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Analysts and sales managers at the old Big Three — General Motors, Ford and Chrysler — put on happy faces Friday as June sales waivered after expectations the month would be a significant improvement over May 2011. It was not, overall. Non-Japanese automakers posted pretty healthy gains, though the inventory supply woes of Toyota, Honda, Nissan and Subaru helped offset them.

Toyota, Honda and Nissan inventory shortages pushed Chrysler up to third-bestseller in the U.S. for the first time since anyone could remember. Toyota says it will be up to full production by the end of July. Subaru and Mazda fell as well, to 12th and 13th. If Hyundai and Kia were allowed to combine their sales numbers, they would make the fifth-largest automaker in the U.S. last month, behind Toyota and ahead of Honda and Nissan. Even on its own, Hyundai is gaining on Nissan.
Automaker analysts are sticking with their forecasts for 2011 sales in the upper 12-million range, even though May and June were well off that pace and economic indicators show consumer confidence and spending starting to trail off as the unemployment level remains above 9 percent. Ford analyst George Pipas said what looked like a fairly strong month ended up with some weakening, in part thanks to California’s July 1 lowering of auto sales taxes and fees.

Both Ford and GM say they’ve been gaining in places like California even before the Japanese earthquake and tsunami in March.

A reporter for The Los Angeles Times told GM that the average Chevy Cruze buyer would save $300 by waiting to buy the car Friday, instead of Thursday. At Toyota, sales chiefs and analysts figure the new tax/fee structure didn’t make any difference, though Californians able to get their hands on a new Prius or Camry probably were happy to pay close to sticker, anyway.

Both Ford and GM report strong truck sales, even with GM’s excess pickup inventory. Ford sold nearly 50,000 F-Series and says its EcoBoost V-6 is a runaway success in the F-150. GM says its extended pickup assembly plant shutdowns scheduled for later this summer will lower its 122-day supply to 100-110 days. Ford says it has a 79-day supply of F-Series.

Full-size pickups’ share of the market rose from 9.3 percent in April to about 10 percent in May and more than 11 percent for the first three weeks in June, Pipas said. That’s still well below the heady 14-15 percent of the days of 17-million annual sales, though both Ford and GM figure healthy truck sales show a relatively healthy economy. Pickups are selling to workers who are doing repairs and upgrades to existing homes, rather than building new ones, GM theorizes. Chrysler, which hasn’t held a monthly sales conference call since about the time of its bankruptcy, has sold 111,000 Ram pickups so far this year.

On the other end of the spectrum, gas prices have affected car sales. We’re not downsizing that much, however. For the first half of the year, the five-bestselling midsize cars totaled 654,098, compared with 588,615 for the top five compacts. B-segment cars are nowhere nearly as popular, as many of them can’t match the best mileage of the c-cars.

At GM, Chevy says 17 percent of Cruzes sold last month were of the ECO model, up from 15 percent in May, but only because ECO production started late and production is ramping up. Good news for us stick-shift proponents, though. Year-to-date, the manual take rate on the Chevy Cruze Eco is 48 percent. On the Cruze LS, the only other model available with three pedals, it’s 15 percent. Unlike most other cars, there’s still an mpg advantage to buying the ECO manual; it gets 28/42 mpg EPA versus 26/37 mpg for the automatic.
“The sun shone, and we had a good speed.” That was how an Australian racing driver mate of mine used to sum up a memorable day out in a fast car. TV host, racer and MT contributor Justin Bell and I had to schlep a Corvette ZR1 from London to Munich the other week – a 750-mile jaunt that included a 30min train ride under the English Channel. The sun shone and we had a good speed. A very good speed. The best I’ve had in almost 20 years, in fact.

Back in 1991 I drove an Opel Lotus Omega for a couple of days in Germany. It was quite a car. Based on the GM2300-platform Opel Omega – a kissing cousin of the Holden Commodore of the time aimed at mildly prosperous Germans who wanted a big car but couldn’t afford the coin for a Mercedes – it was the psychotic offspring of GM’s hook-up with British sports car maker Lotus in 1986. The Lotus Omega looked like a low-rent Pep Boys special – all fat tires, flares, and stuck-on spoilers. But it was, at the time, the fastest production four door sedan in the world. Faster than BMW’s M5, the hand-built Mercedes-Benz 500E, and Australia’s Holden Commodore Group A SS.
The Lotus Omega would hit a genuine 176mph, and it would get there in one helluva rush. The 0-60 sprint took 5.2 seconds, with 100mph coming up in 11.2seconds. It would easily spin the rear wheels on a damp road in fourth gear – no traction control back then. Imagine a Chevy Caprice that could frighten a Ferrari Testarossa. That’s what this thing was like. Scary, ridiculous, omigod, laugh-out-loud fast.

