to Japanese cars. “The cars were still basically new in the mid-1980s,” Junior says, “But people were already building dedicated show cars out of them.”

Drag racers loved them, too, as they were no heavier than the E30 but did lots of things better. Early on, rotary swaps and turbo builds were common, but in the years since, just about anything you can think of has been swapped into an E70, from 13B rotaries to Chevrolet LS1s. Junior Diaz’s white E70 has a Nissan SR20 swap. However, no matter what engine ended up under the hood, Colon says, the name has always stuck. “V-8 swaps, rotaries, whatever. Nobody ever calls it anything but ‘Punto Ocho.’”

From San Juan to Avenue P

By the early 1980s, more than 2 million Boricua were living on the mainland but regularly communicating with immediate family in the territory. With “home” just a three-hour flight away and cultural ties so strong, trends born on the island were rolling on the streets of Newark, New York, and Cleveland.

“Family was always very important to us,” says Junior, “And in the 1980s we would regularly go back to Puerto Rico and my mom would make me go see every auntie and cousin. Of course, my uncle had an AE86, with fancy wheels and cut springs, and he’d be the one to drive me around.” After a drastic drop in migration in the 1970s, more Puerto Ricans also began migrating again. “We knew lots of people who’d bring their car with them,” says Peter. “Or even bring parts to modify another car here.”

“There were also companies who would only sell stuff in Puerto Rico,” says Hernandez. “There were lots of wheels, strip mirrors, custom louvers, and other things you could only get there, so you’d have family ship them to you.”

The club structure first seen on the island was soon mirrored on the mainland. “One of the big things in the 1980s and 1990s was the flags,” says Peter. “They were triangle-shaped banners that you’d hang from your back window so everybody knew what club you were in. Sometimes, as a sign of respect, you’d exchange flags with other clubs and hang them in your garage. It was just being part of a big community.”

Junior, Hernandez, and Rivera are too young to have bought E70s new, but they grew up surrounded by them and started buying their own in the mid-1990s, when their depreciated prices made them low-risk, high-reward investments.

“Growing up in Newark, everybody I knew drove a Toyota, and I learned to wrench on them by working on my mother’s Corolla,” Hernandez says. “I got my first job at 13, I started saving and eventually bought an ’81 Corolla for $175 at an auction.” He’s had more than 20 since. “They were just cheap cars then, but valuable to us.”

“I grew up in the Hoboken projects,” says Rivera, “I would see all these car clubs and see the cars at barbecues and stuff, and I was hooked.” He bought his first Corolla in 1991, before he even had a driver’s license. “To be honest it really kept me out of trouble. Also, being involved with the clubs felt like being part of a family. Plus, there was also the cruising and the racing.”

All five of the Team Toyminator E70 superfans are from northern New Jersey. Their Hunts Point was Newark’s intimidating Avenue P, a mile-long expanse of flat blacktop in a deserted industrial area of the city’s Ironbound neighborhood. “All of my cousins would go as part of their Toyota club,” Hernandez adds. “Early on I would go and hope nobody noticed I didn’t have it registered.”

Bringing back the old school

In the 1990s, places like these and others, including Zerega Avenue in the Bronx and Brooklyn’s Fountain Avenue, were sparsely patrolled and had long been the site of regular informal drags. By 2003, just about all of them had been shut down, and the scene had changed too.

While the famous AE86 inherited the E70’s chassis and only improved on it, Toyota’s front-drive Corolla replacements were much less popular with tuners and enthusiasts. “But in the late 1990s, when Super Street and Turbo magazines were at the peak of their popularity,” Peter says, “lots of people ditched their old Toyotas and Mazdas for Hondas and DSMs (cars from Diamond-Star Motors).” It was easy to see why, he says. “The cars were newer, there were more of them, and there was this huge and easy aftermarket for them.”

Junior and Peter wanted to preserve the vibe of the car clubs and shows they’d grown up with, however, Hence Team Toyminator, which started with a front-yard bash at Hernandez’s house in Piscataway. They regularly held events until 2009, when, as Junior says, “Life intervened. Kids, elderly parents, it gets harder to have enough time.” The pair are in the process of re-launching their shows, and both have noticed a major revival of interest in old-school Toyotas over the past decade.

“Lots of younger people are getting into these cars now,” Peter says. “Particularly AE86s, but also E70s because they’re much cheaper.” The Initial D–fueled interest in the AE86 means good ones now regularly sell for $15,000 to $25,000, but E70s can be had for less. “They’re still a lot more expensive than they used to be, though,” Junior adds, laughing. “I bought my last one two years ago for $7000 and it still needs body work.”

The cars are still extremely popular in Puerto Rico. “You still see them as daily drivers in people’s marquesinas (carports), but they’re also a staple of the street scene. They really take pride in them,” says Peter. “You could eat off of those engine bays.”

On the mainland, the modern old-school Toyota universe trends more toward emulating JDM styles, Junior adds, “But there’s still a distinct ‘Puerto Rican style’ within the scene. These builds tend to intentionally look more like drag racers and cars of the ’70s or early ’80s.” This is how Junior rebuilt his own original E70. Coming full circle, he adds: “They even call it ‘PRDM’—for ‘Puerto Rican Domestic market.’”

*Author’s note: Portions of these conversations have been translated from Spanish.

***

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The Subaru BRZ and its sibling, the Toyota GR86, are among the most compelling affordable sports cars currently on the market. These featherweight, two-door coupes have won legions of fans with their fluid chassis and satisfying manual transmissions. Some owners, however, have experienced significant mechanical failure of their Subaru-built FA24 boxer four-cylinder engines. Numerous reports, forum posts, and videos have circulated online over the last year discussing these instances, which an unknown number of owners have suffered during track and autocross outings. Toyota and Subaru have so far stood by their product and admitted no design or engineering flaws, and they’ve honored warranties in some cases.

None of that has stopped dedicated enthusiasts in the GR86/BRZ community, who are going to great lengths in search of a trustworthy solution. When car people sink their teeth into a problem, they dig in.

Perhaps the highest-profile case of engine failure involved an autocrosser, Arkansas-based Blake Alvarado. After Alvarado’s engine blew during one lap around a cone course in 2022, he brought his car to a Toyota dealership and requested a warranty repair. When Toyota refused to cover his engine rebuild under warranty, Alvarado let the internet know.

While Alvarado’s case was being reviewed, videos of other incidents emerged. Chatter around the GR86’s engine turned into an enthusiast forum firestorm. YouTube user LUNK recorded an engine failure during what appeared to be a fairly tame track outing.

After six months, Toyota rendered a verdict based on its corporate investigation of Alvarado’s issue. The aforementioned dealership had made a mistake, a Toyota spokesperson told Hagerty: “The Toyota dealership service department considered on-track driving as voiding the warranty, since the policy explicitly calls out ‘racing’ to fall under misuse. After further evaluation of the vehicle, it was found that although the vehicle was being driven on a track, it was not ‘raced’ and therefore not misused.”

Later inspection revealed the car had spun a rod bearing. Toyota gave Alvarado the new motor he had requested earlier that year.

Blowing chunks?

It is not entirely clear how many incidents of FA24 engine failure there have been, or even if all said incidents are due to a common issue. Undaunted, die-hard GR86 and BRZ fans nevertheless put their efforts into investigating both causes and potential solutions.

Early on, forum critics suspected the popped engines were the result of oil starvation at the oil pickup, caused by a material known as RTV (room-temperature vulcanizing silicone). RTV is used in manufacturing to seal many components in the engine, like the oil pan, timing cover, heads, and valve covers. A portion of this bonding agent, the thinking went, could come loose inside the engine and make its way into the oil pickup tube. Despite the presence of a strainer inside said pickup tube—which is designed to prevent RTV from circulating in the oiling system—enough RTV could theoretically starve the motor of oil.

With a pick tool and a few hours to clean up any “excess” RTV, proactive DIYers set to work aiming to reduce the risk of oil starvation. However, considering the potential consequences of a job done poorly, more cautious enthusiasts recommend leaving the job to a tech. “I paid an experienced mechanic to do this job because the consequences are dire if you get it wrong,” said Brian Armstrong, a Bay Area–based software engineer who is also a GR86 enthusiast and a meticulous student of the engineering on this car. “You’re working directly on the oiling system, which could cause warranty issues if the work is not done properly,”

Field research

Even for those who had taken steps to remove some RTV, failures continued at a seemingly steady rate. One group of owners went as far as fitting their cars with testing instruments to monitor the oiling systems. By studying the car’s CAN Bus data and the findings from these sensors—plus monitoring via an AiM Solo 2, a respected racing data-logging system—they put together a more detailed picture of what might actually be happening in these on-track engine failure scenarios.

The group consists of a handful of friends from the Bay Area: the aforementioned Armstrong, Miles Kodama, and an owner who goes by the handle NoStreetRacing86. They began a series of on-track tests using a first-gen BRZ, a second-gen BRZ, as well as a second-gen GR86. The newer cars, both fitted with Jackson Racing oil coolers, wore GT Radial Champiro SX2 tires 225/45R17, while the first-gen example had a set of GT Radial Champiro SX2 with 235/45R17 tires.

After testing, here is what Armstrong reported:

“We found the FA24 provides robust oil pressures in most circumstances on straights and left-hand turns. However, in some right-hand turns (particularly those with sustained lateral g, rapid lateral direction change, or elevation change) we can observe and reproduce severe oil-pressure drops.

“We believe these pressure drops are significant enough to cause bearing damage, even if not an immediate failure. We can establish the significance of the pressure drops by describing the typical oil pressure above 4000 rpm as around 60 psi, and we have observed pressure dropping as low as the mid-20s [psi] multiple times per lap.”

The video below suggests that these pressure drops are most frequently seen in fast right turns and over crests, and when engine speeds are above 6000 rpm. Below that, engine oil pressure appears to remain stable.

There is no evidence, however, to suggest that the pressure drops in question are related to RTV blocking the engine oil pickup, said Armstrong.

“We’ve been able to reproduce this across multiple cars, including cars that have had excess RTV removed from their pickup. While we do believe that RTV is still cause for concern, it is a separate problem.”

Fenton Sun, a popular YouTuber better known as Zygrene, had initially suspected that tires with more grip than stock played a role in the failures. “My theory that only cars with high-grip tires were at much higher risk of oil starvation was disproved by Brian’s data, since even cars equipped with GT Radial SX2 tires—which offer similar or even slightly less grip than OEM Pilot Sport 4—see their oil pressure drop below 30 psi in certain right-hand corners.”

Sun owns and tracks his second-generation BRZ, which, fortunately, has not failed him yet. In fact, it’s been a near-faultless car after a dozen track days.

Official response

So far, these grassroots research projects have determined nothing conclusive. And for its part, Subaru disputes any assertion that its FA24 engine suffers from a design or manufacturing flaw. Oil pressure drops, it contends, are not exactly a smoking gun. Here is the automaker’s comment to Road & Track this past June:

Subaru of America stands behind the design integrity of the FA24 engine which is used reliably in thousands of vehicles. Oil pressure varies in all engines based on rpm, temperature, cornering loads and numerous other external and internal factors. This is normal in an engine duty cycle. The FA24 engine is designed to perform within a wide set of tolerances for road use, and the Subaru BRZ is designed as a road car. Race cars are specially modified to be used for race conditions.

Most road cars aren’t designed to handle hard lapping on a race track, at least not without some modification. But what many GR86/BRZ fans took issue with was the seeming dissonance between the cars’ marketing campaign and the room for interpretation in its factory warranty. Marketing videos and advertising images of the car on race tracks—in Subaru’s case, with a racing driver behind the wheel—struck many enthusiasts as endorsements of the cars’ capabilities.

Complimentary NASA track-day passes and one-year memberships with every GR86 purchase seem to point that way, as well. According to the GR/NASA website, Toyota is treating warranty claims for GR Sports cars in the same fashion it approached Alvarado’s case:

The Toyota GR brand is driven by enthusiasts and focused on delivering incredible experiences wherever the driver may take their vehicles, including the closed-course settings for which their vehicles are designed, so long as they are driven in a manner that falls within the terms of the warranty. Each warranty claim is evaluated on a case-by-case basis.

Toyota has recently clarified its warranty policy with regard to track use. Participation in High Performance Driving Events (HPDE), including events sponsored by Toyota or affiliates, or recreation track/off-highway use does not necessarily limit/exclude warranty coverage under the New Vehicle Limited Warranty. However, damage to the vehicle or components that occurs as a result of abuse or misuse of the vehicle while participating in an HPDE or track and off-highway use is not covered.

It isn’t certain where the line is in these cases. How is “misuse” defined exactly?

“We want people to enjoy the cars in the conditions they were meant for. We will stand behind our car and honor our warranty,” said an undisclosed Toyota rep. In any case, warranty claims can be expected to include examining ECUs of failed engines and criteria such as maximum revs, engine hours, temperature, and more.

Owners take on the onus

As always, maintaining a stock setup is one way of adhering to the terms of the factory warranty. Still, some owners are passionately pursuing the source of these engine failures and modifying their cars regardless of the risks, partnering with interested shops, and in some cases making their findings available to the public.

Killer B Motorsport, a reputable Subaru specialist that has worked on EJ-powered Subarus and their oiling systems in the past, has been developing a baffle to add to the OEM oil pan. The goal is to develop an alternative to affected FA24 customers resorting to an Accusump accumulator or an expensive dry-sump system.

Armstrong fitted Killer B’s baffle to his car and studied his findings. “Unfortunately, initial testing of the prototype oil pan did not result in a meaningful improvement of oil performance, so we believe the hypothesis of oil sloshing forward into the timing cover is not at the root of these pressure drops,” he reported.

“We will remain focused on baffles as a first step because they are simple and require no maintenance, so, if we can find a design that works, it should be a good solution for the largest number of people. One of my friends in our local track community, a mechanical engineer, is currently designing a baffle and partnering with a performance motorsports company to have it produced. We’re hoping to test a prototype of that product in September.”

All of this scrutiny and testing from across the enthusiast base, Armstrong says, is sure to produce a solution. “The goal is to be able to continue to enjoy this car on the track for years to come … Any company which is willing to subject their products to rigorous testing and share the results directly with the community should be celebrated.”

***

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By now you have probably seen the Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale, an achingly pretty, limited-run, coachbuilt Italian supercar. The inspiration for this project is rooted in Alfa’s heritage–the 1967 33 Stradale developed from the automaker’s Tipo 33 race car. Carrozzeria Touring Superleggera will build each car to its customer’s specific wishes, including custom bodywork, marking Alfa’s first exercise in coachbuilding since 1969. There’s more where that came from, say company brass.

Just don’t expect any future effort from Alfa’s new “Bottega” team of tailors to include a combustion engine. The new 33 Stradale, which sold out within weeks of initial conversations with prospective buyers, offers the choice between a twin-turbo V-6 gas engine or a fully battery-electric powertrain. The existence of that option reflects an inflection point, says Alfa Romeo North America senior vice president Larry Dominique: “The ability for us to bring both gas and BEV versions to market should not be misunderstood. We wanted to give our discerning customers a choice, both for what has been and what is going to be.”

“What is going to be” means a budding suite of electric cars—crossovers and SUVs, in particular—set to flood Alfa Romeo showrooms. So-called “fuoriserie,” custom-built, cars, on the other hand, allow the Italian automaker to explore niches it might not otherwise be able to. What kind of cars, you ask?

“The 33 Stradale is a supercar, but that doesn’t mean we’ll always do that,” explains Dominique. “Just think about our history— two-seater cabriolets, roadsters, and more. In limited editions we have the flexibility to do things we can’t do in large-scale production. Plus we have the advantage of leveraging our family association with Stellantis and all of those components.”

In this case, corporate sibling Maserati donated a fair bit of bits to Alfa’s cause. The MC20 supercar’s aluminum H-frame and carbon-fiber monocoque are shared with the 33 Stradale, as are many Bilstein components for the active suspension. Both cars use carbon-ceramic brakes from Brembo.

While both have 90-degree twin-turbo V-6s, the engines are different, says Dominique. Maserati uses its proprietary 3.0-liter “Nettuno” engine (621 hp, 538 lb-ft of torque), whereas Alfa Romeo employs an evolution of the Ferrari-developed 2.9-liter twin-turbo V-6 from the Giulia and Stelvio Quadrifoglio. In the 33 Stradale, the displacement of that Ferrari mill increases to 3.0 liters and makes some 120 additional horses for a total of 620+ hp.

The 800-volt battery-electric version of the 33 Stradale produces 750+ hp but at the expense of 600 kg (1320 pounds) of additional weight. Range is about 270 miles on the EPA cycle, or 450 miles on the Euro WLTP one. The exact motor configuration and setup are still up in the air.

Niche, of course, is another way of saying “exclusive.” Whereas the MC20 costs between $225,000 and $300,000 depending on specification, you can figure about five times that for this ultra-customizable Alfa Romeo. Dominique would not divulge any specific price, citing variability depending on customer specifications, but Automotive News Europe reports roughly $1.5M.

That figure squares with Dominique’s claim that the 33 Stradale is a performance competitor with the McLaren Elva, a roofless 804-hp speedster costing about $1.7M. He also cited Pagani as a competitor.

The design and manufacturing connection to brand heritage may well help legitimize these limited-run halo products from Alfa Romeo, which technologically will bear no connections to tradition.

The entire project came together in a matter of about 10 months. Touring Superleggera is set to complete two or three cars per month, with the first delivery planned for December 17, 2024—the anniversary of the original 33 Stradale.

***

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“I hope I’m not scaring you,” Jaime Kopchinski says to the photographer and me. We’re passengers in his 1959 Mercedes-Benz 219, driving past the old churches and barns that surround his shop. I never saw the speedometer go far past 40 mph, but that indeed felt fast for a car with a radio made of tubes.

A few minutes in, though, I started to adopt the confidence Kopchinski had in his Mercedes. It wasn’t rolling hard through turns. Nothing groaned. The seats didn’t bounce or vibrate. It held the road and absorbed bumps well (an important attribute in post-war Germany).

The drive demonstrated a point that Kopchinski had made earlier about vintage Mercedes-Benzes: “These cars are designed to be extremely robust. It can run sustained at 5000 or even 6000 rpm all day until you run out of gas.” A Mercedes such as this, like the ones he works on, were built for real driving, in modern traffic. His job is to get them back to that factory setting.

You wouldn’t think much of Kopchinski’s place, Classic Workshop, if you drove past it. Just a nondescript New Jersey warehouse some 50 miles west of Manhattan. Yet it’s notable for a number of reasons. For one, it’s bursting with youth. If you need confirmation that the classic car world is full of young, curious, capable geeks, here is a good place to look. Kopchinski is only 44. He’s got a beard, flattering eyeglasses frames, and works in a black t-shirt with the shop’s logo—a minimalist outline of a thin vintage Mercedes steering wheel, designed by a friend who worked in fashion marketing.

He has two employees: Alexander Potrohosh came from Ukraine with his wife and two-year-old son as refugees. Aside from his mechanic skills, Kopchinski says Potrohosh has a special touch with dent removal. Veronica Petriella is a recent graduate of Universal Technical Institute and drives an ’87 300SDL. She’s also transgender, which is only worth mentioning because she exemplifies Kopchinski’s mission of hiring techs with a wide spectrum of backgrounds. “At the moment, we don’t have any techs from the traditional dealer or repair shop world,” he says. “That’s quite intentional.”

Then there’s the simple fact that this shop exists at all. The pandemic made the already tough business of automotive restoration even more challenging. With the cost of parts on the rise and skilled labor on the decline, even some veteran restorers have decided to call it quits. Yet for Kopchinski, it’s the realization of a long-held dream.

Despite his young age, he already has a decades-long list of accomplishments in the automotive industry which informs how the place operates. Before he opened Classic Workshop in March 2023, Kopchinski worked in-house at Jaguar Land Rover, managing a team of engineers tasked with optimizing the infotainment systems in models like the 2020 Defender. And before Jaguar Land Rover, starting in the early 2000s, he worked on the radios and infotainment systems in Mercedes-Benzes. You can find his work in the AMG GT, the E-Class, the S-Class, and Maybachs of the 2000s and 2010s.

In 2017, when Mercedes relocated his department from New Jersey to Southern California, he reluctantly quit, took the severance pay, and spent the next several months wrenching on cars in his home garage. “That was probably the first taste I had of actually working on cars all time,” he says. “It was the best.” Five years later, when he was at Jaguar Land Rover, word-of-mouth referrals led to a waiting list of over 30 cars. Meanwhile, the pandemic spiked the value of the vehicles he was working on. He started asking around about which buildings were available and applying for loans. Wherever he went to make his case to get the operation off the ground, he arrived in a vintage Mercedes-Benz, usually a 1972 280SE, as a conversation starter for the business.

He found his building, secured loans, and convinced the town council to let him open his business. After he had set up successors and delegated projects, he told Jaguar Land Rover that March 10, 2023 would be his last day. “Every one of my colleagues wanted to know about the business,” he says. “Because they’re car people. They were so excited about someone going into their passion.”

That background gives him a unique perspective: Although he’s obviously obsessed with old cars, he is not one to romanticize the past and dismiss the automotive present. Kopchinski can wax poetic about the latest generations of the S-Class. He recalls test driving one in Florida, along the Tamiami trail. “There’s this dirt road that runs parallel to half of it,” he says. “We were going 40 miles an hour in a prototype S-Class, just flying down the road, rushing through puddles, slowing down for the alligators. They’re just so robust.”

His past life may also inform his appreciation for what he calls “The real treasures in this place.” On a shelf behind one of the workbenches, underneath a tool for diagnosing Bosch fuel injection systems, there are dozens of small books. They’re full of diagrams and specifications—torque for certain bolts, power output curves, something called “injection timing device bushings.” “It’s every technical spec that you could ever imagine,” Kopchinski says.

The shop itself is huge, bright—it’s such a big space that you don’t really have to hunch over or watch where you’re stepping. Inside are three lifts, workbenches, organized shelves full of parts and tools, a wheel balancer, a forklift, and a bunch of customer vehicles—an R129 SL-Class, a W126 S-Class, a G-Wagen, stuff from post-war all the way through the ’90s. The walls have big plastic Mercedes-Benz star logos and posters that he rescued from the trash, at his old job.

The shop is busy with between 15 and 20 vehicles being serviced on any day and a waitlist of around 35. The work surfaces reflect this, with Post-Its and grime-covered parts. But the space is so clean and organized that you’d think it serviced electric vehicles. The only blemish on the surgically clean, light gray floor are some fluids that spill from an old SL.

Along with the manufacturer’s obsessive documentation and a range of specialty tools, Classic Workshop’s operation depends on a reliable flow of quality parts. Which, he says, Mercedes does especially well. “A lot of people like to complain that Mercedes doesn’t support their classic cars,” he says. “But I find that to be untrue.” He gets daily FedEx deliveries from Mercedes-Benz Classic Center in Long Beach, California, which supplies the majority of the parts that he uses to get and keep cars running. “Pretty much anything I could need, they can get me tomorrow morning,” he says. For components that he can’t get straight from the source, he orders them from separate supplies, which Mercedes will often hire to keep up with demand. These replacements might cost more than and look a bit different from the originals, but the metal and rubber will be the same as what was put in the vehicle at the factory.

Part of what makes sourcing so easy for him is that, as he observed while working there, Mercedes thinks hard before making any changes to their cars. Both an early 1970s S-Class and a 2015 S-Class, he points out, have the wiper and headlight controls in the same place. Another example: a connector that he pulls from under the hood of a 1991 420SEL, which is almost identical to the same corrosion-resistant, expensive connector in modern Mercedes-Benzes.

“I’m sure these engineers knew more than we do right now about that particular component. Mechanics love to say, ‘Why did the engineers do this?’” Kopchinski says. “But there’s a million reasons why they engineered a thing a certain way, and it’s not to screw a mechanic 15 years later.”

I ask him what these modern, gadget-laden models will mean for his shop and for people who want to buy an older Mercedes. The current models are loaded with transistors, sensors, and screens, tech hardware that were used to failing or becoming obsolete within a decade. Will touchscreen-operated scent diffusers be repairable?

Back when Kopchinski was working on the 2003 E-Class, he had the same thought: that they’ll be too complicated to fix, that they’ll only last 15 years. “Now, 20 years later, they’re great used cars,” he says. “And they’re maintainable, because everyone figured out the electronics.” That’s because this era of auto technology coincided with the growth of the internet, which made it easier to buy and learn how to use modern tools to install replacement parts. “Young people who are buying the 20-year-old Mercedes for their first $5000 car, they grew up in the 2000s,” he says. “Electronics don’t scare them at all.” Kopchinski refers me back to his point about the caliber of work that he saw done at Mercedes: “[The engineers] take quality extremely seriously. [The cars] are just different. And that’s okay.”

Now, a skeptical reader might note that were it not for those electronics, modern Mercedes wouldn’t depreciate to $5000 in the first place. Yet part of what makes Kopchinski so good at making you want a classic Mercedes is that he sounds like he’s never stopped being a fan. By his estimation he’s owned between 75 and 100 of them. Most were ancestors to the cars he was helping engineer through the 2000s and 2010s. (He’s also owned two Porsches, two Saabs, a Volvo, and currently owns an NSU Ro 80—a West German sedan with a Wankel engine.)

Listen to Kopchinski for long enough and it becomes tough to be cynical about modern cars. The screens and driver aids in modern S-Classes seem less like excess gadgetry and more like timestamp advancements that mark the evolution of a brand. His shop, then, keeps examples of the markers in that timeline in motion, all keeping pace with each other on the road.

We go back to his shelf of Mercedes-issued technical books. In the copies dating from the late ’50s and early ’60s, many pages are dedicated to a then-radical technology: fuel injection.

***

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For the cost of the gas in the tank, plus $8 for a couple of searing-hot tacos, I enjoyed one of America’s greatest car shows this past weekend. Unlike most car shows, this one moves. It’s the Woodward Dream Cruise, an automotive Super Bowl for the everyman of Detroit. Every kind of car you can imagine—from old VW Buses to Ford Country Squires, slammed rat rods, and exotic supercars—cruise the city’s famous four-lane boulevard on this momentous Saturday each August. Onlookers can post up in a folding chair on the side of the road or, in the spirit of the day, travel down Woodward and share pavement with the cruisers. Riding a Goldwing? Driving a Geo? Doesn’t matter. At Dream Cruise there is one guiding star: run whatcha brung.

In truth, the phenomenon of cool cars cruising Woodward Avenue plays out all summer in Detroit and along the artery to the surrounding metro area. But only on the third Saturday of the month does it reach such a fever pitch, with traffic lights blinking yellow and pop-up tents dotting the side of the road. Engines seem to rev with the breeze. The rich smell of fuel and oil floods the nostrils.

The event, which shares a weekend with the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance each year, stands in stark contrast to those moneyed happenings on the Monterey Peninsula. Having attended both events over a decade of writing about cars, I am considerably more comfortable at the Dream Cruise: I try to avoid putting on a jacket and tie unless someone is getting married, Bar/Bat Mitzvah’d, or buried. On Woodward I toss my camera over my shoulder and kneel on the grass in the median. It’s fun to walk from intersection to intersection, running across the lanes, when there is a rare break in traffic, to get a closer look at some parked car. Conversation flows among onlookers, easy chatter about the cars we saw, the ones we like, the ones we own.

I’m not alone in my affection for the Dream Cruise. Talk show legend, car collecting titan, stand-up comedian, and Hagerty columnist Jay Leno certainly can afford to fund a caviar-encrusted soirée or fifty in Monterey, but he was in Detroit on Saturday. Standing alongside Dodge CEO Tim Kuniskis, inside restaurant and popular car hangout Vinsetta Garage, Leno promoted a partnership between his brand of car cleaning products and Dodge’s Direct Connection parts brand. Kuniskis had a trick up his sleeve, however, surprising Leno by yanking the silk off of the comedian’s own Demon 170—the first customer order delivered.

Leno stuck around to answer some questions, but he was eager to hit Woodward.

“I like Pebble Beach, but it’s $5000 a day,” Leno said. “[The Dream Cruise] is more egalitarian. People are eating hamburgers and hot dogs, driving Ramblers or whatever else. And it’s free! Where do you find a car show that’s free anymore? Everywhere you look—the Corvette guys have their place, over there the Dodge guys have their place, it’s great.”

In a train of other cars, we followed the Demon 170 in a bright blue Charger Super Bee. The Super Bee is based on the Scat Pack and one of Dodge’s “Last Call” models—a final run of special-edition Chargers and Challengers meant to send off the long-lived muscle cars before Dodge changes tack to electrified performance. What better way to bid farewell to America’s favorite muscle sedan than to share its 485-horsepower, 475 lb-ft, 6.4-liter Hemi with adoring Detroiters?

For 2023, the Last Call Super Bee comes from the factory with a hockey bag of performance extras: Carved into the hood are twin heat extractors, a functional scoop, and a pair of old-school pins. Adaptive dampers are also standard, capable of shifting weight balance to the rear to maximize the car’s traction when it engages Drag Mode. Other standard hardware includes four-piston front brakes wrapped around 20×9.5-inch wheels and 275-section Nexen drag radials. All told, with a couple of interior option packages, the window sticker reads just shy of $64,000. Few car companies can sell a car on a platform this dated, charge this much, and nonetheless thrill their customers to no end. One gets the sense Dodge is as bummed as we are for the era to be over, so the cars might as well rip a smoky burnout while shuffling off their mortal coils.

Judging by just how many Chargers and Challengers we saw cruising Woodward, we’ll be seeing these cars on the road for years to come. Dodge has long been a source of wonderful color schemes, and our electric B5 Blue Charger floated through intersections among a sea of Plum Crazy purple, Sublime neon-green, and Go Mango orange.

Hearing them is a guarantee, too. Nothing delights yet terrifies small children like the bark of a big Hemi revving at a red light, then idling with menace, as if agitated at the inconvenience. And putting your foot into the throttle never gets old—this Scat Pack motor feels and sounds like it wants to devour everything in the hood scoop’s path. You become rubber; everything else is mere road.

The ride is comfortable. The car will turn, when it pleases the court, albeit with palpable weight transfer. Your sense of the front end is decent at best, and on curvier roads it’s never entirely obvious when and how the chassis will settle. None of that is enough to dissuade you from chasing the rev limiter of whatever gear shows on the instrument cluster. The transmission will happily hold gears if you select manual mode via the shift paddles, which were pleasantly cool and metallic to the touch on that particular, surprisingly chill August morning. Seats are a touch firm and feel rather flat, but they are impressively wide and offer plenty of lateral movement. An Abraham Lincoln impersonator wouldn’t crush his hat with all the room under the roof.

Big, comfy, thunderous muscle sedans like this—should they endure—may never provide these same sensations. Leno spoke for many Mopar fans when he quoted Mark Twain: “I’m in favor of progress; it’s change I don’t like.”

He jokes, yet Leno insists that we shouldn’t fear the future: “EVs can keep cars like [the Demon 170] alive. They allow for the pressure to come off them,” he said.

Down the road, too, there must still be great performance cars to which we can look forward.

“When we [Americans] put our mind to something, we can do it quick. I remember not being able to go outside in L.A. in the 1970s, not being able to see the mountains,” Leno said. “Now, I can see the mountains.”

Up and down Woodward Avenue, and from the Chesapeake to Monterey Bay, it’s last call for the Dodge Charger. It will be missed but, we hope, not mourned.

***

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Ed Krenz, former chief engineer of the Ford Mustang and current chief engineer of the Ford Bronco, isn’t ready to put the internal combustion engine out to pasture. Meeting with journalists last night at a gathering on Detroit’s Woodward Avenue, Krenz responded to questions about the future of Ford enthusiast vehicles. “Nothing against EVs, but we want to keep making propulsion systems people want for as long as they’ll buy them and as long as they want them.”

The current-generation Ford Mustang, for context, is the product of Krenz’s prior posting. He celebrated the fact that while others have “abandoned the sports car segment,” the new S650-generation has a V-8 and a stick. With the Camaro’s future uncertain and the Challenger’s muscle car destiny increasing appearing to involve batteries, the Mustang is the last pony car in town for the time being.

In terms of the Bronco, which packs a turbo four-cylinder or one of two boosted V-6s, people definitely want it. The off-roader finished 2022 with more than 117,000 total sales, and at the end of July 2022 had 65,463 sales under its belt. A year later, at the close of July 2023, numbers are up to 71,335.

With every passing month, Krenz says, the Bronco team learns more and more what its customers want. That has led to changes in the lineup and available configurations for 2024, including discontinuation of the two-door Outer Banks model (at least for now). Improvements to noise insulation and frameless door design are also in the pipeline.

And when it comes to the rip-roaring, 418-hp Bronco Raptor, buyers want it all. “We have not found the upper limit of transaction price there,” Krenz said. “Those customers are the every-box-checkers.” With a starting price of just under $88,000 including destination, it’s a safe bet that Bronco Raptors are selling well above six figures. And Ford is building them as fast as it can to keep up with demand, according to Krenz.

Ford recently split its retail operations into two business units, Blue and Model e, with the former focusing on internal combustion engines and the latter on EVs. Kumar Galhotra, head of Ford Blue, said back in May that it expects “trucks, off-road, and performance segments [to] have a long runway,” with respect to profitability in the coming years. Blue expects profit margins on ICE vehicles to improve from 7.2 percent to 10 percent or more by 2026.

After that time, as EVs increase market share, Blue expects volume and margins to reverse course. Galhotra nonetheless forecasted “strong U.S. ICE and hybrid sales well into the next decade.”

One method to drive healthy profits for enthusiast vehicles? Derivatives. Thus the smorgasbord of Bronco high-margin/low-cost-to-build offerings from the base model to the Sasquatch package and the Raptor, as well as the Mustang’s range from the EcoBoost to the GT, Dark Horse, and now the $300,000+ GTD supercar. May it last.

***

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Roadster lovers were spoiled for choice in the early 2000s. Following the surprise, smash success of the original Miata a decade earlier, automakers rushed to feed a growing hunger for dedicated, two-seat open-air sports cars. These days, the Honda S2000 is among the most beloved (and highest-valued) of these successors. In fact, for more than five years, pre- and post-refresh S2000s have sat atop the 2000s-era roadster market. So what’s this Honda’s secret sauce?

The front-mid-engine, rear-drive, six-speed-manual-only S2000 reached showrooms for the 2000 model year, which made it fashionably late to this topless party. The Germans were first to the jump, with the BMW Z3, Mercedes-Benz SLK, Porsche Boxster, and Audi TT all arriving by 1998. Each car had its merits—the Z3’s smooth straight-six, the SLK’s luxury appointments, the Boxster’s expert chassis balance, and the TT’s cutting-edge Bauhaus design. Leave it to Honda, however, to take the Miata’s formula of sports car purity and add a dose of high-revving thrill.

Based on the Honda Sport Study Model concept for the 1995 Tokyo motor show, and drawing influence from classic Honda roadsters like the S500 and S800, the S2000 prioritized light weight, balance, and responsiveness. The SSM concept drew inspiration from Honda’s Formula 1-winning race cars of the mid-1960s, which won acclaim for their compact and lightweight V-12 engines.

The S2000 does not pack a V-12, but its F20C naturally aspirated four-cylinder was nonetheless remarkable for its time. The aluminum-alloy, dual-overhead-cam engine featured Honda’s signature VTEC variable valve timing, along with a screaming 8800-rpm redline that yielded 240 hp and 153 lb-ft of torque from just 2.0 liters of displacement. Those numbers amounted to the highest specific output (power per liter of displacement) of any production engine in the world at the time.

Honda’s “high X-bone frame” and monocoque body allowed for the engine to be positioned as far toward the center of the car as possible, helping the S2000 achieve an enviable 50:50 weight distribution. Sixteen-inch wheels wrapped around 11-inch disc brakes, hiding double wishbone suspension all around. Known for its fantastic manual transmissions, Honda developed an all-new six-speed for the S2000 that included close-ratio gears, a short and direct-feeling linkage, and lightweight flywheel. A Torsen limited-slip differential came standard.

The car was an undeniable success, touted by media and owners alike for its unfiltered, unfettered sports car experience. Its $32,000 starting price was considerable at the turn of the millennium, when the Accord cost half that much. The S2000 was, however, about six grand cheaper than a comparable Z3, and roughly fifteen grand cheaper than a base-model Boxster. In typical Honda fashion, it was a car that overperformed for its price point and won legions of followers. More than 113,000 S2000s were sold globally until it went out of production after the 2009 model year, with U.S. customers accounting for 66,000 cars—more than half of the total run.

Rarity, then, is not a factor driving the S2000’s value and desirability. Instead, we’d argue, the motivating forces here are twofold: a carefully distilled driving experience and its uniqueness in the pantheon of Honda sports cars.

An S2000 at full blast is a singular experience. Even the 2007 AP2 car we drove at Michigan’s GingerMan Raceway, with its slightly tamer personality compared the earlier AP1, offers delightful sensations that the great-driving Boxster can’t match. The engine is the star—lively and fearsomely responsive to your right foot. Between 6000 rpm and its peak at 8000 rpm, the updated “F22C1” 2.2-liter produces a gorgeous, eager hum. AP1 cars take that sensation further with their higher redline, albeit at the expense of mid-range oomph and tractability on ordinary driving.

We were able to tackle most of the track in third gear alone. During our first passes on the front and back straight at GingerMan, however, we accidentally short-shifted a few hundred rpm shy of the limiter, trusting our ear instead of the F1-style digital tachometer. The shifter is picture-perfect, with short, deliberate throws and a more mechanical feel with each gear engagement than in a Z3 or Boxster.

The chassis, too, feels distinctive. You notice this mostly through the car’s balance, which remains consistent and predictable even at high speed and under heavy inputs. (AP2 cars are known to be more forgiving in this regard, following suspension changes to the original AP1 that in some customer hands resulted in unexpected oversteer.) Body roll is minimal. The S2000 changes direction seemingly the moment you command it to, dancing through a succession of tighter, faster corners with delightful disregard for inertia. Steering is electrically assisted but sniper-precise and mighty quick. Feedback via the Boxster’s and Miata’s steering wheel is perhaps more nuanced, but only the S2000 makes you feel like you’re wearing it rather than driving it.

