Three Favorites, From The Late Great Carroll Shelby
![[1965 Shelby Daytona Cobra Coupe (CSX2601)]](http://roadroving.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/1965-shelby-daytona-cobra-coupe-csx2601.jpg?w=150&h=150&crop=1 "1965 Shelby Daytona Cobra Coupe (CSX2601)")
By now the news of Carroll Shelby’s passing has reached everyone in the automotive community. As an icon on the track as well as in the engineering lab, Shelby had a huge impact on the sports car world- his work and accomplishments will live on as the stuff of legend. In honor of Mr. Shelby, here’s a quick rundown of our three favorite automotive creations that will help immortalize him.
Shelby began his professional life as a chicken farmer, selling cars on the side. Like many of us, he had dream for a little-car big-engine combination that would blow the doors off the supercars of Italy.
Those dreams started to materialize when Shelby found the failing British sports car company “AC”- which was willing to unload their “Ace” roadster, as long as somebody could find a suitable engine to pair with the body.
Enter Ford, a big-budget automaker with a surplus of V8s kicking around.
Hands were shaken, papers were signed and in 1962 the AC Ace was impregnated with a massive V8 engine; effectively giving birth to the now-iconic Shelby Cobra.
Original Cobras from this era now carry stratospheric values, with one example known to have sold for $5.5M a few years ago. But fans of the concept needn’t lament, because there are a few companies building reproductions for much, much less money. Replicas might not have the same historic value, wouldn’t you feel just a little guilty ripping donuts in a seven-figure investment?
[1965 Shelby Cobra Roadster (CSX2557)]
Only six renditions of the original Daytona coupe were ever produced, five in Italy and one in California. There’s quite a dramatic tale on Wikipedia about that sixth car involving a horrific suicide and the band “The Monkeess”, but I’ll let you follow the link and decide the truth of that one for yourself.
[1965 Shelby Daytona Cobra Coupe (CSX2601)]
In 1984 Dodge teamed up with him to create the “GLH” version of their supermini, the quintessentially-80′s Omni. Two years later, the further-improved GLH-S was released representing America’s real contender in the supermini segment at the time. The nomenclature allegedly stood for “Goes Like Hell”, which would make sense because the dorky little hatchback was boosted to 175 horsepower and sitting on Koni adjustable shocks.
Novel, if not competitive. It was quicker than the Volkswagen GTI of the day; basically the only competitor. Though it was a few years ahead of its time it’s just a little too ugly for anyone to pay what it’s worth, so you’ll be hard pressed to see one in the wild these days.
[1986 Dodge Omni GLH-S [L-Body])
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Sunday Drive: Retro Ragtops Star in FIAT vs BMW
After a long day brainstorming business ideas, the call of the road became too great to resist. By mid afternoon my associates and I gave into temptation and took to the streets a pair of retro ragtops.
There’s only so much inspiration you can gather in front of a computer, after all.
I sniped mum’s DSLR on the way out and got a few good images of my father’s FIAT Spider 2000 dueling with my good friend Ben’s E30 convertible around Cape Ann.
If you didn’t get a chance to hit the tarmac this weekend, we hope these frames will inspire you to get that winter project wrapped up and get on the road!
Even an E30 looks big parked next to Pininfarina’s tiny Italian.
Secret Supercar: GTA Spano
For those who haven’t discovered Tumblr yet- you gotta get on that.
Once you set “supercars”, “suicide girls”, “military vehicles” and “bell & ross” as the tags you want to track you’ve got yourself a steady stream of sweet stuff to scroll through… forever. The picture supply of our ever-expanding internet is quite literally endless, and Tumblr has effectively established itself as the go-to procrastination station for those who don’t want to be bothered with status updates or promotional Tweets.
Now that I’ve dialed in my account to pretty well reflect whatever’s cruising through my mind at any given moment, I’ve been shamelessly enjoying all the visual distractions the site has to offer every time I’m waiting for a Workaholics episode to buffer.
All the pictures of awesome watches and drifting E30′s are great, but I never realized the endless scroll of sexiness Tumblr delivers could also be educational.
Just the other day I was mindlessly pawing through the site when I had my first digital encounter with the GTA Spano.
Wedged between a wide-angle of two Ferraris street racing in Dubai and a black-and-white of Kate Upton was a high-res snapshot at this year’s Monaco Grand Prix of a spectacular modern sports car that I had never seen.
And what a sports car. The face is big; less-angular than a Murciélago but tougher than an MP4-12C. Tracing the body back reveals sweeping, but subtle lines- like a more tasteful rendition of a Saleen S7. Think Daisy Duke in a dinner gown instead of jean cutoffs. (How many comparative metaphors are you trying to stack here? -Ed.)
On top of all that the Spano features a panoramic sunroof that blends the windshield with the roof to complete the beautiful-simplicity vibe that the car commands. Hell, even the GTA Motor badge is tight.