Lotus had stroked the GM 3.0-liter straight six that powered top-of-the-range Omegas (most had 2.0-liter GM Family Two four bangers under the hood) to 3.6-liters and added a pair of Garrett T25 turbochargers. Power was boosted to 377hp at 5200rpm, and torque to 419lb-ft at 4200 rpm. All that grunt was channeled to the rear wheels via the same ZF six-speed manual transmission used in the 1990 Corvette ZR1 and Lotus engineers spent a lot of time engineering an independent rear end stout enough to cope, as well as adding AP Racing brakes all round, along with revised springs and shocks.

Early one morning, on the deserted A81 autobahn between Heilbronn and Wurzburg, I covered 53 miles in 24 minutes in the Lotus Omega; an average speed of 132mph. For almost 20 years that epic run has remained a personal best. And with the huge increases in traffic on Germany’s autobahn network since then, combined with the creeping advance of speed limits (about half the autobahn is now subject to speed limits), it’s one I never expected to match. Especially on the A9 autobahn between Nuremburg and Munich.

This is one of Germany’s busier autobahns, funneling traffic from the north of the country past the home towns of Audi and BMW, and on to major highways leading into Austria, Italy, Slovenia and Hungary. It’s wide – three lanes each way – and open, but much of it is subject to variable speed limits that reduce traffic to 80mph or less when the road is heavily congested. As it frequently is.

But the Monday evening traffic was light, and I was able to give the Corvette its head. For 25 glorious minutes we hammered down the fast lane on the A9, the needle on the metric speedo of the European-spec ZR1 never falling below the 200km/h mark (about 120mph) and occasionally flickering past 300km/h (187mph) when I could read the traffic in the far distance; the 638-hp supercharged V-8 leaving a thundering sonic boom in its wake. The slightly nervous, squirrely feeling through the steering I’d noticed from the super-grippy Michelin Pilot Sport Cup tires at lesser cruising speeds disappeared as the aerodynamics kicked in; it was almost as if a giant invisible hand was gently pressing the car into the tarmac, steadying it. And the power! Take it from me, there are very few cars on the planet that will accelerate from 160mph to almost 190mph with the urgency of the ZR1.

That old Lotus Omega was a white knuckle ride above 160 mph – I can still remember sensing the body flexing through hyper-fast sweepers, and how the damned thing shook its head violently when I hit an expansion joint on a bridge at 170mph and all the air rushed in under the front spoiler. The ZR1, by contrast, felt composed and confident all the way up to almost 190mph, like a car whose demeanor had been honed on the Mulsanne Straight at Le Mans. Former Viper and Corvette racer Bell, a man more used to driving at warp speed than sitting in the passenger seat watching the scenery flash by, didn’t seem unduly concerned by the pace, and he wasn’t just being polite.

We covered 55 miles in those 25 minutes, which meant we’d averaged 132 mph, equaling the record I’d set in the Lotus Omega all though years ago, and without the white knuckles and sweaty palms. We rolled into the Munich evening traffic grinning from ear to ear at the sheer audacity of it all; at the idea that even in this era of speed cameras, fuel-sipping hybrids and computer-controlled cars that do most of the driving themselves, you can still drive a supercar at supercar speeds on a public road. Germany’s autobahns are truly one of the seven wonders of the automotive world.

I called Mrs MacKenzie in London from the hotel later that night. “How was your day?” she asked.

“Oh, the sun shone, and we had a good speed.”
I’ve never wanted to own a Porsche 911, though they are great fun to drive. They’re even wilder to ride in with a pro like Walter Rohrl flailing away at the helm. Such rides sometimes make me wonder if the “laws of physics” are open to creative interpretation like our Constitution. But two mechanical engineering degrees tell me they’re not, hence, in my mind no proper racebred chassis should have its engine cantilevered off the rear axle (or the front). Yes, the 911′s setup loads the rear tires for better launch acceleration and provides slightly better weight distribution under hard braking, but if this arrangement is superior, why doesn’t anybody else in racing use it? I’m willing to bet that a mid-engine Cayman could spank a 911 on the Nürburgring if equipped with equivalent power, tires, and chassis optimization. So is it just pig-headed German stubbornness keeping the Cayman down?
I’ve put that question (more politely) to numerous Porsche engineers throughout the years, and they all shrug it off with dubious assertions about insufficient chassis rigidity, cooling challenges, etc. Really? C’mon. Surely the minds that tamed the once-feral 911 Turbo would make quick work of those challenges.