Interior designers took a minimalist approach to the S2000s interior. It’s snug rather than cramped, but for longer road trips something like a Nissan 350Z would be more comfortable. Everything is arranged with the driver in mind. The tidy suite of climate controls are stacked next to the steering wheel. There is no typical center console, and even the radio is hidden behind a small plastic door. The steering wheel itself is small without feeling dainty, with thin yet still substantial-feeling rim. Leather trim on the seats and doors offers a slightly more premium experience than your typical 2000s Honda, which helped justify the S2000’s position above the Miata in the marketplace.

Looking at #2-condition (Excellent) cars, AP2 S2000 values surpassed the earlier AP1 in early 2022. One possible explanation for this phenomenon is that they’re newer and lower-mileage, as well as a bit more usable in daily driving thanks to the improvement in low- and mid-range torque.

No S2000 commands more dollars in the market than the Club Racer, however. This limited-run, special-edition S2000 was specially tuned for track work. Offered solely for the 2008 and 2009 model years, the CR represented a subtle but comprehensive overhaul of the entire S2000 package. At launch, American Honda executive vice president John Mendel called the CR “the closest thing you can get to a Honda-built racecar with license plate holders and a horn.” Changes included revised exterior aerodynamics, structural bracing and stiffening, a standard aluminum hardtop replacing the ordinary soft top, a quicker steering ratio, stiffer dampers and anti-roll bars, wider wheels (still measuring 17 inches in diameter), and a cloth interior with yellow stitching. Total weight savings amounted to 90 pounds.

In the CR’s case, rarity certainly plays a role in its appeal. Honda built fewer than 700 examples when production was cut short mid-2009, ostensibly in light of slowing sales following the global financial crisis.

An S2000 CR in Excellent condition now commands $108,000, an increase of 21.5 percent over the last year. For context, that’s the exact same price for a 1992 Acura NSX. A base AP2 S2000 over that same time frame has gained just 5.3 percent, costing $44,000 on average. This massive price leap for the CR exceeds even what we’ve seen from the Porsche Boxster Spyder and Cayman R, as well as the BMW Z3 M Roadster.

Jonathan Wong owns the white S2000 featured here. He’s had a blue 2008 CR in his stable since 2011, a car he’s casually and regularly tracked throughout his ownership. Wong picked up the white car a couple years ago after driving a friend’s modified S2000, eager to dive into a higher-mileage car that he’d feel comfortable tweaking as he saw fit.

“I knew there was a possibility that if I went down the modification hole, I may end up going farther than I originally intended to. Was I going to do those things to my still clean, low-mileage CR? I thought about it for a second, but I stuck with the promise I made to myself when I originally bought the car 12 years ago that it would remain stock.”

So far the only changes he’s made to his white 2007 are braided brake lines with high-performance fluid and pads, but he’s eyeing a set of Öhlins suspension to swap on when time allows.

For normal road driving, he already much prefers the standard S2000 to the CR: “My white S2000 is certainly more compliant compared to the CR,” he says. “There’s more give in the suspension, which is very appreciated while bumming around town and taking drives across the state. In the CR, after a driving a couple hours to and from GingerMan from metro Detroit for an open track day, I’d feel wrecked. That’s not the case in the white car, which is not itself a luxurious ride, but the difference is noticeable.”

Naturally, the CR has the edge on track. “The CR feels a touch more buttoned-up—crisper and more rapid to respond at turn-in. Weight transitions are quicker side to side and under braking. All of that stiffening and bracing don’t represent a gigantic leap over the stock car, but they sharpen an already sharp knife. The base car is still hugely enthralling to drive on a track, though, more so even today’s Mazda Miata with its high dose of body roll before the car takes a set.”

Regardless of which S2000 enthralls you most, all signs point to Honda’s roadster remaining a healthy collectible for the foreseeable future. Maintenance is not Civic-cheap, but it’s certainly more palatable than a Boxster or Z3, and the clean, frill-free styling has aged well since the car’s debut more than two decades ago. And for Honda die-hards in the U.S. especially, the S2000 represents an anomaly—the brand’s only rear-drive sports car on these shores since the Acura-badged NSX supercar. It’s a dedicated roadster on a specialized platform, a consequence of several driving-obsessed Honda engineers scrambling into a room and locking the door before the marketing wonks could claw their way inside. A Honda with the S2000’s particular combination of power, agility, and classic sports-car design is a special one, indeed.

***

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This column is part of a series from “Josh Arakes,” a senior U.S. military pilot who has obtained permission to share some of his life with Hagerty. Josh’s writing orbits the intersection of cars, the rigors of military aviation, and how we all think and work under pressure. Enjoy! —Ed.

Cleared for takeoff, I turned my fighter jet onto the runway, stopped on the centerline, pushed hard against the top of my rudder pedals to hold the brakes, and ran up my engines. Looking over the cluster of gauges, I verified that my rpm, oil pressure, nozzle position, and exhaust temperature were all in limits. Content with my final checks, I released the brakes, selected maximum afterburner, and my jet leapt forward, anxious to slip the bonds of earth.

During a takeoff roll, a variety of speed measurements are important to the pilot. One is the calculated takeoff data (takeoff distance, speed, and required stopping distance in the event of an emergency, etc.) which need to be verified are valid. Another is abort speed, or the maximum speed at which you could decide not to go airborne in the event of a catastrophic emergency and stop in the remaining runway. Once you’ve exceeded abort speed, it is physically impossible to stop in the remaining runway should you decide taking off is not in your best interests; the decision is especially fun when if you can neither takeoff (engines fail) nor stop in the remaining runway. Thus, even if your engine(s) is/are on fire, while moving at above abort speed the right answer is generally to select max afterburner (if you haven’t already), get airborne, raise the gear, and then work to address whatever the issue may be. Letting the engine(s) literally cook for as long as it takes to get airborne and (somewhat) away from the ground is the only way to keep from losing the entire aircraft.

Initially, the takeoff roll on this particular day was nominal; I was rolling down the runway in my multi-million dollar fighter jet, no big deal. That is, until I accelerated through abort speed, at which point there was a disturbingly loud “boom” from behind me and my caution/warning panel lit up like Clark Griswold’s house on Christmas. Concurrent with the boom was a significant loss of thrust. In short, all signs, auditory (the boom), physical (clear loss of thrust), and visual (caution/warning lights and zero rpm showing on the engine gauges), indicated my engines had shelled themselves and were no longer producing any thrust (though I imagine the fireball trailing behind me must have been a sight to see).

Recognizing going airborne was not an option (no engines = no thrusties = no lifties = no flying) and that there wasn’t enough runway remaining in which I could stop using my brakes, my only chance to stop before rolling off the end of the runway at a high rate of speed was to put my jet’s hook down and catch the cable resting on the runway about 1000 feet prior to the departure end for just such emergencies (whether they be Air Force or Navy aircraft, all U.S. fighter jets have a deployable hook). Tragically, I soon became task-saturated and misprioritized my actions. Pulling the throttle back to idle to minimize the fireball trailing behind me (and to ensure I wasn’t still accelerating), getting a radio call out to tower so they could get the fire trucks rolling to put the fire out, and fighting the jet’s tendency to drift towards the side of the runway all distracted me; I put the hook down just after I passed over the cable.

(On an unrelated note, there’s a saying that the three most useless things to a pilot are the altitude above you, the air in your fuel tanks, and the runway behind you.)

Once I realized the cable wasn’t going to stop me and I was about to go off-roading in a fighter jet, I applied maximum braking pressure in an effort to get the jet as slow as possible before going into the dirt. I had decided long before that if I were to exit the runway at more than 50 knots (about 55 mph) I would eject as the rollover risk was just too high. Best-case scenario now was that I’d be under 50 knots and I wouldn’t have to pull the yellow-and-black striped ejection handles that would rocket me airborne and set me down gently (ish) under a silken halo.

As I departed the prepared surface, just below my self-imposed 50-knot limit, everything froze.

The lights in the simulator turned on, and the sim instructor’s voice was immediately in my ear asking me what I had done wrong.

This simulator exercise occurred after my initial pilot training was complete and was part of my training and qualification for flying a fighter jet. I’d had roughly six weeks of preparation (hours of academic lessons and simulators), and I hadn’t yet flown the jet for real, so there was lots I was still learning. We spent a few minutes going over my myriad mistakes, noted our sim session was about to end, and the instructor asked if I wanted to try the same scenario again. I replied I absolutely wanted to get it right and to put me back at the approach end of the runway.

After resetting me, clearing all the cautions/warnings, and giving me a fully functioning aircraft in the process, he uttered the words fighter pilots frequently hear when practicing emergency procedures: “New jet, new day.” It means that whatever messy emergency situation we had just been working through was all in the past and my aircraft was considered good as new.

***

One hundred and sixty-seven days ago, the engine of our 2006 Lexus LX470 died, resulting in an early-morning taxi ride of shame. We took it to a mechanic in town who specializes in Land Cruisers/LX470s. After the confirmed diagnosis of rod knock, we opted to pay for a replacement engine since we loved the vehicle so much and in our roughly 18 months of ownership to that point we’d already taken it on several epic trips and had plans for many more. He gave us a couple options, and we opted to pay a bit more to get an engine with a six-month warranty, which he then doubled (gratis) to 12 months.

It took a couple weeks to find a replacement engine, and we settled on an engine that had about 80,000 miles on it (our original engine had 120,000) from a Toyota Tundra. About six weeks after the initial engine failure, the replacement engine arrived at his shop. It wasn’t a drop-in motor, and he had to move over essentially everything that wasn’t the block and headers (accessories, intake/exhaust manifolds, injectors, timing belt, water pump, etc., etc.). While pulling all the various parts off of the old engine on which he found signs of damage. That included water and mud in the intake, as well as an extraordinary quantity of rodent droppings.

We’ve done water crossings with the Lexus, but not anything that was even close to deep enough that it would send water down the intake. I’ll confess to not having cleaned the K&N air filter since we bought it, nor do I recall pulling the air filter as I was inspecting it pre-purchase, so I can’t say with 100-percent certainty the water and mud in the intake wasn’t our fault. But I’m 99.99-percent certain it wasn’t us. I’m no rodent scatologist, thus I chose not to wade into the hantavirus soup to determine its precise vintage. We did park the Lexus outside, so that might have been on us, but in any case the soup didn’t seem to be the root cause of the engine failure and there weren’t any signs the rodents had chewed on anything. Just a nasty mess, though.

Not long after the new engine arrived, the mechanic had to depart the shop space he was renting due to a variety of electrical code issues the landlord wasn’t willing to fix. The new shop was an hour away from his old shop and it took some time to move all the vehicles and get set up, resulting in more delay.

The mechanic and I talked a lot about what parts should be replaced while the engine was out. The LX470 only had 120,000 miles on it, but anything that looked suspect and was easily accessed with the engine out we agreed would be replaced for essentially only the price of the part. The starter and torque converter were the only things he found concerning, and we had to wait a bit for those parts to arrive. The actual swap went well. As his new shop was 90 minutes from my house I only made one trip to check on the progress, though he was always super responsive with updates and photos.

Understandably, my wife and I were ecstatic when our mechanic got it back on the road in late February and everything was looking good. We picked a Wednesday to come pick it up, but we had to shift it to Saturday when the crankshaft position sensor failed Wednesday morning. He installed it Friday and during the subsequent test drive he heard an ominous clunk, so he told me not to drive up on Saturday while he investigatied.

A couple days later he texted and told me the head had failed and the engine was shot.

This was not as easy as new jet, new day.

The good news: We had paid extra for a warrantied engine. The bad news: The company wouldn’t send engine #3 until they received engine #2 and looked it over to verify it had, in fact, failed. Naturally, the person handling all their warranty stuff was out for a couple weeks due to a medical issue. Our mechanic pulled engine #2, stripped off all the parts he would need to now transfer to engine 3.0, and shipped it back once the warranty paperwork was finally started.

About 10 days ago the supplier was finally able to verify engine #2 had failed and they owed us another engine. It took them another week to get a line on an engine, though they won’t actually take possession of it until this week (at the earliest), at which point they can do their work to ensure it’s ready for primetime (cough like engine #2 cough) and then ship it to our mechanic.

Speaking of the mechanic: The warranty only provides a new engine but doesn’t pay him for all of his extra work. I’m not infinitely patient and my wife and I have been frustrated, but he’s been great to work with and always super responsive even though he’s essentially working for free at this point. He’s as ready as we are to get it out of his shop and back to us. Then, we’re going to go wheeling together.

As I write this, 167 days after the initial failure, I’d be surprised if we have the truck back before the end of June. After all, it’s going to be at least two weeks before it’s even shipped to the mechanic, one week in transit, then he’s got to fit us in with all his work for which he’s still getting paid, then several days for test drives (he did about 100 miles on engine #2 and I’d like a similar quantity on #3 before we pick it up), and my wife and I have to find a day in which we have three hours to spend on the roundtrip to pick it up.

***

Each of a fighter jet’s engines are held in place by about three bolts. To be sure, there are lots of other fuel and electronic connections, but actual bolts holding the engine to the aircraft total three. Considering the tens of thousands of pounds of thrust they output and the forces they have to withstand, I was stunned to learn how little fastens them in place. I’ve not watched an entire engine swap, but I’ve watched enough to be impressed with how quickly the maintainers remove and replace one engine with another.

It takes longer than in a simulator but a whole lot less than 167 days. New jet, new day indeed!

***

Epilogue: In the weeks since I wrote this (working through the process for the military to approve these articles takes some time), the engine company decided engine 3.0 was also bad. After a couple weeks of them not trying especially hard to find another one (the fact that these engines are now going for $2000 more than we paid for ours likely had nothing to do with that, right) we gave up and decided to rebuild our original engine. The engine company happily returned our money and our mechanic sent our original block (which had never even been picked up by the engine company) to a shop that builds race car engines. I’m writing this mid-July and we hope to have the LX470 back mid-August, some 270 days since it failed.

Guess it’s a good thing I bought something else in the interim, but that story will have to wait. New jet, new day!

***

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Though the Corvette is by far the most consistent model in Barbie’s six-decade-plus collection, the mainstay American doll has claimed a number of other cars. Curious to know what some selections from her complete collection might be worth today? Assuming she keeps her cars in Excellent (#2) condition, let’s stack them up.

She’s owned a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air, the big-finned American classic, which could be had as a blue on two-tone pink and white or pink on two-tone pink. According to the Hagerty Price Guide, it’s worth $84,600 in Excellent shape on average. Her first car was a 1962 Austin Healey 3000 MkII ($74,600), which could be had in myriad colors. Her 1962 Mercedes Benz 190SL would snag $139,000 on average.

By 1981, acid-washed Barbie got a Radwood dream car in the VW “Jazzie” Rabbit Cabriolet (about $8000), a decidedly more practical car with fun bumper stickers that read, “High School is cool” and “I Heart Cool Dudes.”

Not to be outdone by Magnum P.I., Barbie went Italian in 1986 with a Ferrari 328 GTB ($191,000) that got iconic five-spoke wheels and red over tan or white over tan interior—both classic specs for this classic girl. She’s not stymied one bit by that gated shifter!

For the off-road adventurer in Barbie, nothing would do but a ’90s-era Jeep. Thankfully, it was after the era of rectangular YJ headlamps that Barbie rocked her pink Wrangler TJ ($23,200). It was an RC car sporting off-road tires and an “Oh, Sh*t” handle for Ken, who tried to conceal his fear while Barbie bombed through Baja.

Her 1994 Jaguar XJS convertible ($31,900) got burl-wood interior trim stickers, white leather, an automatic transmission, and a radio. Porsche jumped into the Barbie business with both a 964-generation 911 cabriolet ($64,000) that had working headlights and, later, a red-on-tan Boxster ($21,000) with a motorized, retractable roof.

Even Ford got a slice of the pie when it sold Barbie a 2003 Mustang GT convertible ($25,000 for a 2005 model)—merely a prototype for the fifth-generation pony car when Barbie curled her perfectly plastic fingers around its steering wheel. Eat your heart out, Vanilla Ice!

Just the cars mentioned here (not even including her Corvettes) would be valued well over $500,000 in total. And we didn’t even get into the camper van, the BMW Z8, her Rolls Royce Spirit of Ecstasy, or other cars like her Volkswagen Beetle, Volvo V70 wagon, or pink Fiat 500. Barbie has been a journalist, but on that salary alone she could never afford all these cool cars. Good thing she can pay the bills as a surgeon, pilot, firefighter, Olympic athlete, flight attendant, computer engineer, video game developer, Mars explorer, and CEO.

***

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We recently wrote about the surge of interest in 2000s-era BMWs among younger generations, a trend that shows no signs of slowing. Prices for the Z3 M Coupe—a cult favorite in this class—have leveled off after a lengthy rise, but given the car’s enduring popularity, we don’t see values coming back to Earth any time soon. That has us wondering: What’s going on with the Z3 M Coupe’s successor, the 2006-08 Z4 M Coupe? Is the flame-surfaced M machine a collector car in the making?

The right ingredients are there. Like its predecessor, the Z4 M Coupe (codename E86) was a high-performance hardtop version of BMW’s Z-Series roadster. The two-seat hatchback configuration continued, as did the use of the naturally-aspirated, 3.2-liter straight-six (codename S54) from the M3. The S54 makes 330 hp in the Z4 M, compared with 315 hp in the Z3 M, and is mated to a six-speed manual transmission rather than the previous car’s five-speed.

Despite the common engine, though, the Z3 M and Z4 M were completely different cars. Remember that the Z3 platform combined the front strut-type suspension from the E36-generation 3-Series with the archaic semi-trailing arm rear suspension from the earlier E30-generation 3-Series. It was a small, squat, odd-looking, high-revving German hot rod with M3 power and a lively, even squirrely demeanor when pushed. The Z3 M Coupe was designed and engineered as a rewarding driver’s car on the road, rather than a proper track machine.

The Z4 M, on the other hand, was much more of a road-course weapon, sharing its basic suspension setup (front struts and multilink rear) with the E46 M3: front control arms, rear subframe, and anti-roll bar mounting points are all common, as is the M-specific variable-lock differential. Key components came from the limited-run M3 CSL as well, including the cross-drilled brakes and steering rack.

This renewed focus on track capability, made possible by the Z4’s more modern platform and a number of off-the-shelf BMW M parts, achieved two things. First, it legitimized the connection between the Z4 M road car and its race-car cousin, the E86 Z4 GT3. (BMW did not go racing with the Z3.) It also allowed BMW to compete head-on with Porsche’s new-for-2006 Cayman S.

We drove the Z3 M and Z4 M Coupes back-to-back earlier this year, on admittedly flat and boring Florida roads. Still, even in ordinary traffic the cars feel fundamentally distinct. The Z3 M Coupe is friendly and tractable at low speeds, but it doesn’t take much prodding to coax out its wild-child personality. Big stomps on the throttle cause the whole front end to rise as the car leans back on its widened haunches. The suspension is just compliant enough that the driver is aware of mid-corner motions, and smooth transitions demand focused steering and throttle inputs.

The common thread that runs through to the Z4 M is the screaming inline-six, which begs for high revs. After that, things begin to diverge. A big difference compared with the Z3 M is that the newer car’s updated transmission employs shorter gearing, the result of which is a much more high-strung personality in low-speed traffic. The powertrain does not like to loaf around, but rather wants to GO. NOW. This car settles into a confident rhythm once you really get on it, winding out each gear to the 7900-rpm redline and being generous with the throttle on upshifts. In general, the car feels more serious and purposeful than the playful Z3 M. It’s the type of car that only really comes alive near the peak of its performance threshold.

On the outside, the Z4 M looks more conventionally attractive. The roofline is its signature styling touchpoint, boasting a beautiful, gentle curve from the A-pillar to the stubby rear end. The entire design is more of a single piece than that of the Z3 M Coupe, whose goofy breadvan looks earned it the nickname “Clown Shoe.” For some, of course, the oddity is part of the Z3 M Coupe’s appeal.

The Z4 M has a clear edge inside, at least from a quality standpoint. No Z3 was celebrated for its interior, but the Z4’s improved leather and plastics better meet the expectations of a premium brand like BMW. The most evident changes are the updated steering wheel (noticeably thicker) and the deep-set instrument binnacle (more difficult to read at a glance). The Z4 M also has a Sport-mode button, which increases the responsiveness and reduces hydraulic steering assist when pressed.

For BMWs in particular, rarity and performance are high drivers of collectibility, which should immediately benefit the Z4 M. This car is lighter and faster than the much-loved E46 M3, and only 4581 Z4 M Coupes rolled off the factory line in Spartanburg, South Carolina, over three model years, which is a sight fewer than the 6291 Z3 M Coupes built between 1998 and 2002.

The Z3 M coupe boom began in 2019, when #3 (Good) condition S54-powered cars shot up 25 percent between January and May, from $31,000 to $38,800. Values briefly retraced themselves in the later part of that year, but since then, #3 condition M Coupes marched steadily to their current plateau of $55,200. Top-flight cars are even more valuable, with #1 (concours) condition cars bringing $105,000 on average.

At this point, even the very best Z4 M Coupes do not command six figures. Bring a Trailer has brokered some sales in the mid-$50,000s and low $60,000s, but the bulk of Z4 M Coupes are changing hands in the $30,000-$45,000 range, depending on color and condition.

If there’s room on the Z4 M train now, we have our money on millennials to be the first to hop on. The majority of collector-status BMW enthusiasts are in this demographic, and they’re quoting with Hagerty with higher values than any other generational group. As always, a younger fan base (whose earnings on average increase over time) usually promises a healthy road ahead for any collector vehicle. The E90/92-generation BMW M3, which launched in 2009, is already coming into its own thanks largely to millennial support.

The jump to the Z4 may not be a stretch for millennials, who already have an appetite for the Z3 M Coupe, says Hagerty senior valuation analyst James Hewitt. “The Z3 M Coupe is attracting younger buyers. Forty-five percent of M Roadsters are quoted by baby boomers, compared with just 27 percent of M Coupes. Millennials account for almost all of that delta, which seems to suggest they love the car.”

From where we’re sitting, the 2006–08 Z4 M Coupe will certainly have its day in the collector market. If and when the bump comes, however, it’s tough to say whether it will reach the value heights achieved by the earlier Z3 M. Eventually, buyers may come to appreciate the Z4 M as the last of a breed; the E89-generation Z4 that followed produced no hardcore M version, and though there is a high-performance six-cylinder coupe version of the Z4 in showrooms today, it wears a Toyota badge and is called the Supra. The Z4 M’s performance improvements are undeniable, and for some that will be the key differentiator. But when it comes to pure personality, the original M Coupe is tough to top.

***

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Via Insider

The post Is the BMW Z4 M Coupe about to come of age? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Heat haze shimmers over the pavement at Willow Springs Raceway. It’s 103 degrees and brutally sunny, the air itself seeming to crisp in the absence of any breeze. Not exactly the place you’d expect to find three Swedish cars. The C30 Polestar Limited Edition, the V60 Polestar, and the Cyan P1800 cool the bleak Mojave landscape with a dash of blue.

Unexpected: Isn’t that the beauty of a hot-rod Volvo? That it is somehow nuttier, more joyful than it’s supposed to be?

Now called Cyan Racing, the motorsports team formerly known as Polestar is responsible—to one degree or another—for all three of the hot Volvos at Willow Springs today. You may already be familiar with the latest of these projects, the 1964 Cyan P1800—a comprehensive restomod of the ’60s Swedish sports coupe, complete with a widened carbon-fiber body and turbocharged racing engine from the team’s 2017 World Touring Car Championship car. Next to it sits the V60 Polestar, a rare high-performance variant of Volvo’s luxury wagon produced from 2015 to 2018. The runt of the litter is the 2013 C30 Polestar Limited Edition, the chic city hatchback that first brought Polestar from the race track to public roads.

***

In contrast with its reputation for good sense, restraint, and a certain starkness, Sweden is a hotbed of car enthusiasm. There even exists a rabid appetite for American muscle cars in the Nordic country, home to a cult-like contingent that celebrates the brashness and character of the classic Detroit V-8.

Historically speaking, Volvos have been largely staid and conservative cars. Still, over the decades, offerings such as the 242 GT, the 740 Turbo, the 850 Turbo, and the V70 R have delighted driving enthusiasts. Enough to indicate there were at least a few employees in Gothenburg keeping the fun-flame burning.

Hans Bååth, Cyan Racing general manager, and Mattias Evensson, head of engineering, are definitely cut from this cloth. Joining us at Willow Springs to show off the Cyan P1800, the Scandinavian motorsport fiends are wearing black shirts on a summer’s day, in the high desert, yet the heat isn’t taking a toll. They are all smiles. Seeing this trio of Volvos, all painted the same Rebel Blue his team first wore for the 2011 WTCC season, is a real treat, Bååth says. And despite the broad spectrum of performance that exists across the trio, he can pull a common thread: “Our philosophy, in racing and on the road, is to give the driver full control, confidence, and predictability. A car that never surprises you all season is one that wins.”

In the last several years, however, Volvo has taken steps to deprioritize high performance in its product planning. To wit: After ending its participation in motorsports in 2017, Volvo parent company Geely rebranded Polestar as a standalone EV marque. All Volvo road cars, in the name of safety, now come with a 112-mph governor. And although Volvo offers a powerful “Polestar Engineered” version of its V60, it’s a plug-in hybrid lacking the driving engagement of past fan favorites. This is all somewhat disappointing for Volvo enthusiasts especially, who pined for an in-house performance brand to battle other European powerhouses like BMW M and Mercedes-AMG. A decade ago, Polestar seemed on the cusp of becoming just that.

***

In 2009, Polestar Racing won the drivers’ title in the Swedish Touring Car Championship with Tommy Rustad driving a C30 S2000. That same year, Volvo named Polestar its official tuning arm, aiming to offer warranty-approved performance parts and engine-computer flashes via dealerships.

Part of the marketing campaign for the newfound Polestar Performance tuner brand was a one-off concept car based on the 2010 C30 hatchback. Polestar saw this as an opportunity to take everything it had learned from the racing C30 and create the ideal road car, one its drivers and engineers would themselves want to drive.

The resulting C30 Polestar concept was utterly bonkers: 451 hp and 376 lb-ft of torque from a highly tuned and KKK-turbocharged inline five-cylinder; all-wheel drive; limited-slip differentials front and rear; large Brembo brakes inside forged 19-inch BBS wheels; adjustable Öhlins suspension; adjustable anti-roll bars; an adjustable rear wing; and racing seats with four-point harnesses. Despite the bevy of go-fast parts, the goal of the build was a car equally suited for long, comfortable road trips and the curviest roads. Speed and capability could not come at the expense of friendliness and usability.

Though there were rumors Volvo was pondering a production version to cement Polestar as a proper performance arm, no such car came to fruition. In 2013, instead, Volvo put Polestar in the limelight with the C30 Polestar Limited Edition.

Based on the existing C30 R-Design and offered exclusively in North America, the 250-unit Polestar Limited Edition more or less amounted to a software tune and a Rebel Blue paint job. The engine computer flash, which C30 owners could get themselves for about $1300, upgraded the standard turbocharged inline-five from 227 hp and 236 lb-ft of torque to 250 hp and 273 lb-ft. It was a long way off from the concept car—much closer to a Volkswagen Golf GTI in final form than the Golf-R-on-steroids competitor that was teased. As a first toe in the water, however, the limited-edition C30 made a certain kind of sense at roughly $32,000—except for the standard all-season tires, says Bååth. Summer rubber would have been much more appropriate.

“The all-season tires were just tough. It almost ruined the whole car,” he says. “For a racing team, that was difficult to see.”

Fortunately, the C30 Polestar Limited Edition we’re admiring in pit lane is wearing summer rubber. The switch to grippier meats is just one of the many changes that owner Mitchell Galles has made. And in the spirit of a spunky tuner car, this C30 sports a number of aftermarket pieces to amp up performance: BBS wheels; a KPax racing exhaust; an Elevate intake, charge plate, and intercooler; and a Bilstein suspension.

It’s a zippy little thing—eager and lively, with a certain darty-ness at low speeds. There’s a rush of turbo noise from the inline-five, complete with a characteristic growl, especially in the upper reaches of the rev range. The C30 makes for an entertaining road car, no doubt, though it is hardly a weapon on Big Willow. The steering becomes vague and distant when the course calls for quicker maneuvers at high speed, and the stock R-Design brakes simply aren’t up to the task after repeated high-speed stops. Though he isn’t interested in turning his C30 into a road-course rat, Galles indeed wants to round out his current roster of improvements with upgraded stoppers. Performance and production numbers aside, this C30 marked the starting point for Polestar in customer hands.

***

Finally, in 2015, Volvo welcomed Polestar totally into the fold, acquiring the company for an undisclosed sum. Polestar Optimization tuning for existing cars continued, either via dealer or factory installation, but the full extent of the collaboration arrived in the shape of two cars: the V60 Polestar wagon and the S60 Polestar sedan. These were moonshot performance cars for the Volvo brand, the closest it had ever come to building an enthusiast offering like the BMW M3. The racing team’s fingerprints were all over the place: manually adjustable Öhlins suspension, thicker anti-roll bars front and rear, a carbon-fiber strut brace, six-piston Brembo front brakes with high-performance pads, and a souped-up turbocharged 3.0-liter inline-six engine good for 345 hp and 369 lb-ft of torque. (Models for 2017–18 switched to a supercharged and turbocharged four-cylinder.)

Though only 20 horsepower more powerful than the V60 R-Design with which it shares an engine, Polestar’s version makes far greater strides with the chassis. It employs stiffer suspension bushings all around, along with 80 percent stiffer springs, and the Öhlins front struts and rear shocks are of the Dual-Flow Valve type, featuring a blow-off valve that maintains consistent suspension behavior on both compression and rebound. The resulting composure is most noticeable over bigger road imperfections and elevation changes.

This is still a reasonably heavy luxury wagon, bordering on 4000 pounds. Yet it comes alive in the high-speed sweepers at Big Willow. The front end seems like it wants to wash out and understeer on corner entry, but as soon as the suspension settles and you get on the throttle the whole car finds its balance. Even while pulling considerable lateral g forces, you can make precise tweaks to your line using either the steering wheel or the throttle, with the Haldex all-wheel-drive system favoring the rear axle for torque distribution and the traction control allowing for noticeable slip. Owner Zach Marks has no worries about the brakes holding up, and we run the car six or seven laps in a row before the pedal loses any firmness. Each time it barrels onto the front straight, the bark from the V60’s stainless steel dual-exit exhaust reverberates off of the guard rails.

As with the C30 concept, Polestar’s product brief demanded genuine usability and approachability—more of a thrilling road car than a pure-bred track rat. “The V60 Polestar was always envisioned as a sports car that you could drive 365 days a year,” says Bååth. “And getting that through to production meant working within billions of limitations. For instance, it took us months to persuade Volvo to let us do 20-inch wheels.” Polestar also succeeded in specifying standard Michelin summer tires. As if in celebration of this win, the owner’s manual for the V60 Polestar features a prominent, bolded proviso: ALL SEASON TYRES ARE NOT ALLOWED ON THIS CAR!

When I point this out to Bååth, he smiles. “That was me.”

For the 2015–16 model years, Volvo built just 1500 examples of the S60/V60 Polestar, with about 420 of them reaching U.S. shores. Roughly the same allocation continued for the final 2017 and 2018 model years, making this Volvo rarer than many Italian exotics. Fans moved quickly to snap them up, paying just north of $62,000 for the pleasure. Volvo admitted to being surprised at how quickly they sold out. For the V60, at least, save for the six-figure Mercedes E63 AMG, there was no other high-performance wagon on the market; Polestar’s hot hauler was something of a unicorn.

***

Polestar Racing was enjoying plenty of success as well. The team won the driver’s and manufacturer’s titles of the Scandinavian Touring Car Championship in 2013 and 2014, with a custom-built C30, and then took home even bigger hardware in the 2017 FIA World Touring Car Championship with an S60 TC1 race car. (Following Polestar’s acquisition by Volvo in 2015, the team rebranded as Cyan Racing.) After 2017, however, the landscape shifted. The WTCC class series was overhauled, and its successor series did not allow for manufacturer-backed cars. Volvo subsequently pulled out of racing, ending more than two decades of factory support.

The end of that chapter delivered the start of a new one, explains engineering chief Mattias Evensson. “In autumn of 2017, I had a lot of engineers sitting around with nothing to do. Our CEO, Christian Dahl, saw Singer’s work with 911s and wanted to explore something similar with Volvo. That led to the Cyan P1800—a celebration of our heritage as well as a way for our company to take the temperature for such restomods.”

By summer 2018, there was a steel-chassis prototype with the racing engine from the S60 TC1. “We quickly realized that we’d need to do a lot of structural reinforcement,” explains Evensson. “The steel chassis car was twisting so much that the door on the mule would fly open. It was an evolving process. We didn’t know what we were getting into.”

One thing Cyan was sure of? The experience it wanted to deliver for future owners. “You want to feel that you are in control of the car as the driver,” Evensson explains. “That is coming from our race cars and our drivers as well, who want to feel they can push more when they need to.”

Cyan even dusted off its 2010 C30 Polestar concept, repeatedly returning to it during the P1800’s development process to channel the company’s core engineering philosophy: fostering connection to the machine in pursuit of both control and driving pleasure. In the past, that guiding star always needed to be weighed against other restrictions, whether they were the corporate priorities of a global automaker or the strict requirements of an international race series.

With the P1800, the sky was the limit.

Bååth thought they’d initially use carbon fiber for the fenders, hood, and maybe a few other parts, but the team ended up doing the entire body. Cyan strips down the donor car to its bones, sands and reinforces the steel, and then bonds the new body to the chassis using high-strength adhesive. The track is wider to fit the new four-wheel independent suspension and 18-inch forged wheels around AP Racing four-piston brakes. Curb weight is just 2182 pounds—very little for the 2.0-liter, 420-hp racing engine to grab by the scruff of its neck.

There’s no rulebook for a car like this, so historical accuracy wasn’t a goal. The result, unveiled in 2020, is a kind of fantasy P1800 with the aura of the 1960s but a degree of performance and build precision that far exceeds any mass-produced car of that era. In fact, only the steel in the door pillars and the hood release remain from the donor car, while the original roof and transmission tunnel are augmented with carbon fiber for improved rigidity. The whole cabin is moved rearward, and the overall car lowered, widened, and shortened.

The interior, too, is several notches above any factory P1800. The original layout looks familiar, but the dashboard is all-new, lined in soft-touch leather and a wool-like fabric. Deep bucket seats place you low in the cabin and a four-point racing harness keeps you snug in place. The pedal setup is tight but perfectly arranged, and on the left side of the box is an uncommonly large and useful dead pedal for your left foot. Behind the driver is a titanium roll cage, also wrapped in leather.

The cabin feels purposeful yet far from unfriendly, despite the fact that many restomods at the price point place a greater focus on luxury appointments. Each Cyan P1800 is built to order, however, so buyers can customize the cabin with materials of their choosing. Though the company has said pricing starts at about $500,000, not including a donor car that can be in any condition, the final build specification for most customers usually brings that tab closer to $700,000.

I fire up the engine and prod the throttle. It sounds like nothing from the ’60s, combining husky four-cylinder rasp with turbo hiss and whoosh. Again, in the spirit of no holds barred, Cyan removed the air restrictor from the turbo that was required for competition. Once warm, the engine settles into a steady but restless idle.

I find first in the Hollinger five-speed racing transmission, and then second, each gear engaging with a pleasant mechanical clack as we gain speed. Every input—from the steering to the clutch action to the brake pedal—requires focus and effort to properly control. The reward is immense feedback and precise response, particularly from the gas pedal, which commands individual titanium throttle bodies. Acceleration is surprisingly linear for an engine pushing 39.1 psi of peak boost; the tach redlines at 7700 rpm, but the maximum 335 lb-ft of torque doesn’t hit until 6000 rpm, and max power not until 7000 rpm.

“Make sure you really rev out each gear,” Bååth tells me. “That’s how the car is supposed to be driven.”

After several laps around Willow Springs, I’m most struck by the car’s poise, both in tight transitions and longer, more flowing sections. Even when I brake too late or steer too much or get on the throttle too soon, the P1800 doesn’t bite back. And that matters with no ABS or traction control on board, especially if Cyan wants people to feel like they can drive the car in a variety of situations.

Track driving, however, isn’t something for which the Cyan P1800 was explicitly designed. As a road car, it’s meant to be enjoyed and used in the real world. As such, each example can be individually set up to the customer’s liking thanks to adjustable spring rate, caster, toe, and damper rate. “You need to get it out on the road,” Evensson insists. “Then you’ll understand.”

Oh, to be enlightened. On a canyon road 30 minutes from Willow Springs, the P1800 goes from a warm incandescent bulb on track to a multicolored Roman candle on the road. Thrilling reflexes let you dance from corner to corner. The suspension soaks up the biggest impacts, but you definitely notice the way changes in the road surface and elevation affect handling. Each time the car takes a set of turns feels like an opportunity to get a little more dialed in, a little more intimate with the controls and how to make the most of them.

It requires considerable suspension of disbelief to imagine a P1800 ever driving this well. That’s half the fun of it, though, to experience—in real life—a hot-rod Volvo sports car that never could have existed. Evensson had fun seeing this dream machine from concept through to completion: “Combining modern engineering and old cars—does it get any better?”

***

Cyan’s tooling can support about 100 examples of the P1800. If and when that’s exhausted, Bååth says, he isn’t sure what’s next. The company could simply make more tooling, or decide to move on to another restomod. “The Volvo 140 is the cleanest, most perfect design,” he says. “Or maybe something racier like a 240 Turbo or 850 T-5R.”

Bååth doesn’t seem worried about it. His crew has meanwhile continued racing, with other manufacturers, taking their same driver-centric engineering philosophy to victory: four team titles and two driver’s titles in the last five years of the World Touring Car Cup. Whatever the situation—race car, showroom car, restomod—the Swedes from Polestar/Cyan have proven they can take the heat. Bask in it, even. Whatever they cook up next will be worth the wait.

***

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The Miata has long been known for being fun. One of Mazda’s first advertisements for the car called it “incredible fun to drive—for that is its only purpose for being,” and pretty much every review of the vehicle since has concurred. Yet getting behind the wheel of one still feels like being let in on a secret way to make life feel lighter and happier.