Why had I never heard of this car? I thought I was on top of the scene, and yet here was unbelievable machine that I didn’t even recognize.
So how many great new microbrew automakers are out there that you haven’t heard of?
There’s a massive treasure-trove of sports cars, SUVs, and luxury vehicles built in super-limited quantities that most of us will never see and some we’ll never even here of. And that just ain’t right. These cars need to be experienced by the masses, if not in person then at least online. Like full speed on an SS1000R or Sasha Grey.
In an effort to educate the masses on the exceptional machines of obscurity, I’m taking it upon myself to seek out the cars and motorcycles that even us auto enthusiasts might not have heard of- then and bring them to you with stats and a healthy dose of high res photos.
I’m not talking about the Paganis or Koenigseggs you can drive in Need For Speed. I’ll be shining light on cars from companies like the Zenvo, Oullim, and Rimac that are unbelievably cool and you will probably never, ever see in real life in our new “Secret Supercars” series.
You’re welcome.
For now, back to the first vehicle in the series- the Spano.
Spanish F1 R&D lab GTA Motor has decided to bless the world with 99 examples of the supercar I started to describe in the top of this story. You can see how sexy it is easily enough, but how well does it go?
Oh, don’t worry. It goes.
Powered by a house-made 8.3 liter supercharged monster of a V10, the Spano belches out 820 horsepower that propels the 1350 kilogram car to 100 KPH (62 MPH) in less than three seconds and on top a top speed of over 217 MPH.
Those numbers will leave the pilots of Ferraris, Porsches and even plenty of motorcycles in the Spano’s rearview, scratching their helmets and wondering “since when the hell does Spain make supercars?”
Actually, that’s a pretty good question.
The Spano project began three years ago, when GTA Motor team manager Domingo Ochoa had a dream of his F1 team putting their design and development skills to work on a road car. I mean, yeah. Obviously that’s an awesome idea.
Apparently I’m not the only one who agreed, because the car’s launch in 2009 was a cosmopolitan affair in the city of Valencia attended by the region’s Minister of Industry, Trade and Innovation (how’s that for a title?) along with a some local motorsport celebs.
“I think we are before an automobile that will mark a ‘before and an after’ in the Spanish automobile history” said Ochoa, in a statement that I’m sure sounded sexier en Español.
Though not everyone left of the Atlantic knows this Spain actually does make quite a few cars, mostly sporty compacts that are popular in Europe but they have cooked up their share of sweet sports cars as well. But that of course, is a story for another time.
GTA Motor has been in the racing game for about fifteen years, and pondering a road car for five. With the finished product finally fired up and rolling out it’s pretty clear that they’ve taken the time to build something that will do their nation proud, and sure poses well for photos.
Scrape No’ Mo’
With the “Fast & Furious” bodykit craze pretty well receded into the depths of dead automotive style trends, The “Stance” scene has moved in to take its place.
For the uninitiated, “stanced” cars are fitted with wheels so gigantic that the camber has to be adjusted, usually to quite a dramatic degree, making the bottom of the wheels appear to poke out.
The result is vehicles that ride so low to the ground you’d be hard pressed to slide a credit card under them, let alone a jack. Good luck changing the oil.
That splayed-out camber setup first made an appearance in drifting, because it forces weird traction properties on the drive wheels. For that reason you’ll primarily see Japanese imports used as stanced cars, though older BMWs and Volkswagens seem popular candidates as well.
The setup is not ideal for handling, acceleration or fuel economy but it sure does look funky.
Now, American roads aren’t all perfect strips of glass-smooth concrete so this low clearance setup errs on the side of impractical.
Until now(?). Enter “SlammedNavigator.com” …a by-enthusiasts for-enthusiasts website designed to allow people with insanely low cars to get around without scraping their undercarriage components and custom front bumpers.
The concept will be hilarious to some, unbelievably useful to others.
Either way the site has a ton of sponsors, so the scene is obviously gaining traction (ha, get it?). Makes me wish mum still had her four-door Odyssey minivan… I could see that thing toddling around from one drive-thru to another with the help of Slammed Navigator.
In case the Urban Dictionary definition wasn’t clear, this chick seems to have the right idea-
Across The Finish Line (ML Across America Stage 10)
The last leg of the ride, New York to Boston, was a well-worn path I had driven many times living in the Northeast. Compared to the nation-spanning conquest we had just completed, it felt like a ride up the block.
I took the wheel with my knees as I wolfed a breakfast sandwich from one hand and sipped lava-hot coffee from the other after a Dunkin’ Donuts stop I demanded. I delegated horn-honking and finger-giving to Birdie who was reading me the GPS’s instructions from the passenger seat.
We stopped on the Massachusetts South Shore to catch up with my friend Matt and see his new racecar; a MINI Cooper S. 