The obscure physics law that favors the Cayman is its polar moment of inertia. You know inertia means resistance to change (a key tenet of 911 product planning), only here the change is rotation about “poles” drawn through the vehicle’s center of gravity. The important one for handling is the car’s moment of inertia about the vertical axis when it yaws (turns or spins). High-polar-moment cars resist turning in or spinning; low-moment cars turn in more eagerly. To visualize the difference, run up to the attic and grab your old turntable and a curling dumbbell. Set the dumbbell on the Close’N Play platter with one weight on either side (high moment) and try spinning it. Now stack the weights on top of each other centered on the spindle (negligible moment). Spins way easier, right? The Cayman’s polar moment is said to be 20 percent lower than the 911′s.

Porsche may be unwilling to build a high-output Cayman, but Ruf GmbH has done the job, so I borrowed a 2007 Ruf 3400K from Ruf Auto U.S. It started life as a Porsche Cayman bodyshell, upfitted with a supercharged, intercooled 3.4-liter flat-6 rated at 400 horses and 324 pound-feet of torque, beefier brakes, a starchier lowered suspension, and 19-inch Pilot Sport tires. I was amazed at how nimble and lively the car feels, biting eagerly into turns, delivering all the same delightful steering feedback with an almost Lotus-like delicacy in the way it handles. There’s never the sense that gigantic rear tires are levering a massive engine around an apex in this car. This makes its limits seem more approachable by mere mortals, which, as you’ll read next month, is a key attribute of the very best driver’s cars. By contrast, super-911s give the impression that breaching their amazingly high limits would be catastrophic.

With the 2012 911 growing to provide more rear seat space, and a mid-engine VW-based baby Boxster on the way, might Porsche be ready to transition the 911 to GT duty and develop the Cayman into the proper racebred sports car it’s always longed to be? Here’s hoping-and make mine a turbocharged GT2 RS.
I pulled into my apartment complex last night in our 2009 Volkswagen CC test car just as a neighbor was parking in a spot behind me. I couldn’t see what he was driving, but it made the unmistakable noises of an older Domestic vehicle that has seen better days. “That a Volkswagen?” he asked once we were both in warmth of our building. When I replied in the affirmative, he whistled. “That thing is beautiful!” His compliment is not the first we’ve received on the CC, and certainly portends success for the car. But it’s what he said next that really caught my attention.

“Those Germans build some quality cars, man,” he said, nodding knowingly,
adding, “Much better than the U.S.”
His sentiment – not an uncommon one – is intriguing for the fact that it’s completely wrong. Just about every recent quality study ranks American cars, especially those from General Motors and Ford, close to or equal with the best from Japan. Meanwhile, VW and several other European makes have languished at the bottom.

Indeed, the irony of the Domestic automakers’ present crisis is that they are by and large producing their best vehicles in decades. Cars like the Chevrolet Malibu and Ford Flex are class competitive and exude quality. Future products like the 2011 Volt and 2010 Fusion, the latter of which I was able to preview earlier this week, promise to be even better.

Unfortunately, Detroit might have gotten the product religion too late in the game. Consumers’ perceptions, like that of my neighbor, often lag behind reality.;Biases can be changed – the success of the Japanese and more recently, the Koreans is proof of that. But it takes money and time. The Big Three appear to have neither.

GM and Ford can now only hope that they somehow survive long enough to see their aggressive product strategies bear fruit. For companies like VW, the death spiral of the American auto industry should ring out as a warning. VW’s stock currently goes for around $500 – more than 100 times that of GM and Ford – and the company recently rivaled Exxon Mobil as the most valuable on Earth. Much of this success is well deserved. It has consistently brought innovative designs to the market that are favorites among consumers – not to mention staffers here at Automobile. But it was not long ago that the Big Three ruled the automotive universe with fantastic looking but shoddily built products. They fell from grace slowly but surely, one bad customer experience at a time. VW and others like it should pay heed. In today’s competitive market, there’s simply no room for product failures or even annoyances – like the interior trim that’s already coming loose on our CC.
In his latest self-aggrandizing book, Car Guys vs. Bean Counters, Maximum Bob Lutz talks about running into the inept, choleric Chairman of General Motors, Roger Smith, in a hotel lobby in Europe. Lutz characterizes Smith as “The man who locked GM into ‘all front-wheel-drive.” Talking about the then-forthcoming rear-wheel-drive Ford Sierra, Smith fumed that “The whole world is going to front-wheel drive. Everybody! The whole industry! You’ll be all alone, and the Sierra will be a flop!” Lutz goes on to say, “Well, the whole world didn’t, and the Sierra wasn’t…”