A similar phenomenon applies to one of the car’s most devoted tuning shops, Flyin’ Miata. It’s been around for 40 years—yes, longer than the car itself—and gained famed years ago for its snarling small-block V-8 Miata builds. (I’ve driven one. It’s worthy of the hype.) Yet you have to be deep inside the Miata community to really appreciate what makes this outfit special. From its participation in grassroots motorsports to its thoughtfully produced parts (the company’s $12.99 “ninja” cam alignment tool can shave hours of frustration from a timing belt change), this team of vocal Miata die-hards feels like it really belongs to the community.

Now, the enterprise itself literally does. Founded as a family-owned business, Flyin’ Miata transitioned in the the fall of 2020 to an employee-owned cooperative. Of the 20 employees presently employed at the company’s Palisade, Colorado, headquarters, eight of them are owners. Any employee who has been part of the company for more than two years can buy in, make their voice heard, and help determine the direction of the business.

I headed to the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains to see how Flyin’ Miata is getting along in this new era. Down a lonely back road that winds through old orchards and trendy wineries sits the company’s unremarkable-looking 25,000-square-foot warehouse. The atmosphere at the quiet reception desk is of an equally unremarkable, too-beige office. Even whispering seems rude. The lines start to fill in with color when you notice the hilariously diverse collection of Miata paraphernalia plastered on walls and littered across desks—die-cast models in various scales and liveries, a dozen fancy plaques that showcase past stories from automotive magazines, a patchwork quilt sewn by a customer and depicting beloved Flyin’ Miata shop cars.

Behind the front office is the warehouse. Cabinets sit lined with brand-new turbochargers, donor engines wait on wood pallets, and plastic bins overflow with torn-apart suspension struts. At the south end of the facility is the skunkworks section with two-post lifts and well-appointed workbenches, near which sits a torn-apart third-generation Miata with a 3D-printed turbocharger bolted to its exhaust manifold. Every generation of Miata is accounted for in the shop, taking many forms: an all-original first-generation roadster, a V-8 swap, a hill-climber with bead-locked Hoosiers, and a kitted-out fourth-generation prototype with a fat turbo.

The sheer diversity of the Miatas on hand reflects the employees’ deep and nuanced passion. They care, which means they’re invested in the company’s success. No one can stomach the idea of Flyin’ Miata being sold, stripped apart, and shoved into the corners of some overcrowded parts catalog owned by a conglomerate.

The story of Flyin’ Miata began in 1983. Founder Bill Cardell opened his first automotive service center, “The Dealer Alternative, Inc.,” in New Jersey, with specialized services for Audi, Porsche, and Volkswagen. On a fateful day in 1989, one of Cardell’s customers showed up in one of the first Mazda MX-5 Miatas imported into the United States. Cardell drove the car and immediately fell in love with the fun-loving, rear-drive drop-top. He promptly placed an order for one, which he received in September 1989 and still owns today.

“A couple of months later I saw an article on a Miata turbocharger kit in Turbo Magazine and actually believed the fanciful claims they made, so I purchased [the kit],” Cardell explains. “The installation ‘directions’ consisted of six Polaroid photographs with writing on the back of each one stating, ‘It should look something like this when you’re done.’”

After installing a half-dozen half-baked turbo kits on client cars, an unsatisfied Cardell met with the U.S. distributor for Greddy (then Trust). They struck a deal and started piecing together their own high-quality, aftermarket spool systems for the Miata. “There were never any big, strategic business plans,” he says. “I just liked making Miatas fast.” The instructions, nonetheless, were better.

In 1996, Cardell sold his repair shop so that he and his wife, Teri, could move to Colorado to ski more often. Still, Cardell couldn’t shake his fascination with making Miatas fly, so he convinced her to be his business partner in Flyin’ Miata. “She said she’d give me one year, but she ended up staying until we sold the business to our employees in the fall of 2020,” Cardell says. They might have held out longer, even, were it not for Cardell’s Parkinson’s diagnosis, which moved up their retirement timeline.

It helped that Keith Tanner was one of the employees ready to take the reins. Director of e-commerce and systems at Flyin’ Miata, Tanner has been with the company for 22 years and boasts four Miatas in his garage. Tanner bought his first Miata in the late ’90s and started designing, building, and selling his own parts before attracting Cardell’s attention. Many know Tanner as the face of Flyin’ Miata in YouTube videos and on internet forums. His granular suspension knowledge, in particular, has turned him into a sort of Miata chassis guru.

From the Flyin’ Miata warehouse, Tanner takes us onto some of Mesa County’s most beautiful, winding roads. He’s behind the wheel of his red 1990 Miata, nicknamed “338,” (it’s the 338^th Miata the come off of the Hiroshima production line) and I’m in a big-winged, ND-generation turbo test car, which handles with perfect composure, accelerates with serious pull, and has me smiling from ear to ear as we dodge wayward turkeys and speed along the clean, tight roads that wander through snow-covered valleys. As engaging as the car is to drive, I reminisce about the LS3 V-8-powered ND Miata that I drove during a shop visit years ago. It was intensely communicative, endlessly enchanting, and near flawless as a driver’s car. Why would Flyin’ Miata give that up?

“They work really well, but they didn’t work for us as a business,” Tanner says. “We almost didn’t do it. In 2008, we ran the numbers, and the general feeling was that we probably shouldn’t build V-8 Miatas, as much as we all wanted to. Bill overruled us.”

The V-8 swaps got a ton of ink in major media outlets, but turn-keys remained a small, ancillary part of the business that sucked up the most valuable resource for a small-scale shop: time. At least one quarter of the company’s parts catalog is designed by and exclusive to Flyin’ Miata, which requires a lot of hours for adequate testing and quality assurance. And, Tanner says, the workload is only going to grow when Mazda releases the fifth-generation, “NE” Miata.

“With every new generation, we’re adding a chassis to our portfolio while still developing parts for the older ones, so when the NE comes out, our work is going to increase by 20 percent.

“The V-8s were a completely parallel product. Yeah, the brakes and suspension cross over, but all of the drivetrain was different and required an absurd amount of time and effort to build,” Tanner says. “We love them but, unfortunately, it just doesn’t work for the company.”

That choice didn’t come easy, but it is one Flyin’ Miata’s employee-owners agree is necessary. Cardell’s takeaway is that today’s Flyin’ Miata is more of a proper business than “a runaway hobby as it tended to be during my time.” All of the owners are driven and hungry. They work tirelessly to improve quality and transparency in customer service, test the ragged limits of their externally sourced and internally developed performance parts, and investigate new opportunities that become possible with emerging technologies.

3D printing, for instance, has become a massively helpful and influential system at Flyin’ Miata. They own a half-dozen Markforged printers that are constantly stacking filament to create whatever the staff requires, from mock-up turbocharger housings to replacement door bushings and the aforementioned cam-gear ninja tool. Flyin’ Miata’s “You Design” program encourages customers to submit their own Miata-specific ideas, which can be assessed and developed using company printers. If accepted, these designs are added to the roster and marketed through Flyin’ Miata’s channels. The creator then gets a royalty kickback on every unit sold.

New technologies also make it easier for Flyin’ Miata to reproduce high-quality versions of hard-to-find parts for the earliest iterations of the Miata. Factory gauge hoods, for instance, tend to break the instant you remove them. The tiny rubber lock caps that cinch onto ends of the soft- and hard-top latches? Extremely tricky to track down. “We’re never going to turn into a full-on restoration shop, though,” Tanner insists. “We’re going stay with modification. The car is such a great blank canvas, and there are always going to be people tweaking them.”

As promising as that future may seem, it depends on Flyin’ Miata navigating its new, untested business structure. Cardell admits that the co-op’s road ahead is uncertain, with a lot of teething and growing pains to endure, but that he and his wife have total faith in the current crew. Brandon Fitch, co-owner and director of product development, who drives a turbocharged ’96 Miata and has been at the company for 17 years, sees the benefit of the collective approach. “We’ve all been working together for so long that we can often see each other’s points of view, intelligently discuss issues, and come up with the best possible outcome,” Fitch says. “While final decisions sometimes take longer to make than if there were a single owner, the decisions we come up with typically feel better since we incorporate multiple viewpoints and opinions.”

Flyin’ Miata president Jeremy Ferber, an 18-year company veteran and ’95 Miata driver, has no illusions about the rocky road ahead but is certain the business is on the correct course. “We’ve quadrupled in size since I started and grown from a small ‘mom-and-pop’ feel into a good-sized company that supports the income of a lot of people, as well as the fun factor of countless customers,” he says. “I’m excited to watch us evolve from a young co-op into a mature one.”

Tanner shares that sentiment, comforted by the knowledge that none of Flyin’ Miata’s eight owners are selfish or money-hungry. All of them are protective of their shared passion, desperate for it to stay pure—and fun. “This is not a way for us all to become filthy rich and retire. It’s how we keep this business we genuinely love running and happy.”

For those working at Flyin’ Miata, the success of the business will come down to balancing heart and head. Both matter. This small company has spent more than three decades faithfully supporting some of the most dedicated automotive enthusiasts on Earth, encouraging them to fall even more in love with their joyous little roadsters, as they have with their own. As long as that’s still on the table, Flyin’ Miata is fulfilling its own “only purpose for being.”

***

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Hundreds of VW busses showed up in Huntington Beach, California to mark the world premiere of Volkswagen’s three-row ID. Buzz electric van. What would their owners think of VW’s fresh take on their beloved classic? I asked a few.

My first stop was to talk to the actor Kareem Grimes, who has been in several films and TV series including most recently the football-oriented All American series on the CW Network. A VW enthusiast, Grimes has followed the development of the Buzz for the past five years. Growing up in Inglewood, California, he fell in love with Volkswagens and recently purchased his dream bus, a ’67 23-window Samba.  I asked him what it was like to love classic cars with EVs like the Buzz on the horizon.

“This is just a part of life,” he said. “I’m an electric car owner already. When I saw the ID. Buzz, I thought now that’s what I’m talking about! Volkswagen is stepping up to the game, and I definitely want to be a part of that.”

I then interrupted a family eating lunch in their 1962 Walkthrough (meaning it has individual bucket seats up front, allowing occupants to walk through it). Dre Verga, the dad, shared that he had always wanted a bus and recently purchased this one. We discussed the new Buzz and if it captured that iconic look that first caught his eye as a child.

Verga said, “They did a great job with the shape. They did a modern take on a classic, and while it’s not 100-percent the same, you get the added safety features.” I asked him what he thought about the future of collector cars, and with his baby nestled on his lap, he responded, “Back in the 50s and 60s, it was hot rodding. Now younger kids are modifying cars from the ’90s; that’s their version of restoring hot rods, and in the future that ID. Buzz will be a hot rod restomod for someone.”

John and Danny Staggs are brothers and brought a 1960 Standard and a ‘64 Deluxe Standard Non-Sunroof.  I asked Danny, the younger brother, what got him into buses, and his answer was simple: “John.” When I asked him why he loves buses, he said, “because they make people smile.” And as for his take on the new Buzz, he said, “I think they’re pretty cool. I’d loved to own one. It looks like a lot of fun. I love how the doors open up on both sides; it reminds me of the double door of the split-window buses. I love how they carried on the tradition.” And when I asked him if the new one made him smile, he said, “Yes.”

AJ Salazar is 18 and just got back from a 2000-mile road trip to Moab, Utah in his 1967 Westfalia. He grew up attending bus events with his family and now brings his own. Salazar’s take was simple: “It has potential. You never know. It’s never the car; it’s the community that’s attracted to it. The people could do nothing, or they could make it into something amazing.”

***

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To many, the 507 is the most beautiful BMW ever made. It was ambitious in so many ways, boasting a powerful engine, lithe handling, and gorgeous shape penned by designer Albrecht Graf von Goertz to rival the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL. Famed importer Max Hoffman helped BMW conceive the car with the sports car-hungry North American market in mind. Unfortunately, during its development, the original $5000 target price ballooned to $9000, almost two grand more than the 300 SL. The 507’s high price and subsequent low sales, totaling just 252 cars, almost left the German brand for dead were it not for a rescue investment from the Quandt family in 1959.

For owner Walter Scott, however, his 1960 BMW 507 Series II, a “survivor” from the roadster’s final model year, is a driver, and a sentimental one at that. We met him on The Amelia lawn earlier this year, where the car was displayed at BMW’s stand alongside the redesigned X5. While there are plenty of multi-million-dollar cars at a show like The Amelia, what struck us first about Scott’s 507 was its odometer reading: 52,698 miles.

It previously belonged to a dear friend of his, a classmate at Yale University who he remained close with for more than 50 years. Scott’s pal remained a bachelor, driving the 507 regularly. “He showered love and attention on it as he would have on a family of his own. And it’s always been driven—never treated like a trailer queen, always take care of.”

When Scott’s friend got sick several years ago, he became concerned about what would happen to his car. After 44 years of ownership, he entrusted it to Scott. Since then, the goal has been to both preserve and enjoy the 507, which wears chassis number 70240. It has never been fully restored, in hopes that it retain as much of its as-delivered appearance as possible.

BMW indicates that #70240 is the final 507 to leave the factory, though not the final to be built. Like other Series II 507s, it has a smaller fuel tank than the Series I cars, located under the trunk rather than behind the rear seats where it previously constrained passenger and trunk space. (Not to mention creating a tendency for passengers to smell fuel.)

The glossy red paint over tan interior is striking in person, with the cabin visible through the open top of this classic roadster. (#70240 was, according to BMW, one of very few cars to leave Munich with a factory hard top.) Painted Rudge knock-offs sit at all four corners. Between the front fenders lives a 150-hp, 3.2-liter all-aluminum V-8, paired with a four-speed manual transmission and shared with the 501/502 sedan of the early 1950s. The 507’s looks, however, were much more distinctive, and attracted celebrities from Elvis Presley to British race car driver John Surtees. Speaking of the latter, Surtees reportedly upgraded his car to 165 hp via higher compression, larger valves and carburetors, and a unique high-lift camshaft, according to Bonhams. Scott’s car apparently received the same treatment in the early 1990s, suggesting #70240 offers both show and go.

Scott, based in Londonderry, Vermont, divides his driving time between six cars. Yet he spends a good deal of it behind the thin-rimmed wheel of his red 507, adding 800-1000 miles per year.

“I’m taking it on a tour this summer,” he said, flashing a smile.

As refreshing as it is to see a multi-million-dollar piece of automotive history such as this to be so regularly exercised, it’s even more satisfying to see an owner carry on his friend’s legacy. And what better way to honor a great car than to take it out for great drives?

***

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(Eric Weiner, who is not easily offended, is executive editor of Hagerty Media.)

Oscar Mayer and I have a beef. Earlier this week, the famous hot dog purveyor changed the name of its iconic Wienermobile to “Frankmobile.” According to a company press release, part of what I can only conclude is a coordinated attack to discredit me and my family name, the rebrand represents the first change to the mobile tubesteak’s identity since the vehicle hit streets in 1936.

As if trust in big corporations wasn’t low enough, this was all done behind my bun back. We’ve covered the Wienermobile (as I will continue to call it) several times on this website, including the time it got pulled over in Wisconsin, the time two of them went up for sale in Canada, and when I attempted to make reservations to sleep in an Wienermobile AirBnb. Apparently that didn’t cut the mustard for Big Hot Dog.

The drivers and staff formerly known as Hotdoggers will now be called Frankfurters, all in an effort to promote Oscar Mayer’s “tasty new recipe.” From where I’m sitting, it tastes like betrayal.

Wurst of all, the company is rolling out a new “Franks for Franks” program in which anyone named Frank (or similar) will get a coupon for a free pack of hot dogs. No such program existed for us Weiners, or even Wieners, to my knowledge.

There are rumblings that the name change won’t be permanent. So here’s hoping the Wienermobile is restored, ideally to its most excellent Dave Stevens spec, which consisted of multiple examples of the vehicle that were built in Wisconsin on a Chevy truck platform.

***

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We like wagons here at Hagerty. Volvo wagons, it seems, in particular. Grace Houghton, Stefan Lombard, Eddy Eckart, and I all own longroof Volvos. However, we represent a devoted niche; true “estates” aren’t popular among mainstream U.S. buyers, who have instead flocked to crossovers and SUVs. The few longroofs that manufacturers do sell tend to be lifted up a bit and slapped with black cladding. Case in point: this 2023 Volvo V60 Cross Country.

Lest you confuse it with the XC60 crossover, the V60 is lower to the ground, wears a more traditional wagon design, and competes most directly with the Audi A4 Allroad. It was introduced for the 2020 model year as a variant of the second-generation Volvo S60 sedan, which means it shares that vehicle’s SPA (Scalable Product Architecture) platform and four-cylinder engine.

Grace reviewed this car in 2020, and she appreciated the combination of traditional form and high-end freshness. Volvo revised the V60 Cross Country for 2023, adding a new grille, new rear bumper trim, and standard Android software with Google Maps for the infotainment system.

Volvo simplified the trim choices and options across its 2023 lineup, leaving the V60 Cross Country with the Plus trim as standard and the Ultimate trim for $5300 more. For $55,395, this trim includes a Nappa leather interior with digital head-up display, ventilated front seats, adaptive cruise control, parking sensors, and a 360-degree camera.

The most significant change to the 2023 V60 Cross Country is a 48-volt hybrid system for its powertrain, represented by the “B5” nomenclature. Unlike Volvo’s Recharge models, there is no plug-in function here; a small electric motor functions as an integrated starter-generator, powered by kinetic energy recovered from braking. The gas powertrain remains a 2.0-liter, turbocharged four-cylinder mated to an eight-speed automatic transmission. Horsepower is down three ponies to 247 compared with the non-hybrid predecessor, but torque remains steady at 258 lb-ft.

Specs: 2023 Volvo V60 Cross Country B5 AWD

• Price: $55,395 / $63,585 (base / as-tested)
• Powertrain: 2.0-liter turbo-four; eight-speed automatic; 48-volt hybrid system with integrated starter generator motor
• Output: 247 hp @ 5400–5700 rpm,  258 lb-ft @ 1800–4800 rpm; 13-hp ISG electric motor
• Layout: Four-door, five-passenger, unibody wagon
• Weight: 4122 pounds
• EPA fuel economy: 23 mpg city /30 mpg highway, 26 mpg combined
• 0 to 60 mph: 6.6 seconds
• Rivals: Audi A4 Allroad, BMW X3, Mercedes-Benz GLC, Lexus NX, Infiniti QX55

Volvo calls the B5 a mild hybrid system, which is actually an understatement. In ordinary driving, we never once noticed the battery at work. The gas engine only deactivates as part of the stop-start system, leaving the 48-volt electric system to handle climate and accessory controls.

In one sense, that’s a victory. This is an easy car to drive, and it never reacts unexpectedly despite the technological advancement inside. The brakes are responsive, reassuring. Steering is light and artificial-feeling but precise. Ride is downright plush, even on the optional 20-inch wheels ($3200). Acceleration is not thrilling but brisk enough for easy highway merging, and the transmission programming does a great job keeping the engine primed for mid-range torque around town. The powertrain is also exceedingly quiet, such that it’s very possible to unintentionally double suburban speed limits without intending to.

On paper, however, it’s difficult to see how this hybrid powertrain really moves the needle at all. EPA ratings for city and combined mileage improve barely, by 1 mpg each, to 23 and 26 mpg. Highway mileage, however, drops 1 mpg, to 30 mpg. Performance from 0-to-60 mph suffers as well, dropping from 6.4 seconds with the outgoing T5 system to 6.6 seconds for this B5. Testers at Car and Driver, meanwhile, could only hit 60 mph in 7.1 seconds. The A4 Allroad does the deed in just 5.5 seconds.

In fairness, performance is not the intended focus of this V60 Cross Country. The wagon’s essential appeal is its combination of Scandinavian design and everyday practicality. In that respect, it’s a winner. So many individual elements add warmth and elegance to this cabin: plush blonde leather, light-colored wood accents, handsome brushed metal, and Volvo’s signature Orrefors crystal gear selector. A BMW X3 tells your neighbors you have money, but the inside of a V60 says you have taste.

These details are as endearing now as they were when we last reviewed the V60 Cross Country three years ago, but the infotainment technology is definitely behind the times. The gauge cluster is all-digital yet almost entirely fixed in its configuration. The infotainment screen is vertically oriented (a holdover from this car’s original Sensus system) but the software seems like it would be far more legible and navigable with a horizontal display. Other annoyances include a rattle from the top dashboard-mounted speaker (part of the $3200 Bowers & Wilkins upgrade) and a heated steering wheel (part of the $750 climate pack) that only heats portions of the rim.

None of these missteps are fundamental dealbreakers, especially because the V60 is such a niche item. If you want a reasonably sized luxury wagon (the V90 is considerably taller, longer, and wider), choices are limited. Perhaps in acknowledgment of this, Volvo doesn’t offer a front-drive or base trim (Core) variant of the Cross Country, as it does on the larger XC60 SUV. Still, even Volvo wagon cognoscenti like us can’t help but remark that the revisions for 2023 don’t seem to make the Cross Country any more compelling than it already is.

2023 Volvo V60 Cross Country B5 AWD

Highs: Gorgeous design inside and out. Hushed cabin. Smooth powertrain.

Lows: Unimpressive mileage for a hybrid. Fussy infotainment system. Stereo system sounds better in higher-end models, like the V90.

Takeaway: A niche player whose fans will love it, perhaps rightfully, in spite of its flaws.

***

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Why was I doing this?

That’s the question I asked myself as I listened to the tired sound of a starter motor, accompanied by … nothing. No whir of the fuel pump. No growl of the five-point-oh beneath the long hood before me.

Why was I, at 38 years old, my pregnant wife beside me, sitting at a gas station outside of Prague, hopelessly trying to start an old jalopy from another continent? I should have known better.

The brown-on-brown 1987 Lincoln Continental was not even my car. I’d bought it a few days before, on behalf of my friend, Radek, who intended to use it as his sole transportation. Then I stored it at another friend’s place, just outside of Prague, where I live. Now, I was taking it home, because it was due to tech inspection the next day.

Naturally, sitting there in the dead Lincoln, I pondered why I ever thought a nice afternoon trip with my wife would include going to pick up a 36-year-old car that wasn’t really street legal and, to my knowledge, hadn’t been driven regularly in at least seven years. That’s the kind of trouble the 20-year-old me would have gone looking for. But a man at almost middle age, with a baby on the way?

Of course, I have learned a thing or two in the last couple decades. For instance, I managed to nurse the car to the gas station, which was housed a McDonalds, so at least I could consider the wisdom of my actions over a triple cheeseburger. And I could always just give up and call roadside assistance.

Ten or 15 years ago, this story would have included me spending the night at the gas station. Or walking 50 miles. Or making frantic calls to someone—anyone—to come pick me up in the middle of nowhere. Or some anecdote about me and some friend trying to get the car running with duct tape, WD40, and maybe a coat hanger or a pen. (Aside: Though I really am no mechanic, I have used pens to fix V-8s more than once).

But back to that opening question of Why? It is not so hard to answer: Because I’m an idiot. I could have had the Lincoln towed to its inspection. I could have checked its ability to start hot before I my lured my wife into it. I could have just not offered my to check the car out for my friend. Really, I should have just persuaded him not to buy an ’87 Lincoln sight unseen.

But I won’t lie, there is some real appeal to driving a 1987 Lincoln in Central Europe. I certainly wouldn’t have been so eager to help him out if he had bought, say, a Ford Mondeo diesel. To spend a few days driving this piece of Reagan-era Detroit machinery was to remind myself of a time when I used to consider such cars the only acceptable choice for my personal transportation. I might prefer full-size, body-on-frame machinery like the Chevy Caprice, but the midsize, unibody, Fox-platform Conti still possesses all the things that really matter: a big V-8 in the front, an automatic in the middle, and a driven live axle in the back.

***

When the question of “How did you end up with your first American car” popped up on a local discussion board, Radek’s answer wasn’t some story about accidentally stumbling into ownership of something big, weird, and foreign. It was that of a little boy doodling long cars with huge fins, watching boxy 1980s cars in movies and simply wanting to get one of his own some day. Of course, being born in communist Czechoslovakia of the 1980s, and growing up in the newly born Czech Republic of the 1990s, things were a bit different than they were for a kid from Ohio.

Until 1989, everything American was, per the official point of view, bad and evil. We were no North Korea, however, and the regime couldn’t just pretend the U.S.A. didn’t exist. Our car magazines didn’t leave the American stuff out, and occasionally, you’d see some American car (or at least some similar Western European car) on the street, especially in the central parts of Prague frequented by ambassadors, foreign businessmen, or people lucky enough to somehow get hands on these unicorns. Once in a blue moon, too, there were American movies or shows on TV. Of course, they were meant to “reflect the moral failure of Western society,” but for us car-loving kids, you couldn’t avoid the fact that while the Czechoslovak cop drove a Škoda with a one-liter engine, the American cop had a Chevy with a V-8.

After the Velvet Revolution in late 1989, our televisions became full of American shows and movies. Your grandma probably watched Dallas, your proto-hipster parents were into Twin Peaks, and you were crazy about Police Academy. All them full of boxy Chevys and Fords with shiny bumpers and smoke coming out of their wheel wells. As borders opened, more and more people started bringing cars in from Western Europe, gray import companies appeared, and Chrysler even opened an official dealership.

Suddenly, we were just like the West, only with less money.

There was another key difference, too. If you came from a country that made a Mercedes-Benz or a Jaguar or even a Citroën DS, it could be quite easy to scoff at American cars as large, unsophisticated, cheaply made, terrible handlers. If, however, you were from a country that once produced groundbreaking V-8–powered streamliners but traded them for the lowly rear-engined Škoda 120, you would have been hard-pressed to view something large, powerful, generously equipped, and affordable as “unsophisticated.”

A better word we might use to describe American classics, especially the large sedans, was eccentric. If you wanted to show off, you usually got a Mercedes or BMW, because everyone knew what those were. An old Lincoln or Buick, on the other hand, made you a bit of a mystery. No one was sure how expensive they really were, and, unlike European brands, American cars had no social status attached to them. Behind the wheel of 1980 Cadillac Seville in Prague, you might have been a millionaire who’d just returned from America, or you might have been a regular guy with an unusual taste in cars. The only caveat in either case was that you couldn’t be afraid of attention, because you’d get it everywhere.

Today, no one would mistake you for being an eccentric millionaire if they saw you behind the wheel of a 1987 Lincoln. Many European cars have grown into sizes more in line with their American counterparts over the last couple decades, so the Continental looks almost slight in comparison. And it definitely does not look expensive. It does, however, still look eccentric—maybe even more so because, beyond the occasional garage-kept weekend classic, there just aren’t many old cars in use as daily drivers on Czech roads anymore. You almost never see people driving cars older than 20 years solely for style’s sake.

Even for an American car of the era, the seventh-generation Continental is a standout. The retro styling and bustle back rear end evoke the 1940s, yet the digital interior is the pinnacle of the 1980s futurism. There are even buttons on the headliner to switch a compass and thermometer on and off, like you’re an airplane pilot. It has traces of the Fox-body Mustang’s handling, yet it floats on its air shocks. The 302 sounds mighty, but it will get slaughtered in a drag race by a one-liter Ford Fiesta. It is a weird car, yes, but an inexpensive one that you can still run daily for a reasonable cost, even here in Central Europe.

At the gas station, I climbed back into the dead Lincoln, chewing the last bite of my cheeseburger. I’d try to fire up this style-point relic one more time before calling for a ride. I thought of those movie characters who beg their cars to start—C’mon! c’mon!—only to have them chug and chug until the very last second. But this was no movie, and the little brown Continental started right away. I wasted no time giving thought to what could have caused the issue and instead hightailed it back home before it had a chance to die on me again.

On the way, I phoned another friend to help me diagnose it at my home in the center of Prague. He arrived shortly after I did, in his Pontiac 6000, and proceeded to crawl under the car to change the fuel filter. I, being clumsy and mechanically inept, just ordered a Guinness from the pub, in front of which we were parked, and the whole scene played out to the amusement of the patrons.

Sipping my beer while trying to think of how to dispose of the half-gallon of gasoline we had drained into one of my wife’s cooking pots, I slowly realized why we were still doing this. Still fiddling with old Detroit iron, still living with it on a daily basis. In the months I had been living where I did, the guys from the pub had seen me pull up to my apartment in everything from a Jaguar to a Lexus LC500 to a Bentley Continental GTC. Yet it was the Lincoln that got the most attention and brought out the most questions. It’s also the car I felt most special driving.

After my few days with the Lincoln, I could totally see why Radek insists on driving cars like this. For the same money, he could have gotten the proverbial diesel Mondeo. He would have a perfectly reasonable car, more capable than this one in almost every way imaginable. He would also be a broke guy with a cheap car.

Yes, I know why we are doing it. It might be stupid, but it makes sense.

***

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If BMW ever had a true golden age in which more or less every car in its lineup was at the top of its game, there’s a real case to be made for the turn of the millennium. In 2000, BMW offered the sporty E46-generation 3 Series, the sophisticated E39-generation 5 Series, the timeless E38-generation 7 Series, and the retro Z3 roadster. Essentially all of these vehicles have come up in value in recent years, suggesting a renaissance of interest. Looking back on the last 25 years, however, a different vehicle altogether arguably had the biggest influence in shaping the BMW we know today: the original E53-generation X5. Might it soon become a coveted collectible?

A collector luxury SUV?! Gasp! If we’re not clutching pearls here, it’s because this notion should no longer seem far-fetched to those paying attention. Leaving aside the fact that few imagined, say, a Subaru WRX or an Acura Integra Type R would ever sell for huge sums, a contemporary X5 rival is already carving out a niche in the collector conversation. We’re referring to the Porsche Cayenne, an SUV which launched a few years after the X5 but is already swept up in the vortex of Porsche enthusiasm. A lot of the Cayenne craze centers around safari-style off-road builds, which plays into the vehicle’s reputation for overengineering and durability.

In keeping with BMW’s reputation for sportiness at the time, the X5 was more celebrated for its impressive on-road handling. Maybe that’s why BMW marketed it as an “SAV” rather than an “SUV” (A for Activity). Or maybe it’s because the trunk was so pitiful for a big crossover that nobody in Munich could honestly allege that utility was the point of the exercise.

The true point, of course, was profit. Remember—BMW had acquired Land Rover in 1994 and was keen to make good on its investment. When it launched in 1999, the X5 featured many of the same electronics, infotainment, and powertrains as the 5 Series. However, the split tailgate, hill-descent control, and general luxury-hunting-rig vibe were straight from the Range Rover playbook. Along with wanting to utilize its recently-purchased British asset, the market was beginning to hop with competition. Among the Germans, Mercedes-Benz hit the scene first with the ML-Class in 1997, —the first vehicle to be built at the brand’s U.S. factory in Alabama. Lexus followed the next year with the incredibly successful RX300.

The X5 was built in Spartanburg, South Carolina. That both Mercedes and BMW opted to build new SUV factories on our shores was not a coincidence; Americans were very much the target market. Sales were strong right out of the gate, with 26,270 X5s sold in 2000, the first full year in showrooms. That’s a fantastic result for what was at the time a genuine oddball at BMW dealerships, and an expensive oddball at that. Launched only with a 4.4-liter V-8, the X5 started at $49,970—that’d be $90,532 now. BMW fleshed out the lineup the following year with a 3.0-liter straight-six version, costing $38,900 ($68,185 today). Year-end press releases at the time touted record sales, including a 58 percent increase in 2000. The dizzying roster of X- models in BMW dealerships today all began with the success of the E53.

Among these early X5s, the rarest is the Neiman Marcus Edition. Sold exclusively via the department store’s 1999 Christmas Book, all 50 examples were finished in Impala Brown Metallic with standard 19-inch wheels, park-distance sensors, navigation, Xenon headlamps, heated front seats, and a 10-speaker sound system. The experience included driving training at the new BMW Performance Center in South Carolina, a group romp on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and a tour of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville. Pinkies up, everyone!

As special editions go, it’s not all that special. For one, the powertrain was the same 282-hp, 324-lb-ft V-8 engine and five-speed automatic transmission as the standard X5 4.4i. Still, we relished the chance to drive the very first of these brown bombers for a few hours during The Amelia last month. The vehicle belongs to BMW’s collection in Spartanburg, and at the time of our drive the odometer read just 800 miles. It’s not difficult to imagine this being the lowest-mileage Neiman Marcus X5 in existence, and among the freshest E53-generation X5s overall.

The first thing I notice is just how elegant the X5 looks in a parking lot, despite its considerable size. Designers Chris Bangle and Frank Stephenson nailed it. Lines are sharp but not aggressively so, and the design’s sheer clarity has held up much better than the first ML or Cayenne. I open the door and remark on the sheer heft of the thing, similar to an old Volvo or Mercedes. They shut with satisfying thunk—the kind that stamps an exclamation mark on the end of a heated argument. Gorgeous inlaid wood appears all over the cabin, wrapped around the steering wheel and center console with a delicacy not seen in today’s models. The storage cubby behind the gear selector snaps open quickly and clicks back audibly into place. Door pockets would have seemed enormous to 5 Series drivers. Typical of BMWs in this era, the gauges are all easy to read and clearly framed by the space inside the steering wheel.

Quality padded leather or solid-feeling plastic covers essentially every other surface with which you interact, though the reddish brown seats and trim don’t visually gel here. Every other Neiman X5 I can find online had a light beige interior, also specified in the original press release, so I suspect this color theme may have been reserved for this BMW-owned example. If there’s any downside to the interior, aside from the small trunk and the impossible-to-locate lower tailgate switch, it’s that the back seat is considerably more cramped and less comfortable than the fronts.

Compared with a modern X5, you feel like you’re driving a truck. The seating position is high, but visibility is excellent all around thanks to large windows and a clear perspective over the hood. Inputs require muscle, and the steering weight is heavy and purposeful. At the time I imagine this would have been frustrating to maneuver around a parking lot several times a week, but as an occasional driver today I’d chalk it up to part of the charm.

It’s not especially quick—BMW claimed 7.5 seconds to sprint from 0-60 mph—but the X5 is more about momentum. It handles with surprising poise for something this tall and weighing 4800 pounds. Brakes are right there, every time, clamping down with consistent and predictable force.

While working for Car and Driver in 2000, Hagerty special projects editor Steven Cole Smith drove a Sport package X5 for more than 2500 miles on a road trip. He disliked the Sport’s stiff suspension but voiced praise for the powertrain:

“The VANOS variable valve timing is seamless and transparent. Mated to the five-speed automatic ZF transmission, the powertrain is well-matched, downshifting intuitively when needed, upshifting without drama. It has the Steptronic feature that allows you to shift for yourself, but to some of us, it seemed more a novelty than an enhancement.”

Smith’s criticism holds up nearly 25 years later. The main difference is that this is a slow-shifting transmission by modern standards, but the remains quite a usable powertrain both around town and on the highway. The V-8 has a patient confidence, but even stomping the throttle pedal doesn’t make the car feel over-taxed.

By many accounts, the taxing came later, when the car went out of warranty. These cars can be useful for many thousands of miles if fastidiously and proactively cared for, but maintenance costs are considerable. For one, there are many reports the X5 going through tires like a college freshman through a super-pack of Top Ramen. Owners of the E46 and E39 can also attest to the fact that BMW electronics from this era don’t hold up terribly well, and the X5 shares many of those cars’ other common issues, coolant leaks being the most common of them. Expect high labor costs for anything involving the permanent all-wheel-drive system, timing chain guide rails for the V-8, and optional self-leveling air suspension.

First-gen X5s are generally more affordable than comparable Cayennes, and well-used examples are readily available for under $10,000. That said, savvy buyers will wait for the right car to come along—one that has been thoroughly cared for and maintained. Paying a premium up front will likely mean avoiding nasty surprises down the road. A qualified inspection is essential.

We know millennials are particularly fond of sporty BMWs from this era, but Hagerty insurance quotes for the E53 X5 suggest an older demographic: Gen X. Factors here could be willingness to deal with the maintenance costs, a greater focus on luxury than sportiness, and a higher priority on comfortable ingress/egress. It’s easier to load up kids or grandkids in an X5 than a 5 Series.

For now, the first-generation BMW X5 is in the very early stages of becoming a collector machine. Interest is growing, though, as Hagerty manager of valuation analytics John Wiley explains:

“A couple of years ago, Hagerty gave insurance quotes for the E39-generation BMW M5 more than five times as often as the E53 X5. That was despite the X5’s average quoted value of $16,800—less than half that of an M5. When we do that calculation in 2023, that advantage for the M5 is now just 3.5 times as many quotes.”

We’d expect V-8 versions of the X5 to remain more collectible than the inline-six examples. Though the Neiman Marcus X5 could well hold appeal for the luxury crowd, sport-minded buyers will naturally gravitate to the late-model 4.6is. A kind of proto-X5 M, this über-E53 shaved its 0-60 time down a full tick, to 6.5 seconds, thanks to its 0.2 liters of extra displacement, 340 horses, 20-inch wheels with wider tires, and plastic wind foils. When new, the 4.6is cost $66,845, which was $15,200 more than a 4.4i Sport.

With the rise of 1990s and 2000s European cars in full swing, and the market for vintage SUVs truly becoming a fixture of the collector landscape, the X5’s time will come. I, for one, look forward to witnessing this brutish, Bangle-Stephenson beauty earn its seat at the table.

***

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The AMG EQS is the latest in a rich line of Mercedes sedans stuffed with excessive performance. Going back many years, AMG versions of the S-Class—primarily the V-8 S63 AMG and V-12 S65 AMG—brought a dignified brutality to the inimitable full-sizer. To this day, when CEOs, celebrities, and kingpins want to project strength as they’re shuttled around Los Angeles, London, Moscow, or Hong Kong, they do so from the magnificently padded seat of a full-size AMG sedan.

Our own Grace Houghton and Aaron Robinson have driven other, non-AMG versions of the EQS, which is essentially Mercedes’ take on a pure-EV S-Class. (Read their reviews of the EQS 580 and 450+ here and here.) Both editors found the big bean to be an impressive first swing of an electric Mercedes flagship sedan, albeit one that could use some more at-bats. That’s indeed the case for this high-performance EQS, which also bears the burden of defining what AMG means when it’s powered by a battery.