Try as I might to convince him the drive wheels were in the wrong place he seemed happy with it. I asked him how awesome a light bar would look on Birdie’s ML and he shrugged as she rolled her eyes. Maybe they’ll be convinced when I get that Jurassic Park paintscheme on there…
The last stop before our final destination was Mike’s Pastry- an exceptional canoli purveyor and Boston institution. Bringing home a take from Mike’s for my family would win me some points right off the bat.
Just over an hour later we were pulling into my parent’s lawn. I had been dreaming of ripping a big, ignorant donut to announce my arrival but I aborted when I realized dad had just put down grass seed. I’d need to stay in his good graces a little longer if I expected him to let me use his tools.
A couple days of showing Jess around the North Shore and she was on a plane back to LA. I was left with a very tired SUV that was clamoring for a detailing and an oil change.
Thus concluded the longest and somehow most incident-free land expedition I’d accomplished yet. I don’t care if it was build in ‘Bama or Bremen, those boys at Benz know what they’re doing. Forget selling this rig, I’m adding it to the fleet!
The End • ML Across America
Mountain Mammas, Police Occupy West Virginia (ML Across America Stage 9)
In stark contrast to the lively beat of Nashville and whimsical sleaze of New Orleans, we rolled through Charleston, West Virginia thinking there must have been more police than people in residence.
My friend Molly works at an animal ER in town, and met up with us around midnight to show us a few bars. I didn’t expect much on a Sunday night, but the local law enforcement certainly did. As we made our way back to the cars after last call we must have passed twenty Interceptors holding down Capitol Street containing what could only have been an invisible riot.
Molly was kind enough to put us up on an air mattress (a substantial improvement over the previous night’s accommodation) and we powered on to NYC the next day.
Talk about a sea change- it doesn’t get much more American than waking up in West Virginia and wrapping up in a Jersey City highrise overlooking New York’s skyline.
Birdie’s friend Brad brought us over the river (actually under it, on a subterranean commuter train) and to a kickass place in the East Village simply called “Frank Restaurant.”
The $4 ATM charge was well worth the experience of great food, stylish atmosphere and a surprisingly impressive wine list.
Actually, I shouldn’t have been surprised because rich hipsters love places like this.
Back at Brad’s apartment the nighttime view from the living room was downright inspiring. In the garage the car once again got to rub shoulders (er, fenders) with M3’s and AMG Merc’s… all of which were undoubtedly jealous of our humble ML’s epic expedition.
Even though we still had a couple hundred miles ahead of us, seeing the Atlantic meant we pretty well had this trip in the bag. And despite a few trying moments on those empty highways, we had had smooth sailing from one ocean to another.
Country Music And Our ML320- Cut From The Same Cloth? (ML Across America Stage 8)
On our last morning in Louisiana we got breakfast at an apparently famous joint called “Mother’s” which was conveniently located about a hundred yards from our hotel. Stoked.
We enjoyed some grits and pancakes while we left our Benz to regale other cars in the Lowes garage with tales of its adventure so far.
Mother’s certainly had the motif and waiting time you’d expect from a famous establishment, but Jess and I had to agree that it might have poured the worst. Coffee. Ever.
Including that time Austin Powers drank poop thinking it was coffee.
Imagine brewing a gallon of coffee, letting it sit for a day, microwaving it, letting it sit for another week, draining the waste oil out of a New York Taxi into it, microwaving it again, and serving it a week later. Unfortunately for Jess, the milk had gone off as well so she was in for an even more trying experience.
Needless to say, we hit Starbucks as soon as we crossed the Alabama state line.
Not long after that we passed a sign for “Mercedes Drive.”
“That’d be a cool photo op,” I thought to myself, but I quickly became distracted as my phone reminded me it was someone’s birthday.
Before I could finish the obligatory wall post a giant Mercedes-Benz emblem rose out of the horizon, foreshadowing the enormous facility it was mounted atop of.
I almost suggested we stop, but Birdie was at the helm and therefore we were WOT in the left lane.
I shifted from Facebook to Google and discovered that not only was there a Mercedes factory here in Tuscaloosa, Alabama- it was where the M-Class was built!
We had inadvertently driven right past the very birthplace of the car we were riding in. Awesome.
At this point I had no idea the car was built in America, although I had my suspicions as multiple door panels had already fallen off.
We took advantage of the last Bo’Jangles restaurant we would see on a trip (heartbreaking) and proceeded to arrive at the Nashville Econolodge around 10:00PM.
“It’s $42 for a double bed or $47 for a king,” said the surprisingly cheerful dude behind the counter.
“Meeeeeehhhhhhhhhh we’ll take the double.”
Boom, that’s a beer right there.
Like New Orleans, Nashville had three standout qualities that happened to be alliterative. Those being- bands, buskers, and babes.