Unfortunately, Smith’s illogic about “all front-wheel drive” has found another unhappy home — at Ford. I don’t know who the Smith surrogate might be. Derrick Kuzak, Ford’s Global Product Development chief? Alan Mulally himself? Someone must be responsible for the fact that there is no replacement plan for the Lincoln Town Car, and all Lincoln cars will henceforth be front-wheel-drive. This is, of course, a very bad idea. A decade or so back, there was an air-suspended puffed-up Taurus sold as the Lincoln Continental four-door. Didn’t last in the market, didn’t sell very well.
Our sister magazine, Motor Trend, notes in the August issue that “Ford brass knows Lincoln needs distinct product and a modern rear-drive platform…” but doesn’t think it can afford one. The solution is at hand, very inexpensively, but no one at Ford seems imaginative enough to do a bit of in-house hot-rodding to turn the fully-amortized, very satisfactory but obviously very ancient (1979) Panther platform into a profit center. Panther is the platform underlying the (highly profitable) Crown Victoria and Lincoln Town Car. If you haven’t examined one of these things recently — there has been no PR work, no road tests, no technical articles concerning Panther for years — you may not be aware that the front crossmember is a massive alloy casting visually entirely worthy of an Aston Martin, complete with a front-steer rack and pinion steering box. It is very solidly reliable in taxi, limo and cop car service, and has been from around 2003. The chassis frame is dirt simple, with parallel side rails that can be — and were — made in different lengths at essentially no cost. Yes, it’s a hunk of ironwork, but it’s cheap, cheap, cheap. And strong. And adaptable. And long-since paid for.

True, there’s no independent rear suspension. But there must be four or five fully-tooled IRS systems in the Ford warehouses. Mustang Cobra, Ford Explorer, Lincoln trucks, who knows what could be cobbled together quite easily from existing components, already paid for? There are any number of clever guys in Southern California, and plenty in Dearborn, who could put something together very quickly. I know, I know, separate chassis frames and bodies are so old-fashioned, only clunkers like the Corvette still using them. And there is another clue: Corvette chassis frames are made in both steel and aluminum, hydroformed inside the same tools as far as I know. Could A. O. Smith, manufacturer of the Panther chassis, make the same thing in alloy? Since GM does it, Ford can do it — Ford has made a practice of following GM leads since the days of the fabled Whiz Kids in the immediate post-war period.

The most successful Ford product of the Henry II era was the Mustang, a re-jiggered Falcon that used existing parts to make an imaginative whole. It seems to me that the existing Town Car/Crown Vic platform could easily and cheaply redone with i.r.s., an aluminum engine from existing engineering stocks and a new, optimized body shell in the same way. It wouldn’t be breaking any new ground technically, unless a big effort were made to innovate in the structure of the body, but it would give Lincoln the front engine, rear-drive car it so desperately needs, and with some intelligent styling and engineering it would give Ford most of that taxi and police business it is throwing away with the abandonment of the Panther.

Sure, it’s old. So what? There’s a big market, it’s accessible for not much capital investment, and a suitable set of low-investment products could fatten up the bottom line of the company we all admire for not screwing the taxpayers with a fix-is-in quick-rinse bankruptcy. Ford has the hardware, the designers, the engineers and the need. Does it have the will? Does it have the courage to ignore eventual criticism about using a 32-year-old base for contemporary profits? I say there ought to be a 2013 Town Car, and they ought to get to work on it right now.
When SPEED announced a while back that they’d be optioning comedian Adam Carolla’s idea for a car show, it took all of five seconds for the automotive media to compare it to BBC’s Top Gear. Yes, like comparing new BMW M cars to the 1986 M3 and comparing Toyota Camrys to washing machines, no new car show can be announced without the flood of inevitable comparisons by auto scribes to BBC’s magnum opus.

Watch Carolla’s new show for a few minutes, however, and you’ll realize this: the last thing SPEED wants is for their new project to be mentioned in the same sentence as “that British show.” They’re right to do it too — despite its cult following on BBC America and in online pirate download circles, both the British and American versions of Top Gear draw small ratings, and Top Gear USA failed once on NBC before being relaunched on the History Channel.
With its mission clear, Wednesday night’s premiere of TCS looked and felt like it was designed with American sports television — not the BBC — in mind. There’s “0 to 60,” a fast-paced head-to-head opinion segment where each topic gets 60 seconds of debate, which is pulled from ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption,” a series of short films a la SportsCenter, and a loud-mouthed host, Adam Carolla, previously of The Man Show. There’s also John Salley, who played in the NBA from 1986 to 2000.