Two years ago, almost to the day, I wrote a piece on the Mercedes-AMG E63 wagon. The prose was a bit breathless, looking back, but if any car deserved an extra helping of effusiveness this was it. A barking V-8-powered longroof you’d want to drive all day and night, from the school pick-up lane to the farthest-flung back road. Performance and practicality are enticing, of course, but what made this AMG so endearing was its honking German hot-rod personality. The car got under my skin, and I wanted it to stay there.

Driving the first all-electric Mercedes-AMG in America, the $148,550 EQS, produced no such attachment. Performance is not its shortcoming, so much as lack of charm. The car commands 751 hp and 752 lb-ft of torque from a dead stop. Acceleration, even in snowy conditions with winter tires, is sudden and violent. Dial back the traction control and it is possible to execute effortless, perfect drift circles in an unplowed parking lot. And despite its prodigious 5952-pound heft, the AMG EQS is remarkably agile on a twisty road, dancing over icy pavement like a lithium-ion humpback whale.

It even rides marvelously, with standard adaptive damping and air suspension that makes the car feel like it’s gliding. Such ride and handling prowess for a car in this class distinguishes the AMG EQS from the drag-king Tesla Model S, the car that planted the flag for electric high performance in the modern age but isn’t nearly as beloved for its chassis tuning. (For the record, Mercedes estimates the AMG EQS can sprint from 0 to 60 mph in 3.4 seconds, but it feels closer to 3 seconds flat. Even being generous, that’s still a second slower than the Model S Plaid.) More competition is fast approaching, too. In addition to the current Audi RS e-tron GT and Porsche Taycan Turbo S, BMW has just announced its own entry into this arena, the 650-hp i7 M70 xDrive.

Specs: 2022 Mercedes-AMG EQS

• Price: $148,550 / $159,110 (base/as-tested)
• Powertrain: 107.8-kW lithium-ion battery; twin permanently excited synchronous electric motors (one per axle)
• Horsepower: 649 hp (751 hp with additional boost in Race Start mode)
• Torque: 700 lb-ft (752 lb-ft with additional boost in Race Start mode)
• Layout: All-wheel-drive, four-door, five-passenger liftback sedan
• EPA-Rated Fuel Economy: 76/78/77 MPGe (city/hwy/combined)
• Range: 277 miles
• 0–60 mph: 3.4 seconds (est.)
• Competitors: Porsche Taycan Turbo S, BMW i7 M70, Tesla Model S Plaid, Audi RS e-tron GT

In what now amounts to a dreadfully familiar formula, the AMG EQS employs a large lithium-ion battery (here 107.8 kW) that feeds energy to electric motors, one on each axle. Total range is 277 miles, which is well shy of the rear-drive EQS and its claimed 350 miles. Given the sub-freezing conditions during our test, I was not surprised to experience range much closer to 230 miles. Most owners will charge every day at home, which Mercedes says will take 11.25 hours from empty to fully charged using a standard 240V wallbox. The AMG EQS also supports DC fast charging up to 110 kW, and can go from 10 percent to 80 percent charged in 31 minutes.

That’s all under optimal conditions, of course. Cold not only reduces range, as it does in combustion-engine vehicles, but it also slows down the rate of charge. Using the EQS’ free charging program at Electrify America stations (no-cost fast charging for the first 30 minutes, during the first 2 years), we managed to go from 30 percent to 95 percent in 50 minutes.

That is, objectively, a long time to wait if you are trying to get back on the highway during a road trip. However, if you’re going to wait there’s no better place to do it than inside the EQS. The back seat, for one, is absolutely humongous, with leg and head room for days. Despite the lack of frunk, the trunk is also huge, with enough room to store weekend luggage for four people and then some. Not to be outdone in the realm of enormity, the “Hyperscreen” display is 56 inches. There are six 100-watt USB-C ports, and Burmester’s 3D Surround Sound system features 15 speakers with as many separate amplifier channels and 710 watts of Rush-thumping audio power. Everything within reach is lovely to the touch, from the inlaid wood to the luscious Nappa leather. In that regard, this is is a luxury sedan with few equals.

On the outside, unfortunately, the AMG EQS looks, well, like the regular EQS does. A blob of bland that even sweet 22-inch multispoke AMG wheels can’t spice up. I can appreciate that flying under the radar is part of the appeal with a full-size Mercedes, but there’s a certain elegance to the S-Class that the EQS is missing. If this design was the price we had to pay for truly exceptional range, then looking like the offspring of two wind tunnels would be a reasonable trade-off. Not the case here. To wit: The door handles retract to produce a more streamlined profile when the car locks; when they’re covered in ice, however, they make unpleasant noises and sometimes fail to extend when you need to get back in.

Mercedes seems to have focused primarily on the tech and infotainment experience, which centers around the AMG’s aforementioned (and standard) “Hyperscreen.” It’s really three OLED screens—instrument panel for the driver, center display, and secondary display for the front passenger. The instrument cluster is customizable and features a variety of different themes, and across the board the displays are amazingly sharp. The center screen defaults to a gigantic map, which feels a bit overkill at first, but you quickly get used to it. The interface is heavy on touch and capacitive response, but it works well even while wearing gloves. Passengers up front can adjust the music or climate functions on their screen without disrupting the map feed, which will be welcome on long drives with a rider fond of fiddling.

By far the most impressive capability of this system is the augmented-reality navigation. It overlays graphics onto the head-up display that literally point to the lane you should be in and highlight the road you should take as it comes up in real time. The system even works in the dark, using a night-vision camera and video feed that go a long way on unlit, unfamiliar roads. It’s one of the rare OEM navigation systems that presents a compelling reason to use it over Google Maps via Apple CarPlay or Android Auto.

Of course, these tech features are available on other versions of the EQS. That’s where the AMG runs into trouble. Even the non-AMG EQS sedans are plenty quick thanks to the immediate torque of the electric motors, such that easy passing on the highway is guaranteed. Their ride is just as supple, too. Rear-wheel steering—unbelievably useful in tight, low-speed maneuvers, such as in a parking garage—is also not unique to the AMG EQS. I’m not sure how many full-size luxury sedan buyers in this price bracket are going to consider the AMG’s (admittedly fantastic) chassis upgrades to be a dealmaker when range is a competing priority. The power and torque are extraordinary, yes, but the EQS’s synthesized whomps, whirs, and whooshes are no replacement for the emotion of Mercedes’ twin-turbo V-8.

Two years ago, it was obvious why you’d want the E63 over the E400: all the pleasures and delights of a luxury Mercedes wagon, packed with the swagger of an AMG engine and a chassis that let you really explore it. Two years from now, it’ll be 2025. There will be plenty of six-figure luxury EVs on the road, and with any luck they’ll keep getting better. Designers, engineers, and product planners in Affalterbach will surely continue developing AMG’s personality as an electric performance arm. By then, I hope, they’ll have found a way back under our skin.

2022 Mercedes-AMG EQS

Highs: Go-to-jail fast, on command. Exceptional chassis tuning. Gorgeous materials and eye-popping infotainment tech.

Lows: Frumpy looks. Fussy retractable door handles. Not quite enough “wow” to separate it from other EQS models.

Takeaway: A highly competent, highly luxurious Mercedes EV that doesn’t yet communicate what AMG means in the electric age.

***

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59 years ago, on April 17, the public first met the Ford Mustang at the 1964 New York World’s Fair. To celebrate National Mustang Day, as the date has since been christened, we’re re-sharing the following article. It originally appeared on this site on August 15, 2018. Cheers! —Ed. 

Three Mustangs sit in dappled shade behind the Gothic-arched gate of the Edsel & Eleanor Ford House in Grosse Pointe Shores, Michigan. The 1964.5 convertible in Wimbledon White is VIN 001, the first production Mustang built. In blue is another convertible, the first Mustang sold in America, to then-22-year-old Gail Wise, an elementary school teacher outside of Chicago. And last, built in homage to VIN 001, is the 10-millionth Mustang built—another Wimbledon White convertible. Leaves flutter down from the trees through the spaces that separate the cars, but it’s 54 years of pony car history between the trio that hangs, invisible, in the air between them.

Bearing witness to it all is Wise, now 76, and her husband Tom, who won’t be caught the whole day without generous grins. “It’s just incredible,” says Wise.

The first Mustang sold in America

Gail Wise was teaching elementary school in Park Ridge, Illinois, when she unwittingly became the first American to buy a Ford Mustang—a blue convertible with a 260-cubic-inch V-8 and a three-speed automatic transmission. She went to the Ford dealer with her parents knowing she wanted a drop-top, and the salesman revealed under a tarp in a back room one of the dealership’s two allocated showroom Mustangs. Once she saw it the deal was sealed.

“My parents always had Ford convertibles, a ’49 and a ’57. But when I saw that little Mustang, so sporty-looking with its bucket seats and transmission on the floor instead of the column, I loved it,” says Wise.

That was April 15, 1964, two days before Lee Iacocca revealed the car at the New York World’s Fair. Needless to say, she was an overnight sensation at her school as well as in her neighborhood. Thousands had seen the reveal and most only saw advertisements afterwards, but she was driving the real deal.

“Seventh- and eighth-grade boys were just hovering over the car, and everyone around town would ask me to slow down and give them high-fives,” she says, beaming all the while. “I knew it was just the car and not me, but I felt like a movie star.”

Pretty soon, even the custodian at her school remarked that if he had a nickel for every time someone ogled Wise’s Mustang, he’d be a millionaire. The car isn’t worth quite that much now, but being valued at $350,000–$450,000 according to our experts, the original sale price of $3447.50 is a little mind-blowing.

When the car broke down in the ’70s, Wise parked it in the family garage, where it would sit for 27 years. Gail always wanted to sell it to make room for all the stuff that goes along with having four kids, but Tom insisted the Mustang would be his retirement project. He made good on his word, restoring the car without modifications or alterations between 2006 and 2007. Then, in 2009, the couple found out they were the caretakers of a very special Mustang indeed—and the craziness hasn’t stopped since.

“Gail was really the target market for this car,” says Ford historian Ted Ryan. “For a young professional like her, it represented attainable, affordable sportiness and luxury.”

VIN 001

Although he was a bit older, Captain Stanley Tucker of St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada, was also drawn in by the sporty new Mustang back in ’64. An airline pilot, Tucker wanted the car in the worst way and managed to buy the Wimbledon White, three-speed auto, 260 V-8 convertible display model.

“It says a lot that both a schoolteacher and an airline pilot were so interested in the same car,” says Matt Anderson, curator of transportation at The Henry Ford museum. The Henry Ford acquired VIN 001 in 1966, offering Tucker the millionth Mustang built (which he optioned out to the max) in exchange.

“There are just a few cars people make a pilgrimage to the museum to seek out specifically, and Mustang 001 is one of them,” says Anderson.

The 10 millionth Mustang

Built as an homage to VIN 001, the 10 millionth Mustang is also painted in Wimbledon White, which is not offered on the current model at all. Demonstrating just how far the Mustang came in 55 years, the 2019 Mustang has 460-hp from its 5.0-liter V-8 and uses a 10-speed automatic transmission. The 10 millionth car is also equipped with magnetic shocks as well as the Performance Pack Level 1, which adds Michelin Pilot Sport 4S rubber, larger brakes, unique tuning for the stability control, electric-power steering, and suspension.

“When the Mustang first came out it was a groundbreaker, with a sporty style that was available to everyone,” observes Ryan. “But over time it evolved into a car that became much more synonymous with performance, and the 10 millionth car represents that as much as it is also evocative of Mustang’s original design cues.”

Ryan also helped us track down some data on each of the consecutive “millionth” Mustangs. The 1 millionth car was a ’66 in Silver Frost paint with a black convertible top, deluxe black interior with a woodgrain steering wheel, and styled steel wheels. It has a 289 V-8, automatic gearbox, A/C, Stereosonic tape player, disc brakes, and the Rally Pac.

It gets fuzzier from there. Number 2 million was a ’68 hardtop. With number 3 million, Ford can only confirm it was built in the beginning of 1974 production. It took the original Mustang just two years to hit a million cars sold, but there was quite a bigger gap between the 6 millionth car at the start of 1989 production and the 7 millionth at the beginning of 1997 production—a reminder of the less popular third-gen (Fox-body) and fourth-gen cars. Then the retro-inspired fifth-gen dropped for the 2005 model year, marking a critical shift where the Mustang got back its FoMoCo mojo.

For her part, Gail is very fond of the 10 millionth Mustang, which she’s had the chance to drive around a bit. “I was surprised how comfortable it is, and how much tech there is going on,” she says, while Tom couldn’t believe how selectable everything is, from the steering and the throttle to the exhaust note. “Our car has push-button radio, and that was a big deal then,” remarks Gail.

“My Mustang is old, but since the restoration it feels like new. When I’m driving it, I feel like I’m 22 years old again.”

***

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Off-road vehicles are having a moment. Chalk it up to a logical outgrowth of the SUV boom or a general desire to escape civilization and experience the outdoors. Either way, car showrooms these days could pass as REI warehouses.

Joining longtime outdoorsy brands like Subaru—and, more recently, Ford—is Honda and its burgeoning line of TrailSport vehicles. At present, however, this young trim package amounts to more semblance than substance.

What is it?

Let’s recap. The midsize Passport was the first Honda SUV to wear the TrailSport badge, which made its debut for the 2022 model year. The Passport itself launched three years prior, essentially a shortened Pilot with two rows of seating instead of three and a more “adventurous” focus.

The TrailSport trim offers further amped-up aesthetics compared with the standard Passport—orange and black badging, chunkier-looking tires, pewter-color 18-inch wheels, a trim-specific interior package with logo-embossed leather seating—and no major off-road upgrades.

Note the silver, front-end “skid garnish,” as Honda calls it; if you’ve ever ordered an omelette at a trendy brunch joint and immediately discarded the wee agglomeration of chives on top, you have a good sense of what the Passport TrailSport’s trappings bring to the table.

Honda, for its part, argues that the unibody Passport was already a capable off-roader, and that the TrailSport trim merely completes the package.

“Some may not realize the true rugged, off-road capabilities of our light trucks,” said American Honda’s Dave Gardner, executive vice president of national operations, in a press release. “Now they’re getting tough, rugged looks to match, and the addition of TrailSport will further enhance the off-road capability of our vehicles in the future.”

That future, Honda says, will include more aggressive tires, higher ground clearance, unique all-wheel-drive calibration, off-road-tuned suspension, and proper underbody protection.

These upgrades have already manifested in the new-for-2023 Pilot TrailSport. The 2022 model tested here is essentially a tougher-looking appearance package for what is a quite competent and well-executed midsize SUV. The standard 3.5-liter V-6 has plenty of shove, packing 280 hp and 262 lb-ft of torque, and the nine-speed automatic transmission helps return respectable fuel economy: 19/24/21 mpg city/highway/combined.

Starting at $44,265, the Passport TrailSport comes standard with Intelligent Traction Management (Snow, Sand, Mud, and Normal drive modes), onboard navigation, orange-trimmed leather interior, a power liftgate, roof rails, and 10-mm wider tracks (front and rear).

Our test vehicle included a few add-ons, including Sonic Gray Pearl paint ($395), a trailer hitch and crossbars ($616), and the Function Package ($288 for a cargo net, cargo cover, and first-aid kit).

Specs

2022 Honda Passport TrailSport

• Price: $44,265 / $45,564 (base / as-tested)
• Powertrain: 3.5-liter V-6; nine-speed automatic
• Output: 280 hp @ 6000 rpm, 262 lb-ft @ 4700 rpm
• Layout: Four-door, five-passenger, unibody SUV
• Weight: 4251 pounds
• EPA fuel economy: 19 city/25 mpg highway, 21 mpg combined
• 0 to 60 mph: 6.1 seconds (est.)
• Rivals: Toyota 4Runner, Subaru Outback, Jeep Grand Cherokee, Hyundai Santa Fe

What it does well:

Honda sees the Passport as a direct competitor to the long-beloved Toyota 4Runner. The latter is a proper, body-on-frame SUV whose principal engineering was done about a decade ago, which means it handles and rides like … a truck from about decade ago. This is fine if you are regularly hitting dirt roads and rough trails, but for ordinary on-road driving, the unibody Passport is a far more fluid and comfortable vehicle.

We piloted drove the Passport on an extended road trip from Michigan to Connecticut and found the Honda to be a stellar highway companion. The driving position is nice and tall, which helps all-around visibility in concert with generously sized side mirrors. Seats are plenty comfortable and supportive over many hours of driving.

The instrument cluster is a mix of analog and digital elements, with physical gauges for engine temperature and fuel level. The cluster screen primarily showcases engine speed via an easy-to-read horizontal tachometer, and the speedometer is a digital readout rendered in large, legible numbers.

In a lot of ways the Passport speaks to traditional Honda values of simplicity, thoughtfulness, usability, and durability. There are multiple options for storage on each of the SUV’s front doors, including multiple cupholders for beverages of different sizes. The center console features a large storage bin with a sliding cover that is easy to open and close. The primary display screen is a little dated, but it’s functional and there is a volume knob as well as physical climate controls. Second-row seating is plenty spacious even for taller passengers, and the trunk’s wide opening makes for straightforward loading and unloading of equipment.

Nothing about the vehicle feels especially cheap or cost-cut. The cushioned leather armrests on the doors (not to mention the handy fold-down armrests on the inner side of the front seats) seem like they’d hold up to reasonable abuse. As Aaron Robinson noted in his first drive of the Passport in 2019, one of this SUV’s biggest strengths is its quick steering, which makes the Honda downright enjoyable to flit through city streets and across country roads alike.

Changes we’d make:

Not a lot. (If Honda’s goal is to poach 4Runner customers, however, the lack of meaningful off-road hardware is a problem.) If there’s one major weakness in the Passport TrailSport, it’s the nine-speed transmission. Upshifts are not especially crisp or smooth in the lower gears, and the programming is so eager to maximize fuel economy that downshifts often come too late or not at all.

The TrailSport styling is judiciously executed and helps dress things up, but the Passport’s overall shape and body lines are a bit anodyne compared to those of the purposeful 4Runner or the handsome Jeep Grand Cherokee. In short, nobody is going to buy a Passport because it looks great or has the power to impress potential romantic partners. Boxier, more squared-off body lines would do wonders here.

Who’s it for?

At just under $45,000 and with no “gotcha” options in its order sheet, the Passport TrailSport is a solid value. It boasts a spacious interior that a family of four can fill with sports or camping equipment and pile into for road-trip vacations.

Though we only hit a few basic dirt trails while in rural Connecticut, we were impressed with the Passport’s sure-footedness and maneuverability. The torque-vectoring all-wheel-drive system and 8.1 inches of ground clearance should make it a more than capable workhorse on one-lane roads, snowy mountain passes, and mildly rocky landscapes, the latter of which it conquered in our 2019 test drive.

Those looking for true rock-crawling and mud-slinging capability will not find the Passport equal to, say, a Jeep Wrangler, but the Honda is a heck of a lot more livable than that 4×4 and can still hold its own in a variety of conditions.

When the Pilot’s more substantial off-road upgrades inevitably migrate to the Passport, the TrailSport name will mean a lot more. For now, it’s a good-looking appearance package that only increases the Passport’s appeal as a functional, versatile, all-weather midsize crossover. That’s reason enough to give it real consideration.

***

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Dear Gumshoe,

We need your help. Top brass in Detroit wants answers. Deep-cover agents captured a number of unidentified detail images from the The Amelia car show last weekend. They just barely escaped—though some were, regrettably, sunburned.

In an effort to determine the identities of the vehicles below, we’ve enlisted your expertise. Your bravery, knowledge, and diligence will ensure the continued enthusiasm of the car hobby. As far as rolled eyes and confused looks from friends, spouses, and other civilians in their milquetoast CR-Vs and Escapes, we have our best people working on it. Don’t let it distract you from the task at hand.

Here’s how it’ll work. Below we’ve posted a list of 15 images. Your job is to cite the make and model, in the comments, that matches the corresponding entry and number. Could you Google search to check your work? Sure, but that wouldn’t be very much fun, so try to instead use the gooey, wrinkled thing between your ears instead of the rectangle thing in your pocket. Early next week, we’ll reveal the answers in a comment at the bottom of this article.

Good luck, Gumshoe. Absolutely nothing is riding on this. Just bragging rights. How many can you correctly identify?

-Operative Weiner, O.A.T. (Office of Automotive Trivia)

P.S. – Don’t get too fixated on the pithy nicknames. They’re mostly red herrings. (Mostly.)

1. Canio’s Quads

2. Arch Enemy

3. Night Vision

4. Seeing Double

5. Hip to be Square

6. True Stripes

7. Cool It

8. Heavy Breathing

9. Notre Dame de Intercooler

10. Spot Check

11. Catnip

12. Marchal Marchal Marchal

13. Crank It

14. Machine Learning

15. Old Bean

ANSWERS BELOW!

1. BMW Z3M Coupe
2. Morgan AeroMax (boattail version of Aero 8, which is an acceptable answer here)
3. Jaguar Mk. II
4. Alfa Romeo Spyder
5. Mercedes-Benz E500
6. Plymouth Duster
7. Porsche 959
8. Lamborghini Miura
9. Ford GT
10. Bugatti EB110
11. Puma GT
12. Alpine A110
13. Cord 812
14. Auto Union 1000 SP
15. McLaren F1

The post Secret Mission: Can you ID these 15 cars? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The Audi RS 3 is a special car, and that’s obvious even on paper. There’s that growly turbo five-cylinder, with its clear link to Audi heritage, the small size, those flared fenders. Next to the competition, cars like the BMW M2 and Mercedes CLA 45, it stands out. But it’s important to understand what the Audi isn’t.

In 2015, I interviewed Harald Wester, a Fiat-Chrysler executive then CEO of Maserati. The Italian brand was in the middle of a course change, trying to regain relevance after years of slow sales. Wester was charming and smart, a smooth talker who readily acknowledged that his German competition had an engineering edge. To make up for that, he said, Maserati had to over-deliver on personality and emotion.

“Driving those cars is like wearing a uniform. Who cares? Nobody sees you… [but they are] damn good uniforms. Close to perfect pieces of engineering. Good for us they have no soul. They’re f***ing boring.”

Strong words. You can probably picture that “uniform”: sleek proportions, in a color that disappears in traffic. Fast but not flashy. What an associate-level attorney would lease.

Regardless of what you think about Maserati, Wester’s point rings true. Modern vehicles, and luxury cars in particular, can look and feel interchangeable. Attempting to stand out, automakers have increasingly relied on icing like plastic bodywork accents, flashy infotainment screens, and LED light signatures.

That nonsense, seemingly designed for a TikTok reel, is to some degree unavoidable on new cars, and the 2022 RS 3 carries its share: checkered-flag patterns appear in the daytime running lights, and the LED taillights are programmed to display a cheeky coming/going sequence. But underneath those gimmicks lives an engaging, satisfying, and distinctive performance sedan. One that costs a princely $59,995 but genuinely feels like a German hot rod and is far from “f***ing boring.”

Specs: 2022 Audi RS 3

• Price as tested: $65,440 (including destination)
• Powertrain: 2.5-liter turbo I-5; seven-speed dual-clutch automatic
• Output: 401 hp @ 6500 rpm, 369 lb-ft @ 3500 rpm
• Layout: All-wheel-drive, five-seat sedan
• Weight: 3649 lbs.
• EPA-rated fuel economy: 20/29/23 (city/hwy/combined)
• 0–60 mph: 3.6 seconds
• Top speed: 155 mph (180 mph available at extra cost)

Audi’s 2.5-liter, 401-hp, aluminum-block turbo five is the heart of the experience. Five-cylinder engines, an Audi signature, are rare in modern cars, and the layout’s traditional firing order (1-2-4-5-3) helps give a particular auditory character. In the RS 3, that means a deep growl at low revs that turns into a rich, controlled vibrato higher up. There’s none of the typical four-cylinder drone, and where a BMW straight-six is Nutella-smooth, the Audi’s five sounds a bit wild and uneven. Add in our test car’s optional black-tipped sport exhaust ($1000), you find yourself hitting the right pedal simply to hear the tones ebb and flow.

This engine is the only five-cylinder left in the U.S. passenger-car market. It’s an evolution of a powerplant that first appeared in 2009, in the 340-hp Audi TT RS. In 2016, that engine was updated to give 394 hp, for use in the TT and the first-generation RS 3. The current iteration adds 7 hp and 15 lb-ft, with max output now available at lower rpm and across a broader range of engine speed. Now that the TT is dead, the five is built exclusively for the RS 3.

That’s a lot of muscle packed into what today passes for a little car. The RS 3 is the high-performance version of the Audi S3, which is itself a high-performance version of the A3 compact. Measure for measure, the A3 is almost exactly the same size as the B5-generation Audi A4 (1995–2001), and much of the RS 3’s underpinnings are shared with the current-generation Volkswagen Golf R hatchback. Where the VW employs a 315-hp four, however, Audi’s five makes the RS 3 a far more interesting prospect.

As in the Audi S3, a seven-speed automatic helps direct power to all four wheels, but the RS 3 enjoys an additional party trick: a true torque-vectoring rear differential. Up to 50 percent of engine torque can be sent to the rear axle, where the driveshaft meets something called the RS Torque Splitter. That’s Audi-speak for a pair of multi-plate clutch packs, one per rear half shaft, that can route 100 percent of available torque to the outside wheel. (The Golf R has the same basic hardware, though Audi stresses the RS 3’s calibration is optimized for that car’s different characteristics and extra grunt.)

There is a drift mode, branded as the RS Torque Rear mode, for silly snow or track antics, but you don’t need to activate it to feel the diff working. Unlike many all-wheel-drive cars, which can wash out and go inert under power in a turn, the RS 3 feels most alive under hard cornering. That’s a big difference from the S3, which is capable but not nearly as fluid and dynamic in its response to inputs.

Combine this with the RS 3’s super-quick steering, you get a package that is eager and downright addictive on a back road. It can be shocking how quickly you get comfortable seeking the car’s limits. Unlike Audi’s larger RS models—the RS 7, for example—the RS 3 seems to respond better the more you ask of it. The end result is what we look for in fast road cars—a drive that feels like a dialogue, not a series of commands and responses.

As you’d expect, the RS 3’s chassis is mighty stiff. The standard adaptive dampers offer excellent body control, particularly over sudden elevation changes, along with serene highway composure. The flip side is a dose of the typical German-sports-car thumping and thwacking over potholes, which adds a degree of white-knuckling on city streets. It’s worth pointing out that this thump-thwack also exists on the less expensive and less aggressive S3. The RS 3 does not feel more firm or more unpleasant, which is not always true for apex-performance versions of mainstream cars. In either case, most buyers will likely find the ride quality worth the trade-off, if barely.

The brakes are typical modern Audi RS, which is to say, more than enough for road use. Audi offers a carbon-ceramic brake package ($5500, bundled with a 180-mph speed limiter) for serious track work, and while we haven’t tested that setup, the standard steel-rotor arrangement is so powerful and consistent that it’s hard to imagine the ceramics giving discernible benefit on the street. Ducts and air guides in the car’s front bumper and undercarriage also bring what Audi says is a 20-percent increase in brake cooling compared to the previous RS 3. In testing, we experienced neither an ounce of fade nor any change in the pedal’s natural feel.

The RS 3’s interior is a sophisticated, refined design whose ergonomics don’t rely on too many touch screens, but it’s also, unfortunately, pretty much what you get in the less expensive S3. The seats are extremely supportive without the use of cartoonish or excessive bolsters. Audi’s Virtual Cockpit digital instrument cluster remains, after many years, among the best in the business. But the RS 3’s only real distinguishing mark is the honeycomb pattern on the seats, which replaces the S3’s diamond stitching. For $1500, Audi will pepper the cabin with neon-green accents, but only if your RS 3 is one of three colors—Daytona Gray Pearl, Glacier White Metallic, or Kyalami Green.

The exterior is more extroverted, a consequence of the aggressive proportions. This is a standard-looking sedan given bulging fenders, jutting sills, and a more angry face. And where other A3 variants are kind of plain at the rear, the RS 3 gets a prominent, full-width black accent piece with that same honeycomb texture. Next to the S3, the RS 3 is 1.5 inches longer, 0.1 inch lower, and 1.4 inches wider, with 1.9 inches of additional front track. We wouldn’t call it beautiful, and the last RS 3 was a lot more subtle, but the stance fits the personality.

All told, our test car clocked in at $65,440, including the $750 Black Optic Plus trim package. This is the only appearance pack available, and its generous dose of cosmetic changes looked mean with our example’s contrasting Kemora Gray metallic paint. The other available options are nice, but aside from that must-have sport exhaust, they really do seem optional and reasonably priced. (We can’t say the same of the AMG A45, which can get seriously spendy with a few box checks.)

You may have noticed that we have very little negative to say here. The skeptical among you may write this car off as a roided-out VW with a fancy badge. It is that, in a sense, but it’s also far more interesting. In an era where sport sedans are less common every day, no other car at this price hits the same notes: a 0–60 time under four seconds (3.6), all-weather and on-track capability, four doors, a back seat, a premium interior, and a unique engine that feels and sounds like nothing on the road.

There’s nothing “uniform” about a car with soul to spare. Eat your heart out, Harald.

2022 Audi RS 3

Price: $59,095 / $65,440 (base / as-tested)

Highs: Spectacular engine with character galore. Fun on a back road. Serious performance in a practical city-car package.

Lows: Interior is virtually identical to that of the more affordable S3. Exterior styling never quite seems all of a piece.

Takeaway: The most enjoyable and most impressive car in Audi’s entire lineup, and by a wide margin. A weapons-grade daily driver that’s anything but ordinary.

***

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If logic had entered the equation, I wouldn’t have bought a sports car at all. For a 23-year-old barely six months into his first real job out of college, a used Civic would have been sensible. A Forester, maybe, because winters in Michigan are rough. But I wasn’t interested in sensible. Sensible came with a roof.

It was March 2014, five months into my car magazine career. Whether I would ultimately hack it remained an open question. Seven of my coworkers, including current Hagerty Insider managing editor David Zenlea, owned Miatas. Three or four grand was the going rate for a decent NA-generation driver.

That, too, would have been the sensible choice.

Instead, I blew $8300 on a 2001 BMW Z3 2.5 roadster with 71,500 miles. That sum represented more than half of my total savings, mostly earned from years of waiting tables. Several people told me I was making a dumb choice, and that the money I’d have to put into a 13-year-old BMW made in South Carolina would eventually fill me with regret.

They were wrong about the last part. I love this car to pieces, even when it’s in pieces. The time, energy, and investment I’ve put into my BMW over the last decade has been entirely worth it to me.

Car valuation is Hagerty’s bread and butter. Our insights from comprehensive data, we hope, help people make decisions that will allow them to get—or even just keep—a vehicle that makes them happy. But for all our talk about savvy car purchases, we don’t often acknowledge the upshot investing in the health of one’s car: you get to keep driving it.

I’m not talking about a full rotisserie restoration, though that nuclear option is certainly worth it for some. My mantra has been four-fold:

(1) Be religious about basic maintenance.

(2) Address common failure points before they have a chance to wreak havoc.

(3) Fix things promptly when they break.

(4) Drive it as much as possible.

Long did I pine for a Z3, so the last thing that crossed my mind when I finally got it was what it would one day be worth. I’d picked a great example of a fun car and expected German-car ownership costs. The point was to enjoy it. If I lost my shirt, it was because I wanted a really good tan.

Everything I’ve done to the car myself—from oil changes to brakes, weather-seal repair, headlight bulbs, and new engine gaskets—has been to ensure my spring, summer, and fall are punctuated with weekend spurts of top-down fun. That straight-six song! Those classic proportions! That oh-so-BMW rubber-band-ball shift feel! It doesn’t get old, even as my recently graying beard reminds me I do. And when things go wrong beyond my expertise or bandwidth to handle, I have no problem paying a shop to get the car back on the road ASAP. My rough annual maintenance budget of $1000 sometimes takes a big hit, but usually there’s some left over to roll into next year. So when the choice is between drenching myself in transmission fluid to badly replace a transmission shift-shaft seal and swiping my credit card, I take the latter route.

As a matter of interest, I decided to check—for the first time since buying it—what a five-speed Z3 2.5 in #3 (Good) condition is worth. At the time of purchase, in 2014, $8300 was the exact average value for my car. Not bad for a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed hopeful like me, right? Unlike full-bore M Roadsters and M Coupes, however, ordinary Z3 roadsters like mine were not finished depreciating. Values hit their bottom of $7500 in 2021, eventually rebounding and growing to today’s average of $11,800. Adjusted for inflation, more like $9400.

Lord knows I’m upside down. Just how much so I don’t particularly care to calculate. Maybe it’s the blood rushing to my head, but it’s been a lot more fun than puttering around in a Forester.

Last summer, I realized my Z3 was 21 years old. At that point in its life, Rule #2 applied to a number of components. The entire engine cooling system, for one thing, is suspect on Z3s and related E36 3 Series BMWs at this age or about 80,000 miles. Rubber and plastic pieces like hoses, expansion tanks, and fan blades get brittle and risk cracking, which means overheating that BMW’s aluminum-block inline-sixes do not tolerate well. Brake lines. Motor and transmission mounts. Suspension and differential bushings. This stuff gets tired, but at a rate slower than one can easily notice.

The last thing I wanted was to cook my engine, lose my brakes, or risk damage to my subframe (unfortunately common on Z3s with worn diff bushings, due to spot weld failure). Thanks to a fellow named Bryan Salgado, who runs a popular Z3 and Z4 maintenance group on Facebook, I executed a plan. I ordered a giant, $2900 pile of parts and had them dropped off at Salgado’s home garage in North Carolina, courtesy of a nearby BMW supplier called BimmerBum. He spent three or four days performing all of the necessary work, at a very reasonable rate of $75/hr. Given that my car was something like the eighth or ninth “kitchen sink” project Salgado had done for friends and Z3 club members, I knew I was in good hands.

All told, the work involved a complete cooling system overhaul, replacement of engine and transmission mounts, seat rail bushing repair, stainless steel brake lines, new front control arms, springs, shocks, suspension bushings, differential bushing, and a weighted ZHP shift knob for good measure. My boss, Larry Webster, was skeptical that I’d spent $5500 on an unremarkable Z3.

“Really? It’s worth that much to you?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

And wow, what a difference. I have a story in the works that will get deeper into just how much better the car drove after the kitchen sink refresh, but suffice to say it might drive better now than when I bought it.

Naturally, a wayward traffic barrel rolled into the left lane outside of Louisville, Kentucky, on my way back to Michigan. Nobody was hurt, which is what really matters, but I can’t say I was thrilled to see a cracked bumper cover and dented driver’s door, among other damage. It’s insured (thanks, Hagerty!) and it will be fixed. The car was never meant for the concours lawn, anyway.

I have no plans to part with my Z3, so all I care about is that I can drive it when spring comes around. Those precious moments behind the wheel are the only return on investment I care to track.

***

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Via Hagerty Insider

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Big changes are coming to the Polestar 2. Though the upstart electric brand has made a number of tweaks to its lineup since its first cars hit the market in 2019, the Polestar 2 liftback EV is getting rear-wheel drive, a larger battery, faster charging, new electric motors, more range, a redesigned front end, and some slight changes to its wheel and tire packages.

Let’s start with the aesthetic glow-up, which is more of a nose job than anything else. Replacing the more traditional slatted, black contrast grille is a body-color panel, that Polestar calls its “SmartZone,” set to also appear on the upcoming Polestar 3 three-row SUV. The piece features an integrated camera as well as radar sensors for the vehicle’s active safety features. If you’ve seen Volvo’s grille-less XC40 Recharge out on the road, you get the idea.

Underneath there are more dramatic upgrades. Both Single- and Dual-Motor versions of the Polestar 2 come with new permanent-magnetic electric motors and inverters that provide more power and torque than before. The base model sees its electric motor move to the rear axle, yielding the first Polestar with rear-wheel drive. Output improves from 231 hp and 243 lb-ft of torque to 299 hp and 361 lb-ft, which shaves the 7.0-second 0–60 mph sprint down to 5.9 seconds. Thanks to a larger battery (82 kWh from 78 kWh), expected EPA-rated range improves from 270 miles to 300 miles and maximum charging speed increases from 155 kW to 205 kW.

The Dual-Motor Polestar 2 keeps its same 78-kWh battery, but range improves from 260 miles to 270 miles. A big piece of that puzzle is that the all-wheel drive system can now engage automatically as needed, allowing the vehicle to operate in rear-wheel-drive mode most of the time. When all four wheels are driven, the system now benefits from rear-biased torque distribution. Compared to the outgoing 2023 model, on which we happened to publish a review this week, output swells from 408 hp and 467 lb-ft of torque to 421 hp and 546 lb-ft. Zero-to-60 drops from 4.5 seconds to 4.3 seconds, and range increases from 260 miles to 270 miles. Max charging speed stays at 155 kW.

The optional Performance Pack continues, albeit with slight changes to its specs since output grew to 476 hp and 502 lb-ft of torque for the 2023 model year. For 2024, power is down a smidge to 455 hp but torque is up to 546 lb-ft, and 0–60 falls to 4.1 seconds from 4.2 seconds. Included are, still: Brembo brakes with four-piston front calipers and drilled discs, Öhlins Dual-Flow shocks with manual adjustment, 20-inch wheels (now with an updated design to match the upcoming Polestar 3), summer performance tires, and a unique powertrain tuning.

Standard equipment now includes the Driver Awareness package (blind-spot monitoring with steering assist, rear collision warning and cross-traffic alert with automatic braking), and the Dual-Motor model now comes by default with the Pilot Pack (adaptive cruise control, 360-degree cameras, park assist, automatic dimming mirrors, LED front fog lights).

Polestar isn’t announcing pricing information just yet, but we expect that the current base price of $49,800 for the Single-Motor variant will climb, as will the Dual-Motor now that it includes the previously optional ($3400) Pilot Pack. Order books are now open, with deliveries slated to begin “later this year.”

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For a detailed technical breakdown of the Corvette E-Ray, beyond the scope of this First Ride, click here.

It’s a cold, damp day on Black Lake. The 40-degree weather and intermittent drizzle at GM’s Milford Proving Grounds skidpad are not ideal for the hard launch of a sports car. Bill Wise, the development engineer at the wheel, is not concerned.

“Do you get motion sickness?” he says. “Because with launch control, this thing seriously takes off.” The growl of a Chevy small-block rises in pitch before a plateau, ready to let loose when Bill releases the brake pedal.