The last time I passed through Nashville I left with a favorable impression. And that was on mid-week night right after a catastrophic flood.
Tonight was a Saturday, in the throes of college basketball finals, and the scene was unbelievable.
Live music poured out of every door, and when we weren’t in earshot of a bar the street musicians were out in force. And not just your typical gutter punk with an upside-down bucket and two spoons, these were full-fledge rock bands occupying the sidewalk.
I don’t know if there was a convention in town or if the local population is just well-presented, but the women of Nashville are flatout jaw-droppers. What is it about a dress and cowboy boots?
Self-Driving Cars Licensed In Nevada
Ah, Sin City. Famous for gambling, hookers, and now of course, Google’s fleet of self-driving Pruii.
Google’s autonomus vehicle program has been in the news for awhile, but until now was confined to closed airports and other test locations removed from the public. But after today they’ll be at large in traffic, possibly including the Vegas Strip.
So far Nevada is the only state authorizing Google (and reportedly, “a number” of other companies looking to follow suit) to interject these autonomous-autos into the wild.
From PCWorld-
“To be approved for road travel, autonomous cars must have a combined minimum driving time of 10,000 miles. Nevada also requires autonomous car operators to submit a complete description of their self-driving technology, a detailed safety plan, and a plan for hiring and training test drivers. The state requires a $100 licensing fee plus $13 for each set of license plates, but companies must also purchase a surety bond of $1 million to put up to 5 vehicles on the road. Nevada says a number of other unnamed companies are looking to follow Google and test self-driving cars on the state’s public roads.”
Even in its fledgling state, such technology is pretty fascinating.
The Pros? Well, a serious reduction of drunk driving incidents that’s for sure. And honestly, I’d bet my safety on a robot driving over most of the motorists with licenses in this country.
But in twenty years, will this mean I’ll have to race through autonomic traffic to uncover a secret robot conspiracy as the only one left on a motorcycle?
Awesome.
A Mercedes Named Desire (ML Across America Stage 7)
The best way to describe the experience that is New Orleans is that it’s exactly what you’ve heard it is.
The beads, the booze, the boobs; all tossed in your face like pennies into a fountain.
Unfortunately we were doused in rain as much as debauchery, but a little weather never hurt- uh, nevermind.
We started our experience by ticking off the boxes we knew we had to- streetcar ride (I resisted the urge to try Brando’s bawl), coffee and beignets (say “ben-yay”) at Café Du Monde and a self-guided tour of the French Quarter.
We met up with Cliff again and he showed us his lab in what was, as our cab driver warned en route, “not a good neighborhood to be going to.”
The facility took me back to senior year of college… red dust on everything, tiny fragments in plastic bags, dudes in black t-shirts scribbling notes. Good times.
On our way to out to lunch I stepped onto the sidewalk and nearly cleaned up by a bloke on a bicycle- spinning a pink umbrella and singing at the top of his lungs.
“You get used to stuff like that living around here,” said Cliff, in his perpetually unfazed Louisiana drawl.
Lunch was, of course, fried shrimp on a sub- which they call a “Po’ Boy” for reasons I never learned. What I didn’t expect was that it was served at a Chinese restaurant. That also sold cereal. “The Chinese setup shop here, and figured out what people wanted to eat,” explained our host. “I guess they stuck with the dragon décor just ‘cuz.”
He also introduced us to a new genre of city dwellers referred to by contributing members of society as “gutter punks.” The gutter punks are part hipster, part flower-child, rolled in under a motif of homeless. They invariably have lots of tattoos, a dog, and rancid hair. Curiously they seem to disappear in bad weather suggesting a “homeless by choice” scenario, which earns them scorn from both sides of the poverty line.
After sharing that cultural gem with us Cliff had to get back to work, so Jess and I were on our own again for sight seeing.
Bourbon Street was the clear choice, where we quickly fell victim to the siren song of the fishbowl stand.
Instead of aquatic creatures, these bowls contained vodka, light rum, 151, amaretto, triple sec, gin, a dash of grenadine and few sneezes of juice.
Despite the fact that this unique container included a necklace-string, by the vendor’s own admission it was not up to the task of supporting the beverage’s weight.
“Hold the bowl from the bottom, don’t wear it around your neck. Because then you’ll be wearing it all over your shirt.”
Based on the jet-exhaust smell the elixir was emitting, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to matter.
Drinking from a fishbowl full of liquor while strolling down Bourbon is perfectly acceptable, almost expected if you’re from out of town. But the practice felt decidedly more embarrassing when we crossed the line out of tourist town and into the abutting residential areas.
Just walkin’. Sucking down a gallon of liquor. Don’t worry about it.
We circled back and landed at another weird restaurant for dinner. I couldn’t resist a menu item called the “Dead Cajun”- a fried burger (yep) injected with cheese and jalapeños, toped with fried onions, fried fries and what I’m pretty sure was just fried lard. Jess Instragramed a picture of it while I called my mum to tell her I loved her before committing to what would surely lead to a heart attack.