Carolla and Salley are backed up by even more “mouth:” Dan Neil, the automotive reporter for the Wall Street Journal, and Matt Farah, writer and star of the online auto show “The Smoking Tire.” The combination of four hard-headed dude hosts is an obvious ploy: The Car Show is going to be built on the chemistry between them.

If the chemistry checks the first box, the subject matter checks the second one; TCS’ first pre-recorded film in the premiere took all four hosts to Reno, Nevada, for the staging of a 24 Hours of LeMons race. The premise is simple: take a busted Nissan 300ZX with three functioning automatic gears, and race the hell out of it.

Top Gear viewers might know why this segment was important. When the BBC converted a BMW 3 series to run on homegrown biofuel and then raced it at the 24 Hours of Silverstone, the audience got an intimate look into the chemistry between Clarkson, May, and Hammond, how the show operates, how real-life racing drama unfolds. The Car Show didn’t need to replicate (or out-do) the British race, but it did have the same opportunity to force the hosts to gain chemistry as well as force the viewers to “meet” them. Simply put? It was a great opportunity for TCS to shine in its own right.

But then Dan Neil blew some sort of seal, a fire started, and the segment was over after less than five minutes of screentime. We’re not entirely sure where the car came from, what the problem was, nothing. All we know is that Neil was armed with a fire extinguisher and his co-hosts got lost trying to tow him off the track. Worse, the film didn’t feel like it ended thanks to a thrown hose — it felt like it ended because it ran out of time.

We suppose The Car Show is like that LeMons race: an ambitious idea with frenetic, disjointed execution that ends up falling short.

Unfortunately, the lack of development didn’t stop there. The men, many of whom are revered for individual projects, lacked much of their personalities on screen — both Farah and Carolla seemed muzzled, Salley knew next to nothing about cars, and Neil was inconsistent. Finally, the pre-recorded films seem to have been conceived with Top Gear in mind, a serious mistake. If SPEED knows what’s good for it, those films won’t benchmark the BBC, they’ll benchmark SportsCenter’s rapidfire, quick-hit video pieces without gimmicks or attempts at whizbangery. Simply put: in their haste to entertain the country, Adam Carolla and SPEED slapped on the protective film and drove the car onto the carrier before the paint was dry.

Coming back from a commercial break Carolla re-introduced the show by saying “Welcome back to The Car Show. It’s going to get better!” For now, we can only hope he’s right.
So apparently I’m out of the loop, but I didn’t realize that BMW was making a sedan version of the 335is. Okay, so it’s not called the 335is – it’s called the BMW Performance Edition 335i. It’s even available with four-wheel drive, as the 335i xDrive Performance Edition. To get it, you need to order your 335i sedan with either the Sport Pack (ZCP) or the M Sport Pack (ZMP) and then add ordering code is ZMZ. So add “E90 ZMZ” to your internal lexicon of cool BMW codes along with things like the old E46 ZHP .
Anyway, it gets 20 hp and 17 lb-ft of torque more than the regular 335i (or 32 lb-ft if you’re nuts and buy the automatic.) According to BMW, that’s good enough for 0.2 seconds off the 0-60 mph sprint.

Best of all, the ZMZ package adds only $550 to the MSRP. Okay, so that’s not quite as potent as the 335is’ engine (which gets temporary overboost for another 37 lb-ft of torque – on top of the 32 lb-ft – with the stick) but the 335i sedan uses the new N55 single-turbo engine. The 335is uses the old twin-turbo unit. Whatevz, either way, it’s hot.

The only problem? Where is the damn 335i Touring? I’m so sick of people asking me why BMW won’t build one — and I used to be able to answer “because the company doesn’t want to step on 5-series wagon sales.” Well, now there is no 5-series Touring! I’ve heard company spokespeople pull every excuse out of their hats, but if BMW wants to sell 3-series wagons to enthusiasts, it’s going to have to put the “big” engine in there. Don’t believe me, BMW? Make a 335i or 335Xi Touring and watch your 3-series wagon sales double.