“Not in a car,” I say.

Those words are barely out of my mouth before all four of the E-Ray’s wheels hook up. Butterflies hit my stomach. The acceleration is surprisingly aggressive—ruthless and immediate, like a Tesla, but made stranger, a moment later, by the combination of V-8 roar and space-age electric motor whine.

The rate at which scenery melts does not decrease with each shift snapped off by the gearbox. I am simply pressed further into my seat. As Wise stomps on the brakes, the E-Ray converts kinetic energy to electricity, then feeds that juice to the 1.9-kWh battery pack nestled in the tunnel between the seats. We come to a halt.

The faint whine of an electric motor, the crazed four-wheel clawing at launch—these are strange phenomena for a Corvette. Like watching Rambo in Italian—familiar characters, but a language you’ve never heard them speak.

The E-Ray is unlike any other Corvette. It is the first Vette with all-wheel drive. The first to use an electric drive motor. And the first to see 60 mph, from rest, in just 2.5 seconds. That’s a tenth faster than the 670-hp Corvette Z06. The 1500-hp Bugatti Chiron, with its four turbos, sixteen cylinders, eight liters, and $3 million price, does the same job in 2.4 seconds. The E-Ray will start at $104,295.

Many sports-car fans raise their eyebrows at the H-word. “Hybrid” can bring to mind a bean-shaped commuter like the Toyota Prius, but the E-Ray is nothing of the sort. More appropriate comparisons would be the McLaren P1, the Porsche 918, or the Acura NSX—performance cars of unquestionable focus, capable of harnessing electricity for performance and drivability, not just fuel economy or reduced emissions. It helps to remember that the E-Ray was baked into the development of the eighth-generation Corvette (C8) from day one, so the car is no afterthought.

General Motors claims for the E-Ray a total of 655 system horsepower, a combination of the 495-hp LT2 V-8 driving the rear axle (essentially the engine from the current Corvette Stingray), and the 160-hp, 125 lb-ft battery-electric arrangement powering the front. Both front wheels are driven by a single electric motor, via an open differential. From the right seat, the E-Ray’s front wheels seem to respond instantly to the throttle pedal. If the driver asks for more than 30 percent throttle or requests more than .15 g of straight-line acceleration, the V-8 wakes up.

The E-Ray shares its wide body, its suspension setup, and its Magnetic Ride Control dampers with the Z06. Several engineers, however, told me that the former car’s development brief was completely different: all-weather capable and angled more toward daily driving, while offering performance significantly beyond that of the base Stingray (and within spitting distance of the Z06’s ability).

“This thing is a champ in the snow, even on the standard all-season tires,” Wise says. “And here, on those same tires, you can take advantage of so much mechanical grip.”

He shows me. We knife toward the middle of the 67-acre Black Lake, entering an autocross-like cone course at roughly 90 mph. “This was never slated as an out-and-out track car, like the Z06, but it is just as capable around a race track.”

Wise stabs the throttle and cranks the steering left at the entry to a long sweeper. As the E-Ray scrubs speed, he initiates what feels, at first, like a rear-drive Corvette slide. He adjusts the car’s angle of attack with his right foot, the steering wheel hardly moving. Just before the turn’s apex, the E-Ray begins to briskly accelerate toward corner exit, never breaking the slide.

I’m at a loss. “Damn, Bill.”

“Only five minutes behind the wheel, you’d be doing the exact same thing, corner after corner,” he says. “It’s that approachable.”

Wise keeps driving. The course changes, the long sweepers replaced by a series of quick direction changes. The E-Ray negotiates the tighter corners with ease, flat and stable, the nose quickly taking a set.

Hybrids often suffer from mass bloat, a ballooning of curb weight over similar internal-combustion-only models. A visit to Milford to meet a preproduction Corvette usually means hearing someone in Chevrolet engineering declare that “every gram has to earn its way onto the car.”

This approach is common in the development of high-performance cars, but the Corvette team does it better than most. The engineers there seem to take joy in justifying each component or material down to the tiniest detail. The battery, for example, is not from GM’s Ultium family, where the hardware and its controls are generally larger and storage-optimized for long range. The E-Ray’s lighter, pouch-type LG battery was better suited to the car’s performance focus, its front axle’s demands for frequent and significant energy flow.

That axle system adds about 260 pounds of curb weight. Mass-reduction efforts to offset that gain include standard carbon-ceramic brakes and a lighter, lithium-ion chemistry for the gas engine’s 12-volt battery. The electric drive unit’s housing is magnesium, with associated fasteners and the bottom of the drive battery’s housing in aluminum. The aluminum brace between the front shock-tower tops is claimed to genuinely improve steering feel at speed, helping compensate for the slight changes in front suspension geometry required by the packaging of that front axle.

Important, too, is how little the added mass shifts balance forward. Thirty-nine-point-four percent of the Z06’s weight sits up front, 60.6 percent in the rear. The E-Ray shifts that distribution by only 1.5 percent, to 41/59.

We’ll feature a full drive of the E-Ray on these pages soon. In the meantime, from the passenger seat, the car holds promise. It feels meaningfully more exciting and interesting than the Stingray yet more tractable and comfortable than the monstrous Z06.

By switching the Corvette to a mid-engine layout, after decades of the engine up front, the C8 vaulted America’s sports car to new dynamic heights while realizing a dream envisioned by some of the car’s early creators. An all-wheel-drive Corvette with a battery and an electric motor was not on the minds of those men, but I suspect they’d find this car a triumph of engineering.

Perhaps even more than the Stingray or the Z06, the E-Ray reflects the technology and ingenuity of the current moment. Just thinking about the ride gives me those butterflies all over again.

2024 Chevrolet Corvette E-Ray

• Price: $104,295 (coupe)
• Powertrain: 6.2-liter V-8, eight-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission; 1.9-kWh pouch-type lithium-ion battery, permanent-magnet electric motor
• Horsepower: 655 from total system (V-8: 495 hp @ 6450 rpm); (e-motor: 160 hp)
• Torque:  (V-8: 470 lb-ft @ 5150 rpm); (e-motor: 125 lb-ft)
• Layout: All-wheel-drive, two-seat targa-top coupe or convertible
• Curb weight: 3984 pounds
• EPA-rated fuel economy: TBA
• 0–60 mph: 2.5 seconds
• 1/4-mile: 10.5 seconds @ 130 mph

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Thus far, the eighth-generation Corvette has been defined by a number of firsts. It’s the first production Vette with a mid-engine layout. The first to offer a dual-clutch automatic transmission. And, in the Z06, the first Corvette V-8 with an exotic flat-plane crank. With the 2024 Corvette E-Ray, we can tack a few more firsts onto the list: first hybrid Vette, first with all-wheel drive, and the first to hit 60 mph in 2.5 seconds.

“In 1953, the enthusiastic reaction to the Chevrolet Corvette concept kicked off seven decades of passion, performance and American ingenuity,” said General Motors president Mark Reuss. “E-Ray, as the first electrified, all-wheel-drive Corvette, takes it a step further and expands the promise of what Corvette can deliver.”

(To get a sense of just how special the E-Ray is, we sat shotgun with the E-Ray lead development engineer on an enlightening, tire-smoking thrill ride around a skidpad at GM’s Milford Proving Grounds. Please click here to read about that ride-along experience.)

If you’re here for the hard numbers, wait no more. Here’s everything we got from our visit to Milford:

Powertrain

Let’s start with the known quantity, the LT2 V-8. It’s essentially a carryover internal combustion engine (ICE) from the Stingray Z51, making 495 hp and 470 lb-ft of torque, delivered to the rear wheels via the same Tremec eight-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission and electronic limited-slip differential.

Up front is the electrified drive axle, completely decoupled from the rear. A single permanent-magnet electric motor directly drives front wheels via an open differential. There is no plug-in functionality. Drawing energy from the 1.9-kWh lithium-ion battery, the motor can provide up to 160 hp and 125 lb-ft of torque. Combined with the gas engine, that’s a total system output of 655 hp—15 fewer than the Corvette Z06. Engineers chose this type of drive unit, rather than, say, in-wheel electric motors, for its packaging efficiency as well as its functional simplicity.

The battery is a pouch type, with 80 cells divided evenly into 4 modules (20 cells per module). All battery components are housed within the Corvette’s central tunnel—an aluminum backbone for the space frame that, aside from cooling hardware running through the top, is empty in the Z06 and Stingray. This is but one example of how the E-Ray was, from the get-go, planned as part of the C8 Corvette’s development.

LG makes the battery cells, which are packaged and assembled at GM’s Brownstown, Michigan battery plant. While the Ultium cells that are used in GM’s EVs are designed for large storage and long-range, the E-Ray’s battery is small and optimized for in-and-out power flow. Using a power inverter that also fits neatly inside the tunnel, the electric motor can serve as a generator to charge the battery during coasting and other driving situations. (There are six driving modes, one of which is called Charge+ and focuses on feeding the battery.) Regenerative braking also aids in battery charging.

The electric front axle can propel the Corvette E-Ray at speeds up to 45 mph, at which point the V-8 will fire, bring up the rpm to match speed, and the transmission will engage to ensure a smooth addition of torque. The process takes a couple of seconds. The V-8 will kick on before 45 mph if the driver requests more than 30 percent throttle or 1.5 g of acceleration, or if the HVAC system is manually activated. The front axle can work in concert with the LT2’s cylinder deactivation, which means highway efficiency can be maximized with four-cylinder hybrid power.

In so-called Stealth Mode, which exclusively uses the front axle, the E-Ray has about 4 miles of all-electric range.

eAWD

While quiet start-ups that don’t annoy neighbors are helpful, and pure-EV capability at city speeds will make the E-Ray usable in European cities that ban downtown emissions, those are not the only reasons GM built the E-Ray. Corvette engineers insist that the combination of all-wheel drive and on-demand torque makes for a special, approachable high-performance sports car experience, to say nothing of the increased capability and control in foul weather.

According to Lead Vehicle Development engineer Mike Kutcher, the main advantage of the electrified front axle is its ability to pull the E-Ray out of a curve. “We tuned it to behave and feel primarily as a rear-wheel-drive car on corner entry and in the mid-corner, settled properly with our eLSD tuning,” Kutcher noted. “Then, with the rear hung out, you can call on the front axle for the torque to power out of the curve.

“What some manufacturers are doing on the ICE output shaft, we do via controls on the front axle. We took this approach for the modularity benefit, and to do it we have to use advanced propulsion controls.”

There is no clutch on the front axle, so the E-Ray uses brake-based torque vectoring there instead. The software’s different drive modes allow for varying degrees of yaw on the rear axle, but as the rear end loses stability the E-Ray will shift the percentage of torque the driver requests to the front axle. Using a combination of data such as speed, acceleration request, steering angle, and available traction (friction coefficient), the car’s software can determine where it thinks the driver is trying to point the car.

As Lead Performance Engineer Bill Wise explained, the hybrid system provides additional composure that is noticeable on any surface. And on a road course, it’s no less capable than the Z06: “The E-Ray was never slated as an out-and-out track car, but we’ve put just as much track work into it in development. It is as capable as the Z06 around a race track. But the front axle allows us to reduce some compromises; we can improve stability, for example, by leaning on that front axle … and not only is it fast, but the peak is so broad that you can throw the average customer into it and not have them in over their head.”

Wise also said that the E-Ray is “a champ” in the snow. Using the same dedicated winter tire as the Z06, the E-Ray turns into a “rocket ship,” but the standard all-season tire is no joke, he said. “This car does things in the snow you wouldn’t imagine the Corvette would be capable of. Where an average car on our snow circle would do 45-55 mph, the E-Ray will do 75-80. It’s almost scary.”

Chassis

The E-Ray shares its wide-body proportions with the Z06, meaning it sits 3.6 inches wider than the Corvette Stingray. It shares the Z06’s wheel and tire size: staggered 20 x 10-inch wheels with 275-width tires up front and 21 x 13-inch rears with 345-width tires. Standard fitment is the Michelin Pilot Sport all-season tire, wrapped around five-spoke wheels unique to the E-Ray. The Z06’s Michelin Pilot Sport 4S summer tire is available as part of an optional performance pack, which also unlocks carbon-fiber wheel options and a taller wicker bill for the rear decklid.

Weight savings was a big focus on the E-Ray. Brembo-brand carbon-ceramic brakes are standard, the electric drive unit case is made of magnesium and held together with aluminum fasteners, and the 12-volt combustion engine battery is a lighter, lithium-ion unit. It weighs 3774 pounds, or about 265 pounds more than the Z06.

“Considering the performance enhancement of all wheel drive as we’ve done it here, compared to if we did it in a conventional mechanical way, that is certainly very light,” said Corvette Chief Engineer Josh Holder.

The electrified front axle effectively shifted overall weight balance forward by 1 percent, to 41/59 front/rear. The battery is structurally integrated into the chassis, and the bottom of the pack is reinforced with an aluminum plate—rather than the carbon-composite piece in other Corvettes—for extra rigidity.

The E-Ray suspension features specific spring rates and roll rates. “It’s to help react to the added front mass and optimize the tire contact patch,” explained Holder. The standard Magnetic Ride Control (MR 4.0) feature three distinct settings but is generally tuned softer than the Z06 and firmer than the Stingray Z51, but closer to the latter on that spectrum. The stabilizer bar tuning is common in the rear, and only slightly different up front.

Wherever possible, the Corvette team sought to minimize changes compared to the Z06. If something required adjustment it got it, but engineers maintained an “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” approach to the E-Ray chassis. On the front control arms, for example, the bushings are identical but the geometry had to be slightly modified to make room for the drive axle. This resulted in a slightly taller shock cap, which engineers compensated for with a unique “tower-to-tower” brace made from aluminum. The brace, they say, adds stiffness and improves down-the-road feel through the steering wheel.

Design

Aside from the subtle changes to the front grille, plus some web-like bumper inserts in the space between the taillights and rear diffuser, the E-Ray sports a mix of Stingray and Z06 cues. While the body shares its footprint and overall shape with the Z06, the square-tip quad exhaust has the same layout as the Stingray.

The E-Ray will have four finishes for its aluminum wheels, three finishes for the carbon wheels, fourteen paint options (including the new-for-2024 Riptide Blue, Seawolf Gray, and Cacti), and a model-specific Electric Blue stripe package. Inside it’s more familiar fare, but the E-Ray’s debut does bring with it a new Artemis Dipped interior, which reads in person like a greenish gray and will only be available on 2024 Corvettes.

The only differences to the E-Ray cockpit compared to other Corvettes are the unique power output and electrical system efficiency display modes, as well as the physical button on the driver’s side of the center tunnel. The button can change the drive mode to Charge+ on demand, making it easy to ensure the battery is charged up for later use.

How it stacks up

In terms of price, the E-Ray sits in the Corvette lineup pretty much right alongside the Z06, which starts at $106,395. The E-Ray 1LZ coupe starts at $104,295, while the 1LZ convertible starts at $111,295.

Engineers told us that the E-Ray is more of a corollary to the Z06 than it is positioned below it, though the latter car is unquestionably more of a scalpel on the track. Here’s Bill Wise, performance engineer, on how he sees the difference:

“The E-Ray is incredibly approachable. Because we’ve got the big, wide tire package from the Corvette Z06, it means a lot of added capacity from a mechanical grip standpoint. More so than you’d have on the Stingray, but then you don’t have quite the Z06’s power. The performance peak ends up being really broad, which means you can drive the E-Ray up on the peak of the tire for a long time.”

If this sounds a bit like the Corvette Grand Sport from the outgoing C7 generation, which combined the Z06’s chassis with the Stingray’s V-8, you’re not far off the mark. But without a doubt, the hybrid component brings a new dimension to Corvette performance.

Kutcher, the E-Ray’s lead development engineer, said it best:  “We took what’s already great about the Stingray and asked how we could make it better. What we got is the quickest Corvette ever, all-wheel drive capability, electrification—a totally different kind of step up. A totally different car than the Z06, and still a Corvette.”

The E-Ray goes on sale this year—precisely when, GM is not saying. We can’t get behind the wheel soon enough.

The post 2024 Corvette E-Ray Revealed: 655-hp, AWD hybrid is the quickest Vette ever appeared first on Hagerty Media.

As the squat yellow streak storms down the front straight, the air fills with a manic wail. The sound screams race car. Behind fat fenders and 21-inch rear wheels is that swan-neck rear wing, which wouldn’t look out of place on a Le Mans prototype. Yet underneath sits . . . a license plate.

Despite the genuine motorsport elements baked in, the 2022 Porsche 911 GT3 is designed for street use. It’s tractable and practical on the road, and on a track, it’s like nothing else. And while road-car claims to racing fame are often tenuous, the $163,750 GT3 presents a better case than most, a connection to a meaningful legacy.

The name launched in 1999, on a track-weapon variant of the 996-chassis Porsche 911. GT3s soon went racing around the globe in both amateur and professional events. At the outset, the model was truly hardcore—a loud and uncomfortable machine bought by serious people for serious use.

We are now in the fourth major generation of GT3. After 996 came 997, then 991, then today’s 992. Like the 997 and 991, the current model, unveiled in 2021, is more livable and approachable than the last. Yet it still feels like a race car, with blistering track pace and instant response. There is so much visceral feedback—intense noise, a mighty stiff suspension, aggressive brake bite. You even get reduced sound deadening and lightweight glass. The interior is typical Porsche GT car, which is to say, ergonomically excellent but hardly luxurious. The optional carbon-fiber bucket seats ($5900) are super supportive but a little taxing in ordinary driving. A sub-3200 pound curb weight helps lend agility, and the 9000-rpm redline gives a rawness rare in a modern vehicle.

Whether this all-things-to-all-customers approach is improvement or dilution depends on your perspective. I’ve driven a number of 911s both new and old but have no stake in this debate. Nor did Hagerty senior editor Eddy Eckart and road test editor Alejandro Della Torre—both accomplished club racers—when they joined me, and a new GT3, at two southeast Michigan circuits last year.

The road courses at Waterford Hills and M1 Concourse are relatively small for a car this potent but still technical and entertaining. Eckart and Della Torre are each active SCCA Spec Miata racers with high-speed seat time in a variety of machines. I’ve been writing about and track-testing new cars for nine years. We reckoned our different skill sets would give useful perspective, so we didn’t worry about our test’s lack of 130-mph corners.

And really, that manic wail dominates the experience anywhere you go. At 4.0 liters, 502 hp, and 346 lb-ft of torque, the GT3’s naturally aspirated flat-six is majestic. Sharing much with Porsche’s GT3 Cup race car, this engine is the only nonturbo example available on a new 911. It is potent but far from the strongest in its class, nor is the GT3’s 3.2-second 0–60 time quicker than a new Corvette Stingray’s.

Not that you buy this car for the numbers. You don’t just hear that 9000-rpm crescendo, you feel it, waves bouncing off the base of your skull. That mechanical orchestra between the rear wheels fills the cabin with vibration. Six throttles yield outstanding response, and while the Porsche is happiest run hard—peak power is a sky-high 8400 rpm—it still builds thrust beautifully from idle. “Purposeful, linear power,” Della Torre said. “Feels fast all the time, and that doesn’t get old.”

Another anomaly in the supercar world is the GT3’s available six-speed manual, a no-cost option. Our Racing Yellow test vehicle, however, came equipped with Porsche’s seven-speed PDK dual-clutch automatic. Most current Porsches use an eight-speed PDK, but the GT3 saves 44 pounds by losing the eighth ratio. “Gear changes have a distinctly mechanical feel, more so than in other Porsches,” Eckart said. “Still an easy and familiar gearbox that provides the driver a sense of control.”

One bonus of the PDK-equipped GT3 is how it enjoys a more traditionally shaped shift lever, replacing the standard Carrera’s awkward (and cheap-feeling) “nubbin” switch. The transmission is hyper-crisp in full automatic mode, and manual gear selection via the steering-wheel paddles seems to produce an even more pronounced shift character. Della Torre: “It’s harsher, like how people imagine race cars shifting. It lies to you about having straight-cut gears.”

At Waterford, we each spent time in that manual mode at least once a lap, short-shifting on the back straight. The reason tells you two things about the GT3’s personality: First, lower revs helped the car settle and flow more easily into the next corner, a relatively quick 90-degree right. But Waterford also enforces a strict 75-decibel sound limit. At full blast, the GT3 blows well above 90 dB. The track does not usually have this issue with street vehicles, but most street vehicles don’t have that wail.

The racing link continues with the suspension. Every previous GT3 used MacPherson struts up front. The 992 has a new double-wishbone setup whose basic components are shared with the aforementioned GT3 Cup car. An additional 1.9 inches of front track improves stability under lateral load and also increases steering response.

“Very controllable,” observed Eckart, after dancing the Porsche around M1 Concourse’s high-speed right-hander. “One of the easier, more satisfying road cars in terms of feeding and manipulating the chassis at the limit of adhesion. And at the same time, you know the car has more to give.”

This combination of supple steering, sharp response, and eternal composure is remarkable, and it’s been a GT3 hallmark since the 997. You feel very much in the center of the car, aware of its balance and able to make subtle midcorner adjustments without unsettling the chassis.

Because rear-engine cars carry so much of their mass so far aft, they have unique natural handling tendencies. The 911, including the GT3, employs several creative solutions to smooth over some of them. Chief among those solutions are electrohydraulic motor mounts, able to stiffen at a moment’s notice to reduce engine movement, then go softer to reduce harshness in normal driving. There’s also rear-wheel steering, to improve maneuverability without sacrificing stability at speed.

This duality irks some Porsche purists. They believe a 911 like this should be only be for those of extreme talent. That’s a matter of opinion, but either way, the GT3 still takes skill to go quickly. After a while, I feel like I’m getting the hang of it, but Della Torre, a seasoned driving instructor, rides shotgun for a bit and opens my eyes. He encourages me to better utilize the curbing, to help the car pivot: “Trail brake it like a go-kart. The rear end will slide, but it won’t settle violently.”

Sure enough, I try his method on the next few laps and take advantage of the car’s willingness to rotate. It lets me add throttle sooner on corner exit and pick up a few miles per hour on the next straight. Stunning grip and predictable breakaway from our test car’s optional Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 tires certainly helped.

“Jumping on the flying trapeze is a lot of fun, and almost everybody can benefit from a safety net,” Della Torre said. Like every modern car, the Porsche has those nets—electronic stability and traction control—but the company’s engineers really excel in programming them to work under the radar. In the instances where stability control corrected my errors, it upset neither me nor the car.

The optional carbon-ceramic brakes ($9210) in particular provided immense confidence. (For nine grand, one should hope so.) Over hours of hard lapping, the pedal maintained consistent firmness and response. Full-stomp stops were as controllable as gentle brushes to trim speed, and even on the street, when cold, the brakes weren’t temperamental or grabby. The standard cast-iron rotors likely feel a bit more natural, but the carbon discs weigh about half as much.

Developing a sports car that can both flatter and thrill is a challenging needle to thread. It’s an especially difficult task with a car like the GT3, which must feel distinct enough from lesser 911 models to justify its high base price. It’s also worth remembering that expensive options and dealer markup can easily stretch the Porsche’s out-the-door price beyond $200,000. Still, for that money, you get advanced aerodynamics and a highly adjustable chassis. Porsche set up our test car in its recommended track configuration—adjustments to the suspension but also to the front spoiler lip, the front diffuser, and the rear wing. One could happily own this car as a mountain-road plaything and never monkey with those settings, but it’s nice to know you can.

In the GT3 owner’s manual, Porsche explicitly states that the car should not be driven on public roads when chassis and aero are set for the track. Regardless, our test car was delivered to our office, like any other manufacturer loaner vehicle, so we treated it as such.

With that caveat in mind, a few notes: The engine’s cold-start shout sends stray neighborhood cats running for cover. Pace on a semi-bumpy back road is downright extreme, video-game fast, with the suspension constantly telling you what’s going on and the steering wheel requiring frequent corrections. First gear tops out at 59 mph, which means you’re breaking the speed limit before your first shift.

It all comes off as engaging, a car that must be driven with focus. Fun, and then, after an hour or two, draining. For a road trip, or for commuting, most people would be happier with the current 911 GTS, which offers nearly as much real-world speed, a calmer personality, and many of the same features (big brakes, rear-wheel steering, carbon seats, to name a few).

With the GTS, however, you never experience that same feeling of taming a live wire.

The GT3 is memorable in a way that other modern 911s are not. It has an edge but doesn’t want to cut you. Most important, Porsche’s most hardcore 911 offers a sense of meeting the driver wherever they are. It flatters you just enough to let you safely find your limit, then gives enough clear feedback to show that you’ve reached it. Whether you’re a total novice, a casual track rat, or an experienced racer, you’ll be entertained and challenged.

If all you want is a flashy, loud Porsche 911 with trump-card bragging rights, the GT3 will abide. But if you want to establish a complex relationship with a modern supercar, with a machine that seems to evolve and deepen as you grow as a driver, there’s only one answer. The sound it makes is just gravy.

***

2022 Porsche 911 GT3 (PDK)

Price: $163,750 / $186,660 (base / as-tested)

Highs: Unparalleled engine sound and reflexes. Approachable for novices, layered with depth and complexity for experts.

Lows: Everything feels dialed up to 11, which is fine for short bursts but becomes onerous on longer stints. Huge demand for a limited supply means the line to get one (and the markup) can be bonkers.

Takeaway: About as good of a driver’s car as exists in the modern supercar space, and you don’t have to be an SCCA member to enjoy it. And that’s either why you’ll love the GT3 to bits or dismiss it out of hand.

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Buying a new car? I hope you like touchscreens—modern interiors are full of them. Blame Tesla or Apple or the entire Zoomer generation, but the trend of shoving more and more functionality into a capacitive display isn’t going away.

The death of haptics, muscle memory, and good ol’ tactile involvement shouldn’t be taken lightly, and you probably know that touchscreens have significant drawbacks when used in a vehicle interior. But there are also some real benefits. Let’s look at the positives and negatives and get to the bottom of the subject: Are the days numbered for the humble physical button?

More Screens: But why?

I spoke with leading experts in the field, from user-experience (UX) designers to manufacturer reps and analysts. Almost all of them singled out one factor in touchscreen proliferation: cost.

Connor Hill, the global design lead at Toyota Connected, Toyota’s development lab for digital mobility, told me: “In terms of pure cost, fewer switches to produce equals savings to the company and customer.” Hill offered a caveat, noting the pessimism of his statement, but his view is definitely realistic.

Another major factor is the growing percentage of consumers who genuinely want a vehicle with screens. Drew Meehan is the senior product manager and a former UX designer at mapping and navigation company TomTom. “People like touchscreens,” he said, “and see them as being modern and relatable, because they echo their consumer devices.” Meaning: phones. “For OEMs, this is a win-win scenario. They can save money while simultaneously providing an experience that’s perceived by consumers as more premium, more modern, and more approachable than traditional in-car systems, like rotary knob controllers.”

Finally, there’s flexibility and the ability to grow. In an era of over-the-air software updates, where a download tonight might give your car fun new features for tomorrow’s commute, allowing the user experience to evolve is key. “Over the air updates impact software,” said Christopher Schreiner, the product director of UX innovation at consulting firm Strategy Analytics. “Having all features software-driven behind a touchscreen provides greater ability to fix bugs or provide improvements.”

It’s worth remembering that changes meant to be improvements don’t always work out that way. Around a year ago, Tesla pushed out a major software update, V11, which rearranged many of the major components in its cars’ primary touch interface. Some owners didn’t like the change and took to popular online discussion destinations like Reddit, where complaint threads saw thousands of upvotes.

And yet, so many of us hate them

There is, of course, a healthy list of reasons why touchscreens don’t always satisfy. “Any time a driver takes their eyes away from the road, the risk of an accident climbs,” Robby DeGraff said. DeGraff is an industry analyst at analytics firm AutoPacific. That risk, he notes, applies “regardless [of whether you’re] zooming in on a map or quickly checking to ensure you’ve tapped the right physical button to turn on the window defroster.”

Nor is the problem as simple as merely looking at a screen to locate a virtual button. Many touchscreen interactions require two or more taps to access a feature or function—the driver must open a menu, then navigate a submenu, then drag a control slider to perform some task once accomplished by simply twisting a knob. A knob that could be located through muscle memory and without taking your eyes off the road. “Navigating through a maze of menus and submenus is not only time-consuming but dangerous to do in motion,” DeGraff added.

Add a bumpy road to the equation, things get even worse. “Using a touchscreen while driving is nothing like a smartphone experience,” Strategy’s Schreiner said. “There is a reach involved, at a slightly awkward angle, while traveling at 70 mph. Icon sizes need to reflect this, and interior designers need to provide anchors for the elbow and/or wrist, to allow for better use.”

If all that weren’t enough, there’s also weather. Northerners will tell you that capacitive touchscreens can be miserable to use in colder months. Fingers wrapped up in your warmest mittens? Good luck toggling the seat heaters in your Model 3.

Still, it’s getting better

At this point, touchscreens have been in cars for decades. It’s worth remembering that, while early examples were universally awful—slow, distracting, often buggy—the technology has actually improved a great deal in recent years.

Much of that improvement comes down to hardware. Toyota’s Hill blamed slow processors and cheap displays for many of the industry’s early woes. UX designers, he noted, have also learned a lot since. A big focus now, he said, is creating responsive designs that work well on all display sizes. There is also a push to simplify things as much as possible: “The best thing we can do as designers,” Hill said, “is to be great editors—cut anything that doesn’t have significant value, and fight for simplicity on behalf of our users.”

TomTom’s Meehan told me about “cognitive load”—the amount of thought required for a person to perform a given action. Design simplicity, he said, is crucial in reducing that load: “What’s important is that drivers know where to find important functions without having to think too much. And without having to search through deep menus, navigation structures, or hidden features.”

What comes next?

What does the future hold? Probably more touchscreens—at least in the short term. “Data from our AutoPacific 2022 Future Attribute Demand Study revealed that 29 percent of consumers nationwide, who intend to buy a new vehicle within the next three years, want a center screen that’s ten inches or larger,” DeGraff said. (For perspective, the current largest Apple iPad is now 10.9 inches; an iPad Mini, the bottom of the range, offers a screen around two inches smaller.)

Still, DeGraff said, there is reason for optimism—we may see something of a return to physical cockpit controls. “The latest VW Golf GTI and Golf R debuted with strictly touch-capacitive surfaces for just about everything on the vehicle. It was so cumbersome, and quite frankly dangerous. Now, top brass at VW have confirmed that the car will soon [return to] physical buttons.”

TomTom’s Meehan is also optimistic. “There are quite a few design teams and leaders who are now backing off full-touchscreen systems in order to improve the user experience,” he said. “Big screens aren’t likely to go anywhere anytime soon, but over the next few years, I expect to see a slow return of physical controls for basic or repeat functions, like HVAC, lights, and media volume.”

In other words, if you’re a fan of the humble volume knob, don’t give up. There may be a little more tactility in our future after all.

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If there is a single car that hit the road this year with a unique design statement, it’s the Ioniq 5. Like the Hyundai Concept N Vision 74, it is aggressive, angular and sprinkled with a 1970s and ’80s flavor of retrofuturism. As forward-thinking as this styling language looks, Hyundai is keen to reinforce its connection to an icon of automotive design: Giorgetto Giugiaro (84). Nowhere is that link stronger than in the company’s recently announced project to recreate the designer’s lost, one-off 1974 Hyundai Pony Coupe Concept.

Giugiaro, creator of the original VW Golf and a plethora of other trend-setting cars (DeLorean DMC-12, De Tomaso Mangusta, Iso Grifo, Fiat Dino, Alfa Giulia GT, among many others) is one of the greatest car designers ever to pick up a pen. It is no exaggeration to say that he has influenced and shaped automotive design like few other individuals.

What is not widely known is that Giugiaro helped to get Hyundai off the ground when the brand was launched. In the early 1970s, Giugiaro’s Audi Asso di Picche concept prompted Hyundai’s top management to seek out Giugiaro for a new design direction. He proceeded to pen the original Hyundai Pony, a compact rear-wheel-drive hatchback sedan. When the Pony was unveiled at the 1974 Turin auto show, it was accompanied by the handsome Pony Coupe Concept.

An aborted project

The Pony Coupe, with an entirely unique body, was slated for series production in the late 1970s. While the Pony did make it to production, the two-door project was eventually abandoned, not least because of the economic situation of the era. And as the project vaporized, the prototype vanished. The last traces were lost decades ago, and it is likely that it was simply crushed some time in the 1980s. Korea, for a long time, preferred to look only in one direction: forward.

Giugiaro and Hyundai kept close ties for a while. After the Pony and its facelift, Giugiaro designed its successor named Excel; in 1982, he designed the elegant Stellar sedan, and his final project was the 1988 Sonata. After that, the Koreans decided to bring styling in-house.

It took Hyundai Motor Group design chief Luc Donckerwolke (formerly of Audi, Skoda, Lamborghini, and Bentley) and his right-hand man, Hyundai brand chief designer SangYup Lee (General Motors, VW, Audi, Bentley) to create a sense of heritage and legacy within the South Korean brand. And while Hyundai has had its share of unique and interesting designs, the Giugiaro models are the most compelling. It was ripe pickings as a root for a major design language change.

The 2019 Hyundai Concept 45, which led to the Ioniq 5 production car, was directly inspired by the Pony. Published sketches paid homage to Giugiaro’s illustrations of the time. In 2021, the design team converted a classic Pony into an EV in the form of a “restomod.” And, of course, the Concept N Vision 74 looks like a thoroughly modernized Pony Coupé concept.

Built from scratch

The latest chapter in this story is that Hyundai has commissioned Giugiaro—more precisely, the consultancy GFG Style, which Giorgetto founded together with his son Fabrizio in 2015—to do a full and thorough recreation of the lost Pony Coupe concept. It is, unlike the Pony EV project, specifically not envisioned as a restomod; rather, it will accurately reflect the original model, which includes a combustion engine.

The project is similar to BMW’s 2019 recreation of the Bertone Garmisch concept, but while BMW had the Garmisch recreated with the help of modern tools, Hyundai has assigned GFG to employ only traditional methods to rebuild the Pony Coupe. Marching orders also include thorough documentation of the build process. The idea, ostensibly, is a scientific exercise melding the history of design, modeling, and concept production.

Though the project was just announced at a small media event in Seoul/Korea last week—with Donckerwolke, Lee, and Giugiaro in attendance—the parties have been talking about the project since 2019. It was only temporarily halted because of the pandemic. An early Pony sedan made its way to Italy months ago, slated for use as a donor car base for the recreated Pony Coupe. The finished product will be unveiled in the spring of 2023, surely filling a huge gap in the Hyundai’s corporate history.

Design tidbits galore

During the event, a few more interesting details emerged. For one, Donckerwolke said that the partnership between GFG Style and Hyundai has the potential to grow. Keep in mind for such expanded collaboration that Hyundai also builds high-speed trains, one of Giugiaro’s areas of expertise, and is working on large drones as transportation devices. So don’t pin all your hopes on a new Giugiaro-designed Hyundai car.

Hyundai designers also hinted at a continuation of the EV restomod series, perhaps in the vein of the Grandeur EV that followed the Pony EV and also includes a Galloper restomod that has not been officially unveiled. Further restomods down the road seem likely.

And finally, Giugiaro shared a particularly interesting anecdote. He says that the VW Golf was originally supposed to be called VW Pony—and he is still in possession of the badge he was supposed to put on the car. In the ’70s, when VW found out from Giugiaro that Hyundai was working on a model with the same name, a frantic search for another moniker began.

One thing seems clear: Volkswagen can’t be pleased with this renewed Italo-Korean relationship. After all, it was Giugiaro that helped birth the ultra-successful Golf that hastened the end of the rear-engined era in Wolfsburg, and the connection between the two parties was so close that Giugiaro sold his original company, Ital Design, into the VW orbit in 2010. Hyundai meanwhile seems to have plenty of appetite to eat whatever lunch it can, and the design community is eagerly awaiting the opportunity to see the Pony Concept in the flesh. A more public unveiling is set for May.

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Jack Swansey holds a degree in anthropology with a focus on car culture, and he is the world’s leading ethnographic authority (by default, if you must know) on NASCAR fandom. His love of the automobile fuels him to discover what cars mean to the people who own, drive, and love them. —EW

According to Kelley Blue Book figures as of October 2022, the average sale price of a new full-size pickup truck is $63,231, up 9.4 percent over last year, and nearly $9500 more than the average price of an entry-level luxury car.

Over sixty-three thousand dollars. That sum could cover a generously optioned BMW M340i or Porsche Macan—and that’s the average sale price. Ford’s top-of-the-line F-150 Limited costs just north of $85,000 before options, and certain trim lines on heavy-duty trucks crack six figures. Stuffed with leather, premium sound systems, and advanced tech features, these luxury pickups are about as far from the ordinary white work truck as a pigeon is from a peacock.

Why are Americans so willing to spend luxury-car prices on pickups from mainstream brands while the same product from a premium nameplate flops? Lincoln’s Blackwood and Mark LT couldn’t make it more than four collective model years while every Ford King Ranch that rolls off the line has a willing buyer.

There might be an anthropological explanation for this phenomenon. Hear me out: We Americans like trucks—and luxury trucks, in the proper context—in concert with our country’s deep-rooted Protestant work ethic.

The phrase “Protestant ethic” was first used by the early 20th-century German sociologist Max Weber, but he was not the first to recognize the American society’s emphasis on the moral character of hard work. Alexis de Tocqueville marveled at the same phenomenon a century earlier. The Puritans considered economic success reflective of God’s favor. Even colonial Jamestown settler John Smith commanded: “He who will not work shall not eat.” From the very beginning, a pseudo- or openly religious glorification of labor has informed the way Americans interact with the world and each other.

The Protestant ethic is reinforced by the structure of our economy, the policy of our government, and yes, heroic national myths like the winning of the frontier. What started as Puritan religious dogma morphed into Gilded Age “bootstrap” fables, and eventually into the idealized blue-collar workers of Chevy’s “Like a Rock” ads. The ethic survives, changing with the times.

If there is one vehicle reflective of American values, it’s the trusty pickup truck. This is a machine that offers immense versatility and inherent practical value to the worker, but in the United States it has also come to represent significant value in the social hierarchy. Anyone who has felt the warm embrace of a GMC Denali interior knows that these are proper luxury vehicles—save for the badge.