To my left a few fellows were cheering on a March Madness NCAA game. Out the window to my right, a woman in sequined sweatpants was beckoning pedestrians to enter a building with the text “LIVE SEX SHOW” over the door in, you guess it, flickering neon. Instead of windows the building had TV monitors looping content that I gathered was taking place inside.
You’d think I would have lost my appetite, but I was starting to get used to the spectacle that is New Orleans.
In case you’re wondering, yes there is an Uptown where locals go. It’s chock full of its own great nightlife and reminds you that NOLA does in fact have residents. But if you’re in town for one night, that’s not where you’re going to end up.
Little Weeziana (ML Across America Stage 6)
Our last impression of Texas was a Waffle House off I-20 which was serving their typical “fried dimpled grease circles” and godawful coffee.
For some reason I remembered Waffle House being awesome… was this the first time I’d been in one sober?
Decidedly undercaffeinated we pressed east toward the state commonly known as Little Weeziana and the legend that is New Orleans.
As soon as we crossed the border the lush flatlands of Texas gave way to swamp. The first giant puddle we saw was literally stagnating below the “Welcome To Louisiana” sign. By the time we had driven fifty miles in I was convinced we were going to get passed on the right by a fanboat.
Birdie scanned the terrain for something to Instagram and commented; “I’m not sure this place is inhabitable.”
I was inclined to agree, as we had yet to locate a Starbucks within reasonable distance from the highway.
Determined to have an authentic Louisiana experience by lunchtime, I scanned Google for the deep south’s favorite chicken and biscuits- Popeye’s.
Actually I was hoping for a Bo’Jangles, which is a superior purveyor of basically the same thing, but we wouldn’t be in their territory for another few days. It’s like being stuck with Krispy Kreme when all you want is Dunkin’ Donuts.
So we ventured into the bayou, wedged our Cali-registered Mercedes between a Silverado on 33’s and a Taurus that looked like it spent all twenty five years of its existence under water.
Territory remained unfamiliar as we tried to order. The chick behind the counter was speaking some dialect of English I was sure couldn’t exist outside of parody skits about this region, and yet…
Anyway we got the chicken and got the hell out of there, charging into a torrential rainstorm on the way to our final destination.
Birdie’s mum had been exceptionally kind and sent us a first world care package in the form of a couple nights at the Loews Downtown. Our rig would be getting valet parked for the first time since W163 was the current M-Class chassis code.
The place was spectacular- and downright majestic in comparison to the Dallas Motel 6 we had inhabited the night before, where I had tried to microwave Ramen noodles in the ice bucket in an effort to conceal the dead-body odor emanating from under the beds.
We hit the hotel bar before we met up with a bro of mine for just long enough to spot no less than four Tommy Bahama shirts. I was surprised we didn’t see more, considering that there were five dudes in the place.
With that scene exhausted we caught a cab uptown to a place I can’t remember the name of and linked up with Cliff, an old friend from my archaeological field school. He’s a NOLA native who works in cultural resource management in town.
Giving us an expedited rundown of the city he told us that while Bourbon Street and the French Quarter were worth seeing, the city’s life spread far beyond what I’d seen on Girls Gone Wild. From what I could see he was right… but I wasn’t that concerned with seeing how the locals lived. Bring on the beads.
Doin’ The Deep Ellum (ML Across America Stage 5)
Of the two weeks we spent in the car, the trip from Roswell, New Mexico to Dallas, Texas may have been the most brutal.
Despite having come across favorable weather for the first time since L.A., an unlimited supply of lattes could not have kept me awake on I-20. In fact, I’m pretty sure we didn’t pass a commercial establishment on this road that would know what the hell a latte is.
We stopped in a town called Tatum to stretch our legs and refuel the Benz. I poured out of the car and tripped to the fuel bowser.
INSERT CARD OR PAY INSIDE.
Right.
ADD CAR WASH?
Mmm… nah.
ADD HOT DOG TO YOUR PURCHASE FOR $.99?
No…
ADD GIANT SLURPEE TO YOUR PURCHASE FOR $1.99?
God no…
CASH OR CARD?
Card…
CREDIT OR DEBIT?
Debit…
SELECT GRADE
87…
PLEASE WAIT
>sigh<
SELECT GRADE
Godamnit…
ERROR PLEASE PAY INSIDE
By about the third question on this SAT-level refuel I had had a feeling that I was going to be lured/forced into this sketchy establishment somehow.
I kicked down the sliding door and was overcome with the smell of chemical-based floor cleaner, fried food and little hint of stale fart.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead while a few ancient corndogs rolled lazily on a heater looking about as enticing the idea of Kimbo Slice babysitting your kids.