So yes, I’m thrilled that 335i sedan buyers can get a couple extra horsepower from the factory. But come on BMW, pay attention! Nobody asked for (and nobody’s buying) the 5-series GT. Your old wagon customers are walking over to the Mercedes dealer and buying E-Class wagons. So how about you through your 3-series Touring buyers a bone?
If the prospect of owning this Boss 302 Trans-Am race car and complementary cab-over Ford flatbed doesn’t give you chills, you’re not human, as far as I’m concerned. Bringatrailer.com recently dredged up the matching set, which was carefully built to replicate the car that won the historic 1970 Trans-Am championship and the truck that hauled it. The Mustang is a real Boss 302 that was restored to full racing specification, with some concessions to modern technology. The Caterpillar-powered, 1986-vintage hauler lived most of its life as a fire truck in Pennsylvania before it was shipped to California for restoration and the addition of the ramped bed. The pair is being offered on boss302.com for $145,000—or $60,000 for the truck only.
That’s a whole lot of money, but these flashy Fords would give you serious star power at most car shows, in addition to offering a great conveyance for satisfying your track-day fix. Plus, a car with real Parnelli Jones racing provenance would likely cost hundreds of thousands more than this and be impossible to replace. The car is particularly cool because the legendary Jones drove it for famous team owner Bud Moore, not to mention the fact that the eleven-race ’70 Trans-Am season probably represents the absolute high-water mark in American road-racing history, as all domestic manufacturers fielded serious entries—and many big-name drivers competed—in the over-two-liter class.

I’m usually interested in old cars that are easily usable on the street—a description that fits neither of these vehicles—but this orange twosome is just too awesome to ignore, even as simple eye candy. Many commenters on BaT testified to the quality of creator Les Werling’s work, too, and our sister publication, Mustang Monthly, published this interesting feature story on the pair of Fords in August 2009.

Race-car haulers are hot right now, by the way. Bringatrailer also recently featured this 1959 British Motor Corporation transporter and this 1950 International and trailer that’s painted to look like it once ferried esteemed European marques to and from the track. And a couple years ago, our own Preston Lerner dove into this story of an enchanting Fiat transporter that shuttled Scarab racing cars during the 1960 Formula 1 season.

Honorable Mentions
Finalists for my favorite BaT car from July 1 through July 16 include the following, ranked from most tantalizing to least:

1. 1972 Chevrolet Townsman wagon
It’s hard to resist a good-ole American station wagon, especially one this nice, clean, and green (and I’m not talking about fuel economy). A good price and a fancy disappearing tailgate helped put this Bel Air wagon at the top of my list of also-rans.

2. 1954 Lotus Mark VI
It’s not often that you see genuine early Lotuses for sale, and this enticing Mark VI was offered for just $39,000 on a somewhat obscure Utah news site. The Mark VI was the first “production” Lotus; about 110 were built from 1952 through 1955.

3. 1974 Dodge D100 pickup
The Mopar guy in me loved this California-clean truck from the moment I clicked on it. The stick shift, pale green paint, and mild engine mods ensured its high spot on my list—and in my heart.

4. 1966 Sunbeam Imp
I very seriously considered buying this Imp before I decided to purchase my 1967 MGB/GT in 2007. The problem with Imps, though, is that there just aren’t very many of them out there, especially in North America. If this $2500 car hadn’t been full of Bondo, as reported, I might’ve had to make a trip to Ontario to check it out.

5. 1965 Ford Cortina V-8
A Cortina was another model that I seriously lusted after when I was in the market a few years back. I’m not usually a fan of engine swaps, but this car seems like it would be ridiculously fun—and loud enough to drown out the purist in me.
I just spent a night with a 2011 Cadillac CTS-V wagon, and I can’t help but feel a little grateful. Grateful that Cadillac not only saw fit to launch a five-door version of its latest CTS (along with such an awe-inspiring performance version), but also that the end product was a far cry from the company’s first attempt at a CTS wagon. About a year or so back, I was driving by a GM-owned parking lot in Metro Detroit that was filled with vehicles slated for disposal. Something caught my eye — I thought I saw a first-generation Cadillac CTS, but I also thought I glimpsed an elongated roof and an extra set of pillars. Was I seeing things?
Not exactly. I circled back, and peered through a fence from the safe haven of a sidewalk. Sure enough, tucked alongside other engineering mules and scrapped vehicles was a design mockup for a first-gen CTS wagon.

The 00-00-00 license plate, coupled with a number of faux trim elements peeling from parts of the car, indicated this spent most of its life within GM’s design studio, and likely never moved under its own power. But the thing was still captivating — not only was it evidence Caddy had considered a CTS wagon before, but a high-riding, butched-up wagon designed to appeal to SUV-loving buyers.