Modern American culture in 2022 is much more diverse and multifaceted than it was in the 17th century, or even the early 20th, but the Puritan legacy is still evident. In many traditional circles, hard work is regarded as a fundamental moral good, while displays of wealth are considered vulgar. No matter how much money someone makes, carrying a camping pack through the woods, setting up a tent, cooking beans on a campfire, and sleeping under the stars makes people feel satisfied. Connected to nature. Blue jeans, although they were originally marketed as a uniform for miners in the California Gold Rush, have thoroughly permeated American fashion from the most basic threads to $300 raw denim.

Let’s go a step further. We’ve established that Weber’s Protestant work ethic considers labor to be a moral obligation, a commandment even. To watch the Super Bowl is to be inundated with marketing that idolizes hard work, the pickup truck its towering, mulch-hauling, stump-pulling symbol. Hard-hat-wearing miners, construction workers, and farmers treat trucks with generational reverence. Physical labor is often dirty and physically demanding, of course, though not always cinematically so. It’s a cliché, but only because it’s rooted in something real. Advertisers didn’t make it up to sell Trail Boss–emblazoned floor mats. Like independence and self-reliance, hard work—physical or otherwise—is an American value already underlying the stories many of us tell ourselves about ourselves and our country.

Consider that from our nation’s beginnings as a British colony well into the 20th century, most Americans still lived and worked in rural communities. The American economy transitioned rapidly to modern capitalism while our society was still mostly agricultural; our mainstream national values remain laced with the rugged individualism that characterized Thomas Jefferson’s ideal yeoman farmer. Today, the proportion of Americans who make their living via agriculture has never been slimmer. Truck manufacturers nevertheless still trade on the cultural pull of that figure. You may remember Ram’s “God made a farmer” commercial from back in 2013. One could argue we are now more a nation of contractors than growers, but the fact remains that tons of people still do serious physical labor, and they rely on their pickups—even the luxury models—to make their living.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMpZ0TGjbWE&ab_channel=RamTrucks

***

“Wait a minute,” you’re probably asking, “I get why people want trucks, but not why they’re willing to pay Mercedes-Benz prices for them.” Ah, but Weber has more to add on that subject:

“[The Puritans] did not wish to impose mortification on the man of wealth, but the use of his means for necessary and practical things.”

This is the crux of it. A truck is an infinitely practical device for work, and therefore, the ethic tells us, worth paying for. Even if a four-door pickup truck is primarily used for passengers, groceries, and sports equipment, it can do something a Lexus RX can’t: haul a sheet of plywood or tow a 25-foot cabin cruiser on a moment’s notice.

Conversely, high-trim American trucks are some of the most luxurious and stately vehicles on the road. (Not to mention how well they’re engineered.) Comfort features are often generous, and GM’s CornerStep bumpers, Ram and GMC’s multifunction tailgates, and Ford’s Pro Power Onboard electrical system combine technology and convenience in an everyday-usable package. Saving the day in a power outage, pulling a car out of a ditch, or hauling a new refrigerator from Lowe’s might not happen every single day, but the Protestant ethic puts a lot of value in even the potential for practicality. When the need arises, renting a truck from a company or calling up a friend … just hits different.

Finally, we return to the text on the tailgate. Think back again to Lincoln’s Blackwood (2002) and Mark LT (2006–2008). Ford Motor Company moved just 36,187 Lincoln Mark LTs between 2005 and 2009, against 796,039 F-Series trucks in 2006 alone. One can easily imagine that of nearly 800,000 Ford trucks sold, more than 36,000 were optioned highly enough to at least match the price of the Mark LT.

The reason people won’t accept a Lincoln truck is the same reason VW knows it will never figure out how to sell the Amarok in America, and why Mercedes never even tried with the short-lived X-Class.

Weber again:

“[To the Puritans], irrational use [of wealth] was exemplified in the outward forms of luxury which their code condemned … this worldly Protestant asceticism … acted powerfully against the spontaneous enjoyment of possessions.”

Dominant historical American values disapprove of outward forms of luxury. Outward luxuries, that is. But when it comes to inward luxuries, like the “Heated and Ventilated Leather Front Bucket Seats with Active Motion” available on the 2022 F-150 Platinum, that’s another story. As long it has a bed, wears a Ford badge on the hood, and looks enough like the base model, it might as well be the Waldorf Astoria inside. A luxury truck is a rational purchase so long as it stays a Ford, Ram, Chevy, or even a GMC. An Escalade EXT pickup? Well, that’s just showing off.

As a non-truck-owning amateur anthropologist, it is my duty to point out that every single vehicle purchase is influenced by cultural and social forces—conscious or otherwise. This isn’t inherently good or bad, it’s just reality. Our culture in America today is diverse, nuanced, and at times contradictory. Certain aspects of it are inescapable.

The Ford Maverick, a four-cylinder unibody minitruck sales phenom, suggests that the social forces driving Americans towards trucks aren’t limited to full-sizers. And despite the hate they sometimes get from truck purists, the Rivian R1T, Ford F-150 Lightning, and Chevrolet Silverado EV are being met with considerable demand. Which tells us that the values people associate with pickup trucks are not inextricably linked to internal combustion.

Detractors will contest that the current crop of full-size trucks isn’t great for pedestrian safety, the atmosphere, or urban street parking. Proponents will fire back that no vehicle meets their various needs so effectively and reliably, and people who don’t understand that probably never will. The debate is so interesting and persistent perhaps because it is a larger societal conversation in miniature—the long-dominant Protestant work ethic being poked at, examined, and weighed against other perspectives. Such scrutiny is a common enough social phenomenon, historically speaking.

For my part, I think there is nothing fundamentally wrong with desiring a high-end vehicle if you can afford it, or a vehicle with extraordinary utilitarian potential for those moments you need it, be that once a week or once a year. Dropping Macan money on a Silverado doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me personally, but the market at large thinks otherwise. Regardless, it is fascinating the way we showcase (or don’t) our ideas about work and luxury in the vehicles we drive.

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It’s a car-review cliché whenever a new hot hatch hits the market to say that it’s finally “grown up” or “matured.” You may be tempted to believe that about the 2023 Honda Civic Type R. After all, the last generation’s boy-racer outfit is gone in favor of a more subdued look. But make no mistake—this new Type R is cut from the very same cloth as its predecessor. Honda has simply enjoyed the benefits of a much-improved Civic platform, smoothed over the outgoing car’s few kinks, and dialed in its behavior and response. After driving the new Type R on mountain roads outside Sonoma, California, as well as on the track at Sonoma Raceway, it’s hard to deny that Honda has improved this already great machine in every meaningful manner.

The arrival of any new Type R Honda is a momentous occasion, but the outgoing iteration hit the scene with quite a lot more fanfare. Why? Because that model, launched in 2016, was the first Civic Type R ever sold on U.S. shores. Prior to that, Americans’ only exposure to this flavor of high-performance Honda was the high-revving, race-bred, stripped-out Acura Integra Type R of the late 1990s. People went bananas when the Civic Type R—offered in Japan and Europe, but long accessible to U.S. fans only in video games like Gran Turismo—was in the showroom at their local Honda dealership.

That Type R, based on the tenth-generation Civic hatchback, lived up to the hype. When new, it set the record for the fastest front-wheel-drive car around Germany’s Nürburgring race track. A unique “dual-axis” front suspension design all but eliminated torque steer. Yet despite the Type R’s prodigious capabilities, the car retained its inherent Civic-ness—comfortable, practical, and everyday-drivable. Sure, it looked like a 12-year-old designed it in the back of his social studies notebook, but the adults willing to pay $40,000 for a compact Honda arguably wanted to experience the dream car of their youth.

More sedate styling is a common personality trait across Honda’s 2023 lineup, and the result in the Type R is a car that looks much more of one piece and not tacked-on with needless vents and fender flares. Nevertheless, only the front doors and roof are shared with the ordinary Civic hatchback. The effect in person is not so dramatic, but next to a regular Civic, the Type R has more of a magnetic presence. The new spoiler, if there is any design misstep, doesn’t quite visually mesh with the rest of the vehicle, but it no longer blocks the driver’s view out of the rear glass.

On paper, the engine doesn’t seem like a dramatic upgrade in performance. Whereas the outgoing Civic Type R, launched for the 2017 model year, served up 306 hp and 295 lb-ft of torque from its 2.0-liter turbo-four, the new car boasts 315 hp and 310 lb-ft from an evolution of the same K20C engine. The increased output is in part thanks to a new turbocharger design, with 10 percent better intake airflow, and a redesigned exhaust with 13 percent better flow. The biggest update, however, is to the cooling system. Owners of the outgoing Civic Type R reported heat-soak issues under extreme track driving conditions that prompted Honda to increase the grille opening by 13 percent and update the radiator core for the car’s mid-cycle refresh. The 2023 car keeps things chilly with a 48 percent larger grille opening, bigger radiator, more robust fan, and longer intercooler core.

You feel the difference in engine performance on the road. Throttle response in the low end is snappier than before, thanks largely to an 18 percent lighter flywheel, and there’s considerable punch when boost and peak torque hit at 2600 rpm. Our drive took place on a wet and cold morning, following a considerable storm the night before, which meant plenty of large rocks and patches of gravel lurking around corners. Even going uphill and regularly slowing to avoid hazards, we could leave the transmission in third gear and rely on low-end torque to keep momentum. The Type R didn’t need more grunt, but the 15 extra lb-ft is most welcome. The car’s personality transitions from basic commuter to slick canyon carver with seamless confidence.

What the last Type R really demanded was a better engine note, which Honda addressed with the redesigned exhaust and active valve system. The four-cylinder sounds noticeably more eager and enthusiastic under acceleration, although Honda engineers did admit that engine noise is computer-synthesized and pumped in through the speakers. The Type R lacks the active noise cancellation feature present in other Civics, so it’s true that you can better hear the exterior exhaust note from inside the car. More pleasant than before? Sure, but the bar was pretty low. Nobody will buy a Type R because it sounds great.

This chassis is the Type R’s golden ticket. Thanks to a number of refinements, along with the new eleventh-gen Civic architecture, Honda managed to preserve the hot hatch’s athleticism and reflexes while taming some of its twitchiness during hard driving. Wheelbase grows 1.4 inches, while the track width increases 1 inch up front and 0.75 inches in the rear. Rather than stick with 20-inch wheels, Honda downsized to 19s and opted for a 0.5-inch wider footprint. Reduced weight was a major reason for the decision, but the smaller rims also lower the car’s center of gravity and ride height. Big impacts over potholes no longer make you wince. The 20-mm wider tires—a bespoke 265/30 R19 Michelin Pilot Sport 4S—offer more grip than the Continentals did. (A spokesperson from Honda Japan indicated that customers demanded Michelin tires because of the brand’s “reputation for technical prowess.”)

Specs: 2023 Honda Civic Type R

• Price: $43,990 (including destination)
• Powertrain: Inline four-cylinder with turbo, 16-valve DOHC VTEC; six-speed manual
• Horsepower: 315 hp @ 6500 rpm
• Torque: 310 lb-ft @ 2600–4000 rpm
• Layout: Front-wheel drive, four-passenger, four-door touring hatchback
• Weight: 3188 pounds
• EPA-rated fuel economy: 22/28/24 (city/hwy/combined)
• 0–60 mph: TBA
• Top speed: TBA

Track-focused Michelin Cup 2 tires are available for order at dealers, as well. Honda wanted to show off the new rubber on the California drive, but with temperatures hovering between 40 and 50 degrees, it was deemed a safety hazard. Still, we learned more about the chassis on Sonoma Speedway than on the road route.

Our first couple of sessions in the morning were mired in significant wet and cold, conditions which proved rather dicey on this highly technical circuit and its considerable elevation and camber changes. Honda asked us to go out initially in Comfort mode, the softest drive setting behind Sport and R+. (There is also a new Individual mode that allows for specific adjustments to steering, engine response, auto rev-matching behavior, and adaptive dampers settings.) Traction and stability control saved our bacon in a handful of instances, and only later in the day, when temperatures rose and the track dried out, did we switch into R+, which dials back the threshold of intervention.

This is about as good as a modern front-wheel-drive car gets. You sit low, with plenty of glass around to give a sense of clear visibility. Turn-in is lively, and the steering communicates plenty about what the front tires are doing. The helical mechanical limited-slip diff carries over from the last generation, allowing for fairly generous throttle input during corner exit without pushing the front end wide. There’s almost nothing in the way of body roll, and slight adjustments to throttle and steering in the mid-corner help manage the rear’s willingness to subtly rotate. Once you adjust to the surprisingly sensitive throttle, brake, and wheel, the car is more forgiving than it initially seems.

Sonoma isn’t particularly hard on brakes, but we never had a problem and enjoyed the firm pedal feel. Shifting is a lovely affair, as well, with a nicely weighted gear knob and clearly spaced gates. Honda’s chief engineer says that even better shift feel was a priority, prompting his team to cast the shifter body from aluminum rather than from plastic, as in the standard Civic. And, boy, were we grateful for the quick-acting auto rev-match; on one straightaway we missed a 3-4 shift and mistakenly entered second. The engine automatically screamed to high heaven, scaring us enough to keep the clutch pinned and avoid grenading the engine. Phew.

We got about 20 laps around Sonoma in total, all in a lead-follow setup in the wake of a pro driver. We’ll hold off on any definitive statements about the car’s capability until we can turn loose a bit more freely, but our initial impression was positive. This car is agile, responsive, fun to drive fast, and reasonably forgiving of mistakes. We can’t ask for much more without expecting to significantly impact daily drivability, which is a hot-hatch non-negotiable.

Perhaps the most meaningful update to the ordinary Civic for this generation is the interior, and the Type R experience certainly benefits from those changes. The instrument cluster is now all-digital but simple to read and understand regardless of what display mode is on the screen. The F1-style shift lights mounted at eye level make every rev to redline feel special. Whereas the outgoing Type R steering had a suede microfiber wrap with red inserts, the new helm is leather-wrapped. It feels great in the hands and is sized appropriately, neither dainty nor cartoonishly fat.

Aside from the all-red bucket seats, aluminum trim around the shifter, and a handful of other small touches (the serialized plate is pretty cool), this isn’t far off from what you get in the Sport Touring trim. Consider that a compliment, and even with the Type R’s heady $43,990 price tag, you won’t feel shortchanged. The Golf R uses better interior materials but suffers from a terrible user interface, and the cheaper Elantra N is more feature-rich. Neither come even close to the Civic’s sheer clarity and ease of use. The back row is also genuinely huge, and with the seats folded there is surely enough room for a full set of wheels and tires. If we have any complaint, it’s that the front seats should really be heated in a car at this price point. At the same time, they’re immensely supportive and all-day comfortable. The thigh pad is angled slightly upward for additional support, and it’s even split into two cushions accommodate body motions during high-g driving.

At the risk of gushing, there’s little to nitpick about this latest Type R, leaving aside the unavoidable dealer markups. Honda improved essentially all of the previous car’s precious few shortcomings, increasing the ride comfort, upping the engine output, refining the cooling system, and making the interior a lot more user-friendly. Good thing, too. Toyota’s rally-bred, turbo three-pot GR Corolla is a highly compelling hot hatch alternative. For its part, Honda is happy to play in the sandbox with some company. “We welcome the competition!” American Honda president & CEO Noriya Kaihara told us. “It encourages us and reminds us to continue to build special cars like the Type R.”

A little friendly rivalry? We like it. If anything, it’ll make sure the rowdy-as-ever Type R doesn’t grow up too fast.

2023 Honda Civic Type R

Price: $43,990 (including destination)

Highs: Precise shifter, supportive seats, responsive brakes. Immense performance envelope without sacrificing approachability.

Lows: High price, and good luck finding it at sticker. Competitors have heated seats.

Takeaway: A home run of a hot hatch. The Type R badge carries a lot of weight, and this king of Civics should be proud to carry the mantle.

The post 2023 Honda Civic Type R Review: Just keeps getting better appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Modern enthusiasts have it great. Amazon, eBay, Craigslist, Facebook Marketplace—all of these databases provide instant access to new and used parts for your car. It wasn’t always so simple. Those of us restoring a collector car are keenly aware that at some point in the future (if it hasn’t happened already) parts availability will dry up like Lake Mead. When the waters start receding, it can take a lot of work and money to track down parts you may one day need. At that point, a dedicated parts car starts to look like a seriously appealing option. In one fell swoop you can have your very own supply, all bought and paid for, to pick from as you wish.

I consider myself an authority in these matters as a confessed hoarder of several parts/project cars, all crammed into every possible space I can find. A friend of mine has 2 lifts in his suburban 2.5 car garage and has compacted seven cars (four of which are operable and accessible) and five motorcycles into it. Many cars (particularly sports cars) can be stripped and the shells rolled over on their side with proper padding and/or bracing. Since these cars are generally less than 4 feet high, you can sardine them three-wide this way in a 12-foot-wide, single-bay garage. And, with some clever use of 4×4 posts, another layer of three cars can go on top and still fit under your ceiling! A body shell also can be hung on a wall with the right engineering, as, ahem, “wall art.”

All that said, one should invite a parts car into the fold only with full awareness of the implications. So, let’s take them apart, piece by piece.

The parts predicament, explained

A little background, first. Dealers and auto parts stores are, let’s be clear, in business to make money. Only parts that dealers expect to sell will remain in stock, according to the rules of what are called “inventory turns,” or, how often a particular part moves off of the shelf. Motor oil at your favorite auto parts purveyor has a turn value of 8 to 20 times per year. When that number falls below 2, the shelf space becomes too precious, and parts are moved to “behind the counter”—a dark and mysterious place known only to logo-shirted workers. Then, worse yet, part numbers are relegated to the “warehouse” or “distribution center.” If these places sound lifeless, it’s because they’re the elephant burial grounds of part numbers; once there, the inventory turn will soon get so low that the part number is put on life support. Eventually it disappears altogether, assigned the scarlet letters “NLA” (No Longer Available) with nary a whimper.

Likewise, when your car’s model is introduced, the manufacturer makes replacement parts readily available. If you drive your new Whatsit 3000 on a vacation and need an oil change a few months later, you expect the dealer to have an oil filter in stock, and they will, even if it’s an Alfa Romeo or Mini dealer four zip codes away. Fast forward a few years into your car model’s life, and tons of parts will remain available, both from the dealers and from the aftermarket. Somewhere about 15 years out, the landscape changes. Parts start to be considered “special order,” at an independent parts counter. One by one, part numbers are dropped off of the list until you are left to your own devices. Eventually, even the manufacturers will run out of parts on your list. Now, the problem falls into the hands of the enthusiast community.

Shopping online

Somewhere along the way, a collector of your particular car has hoarded and stashed parts for a rainy day. If they want to offload some of this booty, it will appear listed online for you to stare at for long stretches of time, wondering if it’s legit. Generally, the chances we take in this arena work out pretty well. I had the great fortune of purchasing a fender online for one of my classic motorcycles, and it arrived in perfect condition, with the bonus of wearing the correct factory color. The part was priced fairly and represented honestly. Makes you feel like the human race has something going for it.

In many cases, these online listings stem from a parts car that the seller is slowly dissolving into the community, one piece at a time. This commerce (enabled by the internet) has, in my estimation, made all of our restoration jobs easier.

Joys of the junkyard

In the old days, these transactions happened in person, at a junkyard. I have spent many a pleasurable Saturday afternoon shopping at such establishments for 6mm bolts and nuts with 10mm hex heads and impervious yellow zinc plating. (Pro tip: hound the Japanese car aisle for these.) Back when Pull-a-Part, do-it-yourself junkyards came into play fifteen years ago, you would actually see desirable cars strewn about the gravel lots. Fastback Mustangs from the right years, MGBs, Midgets, lots of XJS’s, a BMW 318is—all were showing up at my local Pull-a-Part for slow disassembly by enthusiasts like you and me. It was a public operating theater for the cost-conscious DIYer.

About five years ago, maybe, I noticed the stream of interesting cars at junkyards had dried to a trickle. Everyone’s backyards had been plucked clean, leaving us with junkyards full of gray twelve-year-old Accords and Camrys. If a wellspring of free flowing parts for your car endures, it’s almost definitely a more modern machine. If you’re out of luck, it might be time to bring the junkyard to your yard. As in, buy a parts car.

Buying a parts car

Occasionally you’ll see a dilapidated car, perhaps one with body damage, listed outright as a parts car. Other times it’s thrown in as baggage as part of another transaction:“I’ll accept your lowball offer on my ’67 Torino, but you have to take the awful other one with you, or it’s no deal!” (I picked up two old Triumphs this way and immediately sold the worse one due to lack of space.)

Other parts cars earn their status by virtue of demotion. One of my son’s Porsche 914s suffered this fate. When each of my sons turned 12 or so, I hunted down a broken sports car for them to restore (with my help, or not) so they’d have a car when they turned 16. With the 914 in question, we purchased a slightly rusty, very dead red ’75 model (in 914-speak this means the doors will still close as proof the chassis has not yet collapsed in the middle). We pulled the engine and set about transforming it into a hot rod powerplant. While scouring for parts at a local race shop we found a less dead 914, painted blue. Red 914 was immediately relegated to sad parts car status, and blue car became the not-so-shiny new penny. Fickle is the affection of the desperate.

The red 914 slowly, willingly gave up its parts like Shel Silverstein’s “The Giving Tree,” until we sold its hapless carcass to a doctor in Tennessee. After all, our red car was a less-rusty 914 shell than what he already had.

So, you got one! Now what?

It must be said: Parts cars come with baggage. For starters, they take up room. If your restoration project has already claimed the family garage, adding an identical (but more dead) example of the same car is tough to explain to those outside our hobby. Parking the poor thing in the the driveway or chucking it into the side yard will, at minimum, earn you sidelong glances. Homeowner’s associations, should you be burdened with such a governing body, are particularly, uh, enthusiastic when it comes to visibly decrepit machinery. Before you drag a parts car home, have a plan for a safe place to put it.

A little creativity doesn’t hurt. Take that lift you always wanted for your garage, which offers the promise of “parts car up high, good car below.” Perhaps you can get permission for outside storage but with the caveat of a deadline, as in “You can store that hunk of crap there for the summer but by Halloween it has to be gone!” In this case I would suggest starting the disassembly process right away. Ziploc bags, hanging tags, and Sharpies are your most important tools for storing and labeling small items. It is quite possible to remove, tag, bag, and store almost a complete car in the rafters of a garage (or a home attic); it is not guaranteed that you will remember which unmarked caliper belongs to the driver’s or passenger side brake when you need it.  Fenders, engines, transmissions, and axles don’t apply here, but however much you are tempted, do not leave these exposed to the elements. Even under a tarp in the backyard. Aside from the resentment such a move will brew with your fellow tenants (read: spouse), the parts themselves will deteriorate into an unusable state in about two seasons. Find a place to store them where it is dry and out of the way. Peace will prevail come the day you revisit your patient stockpile.

The other issue with parts cars is one of quality componentry. A caliper that has been sitting out in the weather for a decade is possibly an even worse bet than the leaky one you are trying to replace. Again, in today’s world you might be better off finding a part from eBay or similar. That route can be its own brand of crap shoot, since there exist various grades of crappy parts, trying to make something that is less crappy than the crap you started with. In any case, aim to get as close to factory spec as possible; you don’t want to be stranded because of something stupid, like a blown radiator cap rated for the wrong pressure. The buck stops with you.

How does one know when to err on the side of repair, rather than replace? Hard parts, made from metal, are generally restorable and only are scrap-heap fodder in the worst of cases (cracked, pitted, etc.). Plastic and upholstery parts, however, do not age as well, and sometimes what’s left from the parts car is no better. Occasionally it’s even worse; a parts car is always neglected in favor of the recipient car, which means degradation can happen even faster than on a car that is regularly driven. Nothing is more frustrating than digging out a part on your donor car, only to find it’s useless. Why did I buy this pile of garbage in the first place, you will scream at the heavens.

Be realistic, be practical

We car restorers, by nature, are an optimistic bunch. Sure we can fix that, we say to ourselves. Of course having a parts car is a good idea … No one will mind if I get another project car—it’s who I am, for goodness sake. As comforting as a parts car may be, one has to take care and keep perspective. Some cars lend themselves to hoarding, for whatever reason. I have met dozens of men with a flock of Corvairs. MG Midgets/Sprites invoke the same instinct (maybe because they’re small?). Watch a few episodes of Barn Find Hunter and you will see lots of folks who seem to find safety in numbers. At a certain point, too many cars makes life harder, not easier. Everyone’s threshold here is different.

Have fun, enjoy it

If you have the land for it, a parts car can bring a lot of happiness. You can even be magnanimous about it by spinning up a very satisfying hobby business, helping like-minded owners of the marque by selling them parts online for easy beer money. If, however, you happen to be hawkeye-focused on a singular restoration project, and space is an issue, letting others store your “parts cars” remotely may make more sense. Whether this will cost you rental fees or simply goodwill with friends depends entirely on your situation.

Just remember to honor your parts cars for their sacrifice, and make sure to take extra-good care of the car you’re keeping alive. Best to gather up good karma before passing through the gates of the big junkyard in the sky.

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The post How to make the most of a parts car appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Across the digital world, most published content is bite-size, designed for quick consumption. Still, deeper stories have a place—to share the breadth of an experience, explore a corner of history, or ponder a question that truly engages the goopy mass between your ears. Pour your beverage of choice and join us for a Great Read. Want more? Have suggestions? Let us know what you think in the comments or by email: tips@hagerty.com

When the railroad tracks came into view, my foot reached for the brake pedal.

“No,” Don said. “Go fast as you want—we’ll see it and hear it, but we won’t feel it.”

I downshifted into second, asking the grumbly French engine for full throttle. The Citroën’s sixty-year-old chassis rode eerily level. I winced sympathetically, tightening my grip on the wheel. By the time I glanced down at the speedometer—65 kmh, about 40 mph—it was over. We had coasted over the tracks as if they weren’t there.

I looked at Don, the owner. At his raised, told-you-so eyebrows.

That night, in another car, the magic continued. A Tesla drove me to my hotel while I barely lifted a finger. There was little fanfare, just the glow from the Model 3’s tablet screen and the soft hum of drive motors. The car negotiated tight curves in the road and waited patiently for oncoming traffic at an intersection. Matting the accelerator unleashed a wallop of torque. Or I could take the wheel and huck over the back roads myself, savoring the 3’s balance and response.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Gene, in the passenger seat. In addition to serving as Hagerty’s community coordinator, he is the Model 3’s owner and this website’s resident Tesla evangelist.

“I’m bullish on Tesla,” he said, “but even I don’t think all cars will be self-driving any time soon.” He stared out the window, letting the thought hang in the air. “Then again, I didn’t think unmanned rockets would ever land themselves on platforms in the middle of the ocean.”

***

What separates great cars from ordinary ones? Why do some transport us while others are mere transportation?

In a word, personality. The idea that a machine can somehow connect you to a greater feeling, especially when that feeling is tied to a cultural moment. And when a car truly taps into the zeitgeist, people flock to it.

In 1955, that car was the Citroën DS. It debuted in Paris, at the city’s then-annual motor show—a space-age streamliner in the cultural capital of Europe, seemingly from a distant and more sophisticated place. The design was almost nautically curvy, a refutation of the past. The rear turn signals lived high on the C-pillars, near the fiberglass roof. Entire panels could be removed with a handful of bolts for easy service. The independent suspension, brakes (inboard discs in 1955!), and steering were all power-assisted, run off a central hydraulic system. Pressurized mineral oil flowed through tubes, pumps, and rubber bladders, giving the car load-leveling ability and variable roll control but also active anti-squat and anti-dive.

The engine sat longitudinally but drove the front wheels, obviating the need for a transmission tunnel and freeing up cargo space. The gearbox was a downright alien, hydraulically powered automated manual with a column shifter and no clutch pedal. Even the brake pedal was different—a pyramid-shaped rubber mound with only a few millimeters of travel.

Little about this car lined up with the world’s idea of how an automobile worked. Nor was it just for the elite. While the top-trim DS19 came with every bell and whistle, the ID19 version that arrived in 1958 was meant for the common man. Retaining the DS19’s suspension but resorting to unassisted steering as well as conventional brake and gearbox systems, the car cost $2833, just under $30,000 in modern dollars.

“The DS19 was the luxury car of France, the car de Gaulle drove,” Don told me. “By contrast, the ID19 was [a] Ford Fairlane—comfortable, roomy, adventurous. And while American cars were like jukeboxes … the DS was built like an airplane.”

From the outset, Citroën envisioned the DS as a new kind of car, for a new, modern world. The project reflected an idea that had been gaining momentum for decades: technological progress as a way to better humanity. In the 1940s, this meant destructive power; after the war, it meant blessing ordinary lives with inconceivable grace and convenience.

With the DS, for thousands of people, one look was enough. Citroën secured 12,000 pre-orders by the end of the Paris show’s first day. Ten days later, there were north of 80,000. The record set by those pre-orders went unbroken for 61 years. Until Tesla.

No 21st-century carmaker has so quickly and utterly altered the course of the industry. After more than a decade in business, Elon Musk’s start-up has sold more electric cars than any other automaker. Tesla’s skateboard-style battery pack has inspired dozens of imitators. Its Supercharger network includes more than 31,000 individual chargers around the world. At this very moment, every major car company on planet Earth is feverishly trying to beat Musk at his own game. Not a single one is even close.

Tesla bills the Model 3 as entry-level, smaller and with less range than the company’s revolutionary Model S. When the Model 3 opened for pre-order in March of 2016, at a starting price of $35,000, more than 180,000 people laid down a $1000 deposit. After a week, 325,000. The Tesla quickly became something most modern carmakers would kill for—a genuinely cool and genuinely desirable EV with upper-middle-class appeal and unmistakable identity.

More important, Musk has for years managed to bypass conventional marketing, harnessing social media to spread his gospel. In doing so, he won a militant fanbase that continually trumpets his crusade.

Gene, our Tesla owner and a recovering Corvette obsessive, is one of those believers. “All the best gas cars have come and gone,” he said. “This is the future.”

***

The Model 3 and the ID19 are separated by more than six decades, but the impact of each draws from a deeply human concept: The idea that humanity is on a continuum to … somewhere. World peace? Enlightenment? Life eternal? Whatever’s at the end, most of us want to believe it is worth chasing.

People rarely think so big-picture. We think even less often about the ordinary stuff filling our days—college sports, a tea kettle, whatever—and how that stuff cannot be divorced from the meaning that we have assigned to it over time. Take the Dodge Challenger. The shape suggests an appreciation for muscle machines and a golden era of American automotive supremacy. The Dodge conveys that idea in its proportions and details but also in its visual menace; the car is a myth made alive, at work in the world today. You see the car, you understand it.

In 1957, just two years after the Citroën debuted, cultural theorist and philosopher Roland Barthes wrote an essay collection called Mythologies. Each entry in that collection unpacked so-called myths of French society. Red wine, for example, wasn’t simply the poisonous consequence of grape juice left out too long; as Barthes saw it, the liquid was life-enriching nectar, a national beverage appreciated by rich and poor alike.

Wine isn’t inherently those things, of course, but that description mirrors how the French have grown to understand and mythologize it.

Barthes recognized that the DS was more than just a new luxury car. In Mythologies, he kicks off a dizzying rant on the car with the following:

I believe that the automobile is, today, the almost exact equivalent of the great Gothic cathedrals … a great creation of the period, conceived passionately by unknown artists, consumed in its image, if not in its use, by an entire populace … an entirely magical object.

Pompous and academic, yes, but it hits on a basic truth: We build monuments to access the divine. If the Gothic cathedral was Christians physically reaching for the heavens, Barthes argues, the DS was the reverse: a car seemingly descended from above.

Different though they may seem, the Model 3 holds the same basic appeal. As new cars, both the Citroën and the Tesla are attractive and practical for their era, an everyday driver for an affluent buyer. For a technologically inclined person eager to communicate a message: I am in the know, on the cutting edge, among the first to taste the future. Today we call these people “early adopters.” For a certain set, a new car like a DS, an ID, or a Model 3 is a status statement, the profession of an arguably moral imperative: Ditch your dated Detroit barge or gas-guzzling SUV and embrace inevitable progress. In 1950s America, Citroën’s marketing slogan was, “It takes a special person to drive a special car.” If Tesla has a slogan now, it’s on the “About” page of the company’s website: “Accelerating the World’s Transition to Sustainable Energy.”

No matter where you sit politically, no matter how technology advances, you probably hold general belief in progress as known good. In a society more secular with every passing year, this is perhaps the closest we come to a modern version of shared trust in a higher power. The cathedrals simply look different.

***

In ancient Greece, Aristotle often discussed the concept of telos—the fulfillment of purpose. In mid-century France, the DS didn’t merely evoke the heavenly with its shape; the name itself invoked divinity. The French pronounce the car’s two-letter name as déesse—the French word for goddess. Lofty, too, was the ID model, or idée, idea.

Barthes latched onto this motif in typically highfalutin fashion:

It is well known that smoothness is … an attribute of perfection because its opposite reveals a … human operation of assembling: Christ’s robe was seamless, just as the airships of science-fiction are made of unbroken metal.

Good design often means disguising the imperfection of the human hand. The devil is in the details, as the idiom says. Where the DS wore expensive chrome trim and eye-catching touches, the ID was the shape reduced to its essential form. Don’s car, shot and driven for this story, is proof: The roof is unpainted fiberglass. The interior is vibrant but unfussy and filled with daylight. The door panels are rimmed in body-color plastic, their inserts built like the seats, synthetic fabric stuffed with foam. The instrument cluster is basic, just three gauges.

Even leaving the car requires a piece of remarkable design efficiency—the latch release on the interior door handle doubles as the lock switch, moved easily with a thumb. Then there is that famously oddball steering wheel, one central spoke, an unbroken circle.

If designer Franz von Holzhausen’s crisp, flowing Model 3 recalls the seamless geometry of Apple’s iPhone, the connection is surely intentional. Apple’s sleek smartphone reshaped the world as we know it. Will Tesla do the same? The Model 3 relies deeply on this persona of purity and lightness, with its zero-emission powerplant and futuristic brand identity. A panoramic glass panel runs the full width of the roof, making the cabin feel open to nature. The interior is hyper-clean, clinical even, minimalist and sparse. There isn’t even a traditional instrument cluster behind the steering wheel. Information is delivered solely through that center-mounted tablet screen. Essential functions can be accessed through one of the wheel’s two spinning-ball selector buttons, positioned on the spokes for easy thumb use.

As in the Citroën, the lack of a transmission tunnel allows for impressive interior space and console storage. Door pockets are large and useful. Materials feel high-quality but not necessarily luxurious. Leaving the Model 3 also means a door opened by a button, in this case, electronic.

It’s a strange reminder that, regardless of how far we seem to have come, people still ride around in metal boxes with wheels and doors. Has so much really changed?

***

Western society has been on this industrial hamster wheel for longer than we like to admit. Modernist thinking is rooted in the 19th century, and Barthes’s essay notes that history is woven into the fabric around us. As he put it, the DS wasn’t a clean-sheet vehicle, but one tied to old notions from science fiction:

The Deesse is first and foremost a new Nautilus.

As in the submarine. Jules Verne wrote 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in the late 1860s. Nemo, Verne’s anti-imperialist antihero, captains the Nautilus, which he designed himself. The ship is meant to work in harmony with its environment. Power comes from rechargeable batteries fed by the sodium in seawater. The crew is sustained by ocean plants and animals. The ship is luxurious, with an extensive library, a pipe organ, and instrument displays in the captain’s quarters. The latter exist so Nemo can monitor the sub’s progress without physically commanding its movements.

Sound familiar? A convention-flouting battery-electric vehicle that can operate without the captain’s direct control?

20,000 Leagues was wildly popular when new. Like a lot of Verne stories, it began as mass entertainment but was quickly held up as a possible future. The DS, for its part, took off in Europe and ultimately sold more than a million examples globally over 20 years of production. When the car was discontinued in 1975, Citroën did not follow it with another revolutionary moment. Moreover, the company spent the next half-century trying, and failing, to reach similar heights.

This is where our narratives split. The Model S and Model 3 share both a parts bin and a CEO, two home runs from the same bat. Odds are not against Tesla producing more cars that capture the public in the same way, if only because of how Musk operates. For all its flaws and strengths, his car business is merely means to an end, an offshoot of a worldview rather than the view itself.

Musk’s direct-to-consumer sales model feels fresh and transparent to customers exhausted by the traditional American dealer experience. When he blows a deadline or a big promise, his uncanny lizard brain for hype spits out pie-in-the-sky concepts like the Cybertruck and the Roadster. Finally, there is, of course, SpaceX. You don’t see GM or Ford sending people into space, beaming free internet into Ukraine with satellites, or teaching rockets to land themselves.

In other words, when modern people imagine the future outside the automobile, the Model 3 seems like a piece of it they can own. Fruit from a larger tree.

***

Great cars give you an experience you didn’t know you needed. At Citroën, the DS and ID replaced a model called the Traction Avant. That car looked like a 1930s gangster taxi and was more difficult to drive. Don’s ID is classic momentum car—not quick, but capable of brisk pace if the driver plans ahead. As in an old Volkswagen Beetle, you cannot rush shifts, and engine speed is determined by ear and feel—there is no tachometer.

Stranger still is how you don’t ever feel the car working. The suspension is the center here, soaking up enormous bumps and smoothing body motions without calling attention to itself. The Tesla is so different. It is the proverbial cruise missile: powerful, immediate, and always primed for launch. You sit far forward, almost over the front wheels, the tip of a spear. Tap the tablet to adjust the front-rear torque split, dial up regenerative braking, or change steering weight—the software changes things immediately. The Model 3 feels hard-wired to your commands, but there is no give and take, no conversation between driver and machine. The car simply executes.

In spite of that—and this is especially fascinating—the Model 3 is satisfying to drive. Much of the Tesla’s immediacy and balance recalls classic sport sedans. That character was not essential to the car’s success, but it counts all the same. It lets the Tesla serve as a sort of bridge, appealing to enthusiasts and performance people like Gene as much as to tech junkies who see cars as appliances.