But all was forgiven when I made eyes on the Hostess Fruit Pies, and soon enough we were on our way with a full fuel tank and high-fructose corn syrup in my gullet.
I had eaten the whole Pie before I realized my debit card was still sitting on the counter, now almost a hundred miles behind us.
“Hey Birdie, how much money you got?”
Luckily her cousins were buying dinner in Dallas that night, so I thought I’d be able to refrain from racking up international charges on my Australian debit card for at least a few more days.
Sadly I could only hold on to that dream until we discovered Elm Street- the Dallas nightlife hub locally known as “Deep Ellum” which I learned later referred to the phonetic spelling of “Deep Elm” when read with a southern drawl.
With the famous last words; “Cheapest single-malt you got with two ice cubes in it,” out came the Commonwealth MasterCard, $7 transaction fees be damned.
The Dallas nightlife might have been one of the biggest surprises of the entire expedition. Blocks and blocks of bars and music venues are packed into the Deep Ellum district. It has the gritty-warehouses-converted-to-party-spot vibe and therefore was crawling with hipsters (I didn’t think they knew Texas existed). Even downtown had a few good places that were kind enough to oblige us with service moments before last call. The Texans sure know how to party.
The lack of a Chuck Norris sighting and the pungent odor of our hotel room were really the only negs of the Dallas stop. Yee-haw.
High-Performance Variant Of Juke Crossover Looks Like Deadmau5, Runs Like A Bau5
Today Jalopnik broke the story of Nissan’s latest contribution to their rapidly expanding lineup of wacky crossovers (have you seen the Murano CrossCabriolet?).
A couple copies of The Juke R, a high-performance variant of their decidedly unique looking Juke SUV-ish thing, have been brought online and will soon be released into the wild.
By a couple I mean, literally two- one right-hand-drive and one correct-hand-drive. So far.
Besides the wild widebody kit and steamroller wheels, the Juke R packs the already-legendary powerplant and drivetrain of the GT-R supercoupe to give it supercar performance to back up the polarizing style.
Due to the slightly (ahem, substantially) different weight/size layout the Juke has to the GT-R (it’s almost a foot shorter and yeah, a lot taller) I’m told the driving experience is a bit more unwieldy.
Effectively rendering it- a bit more awesome.
Appropriately, Nissan trotted this thing out in Dubai- that glimmering diamond of redundancy that has effectively established itself as the flamboyance capital of the world, where it mixed it up with a Ferrari, Lambo and SLS Merc.
Check out this dramatic clip for glimpse of how it went down:
Until this moment the Juke was a car I was on the fence about… is it awesome or wicked awesome?
Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks so, because sources are claiming the Arabs who saw the Juke R in action were so stoked on it some were offering crazy money to buy it on the spot.
Of course they did. Have you seen what those Dubaians get up to with cars?
Exactly.
Ten points to any American who can correctly identify that Nissan in the picture, by the way.
It looks like Nissan is inclined to oblige the acquiesce of the Arabian enthusiasts because hey- you throw enough dirhams at something and it just might happen.
For us mere mortals, Nissan is considering a Nismo version of the Juke to provide a lively alternative to the fun-but-not-fast crossover.
Personally I hope they just run with the Juke R so I can pick one up and run circles around all those ML63′s my mums friends drive to yoga.
Do yourself a favor and check out the Jalopnik photo gallery of this beast, then start pawing through the YouTube clips (of which there are many) and start working on your “please” letter to Nissan.
Hippies, Aliens & A Whole Lotta Nothing (ML Across America Stage 4)
Silver City began the day looking decidedly less sinister than it had the previous night.
Back on the main street I detected a strong concentration of old hippies as we passed more than two art galleries with hand-painted signs. My suspicions were confirmed when the guy running the coffee shop was rocking round specs and an Indiana Jones hat. At least he was kind enough to recommend a place for breakfast.
Westbound again we took US-180 towards Texas. Kind of.
The road snaked through mountainous central New Mexico in a linked series of hairpins that made me pine for my sportbike.
I was at the helm and kept the revs high enough to keep myself interested, which meant another workout for the 4×4’s well-exercised suspension. Sway bars creaked as I loaded the left, powered on, braked, loaded the right, powered on again… and carried on for another hour or so until, as if by divine intervention, somebody ironed out the road and we were gunbarrel straight again.
The Merc settled out of the last corner and I put the hammer down. The usually subtle V6 made itself known with a kitten-roar as the MPG gauge plunged into single digits and the rev counter surged. Tunnel vision set in and we figured out about how quickly the SUV could travel before its drag coefficient got the better of it.
Despite the throat-clearing I allowed our engine, the ride to Roswell seemed to take forever and a half… an annoyance amplified by the disappointment that occurred at not seeing a single alien in the entire ten hour period we spent in town.
Which is, by the way, well worth skipping next time you’re passing through the region.