The end result looks a little like an American knock-off of Audi’s not-so-successful A6 Allroad Quattro. In addition to the tall stance and large wheels, designers were apparently also working on adding anodized front and rear skid plates, grey cladding along the rockers, and matching grey bumpers out back.

This all suggests Cadillac was considering adding all-wheel-drive to the CTS line way-back when. That was certainly plausible, considering two other variants of the Sigma platform were capable of delivering power to the front wheels, but it would have been new for the CTS itself. Although the second-generation was (and is) sold in AWD form, the initial model never was.

What I’d like to know is exactly when this idea came about. I can’t help but think this steps closely on the toes of the original SRX, which not only shared its Sigma platform with the CTS, but always felt a little more wagon-like than many of its competitors. I wouldn’t be surprised if this concept was nixed after Audi canned the Allroad in the states, opting instead for conventional SUVs and crossovers instead.

That’s a mystery I may never solve. Few at GM seem to remember the project, or those who do remain silent, apparently in the hope they’ll someday forget. Regardless, the mockup itself is history (literally; it was demolished a week after I shot these photos), but thankfully the idea of a CTS wagon wasn’t so easily dismissed.

Franco-Folly Fun

Today there was a funny, funky small-town, small-time Concours d’Elégance in the tourist-filled small medieval city near our home in southwestern France. It’s an event that takes place every two years. As this was the 11th, it must have been going on since 1989 without me particularly noticing, but this time I had a couple of invitations from locals who know that I “have something to do with cars.” Held in the Jardin des Plantiers, a public park in Sarlat, up the hill behind the Palace of Justice, a nice venue where part of the Festival des jeux du théâtre, now in its 60th year, is also held, it was quite charming and surprisingly evocative.

I am always amazed when I see a real Bugatti in the street, being used as normal transport, but to see several Type 37s running in modern traffic along with half a dozen Amilcars and Thirties MGs is absolutely staggering. Toss in a few Delages from the early twentieth century and you have a spectacle that not even Pebble Beach can quite equal. All the cars in the garden are privately owned by people who are not billionaires, nor even simple millionaires, just happy enthusiasts who have acquired and maintained cars that would inflame the desires of American collectors and inspire auction houses if they knew they existed.
In the Twenties and Thirties there were two French licencees for the Morgan three-wheeler, the Darmont-Morgan and the Sandford. There was one of each in Sarlat today, both beautifully restored (or maintained, I didn’t ask the drivers who were eager to leave the park, scoot around town and then come back to the park to bask in admiration from the several thousand spectators. They were fine, as was the rare Marcos, the superb Twenties Vauxhall (The BMW of its time, which was of course before GM bought and bastardized the badge), a fiberglass monocoque Lotus Elite from the Fifties and a almost-convincing Ferrari P-3 racer. My instinct says it was a brilliant fake, but I couldn’t find anyone to quiz about it.

The car that made the biggest impression today was not a classic, though. It was a 1954 Panhard et Levassor Dyna Junior. I have long contended — for 57 years now — that this was the absolute worst brand-new car I have ever driven. When I was a teen-aged design school student living in a converted garage in the back yard of the house rented by John R. Bond, who was then in the process of acquiring Road & Track magazine from the group of inspired misfits who had created the magazine in the Forties, I gained enough of Bond’s trust to be allowed — rarely — to drive some of the road test cars that came to R&T’s Colorado Boulevard offices in my native Glendale, California.

The two-cylinder, front-drive Junior was in theory the perfect starter sports car, light, inexpensive, responsive. Bond gave me the keys, told me not to go too far away from the office, and come back in an hour. I thought the mechanical clatter was indicative of superior engineering, the clunky gearbox was clearly superior to the MG TD that was the only other sports car I’d ever driven, and the car seemed quick compared to other European cars I’d tried, which at that point included the Renault 4CV and a seriously primitive 1946 VW Beetle owned by Marshall Roath, a classmate at Art Center. My first-ever non-USA drive had been in a Citroën 11 which had made a superb impression by its ability to take a right-angle turn at what then seemed to be a staggering speed.