If the Citroën and Tesla are easy to love, it is because they are optimized for everyday life. They seem to acknowledge that the world outside the car matters. The DS must have felt like such an oasis when new—bright and airy, a sharp handler but eminently comfortable, plenty spacious for a family of four. The Model 3’s wide trunk and low load floor makes it genuinely practical. The Tesla phone app tells you when your cabin has reached a pre-programmed temperature, so it’s ready for your morning commute. Want to sleep in your Model 3? Order a custom-made mattress online and go right ahead: The battery can run all night with minimal strain, automatically maintaining a comfortable temperature. That large console screen can play video games and movies or browse the internet with the speed of a smartphone.

For whatever reason, the Citroën inspired few copycats. Other automakers admire the Tesla’s inventiveness but cannot seem swallow pride and surrender infotainment design to Silicon Valley.

That’s the thing about myopia—when you have it, you can’t see past it.

***

For all the mythmaking, these are merely cars. Engaging with them demystifies them; you can’t head to work in a self-landing rocket or use a submarine to pick up your kids from school. The Citroën and Tesla feel unique because they tell stories about who we think we are and who we want to be, regardless of whether those stories are true. Most of all, they represent the thrill of rapid change. Of leaving something behind to chase the better, or even just the different.

Once we reach that horizon, we think, we’ll be different, too.

“Myth is neither a lie nor a confession: it is an inflection,” Barthes said. Behind the wheel, when everything is right, the future can seem just around the corner. Always ahead, magnetic in pull, and yet forever out of reach.

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There should be travelers’ corollary to Oscar Wilde’s famous observation that “a cynic knows the price of everything, but the value of nothing.” There are surely those who know in theory how to get someplace, but don’t have the vaguest idea of why they should go. My recently departed friend/mentor Paul Duchene was not that person. He died last week, at the age of 74.

A British ex-pat living in Portland, he was born with the Captain James Cook/David Livingstone gift of intrepidness. He knew how to get damn near anywhere on the planet, (for Heaven’s sake, he did the whiteout, bonkers ALCAN Winter Rally multiple times), but he was also someone with an almost metaphysical understanding of the “why” that should precede any journey of consequence.

Fifteen years ago, when I was headed back to the Midwest from Portland, Oregon, to start a new consulting firm, he was adamant that I should skip the bulk of I-84 and take U.S. 26 past Mt. Hood to Madras, Oregon. “After Mt. Hood, you won’t see another person for maybe 100 miles, but here’s what you will see … It will add some perspective to your life at a time when I think you could benefit from that. Oh, and the 650+ mile range of your Porsche 912E will come in handy—petrol stations are few and far between.”

As promised, the drive was a self-reflective, life-enriching experience, because Paul knew not just how to get somewhere, but—I’ll stress again—exactly why one should go there in the first place.

Paul was an old-school reporter in the best sense of that term, having spent years writing at the Portland Oregonian. He had very little patience for single-source reporting, which he found to be intolerably lazy and for pieces that he deemed to be fact-free zones, or at least free of the facts that the average reader would find critical. And he certainly felt that if a writer were going to remember to include some facts, he or she damned well ought to check said facts. All of them. “It’s the stuff that you’re absolutely positively certain that you know, that most often gets you in trouble,” was something that he drilled into my head when we both worked at Keith Martin’s Sports Car Market.

When I served as VP of Content at Hagerty from 2009–2015, I hired Paul to write model summaries for Hagerty Valuation Tools. He was great at it, and it’s something that he kept doing up until his untimely passing last week. We always joked about how things tended to hang around on the Web, and that much of our work would likely outlast both of us. Sadly, my friend Paul turned out to be right once again. As he so often was.

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Full disclosure, the closest I’ve come to owning a Mustang was tossing out a lowball offer on a fairly nice ’86 SVO, the Mustang that “Mustang people” despise. I’m clearly an outsider with an outsider’s perspective on the desirability/collectibility of post-1973 Mustangs. I must confess, I just don’t get the cash that 1979–93 Fox-body Mustangs attract at the moment, especially not when 2005–2009 (chassis code S197) Mustangs can be had for less money.

I mean no disrespect. As a Gen-X child of the 80s, I appreciate the huge role the ‘Stang had in tapering the Malaise Era; it was big news in 1985 when the V-8 Mustang’s rated horsepower (in SAE net, no less) again climbed above the 200 waterline. And, the styling certainly warps you back to that time and place, although I’d have to say designer Jack Telnack’s big moment was the 1986 Taurus, not the 1979 Mustang. As a bonus, Fox ‘Stangs are stupendously easy to modify and can be made stupid powerful on the cheap.

Except now they’re no longer cheap. Even a stock GT in good condition sets you back close to $15K these days, and exceptionally cared for examples can go for close to $50K. How about those coveted tuner models, like the 1993 Ford Saleen Mustang SC Convertible? Forget about it.

Look instead at the 2005–2009 model years of the fifth-gen S197 Mustang, a “retro-styled” car that is now becoming vintage in its own right. It’s a Mustang that looks like an actual Mustang—and it goes like hell in almost every iteration. Even in today’s white hot market, fifth-generation cars strike me as the place where savvy Mustang buyers should be looking.

Right around the time the SN-95 (fourth-gen Mustang) was running its course with a fairly handsome “New Edge” facelift, I started thinking about the possibility of a rebooted Mustang that recalled the ’65 Fastback. (For the record, I also called the deftly re-booted James Bond franchise that happened a year after the new Mustang went on sale, but I digress.) The concept car previewing the S197 debuted in Detroit at the 2003 North American International Auto Show, and was in most respects a production car.

It was probably the most successful piece of automotive retro-futurism attempted up to that point. Designer Sid Ramnarace—working under the supervision of J Mays—succeeded where others had failed, capturing the essence of an iconic car without veering into caricature. Praise was almost universal. Car and Driver editor John Phillips joked that for model year 2005, Mr. Ed had turned into Secretariat. You could quibble about the quality and finish of some of the interior materials and the retained live rear axle, but it worked just fine; composure was so contemporaneously impressive, the aforementioned C&D first drive concluded that “the GT exhibits a blend of compliance and response worthy of a BMW. Nice job guys.”

While there’s nothing particularly hateful about the base V-6 cars—and in fact they make more power than many of the Fox-body-era GTs—you don’t need me to tell you that it’s the V-8 that you want. The 4.6-liter three-valve, SOHC modular V-8 in the standard GT cranks out 300 hp and 320 lb-ft of torque, significantly brawnier than even the hottest non-Saleen Fox-body variant, the SVT Cobra R from 1993. Of course, things got even better in 2010 with the second coming of 5.0-liter V-8 power. That said, those late-model Mustangs seem to have exited their depreciation cycle early and are already creeping out of fun-money territory.

Not so for the 2005–2009 S197 Mustangs. Like all used cars, their values are up, but a quick look at ads for Mustang GTs wearing under 100,000 miles reveal prices in the low-to-mid teens, which corresponds to the Hagerty Price Guide’s current value for one in #3 Condition. In comparison, nice Fox-body cars seem to start exclusively in the high teens, and climb quickly into the twenties for cars with better equipment and lower mileage. Manual S197s bring a premium, as do the California Special and the Bullitt versions, but not huge ones.

You’ll still likely pay less for a 2008-2009 Bullitt Mustang with a manual than you would for a really nice Fox-body LX or GT. And that’s perfectly OK. If ’80s nostalgia is your jam, by all means, go for the Fox. But if it were me, I’d be stocking up on every low-mileage, manual Dark Highland Green Bullitt I could find. With cold-air induction, a higher redline, an extra 15 horsepower, and a specially tuned exhaust, they’re undeniably special cars.

The all-new seventh-generation Mustang is about to break cover on September 14. It will undoubtedly be significantly faster, but larger, probably heavier, and far less traditional looking than the fifth-gen car, which might just be remembered as the last right-sized, analog Mustang—a worthy successor to the original from 1964.

Rob Sass is the Editor-in-Chief of Porsche Panorama, the official publication of the Porsche Club of America. The opinions stated are his, and not necessarily those of the Club. 

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My friend Derek was the first of us in high school to get his driver’s license. Like many teens, he learned to drive on a hand-me-down. In this case, from his grandmother. However, most unlike the rest of the student fleet—a gently tattered quilt of used Hondas, Toyotas, and the occasional near-dead BMW—Derek’s car had swagger. Gleaming white on the outside and oozing navy blue from within, his 1989 Cadillac Brougham d’Elegance was our button-tufted ticket to freedom.

It was also a terrible car for a high-school sophomore to learn on. For starters, there was the Caddy’s orca-like curb weight and suitably blubbering chassis. Viewed from outside the car, sudden movements seemed to generate a low-frequency wave that visibly traveled from nose to tail. The Brougham’s interior was peerless, its distractions endless: a pouch with gold keys, an illuminated this, a chrome-plated that, wood-veneer and leather everything else. Knobs, switches, buttons—all fun to tinker with. It was a lot to mind for a pimple-faced teenager, let alone a luxury sedan full of them. Hell, we could sit four band-geeks-abreast in the front row.

I don’t know what my future kids will drive first. Probably not a land-yacht Caddy, but I can’t say that an anodyne commuter car with a distracting touchscreen sounds much better. Wouldn’t it be great if they could learn on something dead-nuts simple? Basic transportation with nary a bell or whistle, ideal for experiencing and fine-tuning the fundamentals of the man-machine interface? Something like a 1986 Honda Civic Si?

As part of its year-long celebration honoring a half-century of the Civic, Honda let us spend an evening behind the wheel of a museum-quality ‘86 Si. You may recall that this two-door hatchback was the first Civic Si in the United States, debuting a year after the stubbier, sportier 1985 CRX Si two-seater and sharing its 1.5-liter four-cylinder. “Si” stands for “sport injected,” and fuel injection took the 12-valve mill from 76 to 91 hp. If the super-lively, high-revving, sweet-shifting 1999 Civic Si is the pink cherry blossom of attainable, joyful Honda performance, these two Si models are the pit.

It bears mentioning here that a mid-’80s Civic possesses the crashworthiness of layered cellophane. Yet I can’t shake the notion that it would be a wonderful car for teaching a young person to drive. Unlike Derek’s d’Elegance, the interior is sparse and suitable for four people, at most. We’re talking roll-up windows here. A pop-out sunroof, map pockets on the doors, and a rudimentary radio are outright luxuries in this context. The fabric on the doors is short-pile and vaguely industrial, like the waiting room carpet at the orthodontist.

More than that, driving a mid-’80s Civic means awareness that you are in a little metal box traveling at a fairly high rate of speed. The ground feels perilously near your butt. Any sound deadening? Sorry, that’s for the Acura Legend, also new for 1986. The extensive glass and low beltline help dissolve the illusion that you are in an interior space. You are Out in the World, where there is Danger, and you have to be Careful. That’s especially true today, when a head-on collision with a CR-V would streamroll our little breadvan like Bigfoot.

Defensive driving is paramount. The brakes—vented discs up front and drums in the rear—don’t inspire deep confidence, so a generous following distance is critical. (Back there, so Joe F-150 can see you.) Making a left turn that merges into traffic? Give yourself plenty of room. Don’t rush, because even when you floor it the 91-hp Civic Si is slow by modern standards, and traffic behind you will quickly attack your bumper. First gear is fairly short, which means you’ll need to practice your 1-2 shift to keep the SOHC four-cylinder on the boil. Keep both hands on the wheel, by the way; the steering is unassisted, which means it really is you steering the the thing. At highway speed, it remains remarkably composed.

Paying attention, working with the car to squeeze the most out of just enough: It’s where Hondas of this vintage shine. Even when pushed to what feels like the Civic Si’s limit, the car is eager. Willing, even. It reacts with perceptible feedback to each little input—a vibration in the steering wheel over cracked pavement, a high-frequency hum felt through the right foot as the revs approach their 6500-rpm redline. It takes finesse to work the throttle gently and not jerk the car in low gears. The clutch has some actual weight to it and requires effort. Honda hadn’t quite yet perfected the manual transmission at this time, as it did in the next decade. Shifts are precise but not especially fluid; nail it and savor the mechanical loveliness of a gear lever finding its gate.

An old Honda tells you things. A Ford EcoSport tells you there is more to life than the Ford EcoSport.

The Si’s suspension is hardly sophisticated—torsion bar up front and beam axle in the rear—but the 2033-pound curb weight helps make the car feel nimble and responsive. The ride is soft but not busy, with good body control. Thirteen-inch tires with generous sidewall soak up big bumps, but not so much that you forget to avoid them. Again, attention pays dividends here.

The controls are simple and intuitive. A pleasant click greets you with each twist of the headlight stalk. The doors, gas cap, and hatch lock individually and require a key to open. Lifting the practically-all-glass hatch reminds you how heavy and huge this part has become on modern crossovers. The back window on most new cars is like a mail slot, but here it is so large that it fills up the entire rear-view mirror.

Putting a new driver behind the wheel of a sports car is rarely a good call, but the Civic Si is more of a sporty car. It’s zippy and playful, yes, but it’s still essentially a Civic. Five minutes behind the wheel and you totally understand how this would be the ideal car for delivering pizzas in a busy downtown. Agile, easy to park, practical; it’s even great on gas, with 30 mpg city and 33 highway. (Everything Derek’s dear old Caddy isn’t.) The Si can be abused, babied, or driven absent-mindedly; it takes things at your speed.

This is all wishful thinking, of course. Surviving ’86 Civic Si hatches virtually don’t exist in this condition outside of private collections like Honda’s. If I’m being honest, what I really want to pass down to my future progeny is the joy that driving even a simple car can provide. Everything else, even if it’s big as a Brougham, eventually rusts away.

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The snowflake wheels we’ve been seeing on test mules of a future high-performance Mustang are destined for production, according to a Ford designer. One such development prototype for the upcoming seventh-gen Mustang, present at the company’s  recent teaser event in Detroit announcing the car’s reveal date, wore the black-painted rollers.

The mule in question looks to be one of the cars captured by spy photographers earlier this year. However, to keep curious journalists at bay, the windows were heavily tinted and interior details were concealed with a thick fabric.

Despite our questions, Ford officials present at the event were mum about any details of the new S650-generation Mustang, and nobody would confirm nor deny rumors about a hybrid powertrain and all-wheel drive. Though we expect familiar powertrain offerings—a turbo four-cylinder or a naturally aspirated V-8 with either a six-speed manual or 10-speed automatic transmission—it’s safe to expect a completely overhauled interior. Perhaps Ford will respect buyers of its traditional sports car enough to give the Mustang cabin a feel unique from the Mach-E electric crossover, which is organized around a large, tablet-style center touchscreen.

We aren’t likely to get much more of substance from Ford ahead of the new Mustang’s September 14 reveal at Detroit’s Hart Plaza. Whether the snowflake wheels are standard equipment on the GT, exclusive to some kind of Performance Package, or reserved for a future Mach 1 remains to be seen. In just a few weeks, we’ll get to see how they complement the rest of Ford’s design.

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Rumors and spy shots of an upcoming successor to the current S550 Mustang have been floating around automotive news outlets for months now. The anticipation for the new ‘Stang will soon subside, as Ford announced it will be officially debuting the seventh-generation Mustang in conjunction with this year’s Detroit Auto Show on September 14, at 8 p.m. ET.

Because the Mustang is a such an important part of the American automotive landscape, the Blue Oval is organizing something special. In the week leading up to the unveiling in Detroit, Ford (in partnership with America’s Automotive Trust and the Detroit Auto Show) is putting on a cross-country road trip, a la Hot Rod Power Tour. Dubbed “The Stampede,” the pilgrimage kicks off from Tacoma, Washington, and ends at Ford World Headquarters, with scenic stops along the way. Once gathered at HQ in Dearborn, Mustang owners who completed the road trip, as well as owners local to Detroit, will descend on Hart Plaza downtown for the release party of the all-new pony car. (Registration details can be found here).

For those not able to attend the final festivities in Detroit, the event will be livestreamed on both Ford’s YouTube channel and the Ford Mustang Facebook page.

While little is officially known about the seventh-generation Mustang, the pony car is expected to share its rear-wheel-drive platform (CD6) with the current Explorer. Engine-wise, the new Mustang is expected to retain the Coyote V-8 and the EcoBoost four-cylinder. No official word yet on whether either engine will be backed by a manual transmission, but we are holding out hope. More interestingly, a hybrid drivetrain is expected to be released for this generation as well as an all-wheel-drive option—both firsts for the Mustang.

While the outgoing S550 has only been around since the 2015 model year—not a long time in the grand scheme of Mustang revamps—it’s starting to show its age. We are excited for the launch of this hotly anticipated sports car, but only time will tell if the seventh-generation Ford Mustang will live up to its reputation as an American icon.

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Our first look at the shape of electrified muscle-cars-to-come is finally here. Dodge just rolled out its sinister new Charger Daytona SRT Concept, a pure EV performance coupe that Dodge says is faster than the current Hellcat in every meaningful metric. And compared to most suppository-shaped EVs on the road today, the Charger Daytona SRT looks the business. And with two more doors, it’s easy to imagine this concept is an accurate preview of the next Charger.

“Dodge is about muscle, attitude and performance,” said CEO Tim Kuniskis, “and the brand carries that chip on its shoulder and into the BEV segment through a concept loaded with patents, innovations, and performance features that embody the electrified muscle of tomorrow.”

Those features include an “eRupt” multi-speed electromechanical transmission, a simulated ICE exhaust note that is as loud as the Hellcat’s V-8, and an 800-volt electric propulsion system that Dodge is dubbing “Banshee.” The Charger Daytona concept features all-wheel drive, ostensibly for improved acceleration, handling, and all-weather capability. Exact power output for the Banshee architecture is still a secret, but knowing Dodge it’s probably overkill in the best possible sense. Center-lock wheels shroud six-piston Brembo front brakes.

Despite the electric architecture, Dodge is clearly keen to preserve in the Charger Daytona SRT, if not evolve, some experiential elements of the traditional ICE muscle car experience. The eRupt transmission, compared to most direct-drive/single-speed EVs, will deliver “distinctive shift points,” as well as the same PowerShot push-to-pass function announced for the plug-in hybrid Hornet R/T.

Noise is inextricably tied to muscle cars like the Charger and Challenger. A silent muscle car indeed would have been bizarre, and the solution may be equally so—126 dB of exhaust noise from an “industry-first” feature that Dodge is calling the Fratzonic Chambered Exhaust. Using sensor data and a computer that calculates everything from throttle position to vehicle speed and motor load, the Fratzonic system then generates a synthetic sound based on the “cadence of a Hemi V-8,” as one spokesperson told The Drive. It then goes into an amplifier and out of a more or less familiar exhaust system, which essentially acts in part as a kind of resonator.

Is all this a bit gimmicky? That’d be a fair criticism, especially for those who would rather see car companies fully embrace electric technology without the anchor of the past. Dodge, however, has experienced extraordinary success in the last decade trading on its legacy of brash, loud-mouthed performance, which is an identity it’s not willing to leave behind.

Adaptations of classic cues can be found in the Charger Daytona SRT’s design, as well. The biggest innovation is the so-called “R-Wing”—a kind of nose-mounted aerodynamic wing with a pass-through that allows for airflow and increases downforce. Dodge says it has a patent pending on the design, which is an homage to the original Charger Daytona’s famous wing.

Fans of the classic Charger will also recognize the concept’s vertical grille slats in the lower front fascia, which are a callback to the popular ’68 model. Both the full-width LED front lightning signature and rear red light bar recall the vintage Charger’s squared-off design elements.

The three-pointed Fratzog logo—which appears on the R-Wing, wheels, and rear rectangular rear end—originally appeared on muscled Dodges from 1962 to 1976. Going forward, it looks like the illuminated badge will be an indicator of Dodge and/or SRT electric high-performance.

This Charger Daytona SRT concept appears to be a not-too-significant step from final production, especially with the next-generation eMuscle Challenger expected for 2024. The Daytona’s interior contains a fair bit of concept lighting frippery, but the shape of the dashboard, screens, center console, and seats all look ready for prime time. The steering wheel is a familiar square shape that evokes past SRT models like the Hellcat, and a traditional-looking PRNDL gear lever sticks out from between the seats. Behind it is a Lamborghini-style covered launch button (painted red, of course), and a row of what look like haptic-feedback buttons for parking sensors, lane-departure warning, and traction control.

With the purely gas-powered Charger and Challenger being retired after 2023, Dodge has made it clear that it sees a bright future with battery-fueled performance. This concept seems to walk the line between legacy muscle car cues and futuristic vision, though the hokey computer-generated exhaust is sure to make some eyes roll. If the Dodge performance cars coming actually deliver on this concept’s promise, however, they’ll make a strong case for bridging the gap to a brand-new definition of the muscle-car experience.

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At the reveal of the 2023 Dodge Hornet last night, CEO Tim Kuniskis had a little trick up his sleeve. Following up news earlier this week of Dodge’s expanded catalog of performance and grassroots motorsport offerings, Kuniskis & Co. unveiled a Hornet GLH concept that is essentially a showcase of Direct Connection’s available upgrades for the new subcompact crossover.

Performance goodies include an ECU tune (Stage kit) for the 265-hp/295 lb-ft Hornet GT, one-inch lowering kit for the standard Koni shocks, “unrestricted” dual exhaust with richer sound, unique 20-inch painted and machine-faced wheels, black-painted lower trim and rear fascia with exhaust cutout, and, of course, a suite of GLH graphics.

Standing for “Goes Like Hell,” the GLH name was last used on the mid-1980s Dodge Omni. Like the Alfa Romeo Tonale-based Hornet, the Omni was a subcompact with international presence—it was Chrysler’s first world car when it landed for the 1978 model year. The GLH version arrived for 1984, modified by Carroll Shelby with a 110-hp 2.2-liter four-cylinder and chassis upgrades similar to those of the Shelby Charger. 1985 and ’86 saw the addition of the GLH-T, an optional turbo version packing 146 horses. Atop the Omni performance heap was the Shelby GLH-S (Goes Like Hell S’More), of which 500 were built between 1986 and ’87. These limited editions boasted a Turbo II version of the GLH-T engine with 175 hp; the four-cylinder was used in Shelby Charger GLH-S as well as the rakish Consulier GTP.

For the Hornet GLH, Kuniskis promised a power-to-weight ratio better than the original GLH (he didn’t specify Omni or Charger) and more than twice the Shelby Turbo II engine’s 175 lb-ft of torque.

Direct Connection parts can be ordered through Dodge Power Brokers dealers, with the advantage of not voiding the original warranty if installed at a registered dealer. The 285-hp/383-lb-ft Hornet R/T plug-in hybrid will also be compatible with Direct Connection upgrades.

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It was amid the live hair-metal band’s fairly impressive rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Shot Through the Heart,” that it hit me. The Dodge Hornet, still draped in auto-show cloth, is the first new Dodge in more than a decade. I’m not talking about wide-body versions of the Charger, which dates to 2011, or the Challenger, which dates to 2008. Nor am I counting Hellcat models like the Durango, an SUV last meaningfully updated (also) in 2011. This a new Dodge!

Off comes the cover and it’s … a decently designed little crossover … that generally resembles the Alfa Romeo Tonale on which it is based.

Maybe it’s because we’ve been conditioned that every Dodge these days should look like it just robbed a bank, but the Hornet at first seemed a little underwhelming. There is a softness and tautness to the lines that speak to its European underpinnings. It’s handsome, though, and the full-width taillight signature evokes higher-end cars like the Porsche Cayenne.

There is a new Challenger that’ll arrive next year, likely as a 2024 model, but no doubt the Hornet is going to be a major volume player for the brand. The car is a little late to the subcompact crossover segment, so it’ll need to distinguish itself.

On cue, CEO Tim Kuniskis trotted out on stage and busted out some very Dodge-like performance figures, relative to the segment. The base 2023 Hornet GT will have as standard:

• 265+ hp and 295 lb-ft of torque from a 2.0-liter turbo-four
• Nine-speed autobox
• Standard all-wheel drive
• Electronic limited-slip differential
• Koni shocks
• Starting price of $29,995 without destination

Engine output for the four-cylinder is on par with what upmarket Alfa Romeo will get for the Tonale. For reference, a VW Taos makes 158 hp and Hyundai Kona N-Line makes 195 hp. The Hornet’s closest performance competitor is the Mazda CX-30 2.5 Turbo, good for 265 hp and 320 lb-ft of torque and also costing about $30,000.

Kuniskis was keen to point out that while other OEMs can sweat boring stuff like cargo capacity, Dodge is dedicating itself to performance. “We have a history of stuffing horsepower into otherwise stodgy segments,” he told journalists. “We sell cars people want, not what people need.”

What Dodge needs is to catch up to competitors and release hybrids and EVs so it doesn’t have to keep buying CO2 offset credits from Tesla. To our chagrin, the Hemi is hanging it up in favor of electrified power for future muscle cars, and the Hornet’s top trim (of two) will be the plug-in hybrid R/T, combining a 1.3-liter turbo-four with a 15.5 kWh battery and single rear electric motor. All-electric range tops out at 30 miles.

Rather than give it a green-sounding name like PHEV, which Kuniskis dismissed as marketing jargon that “sounds like bullshit,” Dodge was confident the hybrid’s performance justified giving it the historic R/T badge. With at least 285 hp and 383 lb-ft (!) of torque, it sounds promising. The R/T will feature a “Powershot” push-to-pass button which will max out battery discharge for a short period of time, increasing power by 25 percent and knocking a full second off of the 0-60 time, to 6.1 seconds. (Which also suggests the Hornet R/T won’t exactly be a featherweight.)

Kuniskis, basically the Santa Claus of V-8 muscle cars, told me that his first drive in the Hornet R/T really impressed him. “That plug-in hybrid powertrain is amazing—it really messes with your head.”

How about another head-spinner: the R/T will cost $39,995 before destination. That’s five grand more than the Escape PHEV, but the Ford is about as performance-oriented as a dazed groundhog and does not come standard with fixed-caliper Brembo brakes. For those wanting Brembos on the base GT, there is a $2995 Track Pack that adds the stoppers as well as 20-inch wheels, dual-stage suspension, and special interior touches. The Track Pack is also offered on the R/T, presumably at a different price, though Dodge has not confirmed that detail just yet.

If you want even more performance in your commuter crossover (can’t people just buy sedans and wagons again?) Dodge is opening up its Direct Connection catalog for the Hornet. The Hornet GLH Concept shown at the reveal event in Detroit today resurrects a badge not seen since the Omni GLH in the mid 1980s, highlighting performance components such as an ECU tune, lowered suspension, unrestricted dual exhaust, and GLH graphics. Direct Connection parts for the Hornet will be dealer-installed.

The Hornet interior looks solid and doesn’t feel cheap or cost-cut in high-touch areas, but it’s not up to snuff relative to Mazda levels of appointment. The center console is fairly deep but annoyingly narrow. Back seat space feels about middle of the road for the segment. The cargo area is deep enough to lay flat a couple of small suitcases—the kind that fit snugly in airplane overhead compartments—with a bit of room on the trunk floor to spare. Seats fold down, and as you’d expect, and there is a handy Euro-style pass-through for skis or hockey sticks.

I’m looking forward to spending more time with the Hornet in the year to come. Though the Challenger and Charger will carry the torch in whatever battery-powered shape there is to come, Dodge needs to get its first new model in years right if it hopes to once again become a full-line OEM that can compete with Chevy and Ford. This early preview seems to be a promising start.

The post Hornet: Dodge’s new volume-seller bets on performance appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Is the 2023 Integra the equal of the deliciously chuckable ‘90s sport compact by the same name? That’s the question Acura brings to the table by dumping the outgoing, slow-selling ILX in the garbage and resurrecting this beloved, long-dormant badge. The objective answer is no, not even a little bit … but examined in context, that’s not a fair reason to dismiss it out of hand. Let’s take a look.

For enthusiasts of a certain age, the word “Integra” summons heady visions: feisty yellow or pure white paint, edgy spoilers, and the yowl of a VTEC four-cylinder banging against a 8300-rpm redline. The source of this daydream is the Integra Type R, a limited-production dynamo that was a long way from the ordinary commuter car on which it was based. We’re talking Formula 1-like piston speeds, lightning response from a taut chassis, and the sound deadening capability of frayed cheesecloth. It is the closest thing Honda has ever sold to a race car for the road.

The Type R’s legacy plays tricks with our memories and expectations of what the Integra name stands for. The truth is more mundane; this car is and always was a more grown-up Civic. Specifically, one for people preferring the premium Acura brand over that of a plain-Jane Honda. It’s easy to forget that Acura dealers had a hard time selling the hardcore Type R. And customers went home with many times more LS and RS Integras with automatic gearboxes than crisp-shifting manual GS-Rs.

Even the regular Integra, however, was fun to drive. In the 1990s, when Honda was arguably at the peak of its game, the commonality between the Civic and Integra meant both cars were light, nimble, and high-revving. The Civic was a simple car built to a high standard and endowed with a certain outsized eagerness. Acura’s version was much the same, albeit edgier in styling and more generous with creature comforts. It was a zippy, youthful entry-level model for a still-budding premium brand.

The 2023 Integra holds true to this same tradition. Its overall silhouette is very similar to that of the Civic hatchback on which it is based, and the configuration includes the same four doors and five passengers. Nobody is buying small coupes anymore, and the only ones left are the rear-drive Toyota GR86/Subaru BRZ. You may recall that Honda killed its own Civic coupe after the last-gen model bowed out. That left either sedan or a hatchback for the Integra, and I think we’re all grateful Acura opted for the five-door.

Back seat space is extremely generous compared to the truly compact Corolla. Owing to the Integra’s shape, which is more liftback than true hatchback, the cargo area is somewhat modest with the rear seats up, and luggage has to be lowered into it over the rear bumper rather than tossed carelessly. With the rear seats lowered into their flat position, however, it feels more like a traditionally cavernous hatchback. This trade-off makes sense if you think about it for a minute; the purely utility-minded crowd will flock to the Honda HR-V, CR-V, or Acura’s own RDX without even considering an Integra.

What we have with the Integra is essentially a liftback version of the current Civic Si. The engine is the same direct-injected, 1.5-liter turbocharged four-cylinder, good for 200 hp and 192 lb-ft of torque. Front-wheel drive is the sole setup, with a CVT as standard.

Our Liquid Carbon Integra test car came in fully-loaded A-Spec with Technology trim, which is the only way to get a six-speed manual transmission. Compared to the base Integra that starts at $31,895, the top-tier A-Spec with Technology will run you $36,895 and add adaptive dampers, a helical limited-slip differential, a fantastic ELS Studio 3D audio system, a nine-inch touchscreen display, and cushy microsuede-trimmed upholstery. The only option on our press-fleet example was the aforementioned gray metallic paint, offered at a reasonable $500.

Hold the phone, you say. Thirty-seven large for a front-wheel-drive, 200-hp liftback with a 1.5-liter turbo engine and an exhaust note no more intimidating than a Pomeranian? A fair observation, dear reader! But it is a price with precedent; consider the Acura RSX Type S, a two-door sport coupe which replaced the ‘90s Integra and sold new for $23,170 in 2001. Adjusted for inflation, that’s $38,766 at current conversion rates, which should help put this latest iteration in perspective.

Hold the phone again, you say. Didn’t that RSX Type S also make 200 hp, but from a higher-revving and naturally aspirated 2.0-liter? That redlined at 7900 rpm versus the new Integra’s mere 6500? And wasn’t it 2778 pounds, compared to the current car’s 3073 pounds?

This reality helps explain why enthusiasts are currently shelling out stupid money in the used market for clean survivor examples of the RSX Type-S, and why these same enthusiasts are doomed to be underwhelmed by the new Integra. The situation shines a light on a sad truth we all know deep down: Honda doesn’t build small cars like they used to.

Tempting as it is to get indignant about this sad state of affairs, Honda isn’t the only one. A new GTI has a similar price and similar weight as the new Integra, and it similarly drives nothing a GTI from 20 years ago. C’est la vie.

At least at the outset, Acura’s product planning strategy is working. It reports that a stunning 60 percent of Integra reservations were for the manual A-Spec with Technology variant, far surpassing internal forecasts of roughly 30 percent.

Anxious enthusiasts who’ve plunked down deposits will most appreciate the Integra’s well-sorted suspension. It strikes that ineffable, early-2000s-BMW balance between cornering prowess and ride composure. The car understeers when pushed, but not badly, and the diff lets you get on the power early without washing out the front end. Yes, the turbocharged 1.5-liter is sluggish to rev compared to the more willing naturally aspirated Honda four-cylinders of old. But the engine does like revs, and it’ll spin happily at its 6000 rpm power peak. Practical around town, yet delighted to be thrashed ? Should feel familiar to longtime Honda-heads, if a little rounded off around the edges.

As true modern enthusiast car, however, it is less convincing. Among the compact, sporty cars that haven’t been erased in favor of lifted little trucklets—think GTI, Elantra N, and Mazda 3 Turbo—the Integra feels like the least performance-oriented of the bunch. Certainly not as macho and serious as the Elantra N, whose strong brakes and growly exhaust vastly outshine the Acura’s. The Mazda 3’s engine is far more robust, not to mention more refined. The Integra’s steering, however, is perhaps the most lively, and the six-speed manual gearbox retains a familiar, pleasantly mechanical sweetness.

It’s worth nothing, too, that the Integra boasts the best interior of this cadre, save perhaps for the chic Mazda. The mesh-pattern dashboard is more or less a copy-paste of the Civic’s, which means it’s both interesting to look at and easy to interact with—an enormous win. Seats are comfortable, supportive, and the infotainment interface is modest but intuitive. Big points for the killer ELS audio system, which pumps the cabin with a rich sound suited to all music genres; it feels worthy of a car costing twice this much.

Should you buy one? That depends. The 2023 Integra will not transport you back to 1999, embossed rear bumper notwithstanding. But if a Civic Si hatchback with an interior that feels genuinely worth $10,000 more sounds appealing, this Acura will not disappoint. There is cause for concern, however. I suspect that lower-trim Integra variants with less impressive interior trim and no performance bonafides will utterly fail to lure Civic buyers into the Acura fold. That’s not a knock on the Integra as much as it is an acknowledgement of just how good the Civic Sport Touring is—how upmarket it feels, how well it drives, and how good it looks at under $30,000.

Once the early-adopters have been satiated, can Acura really justify an entry-level hatchback solely on the merits of a $37,000 variant with a manual gearbox? I have a hard time believing so, unless the real goal is to goad people into the showroom and politely steer them toward the bigger, probably more profitable RDX crossover. This isn’t a healthy long-term strategy if you’re an Integra fan, even if a bonkers Civic Type R equivalent is on the way. Hopefully I’m wrong. I quite like the new Integra—at least for what it is, and not the plucky ‘90s sport compact it most certainly isn’t.

***

2023 Acura Integra A-Spec Advanced

Price: $36,895 / $37,395 (base / as-tested)

Highs: Attractive interior, stunning audio system. Solid steering feel, eager chassis with a sensible balance between ride and handling.

Lows: Manual, diff, and dampers are limited to the most expensive trim. Underpowered, no character to the exhaust note.

Summary: Not the Integra you remember, but a damn good luxury Civic Si if that sounds tempting.

The post Review: 2023 Acura Integra A-Spec Advanced appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Thousands of years ago, during the last ice age, retreating glaciers leveled the American Midwest. Left behind was a mix of silt, clay, boulders, and crushed gravel collectively known as “drift.” A pocket in what’s now southwest Wisconsin was spared this violent reformation. Geologists refer to this as the Driftless Area—an emerald landscape with swells of rolling hills, trout-filled streams, and hardwood forests. Soft bedrock means many caves and sinkholes that are home to special ecosystems. The beauty here runs deep.

I exit U.S. 151 at the crest of a gentle slope that wends its way down toward the northeast corner of a historic but nevertheless fairly typical-seeming Midwest town. Mineral Point, population: 2600. Here on the outskirts of town, the first tendrils of summer morning sun stretch out over farmland, bringing warmth. Crops flit back and forth in the breeze under cotton-ball clouds that float, listless, across a dome of blue. It’s a scene worthy of a postcard, but something rather extraordinary waits for me in Mineral Point. A long-hidden automotive jewel, recently unearthed.

Homegrown local David Engels reached out and convinced me to travel from Michigan to see it for myself—a 1927 Nash Light Six sold new at his grandfather’s brick-faced dealership in downtown Mineral Point. Much work has gone into making the car ready for a triumphant return to the town’s 2021 Fourth of July parade down High Street, where it last ran in 1957 before parking in a nearby barn. There it would rest, between wood rafters and dirt floor, for more than sixty years.

One of several prominent towns to spring up in the early years of the Wisconsin Territory, Mineral Point became the seat of Iowa County in 1829. The Driftless Area was teeming with untapped resources, and industrious prospectors flocked there to mine the rich deposits of lead ore. Native Americans long knew it as a land rich with minerals and traded with the French for fur in the 1600s. At the end of the 19th century miners discovered zinc at the bottom of the exhausted lead mines, and by 1891 Mineral Point was home to the largest producer of zinc oxide in the world.

With industry came the automobile. Wisconsin’s own Nash Motors, headquartered 150 miles east in Kenosha and led by former GM president Charles W. Nash, was founded in 1916. The brand won early success with the rugged four-wheel-drive Quad and was one of the first domestic automakers to embrace overhead-valve engines, largely similar to those of Buick, from whom Nash poached chief engineer Nils Wahlberg. By the 1920s Nash had become an underdog success story. It earned esteem for its constant advancement, packing its cars with fresh technology while keeping prices attainable.

Engels’ grandfather set up his Nash dealership and service garage, J.E. Engels Auto, in 1920. He was a friend and former employee of “Charlie” Nash, having worked as a quality assurance inspector at one of the businessman’s foundries. In 1927 Engels sold one of Nash’s newest models—the Light Six sedan—to a young woman named Emma Benson, the dealership’s own bookkeeper. The Light Six was Nash’s entry-level offering, renamed that year after the company scrapped plans to fold in the value-oriented Ajax brand. It was a sophisticated design for its time; the 170 cubic-inch flathead straight-six boasted seven main bearings, pressure-feed lubrication, and 40 hp at 2400 rpm. That was competitive performance with the new-for-’27 Ford Model A, though at $995 new the Nash cost roughly twice as much.

The Nash greets me in the driveway when I arrive. The dark green paint and black running boards are obviously worn, as you’d expect for a car that had been sitting in a barn since the Eisenhower administration, and the resulting patina oozes old-world charm. Engels walks into view through an open garage door, already scouring his soiled hands with a fresh rag so he can shake my hand. He smiles—the big kind you have to engage your whole face to pull off. It comes to him easily.