Dirt Roads & Dairy Queen (ML Across America Stage 3)
Kicked off our first morning outside California with a tour of Mesa, AZ courtesy of my uncle Bob. The place is pretty much exclusively populated with massive mansions and gated communities… all of which had just had a brown/tan/reddish brown paint bomb dropped on them from 32,000 feet. At least that was the case on the side of the highway we saw.
The city abuts national park land, so suburbia backs right up to wide open desert. It’s bordered on the other side by golf courses, and everything gazes westward at the Phoenix skyline.
I was pretty eager to get on the road, because one of the free maps we snagged from AAA in Los Angeles laid out a spiderweb of dirt roads all over this state, and I was keen to see Birdie’s skills on wheels when conditions get primitive and there’s no Starbucks for 1,000 miles. Well, maybe 100 miles.
We deviated from the main highway shortly after leaving Mesa and proceeded down US-76 which, despite being a state highway, is a long and lonely dirt track. Beyond ruts, puddles, blind corners, and oft-flooded dips, there ain’t much out there.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I described it as “lonely.” In about three hours we passed one other truck, three dogs, and about a million cacti (Which were, much to Birdie’s amusement, dusted with snow). Somewhere during hour two it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked to see if the Benz was carrying a jack- or even a spare tire for that matter. Naturally this was a concern I dared not voice, for fear of jinxing the integrity of our Michelin Latitude HP’s.
Thankfully, the issue didn’t come up. Birdie took to the dirt like a regular Colin McRae (RIP), skipping the ML over loose granular like the world’s biggest flatstone on a halcyon lake. The amber “/!\” light flashed in the speedometer as the 4ETS worked up a sweat pushing power to the tracting wheels to keep the car in motion.
We cleared the dirt without injury or damage and if that weren’t enough good luck for the day, the trail intersected with the main road at a Dairy Queen/western novelty store.
The car was now sporting a healthy dose of mud splatter, and I was confident our off-road street cred had increased substantially (from zero).
We spent the rest of the day on main roads and wound up in Silver City, New Mexico.
When we arrived it was dark, snowy, and miserable. We had some apprehensions but didn’t want to drag ass another 100 miles to the next settlement, so we shacked up at the Motel 6.
In another brilliant stroke of luck the previous occupant of our room had left three microwavable dinners in our minifridge.
“Hell yeah, free dinner!”
We dined on Stouffer’s finest and headed back into town. You don’t come to a weird, creepy looking place like this and not hit the bar.
We took two laps down the main drag and settled on a place called Buffalo Bar- The only place open.
I wanted to kick the saloon door open like Billy the Kid, but still didn’t know Birdie that well and figured I better stick to my roots and just hold the door for her.
Turned out to be a good call, because as soon as I crossed the threshold I worked out that I was the least badass bloke in there.
Two enormous country boys were holding down the bar, while a Boss Hog lookalike was orbiting the pool table with a bolo tie around his neck and a shortbarrel shotgun slung over his back.
I went for a Bud Light and Birdie braved the cocktail menu. The bolo guy, a sophisticatedly-haggard looking gentleman in maybe his 60’s, sauntered over to order something similar. The drink came back, he dropped his firearm on the bar next to me and returned to his pool game.
With facial scars, toothpick hanging off his lip and a cowboy hat arresting a greasy flow of grey hair he was easily the most interesting feature of the Buffalo Bar. I couldn’t help but overhear his discourse with one of the other patrons; it sounded like they were trying to complete some kind of transaction. Regardless, it was the old man’s response that was priceless; “I only deal in guns and gold,” he grumbled in a Jeff-Bridges-in-True-Grit voice. Which was of course, exactly how I had hoped he’d talk.
The bartender seemed to transcend the stereotype though, with an orderly appearance and understandable dialect. He was even kind enough to send us off with a six pack of “to-go” beers (Motel 6 minibar was out of Bombay Sapphire).
California To The Cactus Patch (ML Across America Stage 2)
Two nights in L.A. gave us enough time to see some old friends, get a few maps, and hit Sprinkles in 90210. I also convinced Birdie to do my laundry- it was an easy sell when she realized the alternative was to be trapped in her SUV with my unlaundered ski socks for two weeks.
We made it out of la la land by mid-morning and rode through torrential, seat-heater blasting, latte-fogging-my-window, rain for a couple hours.
It cleared up by the time we hit the desert, and when signs for Joshua Tree National Park made themselves apparent we veered off the highway and headed into the bush.
I didn’t know anything about the ‘Tree, except that they go there in an Entourage episode and there’s a U2 album named after it.
Turns out “the Tree” is a hopelessly inadequate moniker… because of trees, there are a shitload.