In my mechanical naivete I thought that ability must be a function of front wheel drive. I had by then read Ken Purdy’s “Pull Instead of Push” text in the 1952 Bantam fifty-cent paperback book, “The Kings of the Road,” so when I got to the first tree-lined residential street, I whipped the steering wheel to the right and pushed the throttle. Structural rigidity may have been part of the Citroën traction avant’s panoply of virtues, but hadn’t penetrated the thinking of engineers in the world’s oldest automobile manufacturer. The noodle-strength chassis twisted, the driver’s suicide door popped open, and I started sliding out of the opening. No belts, of course. I guess the efforts on the steering wheel, which was held in a death grip to keep me from falling out of the car, must have fortuitously been in the right direction. The tail slide stopped, I squared myself away being the wheel, shut the dumb door and motored VERY sedately back to the R&T offices, thanked Bond for the experience and walked home, disabused of any notions I had held about front drive and handling. Citroën good, Panhard bad was firmly installed in my brain.

Seeing the elderly gentleman — possibly younger than I — who may have owned this car since it was new, emerge with some difficulty from the ergonomically-challenged Dyna Junior roadster confirmed my opinion that this was one car whose lack of commercial success we need not regret. It was a piece of crap when new, and it’s still a piece of crap, however historical. But I was really glad to see that at least one example has been preserved in like-new order and still gets an outing from time to time.

If it was the all-time worst brand-new car I’ve ever driven, the Citroën DS-19 that appeared just a year later — and the DS was well-represented in the Plantier — remains the best brand-new car I’ve ever driven. In the context of its time, no other car has ever been as far advanced over its contemporaries as that one was. And in those two you have a really good look at France and its strange ways. Dumb and brilliant, skewed from the norm in both directions, and endlessly fascinating. Just don’t get caught on the wrong side.
No, I don’t think the 2011 Nissan Leaf is a hot hatch, or anything close to a serious performance machine. But after spending a week behind the wheel and fighting my lead foot to extend my range, I wanted a chance to see what it could do when the pedal was placed to the floor.

Luckily enough, Leaf keys were thrown my way on a Wednesday, which is when Milan Dragway holds its weekly test-and-tune night. Plop down $25, sign a few liability waivers, and you can squeeze in as many passes down the quarter-mile strip as time; weather; and in my case, battery charge levels allow. Just make sure to put a big “n/a” in the field that asks for your engine displacement if you show up with an EV.
Any qualms about trying to get an electric vehicle through tech inspections are soon negated. “Interesting,” the tech official said. “We haven’t seen a Leaf out here quite yet.” The bulbous hatchback’s profile and conspicuous silence draw stares, but no one asks why I’d try and run the thing. I’m only asked if it’ll make a smoky burnout. Well, no — partially because I forget to deactivate traction control.

The bulky Chevy sedan next to me faults and leaves the line early, but I don’t care — I’m mainly interested in just how quickly the Leaf goes from point A to point B. The electric motor feels strong until you get above 55 mph; from there on out, it seems as if the torque disappears and speedometer hangs in the 60- and 70-mph range for eternity. The ET slip seems to confirm this…

CAR 227

Reaction: .7800 (I know, I know; I need more practice…)
60 ft: 2.6 seconds
330 ft: 7.2539 seconds
1/8 mile: 11.1759 seconds at 61.63 mph
1000′: 14.6098 seconds at 70.90 mph
1/4 mile: 17.5428 at 75.64 mph

Well, that’s a little better than what I expected; I’d heard rumblings quarter-mile times of 18 seconds or so, though I’ve also seen some journalists have whittled that down to about 17.3 seconds. I’d have liked a few more runs, but Mother Nature whipped up a thunderstorm and rained out the rest of the session. Perhaps another time.

Drag strip metrics for EVs aren’t relevant for any real-world user, but I did have a chance to use the Leaf with an accessory that is. During my week with the car, I charged the Leaf either with the OEM 120- or 240-volt chargers, or Chargepoint’s 240-volt station. This time around, I found a public station — operated by DTE Energy — to recharge in nearby Saline, Michigan, but it featured a new charger design from supplier giant Eaton.

I stayed overnight at a friend’s place in the area, allowing the Leaf to remain plugged in for several hours. Although the charger did its job, I’m not all that blown away by this particular design, especially when compared to Chargepoint’s device. Unlike that one, Eaton’s device provides no relevant information (i.e. time plugged in, kWh consumed during the charge, etc.) to the user, either by way of a display screen or by remote messaging. That could be an issue — while Chargepoint’s stations notify users of a disconnect or if a fault occurred, I had no way of checking into why the Eaton charger displayed a red service tell-tale when I arrived the next morning.

Minor bugs, but I sincerely hope as local utility companies decide to deploy more EV charge stations, they consider turning to Chargepoint. Heck, DTE already has in Ann Arbor…

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