“Ready to meet Emma?” he asks. “Couldn’t be a better day for it.”

***

When David Engels first called me, more than a year before July 2021, he promised a barn find that would “make your pulse race and your blood run cold.” As Engels shows me around the Nash, which he’s lovingly named after its original owner, he also walks me around the garage where he’s been storing it. The big Nash sign against the back wall is actually from the J.E. Engels dealership, which his family sold almost forty years ago. Automobilia, Nash and otherwise, dots the walls alongside black-and-white pictures of his grandfather, who was also an inventor. Framed in a prominent spot is a copy of a patent he gained for a tractor hand safety brake.

In one photo, on the side of a brick building, I recognize the Nash sign from the garage wall. Standing next to one of the cars in the foreground is a young woman. “That’s Emma Benson,” he says proudly. David’s mini museum of his family’s legacy, rooted in Mineral Point, does the Nash justice. We stand there in silence for several moments, letting the history waft in the air around us.

A handful of his friends soon appear to see the Light Six off. First on the scene is Sam Palzkill, a key player in Emma’s reemergence.

“The original Emma, Emma Benson, was my aunt,” he says. Sam is soft spoken, friendly, and careful with his words. “She was a nice lady, born in 1905. No kids, and my brother and I were her only nephews. We used to bring her eggs from the grocery store.”

Emma lived outside of town on the Benson family farm on Highway 39. The operation was small in those days—crops and a few cattle for beef or dairy, Sam tells me.

“I must have heard the story a thousand times about the day her and her dad went into town to buy the car,” he says. “David’s grandfather sold it to my grandfather and put it in her name. She used it to get to work, to run errands. Her diary talks about Emma and her sister being very active socially, so the car really got around.”

Around Mineral Point, that is. In the thirty years between when it was sold new at J.E. Engels and the Fourth of July in 1957 when Emma parked it in her barn, after the parade, Sam reckons the Nash never left town.

Emma died in 1986, at the age of 81. Her estate fell to Sam’s brother, who had no interest in selling the car, so the Nash did little except sink deeper into the ground. When he passed away in 2019, the Nash was thrust into Sam’s care.

“I called David because of our families’ connection. I knew he wouldn’t junk it, or anything. I still have the title, a funny little piece of paper.”

When David found out Emma’s Nash was still there, a mere three miles from his house all this time, he could scarcely believe it. Driftless Area, indeed.

Excavating it yielded even more discoveries. Not only was the Light Six intact, but the dryness of the dirt floor had also kept the undercarriage from accumulating any significant moisture. A cursory search of the barn revealed the original radiator cap, floor jack, lug wrench, tire chains, and hand crank. The original headlights, running lights, dash lights, and horn still worked.

“At that point,” David explains, “I was all in and bought it from the estate. We cleaned it up, washed it, and vacuumed up who knows how many walnut shells. Preserving the history was always our top priority, but the car isn’t for me. Our end goal has always been to find Emma the forever home she deserves.”

The Light Six didn’t run, of course, and neither David nor Sam had the expertise to fix it. Who even knows how to get parts for 1927 Nash, let alone install them? This being Wisconsin, an expert Nash mechanic lived just 60 miles away in Soldiers Grove. Guy by the name of Jim Dworschack, founder of the Nash Car Club. Those who knew of him were skeptical he’d agree to work on the car, though.

To David and Sam’s delight, the doubters were wrong. Jim was astounded at the find and put Emma at the front of his work list so he could have the car ready for next year’s parade. The first time he started the engine it ran pretty well for about 15 seconds. The second time it died abruptly and without warning after a mouse McMansion inside the flywheel clutch cover got caught on the starter. That was the worst of it, though. Jim says the work took nearly all of twelve months. The Nash’s repair list included basics like a battery, brakes, and oil along with everything from roof repair to a new u-joint, radiator cap gasket, carburetor, choke cable, and a wrap for the original muffler. Jim’s hand-written invoice—the guy doesn’t have a cell phone—indicates just 38 hours invested. David knows that’s well below the real figure.

“Like me, Jim knew that Emma’s story wasn’t over,” he says.

***

We don’t have to be at the parade for little while, but David, Sam, and a few of their friends are way too excited to sit still. Their wives have started the festivities early as they descend on the driveway dressed as Roaring Twenties flappers, period music pumping from a speaker in the back seat of the Nash. They all insist I take Emma out for a test drive before her parade run.

“I taught my 17-year old daughter how to drive this car,” David says, handing me the key. He stares down at me through the eyeglasses perched on his nose. “Your turn.”

The flathead fires right up, six cylinders coughing to attention before settling into a steady, rhythmic chugga chugga. David’s in the passenger seat beside me, practically giggling. The clutch feels easy, forgiving. There are three forward gears spaced about a mile apart, which yields long throws for the wood-knobbed shift lever. Gentle pressure on the throttle delivers a healthy, sudden response from the inline-six, but I quickly get used to it and find the relaxed inputs the Nash prefers. We cruise about a mile down David’s street and turn onto a main road toward town. I don’t have much time in prewar cars, so the whole experience is new to me. In a lot of ways, the Nash feels like a more refined tractor with a roof and two rows of seats. It’s honest, and I like it.

How many times has this car traversed these roads? Sucked in this air?

Before I can ponder those questions for more than a few moments, the engine starts losing power. Uh-oh. What did I do wrong? The car dies on our way down a hill, so I use the momentum to coast us safely onto the shoulder of a side street. The parade starts in about an hour.

“Don’t worry, she just up and died. You drove fine,” David assures me. There isn’t a trace of concern or urgency in his voice. “We’ll get her fixed up in time. And if we don’t we’ll just tow her to the top of High Street and roll on down the parade in neutral!”

Two of David’s buddies, Chris and Todd, are soon on the scene with a basic tool kit, some crimps, splices, and a voltmeter. The gradual loss of power and lack of any other mechanical noises suggest an electrical failure, which it turns out is Chris’ specialty. “Oh yeah,” I ask. “What do you do for a living?” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Electrical engineer for high-voltage power systems. Bit of everything, though. This and that.”

Emma’s six-volt electrical system is no more complex than a ham sandwich, and Chris tracks down the problem in no time. An old wire between the battery and the starter switch has burned through. A few minutes later he thinks he’s fixed the issue with a rudimentary bypass—good enough to last the day, until a proper repair can take place. We start the car, fingers crossed, and the flathead leaps to life as if it knew we had somewhere important to be. “Emmaaaa!!” David shouts, both hands raised over his head.

We hit the road newly energized and drive back to the house for a celebratory beverage. David and Chris change into their ’20s outfits before heading to the parade. The final touch: Old Glory fixed to the back of Emma, so the stars and stripes can blow in her wake. The flag looks old, I mention to David. “Probably is,” he says. “A few weeks ago, we found it hiding on the top floor of my grandfather’s old dealership downtown.”

It’s time.

***

High Street is a madhouse. The sidewalks are packed with people already enjoying the day. Older folks smart enough to have claimed their spot early have found some shade. Plenty of others are happy to soak in a bit of sun, either standing against the shopfronts or posting up right on the curb. Making the most of the closed-off street before the parade begins, kids play and chase one another, still a couple of months away from report cards and homework.

The parade begins to great fanfare. Entrants are numerous and diverse—police and fire department, local businesses, veterans, and a nice share of classic cars. None can hold a candle to Emma. The car trots by with David at the wheel and two dancing flappers stationed on the running boards. Ragtime tunes fill the air. People are cheering, clapping, snapping pictures with their phones. They’re pointing at the sign on the side that reads: “This car was last driven July 4th, 1957.”

I overhear several people say that it’s the coolest thing they’ve ever seen at a Mineral Point Fourth of July Parade. If only they knew how this chunk of local history, thought lost to time, was unearthed by the descendants of the very people who brought it here.

Emma still needs a new home. David and Sam are patient, willing to wait for the right person and the right place. With any luck, she won’t drift far.

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It’s hard to fathom that the Copperstate 1000 road rally just celebrated its 32nd year of camaraderie and friendship surrounding its annual concours in motion. This nostalgic cruise of the Arizona outback is one I’ve been personally covering for more than two decades.

Select cars manufactured before 1973 are invited on the Copperstate tour, which is similar to the Colorado Grand, The California Mille, and New Mexico’s Las Millas Encantadas. The goal? Pure, unadulterated enjoyment of the car as a pleasure object.

In 1990, Louis Laflin III, member of the Phoenix Art Museum’s Men’s Art Council, proposed replicating the famed Mille Miglia of Italy, albeit in the desert and to raise money for the museum. The inaugural rally set sail in 1991 with an outstanding collection of vintage and classic cars, birthing the Copperstate 1000. That first rally toured throughout Arizona, including Wickenburg, Prescott, Flagstaff, Grand Canyon, Payson, and Show Low. There were stops at the Boyce Thomson Arboretum as well as Bondurant’s School of High Performance Driving, with the likes of Harley Cluxton and Grand Marshal Walter Payton (the famous Bears running back) in attendance.

The rally was so successful that for the second year, in 1992, Phil Hill was invited to be Grand Marshal (a role he would fulfill five times) and Stirling Moss did the honors for 1993. In the forthcoming years, Augie Pabst (1995) Brian Redman (1996), Bobby Rahal (1998), Arie Luyendyk (2002), Bob Bondurant (2003), Lyn St. James (2004), Alain De Cadenet (2005), and Barry Meguiar (2006) have served the esteemed position. In 1996 I had my most memorable Copperstate, involving a lake cruise on a wind-free night at Lake Powell. I met Phil Hill at a formal dinner on a sandy beach, with a Navajo flutist playing as hoop dancers performed in front of a huge bonfire and calm, moon-reflecting waters. Hill told endless stories of his racing career that kept the Coppersaters enthralled for hours.

The 32nd Bell Lexus North Scottsdale Copperstate 1000 ran from April 2–April 6, 2022, on a challenging northern route towards Flagstaff. The journey took us through high chaparral and Ponderosa pine forest with snow-capped mountains, and we skirted the desert on twisty roads amid statuesque Saguaro cacti standing at attention.

At the start, on a brilliant sunbathed Sunday morning, more than 85 classic automotive works of art gathered at Tempe Diablo Stadium (training home for the Los Angeles Angeles baseball team) for a free “Field of Dreams” concours. A “rainbow of steel” engulfed the attractive stadium with vintage machinery sitting in formation on the well-clipped lawns. Copperstaters were putting the final touches on their cherished chariots, applying polish and checking oil and tire pressure in preparation for the Mille Miglia-style send off. As in prior years, eight Arizona Department of Public Safety motorcycle patrolman tagged along on this free-wheeling festival of speed to make sure no one got too carried away.

At 10 a.m. sharp, on a crisp sunny morning, the motorcade blasted out of the stadium. One by one we headed north for a 1500-mile jaunt to traverse some of the best asphalt Arizona has to offer. Our modern wagon train motored to Payson for lunch, passing Strawberry and the magnificent Red Rocks of Sedona before landing in the timber town of Flagstaff for a two-night sleepover. The field of cars were as varied as the beautiful landscapes, ranging from the oldest car—a 1938 Adler Type 10, the streamlined fastback that was introduced at the 1937 Berlin Motor Show—to Alfa Romeos, Aston Martins, BMWs, Chevrolets, Ferraris, Jaguars, Lamborghinis, MGs, Mercedes 300SLs, Porsches 911s, Shelbys, a 1965 VW Karmann Ghia Convertible, and more.

The 1938 Adler intrigued me, so I caught up with Jeff Lane and Christine O’Neill (of the wonderful Lane Motor Museum) driving the unusual car. Turns out that the Frankfurt-based Adler started manufacturing bicycles in 1886 and then motorcycles, typewriters, and finally cars. Lane driven in about five Copperstates. “I come back because of the great roads and great people. I like this car because it’s weird and different an so am I,” he says. The Adler has a 2.5-liter side-valve straight-six and handles slow on the road, but it remains comfortable while cruising, Lane says. The car was nicknamed “the Adler Autobahn” for its ability to cruise at 70 mph. This example is believed to be the only one in North America that is still running.

After a hearty buffet breakfast, we made our way into the historic Route 66 town of Winslow, home of the statue “Standing on the corner” at 2nd and Kilsley. The famous phrase comes from the Eagles’ 1972 hit “Take It Easy,” which to this day draws thousands every year to gaze upon the statue. A one-hundred mile run brought the cavalcade back to Flagstaff, along Lake Mary Road and passing Mormon Lake in the Coconino National Forest.

I met Alberto Gutierrez two years ago on the Copperstate, when he was driving a low-slung Dino. This year piloted a sleek 1966 Jaguar E-Type Series I coupe with navigator Lisa Weinberger. Alberto told us he had the car for about ten years and started his ownership by sorting out the cooling system. “I’ve done about 13 Copperstates because I love the scenery, the camaraderie, and that it raises money for the Phoenix Art Museum and the 10-90 Copperstate Foundation,” Gutierrez said. “These cars need to keep going, you just can’t just let ‘em sit … you drive ‘em like you stole ‘em.” He appreciates the E-Type coupe’s rigidity and that it’s nonetheless so easy to drive. “It’s not as glued to the ground as the Dino but if you drive it hard it will respond and do what it needs to do.”

Tuesday marked a 250-mile cruise with an anticipated lunch stop at the Grand Canyons Caverns—the largest dry caverns in the U.S. A tour of the canyons, located 200 to 300 feet below the surface of the earth, was not part of the itinerary but you can bet many of the rally’s participants will be back to tour the caves.

Before we descended from the high plateau to Arizona’s grasslands we went through Seligman onto the longest stretch of the original historic Route 66. One curious thing I observed in Seligman: A few of the Copperstate cars were going back the way we came. I discovered later that these few drivers loved the ride so much they wanted to do it again. Amazing!

Along Route 66 we headed south to Prescott, known for its authentic cowboy history, and the rebuilt Whiskey Row, for our well-deserved overnight rest. At least 25 Copperstates have been completed by long time Copperstater Rick Mahrle, who brought his recently acquired 1971 Alfa Romeo GTV. The car has had some suspension modifications (Koni shocks and anti-sway bar) but is otherwise all-original and was ready for its maiden voyage. “I was the Prescott City Captain for the very first Copperstate and I was chairman of the event in 1999 and 2000,” Mahrle said. “I have been working on the organizing committee ever since. What keeps me involved is meeting some fabulous people that I would have never met before, and it keeps me interested in the eclectic car hobby. The GTV handles wonderfully, and my wife loves the fact that it has a lid on it; I have had the top down on my Spider during prior rallies.”

For the last day of this incredible adventure, we motored downhill as we passed Skull Valley, a rural ranch community which derived its name from the bleached bones found by European settlers. Proceeding west on the Kirkland, Bagdad Highway and then south to Wickenburg, known as the Dude Ranch Capital of the world, we arrived for our final evening in Scottsdale. There we enjoyed an awards dinner honoring Ken Roath (driving his 1955 Ferrari 250 Europa) with the Participants’ Choice Award and Dennis Varni (1961 Alfa Romeo Giulietta Sprint Speciale) with the Immaculate Presentation Award. The Louis E. Laflin III Spirit award (given to the participant that most personifies the spirit of the Copperstate and its founder) went to Budd Florkiewicz in his 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle L6.

In addition to the significant funds the Coppersate 1000 raises for the Men’s Art Council (this year co-chaired by Keith Martin and Doug Hodges), noted artist Ed Mell creates a painting each year for the route book cover. The original is then auctioned off at the banquet, with part of the proceeds benefiting the Phoenix Art Museum. Financials aside, though, it is really all about the people—and their fantastic automobiles—who make the event truly magnificent.

The post The Copperstate 1000: Pre-1973 classics pile on miles across Arizona appeared first on Hagerty Media.

If the original Miata was Mazda’s MGB, the second-generation 929 that the hit the scene in 1992 should have been its Jaguar XJ6. However, whereas the roadster’s fun appeal was universal and it suffered few direct rivals, the 929 was a serious luxury sedan with a plebeian-sounding name and looks that often passed for the Acura Legend, or perhaps Infiniti’s own XJ imitator, the J30.

The Mk2 929 sold poorly when new, and the slinky, tech-laden four-door remains a genuine curiosity today. “It’s the rarest car in my collection,” says owner Brandon Payne, whose Oregonian garage features two NA Miatas, a JDM FD RX-7 and a DeLorean. “It draws lots of interest, but most people have no idea what it is.”

The car is a relic of the irrational exuberance of 1980s Japan, part of the automaker’s doomed push into premium segments. From 1989 to 1991, Mazda’s brass in Hiroshima launched three new domestic-market labels (Autozam, Eunos, and ɛ̃fini) and dozens of cars to fill them, all before standing up its own Lexus rival, Amati. When Japan’s economy cratered in the early 1990s, all of these plans were thrown into chaos.

A sedan fit for a prince

Mazda applied the Sentia name to the 929 in Japan. Although it was not meant to be an Amati product, the Mk2 929’s rear-drive architecture was reported to underpin the planned Amati V-12 flagship (which ultimately died on the vine). Mazda took extreme pains to make the Sentia look and feel like a proper luxury machine, burning through 16 full-size mockups and almost ¥480M in design costs just on the exterior.

Former Mazda designer-turned-product-planner Pete Montero shed some light for us on the sheer scale of the Mk2 929’s development. In November of 1987, Montero and fellow ArtCenter College of Design graduate Avidor “Dori” Regev joined Mazda’s design staff in Japan—some of the first foreign designers to do so. There, a team led by veteran designer Shunji Tanaka was already knee-deep in creating the next iteration of the company’s flagship Luce sedan.

“On our first day we toured the clay room and saw a series of stiff, boxy-looking sedan renderings and mockups.” The previous HC-series Luce, sold in the U.S. as the Mk1 929, had been a bland, boxy, and anonymous four-door sedan. To Montero’s eyes, these tall galleons were even worse.

“The idea was that the car should be fit for formal use by [Japanese] Crown Prince Akihito—which seemed far-fetched—so they had a roofline fit for top hats.” Montero and the other designers were polite but visibly surprised. “They were really struggling.”

Weeks later, Tanaka tasked Montero with creating an alternative 1/5th-scale Luce in clay. “[Tanaka] looked intimidating. He wore tinted sunglasses everywhere and dressed a bit like a Yakuza,” Montero relates, “But he was actually a nice and approachable mentor.” Tanaka gave him two weeks to work something up.

Drawing inspiration from the BMW E34 5 Series, Montero created a sleeker, lower design with a much longer dash-to-axle ratio and short front overhang. “Then the layout engineers came in and destroyed it, sticking pins in the places where hardpoints for the radiator, strut towers, and other bits had to go.”

Montero related what had happened to Tanaka and the elder designer shook his head, took a drag on his cigarette, and said, “So what do you want to do, Peter-san?” Montero defended his design, so Tanaka instructed him to execute one side of the clay his way, and the other to layout’s stricter demands.

Days later, the two versions were presented to executives. Montero printed out pictures of traditional rear-drive cars to emphasize that a low-slung rear-drive platform conveyed instant prestige in a way that a front-drive-based Audi 100 or Acura Legend could not. To hammer home the point, Montero showed a side-by-side comparison of his design alongside the Hyundai Excel, which drew an audible gasp.

“Mr. Fukuda, the head of Mazda design at the time, started laughing. Then the execs started arguing in Japanese. The meeting sort of ended and I was ushered out.”

The next day Tanaka approach him. “Peter-san, how are you this morning? Can you come with me?” Bracing for bad news, Montero entered the clay room surprised to witness modelers reworking the existing models to alter the proportions according to his vision. “They’re giving you what you like, Peter.” The entire platform was changed in the name of style, with the front wheels moved 90 mm forward and the rears 50 mm back.

Although Montero helped lay out the Sentia’s basic proportions, the soft, rounded-off exterior was mostly the work of Regev, who also penned the FD RX-7’s spoilers. The car’s elegant looks won acclaim at home, where it was also (briefly) sold as the ɛ̃fini (pronounced an-fini) MS-9, but by the time of the 1992 launch Regev had already departed the company to run a design firm in his native Israel.

Not only was it longer and lower, the Sentia was also wider than the original 1986–91 929/Luce, which ran it afoul of Japanese tax regulations. (It was meant to be a luxury car.)

Befitting such a machine, the Sentia bristled with technology. The 200-hp, 3.0-liter V-6 engine used variable-length intake manifolds. Four-wheel steering (4WS), dual airbags, and anti-lock brakes were standard. An optional solar panel in the roof powered a fan that cooled the car down while it was parked on hot days—a primordial version of today’s EV “preconditioning.” CD changers and a premium sound system were the order of the day on the audio front.

929: The stateside Sentia falters

Wearing the same 929 name as it did in its first generation, the car arrived in America in the late fall of 1991, just in time for cracks to begin to show in Mazda’s ambitious expansion plans. As Japan’s economy cooled, the company was left with an armada of cars planned for an entirely different financial forecast.

The new Mk2 929 got good reviews, with the press often focusing on the curvy styling, though there were some brickbats.

Despite weight-saving tricks, it was 300 pounds heavier than the similarly-sized Legend but had less power (U.S. models had 195 hp against the Acura’s 200). It was also big and not all that spacious inside. The trunk in particular was small, a concession to structure of the four-wheel steering system that was not even offered in the U.S.

The 929 faced an uphill battle on other fronts too, according to Montero, who returned to Mazda’s offices in Irvine as a product planner in 1989. First, the stretched and lowered second-generation Acura Legend for 1991 improved upon the “tallish front-drive sedan” look of the original effort. Unfortunately for Mazda, the Sentia/929 team had considered its car’s superior rear-drive-based design as a potential opening to conquest sales. The revised Legend had similar proportions to the 929 but hit the market a year earlier, wearing the still-fresh Acura brand name to boot. Mazda could claim no such premium equity. The Lexus GS and Infiniti J30 then arrived in late 1992, further squeezing the 929.

Logistical problems were even more dire. Mazda had trouble supporting all of the new models it had created for expansion, and its American dealers weren’t necessarily prepared to sell them.

“After its near-death experience in the 1970s, Mazda depended on dual franchise dealerships. Dealers often had other brands, and most just wanted to sell GLCs and 626s,” Montero says. They recognized the value of RX-7s and Miatas, but not so much the 929, and they weren’t really prepared for luxury buyers.

In 1991 and 1992, largely on the strength of exports, Mazda sold more than 43,000 Sentias and 929s in Japan and North America, but that number sank to just 9560 by 1994. The car quietly disappeared from U.S. showrooms at the end of 1995.

Rediscovery … and redemption?

It was at one of those reluctant dealers that owner Brandon Payne laid eyes on the 929, in person, for the first time. The year was 1993. “We sent formal letters to businesses as a writing exercise for school. Of course, I wrote mine to a Mazda dealer,” Payne says. “In response, they invited me to see the cars!” On the backlot was a car he’d only seen up to that point in pictures.

Payne recounts that the salesperson actually thought the car was a 626 until he insisted they go look at it. “Oh, you’re right, it is a 929!” she said. Payne was smitten but as the years wore doubted he’d ever get to own one. 929s weren’t common when new, and the herd of survivors thinned in the 2000s as the cars’ maintenance and repair costs began to add up.

He’d all but written off the possibility of ever owning one until 2015, when an elderly family decided to give up driving and get rid of the Mazda they bought from new—a 1993 929. Payne was happy to take the car off his hands and get it show-worthy. Since then it’s been a loyal friend and done a few multi-state drives, including a trip to the Hoover Dam.

“It’s a great cruiser,” Payne says. “It isn’t meant or excitement;  it’s meant to eat up miles in quiet, silent comfort.”

Repairs, however, can be tricky. “There are lots of unobtanium parts, and while this isn’t a Bentley, it’s still a high-tech luxury car. It’s not necessarily easy to maintain,” he says. Payne recounts that replacing the valve cover gaskets proved a multi-day odyssey thanks to the variable-length intake runners and all of the wires and hoses in the way.

It’s a palatable price to pay. Thirty years later, with the weight of branding no longer really mattering, the 929 can be appreciated for the ambitious luxury machine it was. Payne says lots of people comment on the car’s good looks, which were never seen in the metal often enough to become overly familiar. “For lots of people, they’re seeing something new and exciting.”

Though the 929 is long gone, Mazda hasn’t given up its premium aspirations. The automaker has been pushing further and further upmarket across its driver-focused lineup, improving interiors and adding turbo engines to everything from the 3 compact to the three-row CX-9. With a proper rear-wheel-drive platform and inline-six engine in the pipeline, however, we’ll have to see if Hiroshima’s long-held luxury aspirations can finally come to fruition.

The post Mazda’s forgotten second-gen 929 was a luxury moonshot appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Legends often contain, at their root, some kernel of truth. Take the GT350H—the Hertz rental special based on Shelby’s high-performance Mustang. To this day, people pass around wild stories of cars that were rented and had roll bars tack welded in for a day’s racing or had their potent HiPo 289s pulled and replaced with low-compression V-8s. These stories range from the sublime to the downright ridiculous, but each of these tall tales invariably ends with the car returning on Monday morning to the rental counter with the Hertz lady none the wiser.

If our “kernel of truth” hypothesis is correct, however, might there be something real at the heart of these myths? Perhaps even something that can be proved?

Before firing up the heavy excavation equipment in search of said murky roots, it would be best to recap of the foundation of the GT350H narrative. Once we’ve established the basic, documented facts of the famous rental machine, it will be much easier to home in on the many myths, misconceptions, and downright untruths. (Spoiler alert: They were not all black with gold stripes, nor did they all have automatic transmissions.)

The idea of the 1966 Shelby GT350H “rent-a-racer” (a moniker never used back in the day) was born in the fall of 1965. Shelby American pitched the idea of, say, a hundred black-and-gold GT350s (Hertz’s corporate colors) that would provide a four-seat sports car component to Hertz’s less-than-financially-successful Sports Car Club. Shelby American talked up this benefit to Hertz as a selling point of the proposed program, but the sales pitch was not a case of corporate magnanimity; Shelby, too, would reap some substantial benefits.

Firstly, the deal would provide the instant gratification that comes with a guaranteed sale of a large block of cars. In the longer run, it would give the GT350 a huge increase in customer exposure, courtesy of Hertz. No longer would GT350 test drives be limited to the relatively scant Shelby dealer network but could be had at literally any major airport across the United States. Hertz bought the idea (both figuratively and literally) and over the next few months, the purchase quantity rose steadily from 100 to 175, then to 200, then, finally, to 1000 cars.

Not just black and gold

The matter of the color that these cars would wear, however, when they emerged from 6501 West Imperial Highway, was somewhat more complicated.

It should come as little surprise that the paint scheme was a subject of interminable corporate vacillation. The idea that the GT350Hs (a designation materializing a couple of months after Shelby’s initial chat with Hertz) provided to the rental company would all wear black with gold stripes was settled upon while the expected volume was 100, 175, and then 200 cars. But when the contract was finalized for 1000 cars (on the first day of winter, 1966), Hertz had decided that the build would be equally split between the five colors Shelby offered on its retail 1966 GT350s: Wimbledon White, Candy Apple Red, Ivy Green, Sapphire Blue and, of course, Raven Black. There was talk of some small quantity of white cars with blue stripes (and eventually, some actually delivered to Hertz) but it has never been clear whether this was a Hertz request or Shelby pushing the idea to expedite Hertz deliveries by using some of its already in-stock white/blue cars.

After some initial deliveries of black cars, instances of Hertz’s indecision began to surface with startling regularity. By the time the final GT350H was delivered to Hertz in May of 1966, the final tally reflected approximately 60 blue, 61 red, and 59 green cars being delivered with none of the reds and only a few of the greens having top stripes (all the blue ones had top stripes). And of the roughly 71 white cars, only the very early ones with blue side stripes (perhaps no more than two dozen, records aren’t clear) lacked top stripes. The cars without top stripes—the two, wide parallel stripes we call “Le Mans Stripes” today but in period were referred to as “rally(e) stripes”—were the result of a convergence of what color cars were being produced at the moment (itself a consequence of the shipment of colored batches of cars from Ford’s San Jose Assembly Plant to Shelby American) and whether Hertz had decided to stripe, or not to stripe, at that time.

Transmission and brakes

As for the often-misunderstood subject of transmissions, that one ended up pretty simple: Original plans for a 50/50 split between four-speed manuals and automatics morphed into all automatics after the first 85 four-speed cars hit the Hertz lots. If you count the initial prototype, a four-speed car that eventually made its way into the rental fleet, the total comes to 86 cars with that extra pedal on the left.

The subject of the brakes turned out to be anything but simple. Before any cars were produced, and just as the two corporations were ready to sign on the dotted line, Hertz hit Shelby American with a Lieutenant Columbo–esque “Oh, just one more thing … ” request: The cars would need to have power brakes, kicking off perhaps the largest fiasco of the whole collaboration. Had this come up a year later, it would have been a simple matter for Shelby American to phone San Jose and add power brakes to the cars destined for conversion to GT350H spec; at this time, however, Ford hadn’t yet certified power front disc brakes for production, which left Shelby American on its own.

The solution was for Shelby to install the Minnesota Automotive (or, “MICO”) power brake master cylinder, a contraption invented to add brakes to farm implements that came equipped without them. It used a complicated “piston within a piston” arrangement to harness the pedal pressure applied to the piston to further assist that piston in providing more pressure and, therefore, more braking. One issue: Although the device did reduce the pedal pressure required, no two of the devices gave the same pedal feel. Even worse, as pedal pressure was applied and the boost kicked in, the brake pedal feel went from hard, to soft (as if the brakes just suddenly failed), then back to hard again. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

More of an issue, even, was that the Hertz fleet soon proved subject to an unexpected artifact of the GT350’s race-inspired lineage. In order for the legitimate racing GT350 to be legal in SCCA Production racing, there had to be some quantity of identically equipped machines produced for street use in the process known as “homologation.” The race GT350 (and therefore the street version, and by extension, the rental version) used metallic brake pads intended to provide repeated fade-resistant braking from high speeds. The downside was that they were notoriously non-functional at slow speeds until they got really warm. Hertz renters soon found that upon piloting their beautiful, black and gold fastback out of the rental lot, stepping on the brake pedal for the first time made it feel like the car was going faster!

When the issue was brought to Shelby American’s attention, it conducted repeated demonstrations for Hertz that showed, exactly as expected, that the GT350H needed the hard pads; after just two 100-0-mph stops, the Mustang’s standard asbestos pads faded away into oblivion. Of course, it completely escaped both parties that these cars would primarily be driven on city streets (not on Riverside’s or Willow Spring’s straightaways, where the demonstrations were conducted) and that the low-speed stopping provided by standard pads and shoes was simply more suitable.

In the end, the cars only received the standard brake fitment as they came out of service and headed for the resale market. All of their in-service rental time was spent with gold-foil stickers affixed to their dashboards warning that “This vehicle is equipped with competition brakes … heavier than normal brake pedal pressure may be required.” (After a few hundred cars were delivered with the troublesome MICO master cylinder, GT350Hs began rolling out the door—and stopping quite satisfactorily—with standard Ford master cylinders.)

The whole episode illustrated how the race-inspired GT350 was ultimately a poor match for Hertz’s “John Q. Public” rental clientele. In hindsight, it makes sense why the ’67 GT350H (and perhaps a hundred or even two additional ’66 cars) never materialized.

Rental-lot lore and autocross antics

Now that we’ve established a basis of fact, let’s move on to the matter at hand: the mythology of the abuse suffered by the Hertz “rent-a-racer” at the whims of Mario Andretti–wannabees.

Ford Motor Company itself was wary of the potential for renter abuse of the GT350H. In December of 1965, as negotiations between Shelby American and Hertz were ongoing, Ford evaluated a standard GT350 and determined that the Shelby rode a bit hard, was a little tough to steer, and took some effort to get stopped at low speeds (the first two not surprising at all, given the car’s character, and the third somewhat prophetic). One of Ford’s predictions, however, offered an early preview of a legend in the making: “Hertz may have a run on these cars on drag race night.”

In its endless retellings, the basic story of the GT350H goes that basically every one of the thousand-car fleet was rented and hit the track or strip, with Hertz totally oblivious to the shenanigans. It makes for a good tale, of course. In fact, one particular documented incident (among several definitive “kernels of truth”) paints Hertz not as a clueless dupe, but rather as a willing co-conspirator. A local sports car club was holding an autocross, which would be run in the parking lot of the Charleston, West Virginia Civic Center, followed the next day by a Concours d’ Elegance car show. The club president, a Cobra owner himself, approached the manager of the local Hertz office and asked if the company could be convinced to display one of its five GT350Hs at the club’s Concours. The answer was undoubtedly unexpected: Yes, but only if the Cobra owner would drive the GT350H in the autocross the day before! Arm sufficiently twisted, the club president skillfully piloted the Mustang through the cones on the day of the autocross. The club’s newsletter the next month reported that the car was a blast to drive, but, being much heavier than the sports cars against which it competed, was far from garnering any Fast Time of Day (FTD) honors.

Parts for the picking

Leo Levine’s The Dust and the Glory is undoubtedly one of the finest histories ever written about the Ford Motor Company in competition. In it we find a reference to another pervasive myth: that a Hertz rental GT350 had its engine removed and installed in a race car, in this case a Falcon being run in the 1967 Daytona 24 Hours. There weren’t many Falcons in that race, and decades after the incident occurred, the little Ford’s owner, the late Ray Heppenstall, was tracked down and queried about the incident. He stated that only the barest essence of the story was correct; yes, he did remove the engine from a GT350H and install it in his Falcon, but the Hertz car was, in fact, one that he purchased the year before after it was wrecked on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. A former rental GT350, yes, but not one in active service.

How about spinning another part-scrounging yarn? In 1966, Racer Tom Yeager had sold his Competition model GT350 (what we today call “R-Models”) and began running a notchback Mustang in the SCCA’s new Sedan/Trans-Am race series. Marlboro, Maryland, was one of those races at which, try as he (or rather, his mechanic, Tom Greatorex) may, Yeager could not get the Mustang’s carburetor dialed in. The solution lie under the hood of a shiny, black-and-gold GT350H sitting, unwatched, in the parking lot. It just so happened that the Hertz car used the same Holley carburetor as his Mustang. The device was surreptitiously swapped into the blue Mustang and, although Yeager didn’t win that competition, neither did he accumulate a distasteful “DNF.” After the race, Greatorex reinstalled the Hertz car’s carburetor and the incident was sure to be forgotten until it came out who had signed that GT350H’s rental contract: SCCA Director John Bishop! The Toms, Yeager and Greatorex, fessed up to Bishop and the threesome enjoyed a good laugh.

Then there was Long Island Cobra Racer Mel Wentzel who, lacking adequate vacation time, asked a friend to trailer his 289 Cobra to California for a race at Riverside Raceway. Upon arriving in the Golden State (via airliner), Wentzel and his mechanic checked in at Shelby American, only to find that their promised GT350 PR car had been claimed by high-ranking Ford executives attending the race. Shelby couldn’t make more press GT350s materialize out of thin air, but it could pull some strings with the local Hertz office, where Wentzel—despite being under Hertz’s 25-year-old age minimum—was able to rent a GT350H for the going rate of $17 a day plus $.17 a mile.

Why was it so important that Mel get a GT350 as his driver? Because aside from towing his Cobra and trailer, the rental car would serve as a convenient, emergency source of spare parts for the Cobra race car. Wentzel’s mechanic, upon finding the speedometer cable locked to the speedometer, removed the other end of the cable from the transmission and fabricated a plug to keep the fluid from being pumped out while they enjoyed the “free” mileage. How is it known that these events actually occurred? Because both Wentzel and his mechanic, Rick Kopec, (who, a decade after, would go on to found the Shelby American Automobile Club) say so … and have the pictures to prove it!

Whisper down the lane

What we’ve covered here are the best-documented examples of real-world escapades that resemble oft-repeated GT350H myths. In all likelihood, these “kernels of truth” are the foundation of some even taller GT350H tales. It is easy to see how just a dash of additional seasoning on relatively mundane events, in the form of extraordinary embellishments, could really spice up a story. We may never know the whole truth, so depending on whether you’re more of a romantic or a historian, the Hertz lore is both tantalizing and disappointing.

Made by myth?

You may be pondering whether documented “race history” of a given GT350H pushes its value above that of one of its “non-race” brethren. Frankly, it’s a moot point. In the incidents cited above—which are the best-documented cases in existence—none of the individual cars can be identified. More tangible is the significant effect we’ve seen that Hertz history has on GT350H values in general, the result of a dramatic about-face.

In the 1970s and early 1980s, when there was scant factory documentation yet discovered and all that existed was hearsay, rumor and innuendo, ex-Hertz GT350s represented, easily, 10 to 20 percent less value than a standard, same-year GT350. A big part of that was the mistaken belief that the Hertz cars were detuned. Consequently, owners of former rental cars went to great pains to deny or flat-out hide any vestige of the car’s rental history. Over the years, it became evident that these rental cars were mechanically identical to any other ’66 GT350 and, little by little, the values began to rise to equilibrium with, then eventually surpass, that of the un-Hertz fleet.

Today, the pendulum has swung in the exact opposite direction. Several classic and sports-car value guides rate the value of a former Hertz-rental GT350 as now 10 to 20 percent above that of a GT350 built for dealer sale. After all, a GT350H is a unique piece of the Shelby program’s history. Once that perspective became widely accepted, Hertz’s rent-a-racer got a well-deserved fresh lease on life.

***

Greg Kolasa is the Hertz Registrar (historian) for the Shelby American Automobile Club and is the co-author of several editions of SAAC’s World Registry. He is the author of the award-winning Definitive Shelby Mustang Guide, published by CarTech Books and the co-author, along with Shelby American GT350 Project Engineer Chuck Cantwell, of Shelby Mustang GT350: My Years Designing, Testing and Racing Carroll’s Legendary Mustangs, published by David Bull and also an award-winner. He has owned his black-and-gold GT350H since 1982. His better half, Carol, has owned one of the scarce red ones since a few years before that. The two Hertz veterans share their garage with an ex-Hertz 2006 Shelby GT-H.

The post Legends of the GT350H: Fact, fiction, and Hertz’s “Rent-A-Racer” 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