The moment you pass into National Park land the scenery goes full Dr. Seuss. The surface is a patchwork of coarse sand and rocks punctuated by monolithic heaps of smooth stones the size of our Mercedes. And between those commanding bouldermounds are hundreds of strange little trees that bear resemblance to an inverted cross-section of a human lung.
Thanks to the brochure we acquired in exchange for paying the park’s road toll I was able to identify these as,
wait for it;
Joshua Trees.
Boom, box ticked.
These weird plants aren’t really trees- they’re Yucca Brevifolia, which is a derivative of agave (the stuff you get tequila from). I’m guessing because they taste as gross as they look, the name “yucca” comes from the reaction of pioneers who tried to eat it.
You’re probably thinking; “Yucca Brevifolia has such a nice ring to it, why change the name to ‘Joshua Tree’”?
The answer to that is decidedly less exciting than I had hoped. The Mormons, in their infinite desert-crossing wisdom, reckoned the weirdly shaped tree looked like the biblical figure Joshua with his arms outstretched in prayer. Of course it does.
The only biblical figure I’d ever heard of is Jesus, so I’m gonna have to take the National Park Service’s word for that one.
Semantics aside the park really is spectacular, and even has a few 4WD-only routes for stalwart adventurers. The ML did fine in loose sand and soldiered down miles of track without a complaint, even with the road tires it was wearing. In fact, the ride was smooth enough for me to wolf the rest of our Sprinkles cupcake cache while at the helm.
Having popped out at the eastern end of the Tree, we linked up with US-10 again and dropped the hammer across the barren wasteland of southeastern California and western Arizona to the city of Mesa, AZ where my aunt and uncle were staying at their place.
Third night of travel and we had only made it one state over… but we hadn’t broken anything. Chalk it up to good luck so far.
Def Leppard, Journey makes comeback in Boston
…or at least their influence on automotive styling does. I didn’t think anybody made window louvers for cars built after 1985, but this Mustang spotted on Route 1 today proved me wrong.
You can always count on SN95 owners to bring back stale trends. Hm… maybe this accessory was installed ironically. In which case, touché.
Should I have Instagramed this instead?
Sierra Nevada To La La Land (ML Across America Stage 1)
On March 15, 2012 the day had finally arrived for Birdie and I to pack up our rig and push off for Boston. But since my co-driver had PSIA testing until late afternoon, I made the most of my last day in Mammoth Lakes by getting on the sauce and hitting the slopes.
Uh, not in that order of course.
My roommates and I had returned from the bar the night before and decided we needed to record a music video to a song our new roommate Eli had written. By the time we were satisfied with a tenth take, the sun was starting to creep up and the lifts would be open in a little over three hours.
The decision to forgo sleep altogether was made when I realized Netflix had Hot Dog available for streaming- just what I needed to get amped for my day on the hill.
With daybreak officially in progress I rallied the crew they same way whoever wakes up first in Apartment Five always did- by yelling incoherently at the fridge and revving the coffee grinder like a Hayabusa.
Lanton and Dominic powered on, Eli was less responsive.
Nevertheless, we were on the hill by 9:00.
Well… at the lodge. Reviving ourselves with Bloody Marys.
By the time we had finished breakfast Eli was ready to join the living, and we headed straight for the summit. Despite low visibility at the top, the snow was great if a bit chunky. We were able to get some great turns in on the steepest stuff I’d hit all season.
The summit had been disappointingly bare for most of this year, and I was pretty stoked to be able to leave Mammoth with at least a taste of what it’s really known for.
Unfortunately the warm weather turned the snow into flypaper by mid-afternoon. My wax was literally melting again and had about as much glide as 10-grit sandpaper running over an old brick.
With my co-driver still preoccupied with her snowboard-certification test I had a few hours to kill, so I got dragged back to the bar for my last Mai Tais in Mammoth. A few minutes (hours?) later Birdie showed up; sunglasses on, car keys in hand.
“You ready to go?”
Still in my ski gear I thought back to my apartment, where the rest of my belongings were scattered like… well, not like I was about to move out, that’s for sure. So I came up with an evasive answer I thought would buy me some time.
“Uh, are you ready?”
“Yes!”
That backfired.
“Aaalright. Fellas, it’s been real.”
With a salutation to my team I chugged the rest of my beverage, threw two pairs of skis over my shoulders and shuffled to the ML320 that would be my home for the next two weeks.
When we got back to my apartment, Birdie was less than pleased to see that I had yet to initiate the packing process.
“Also, you’re driving to L.A. tonight,” I said as I crammed my ski wax, a few shirts, and two pairs of Calvin Kleins into the last cardboard box I had saved for this occasion.
“Let’s go!”
Six hours later we had made it to the Shannon family’s West L.A. house, where we were greeted by two pint-sized dogs and a massive TV.
This would be our staging area for the 4,000 mile expedition we were looking down the barrel of.
Hope there’s Red Bull in the fridge.
ML Across America
Freshly jobless again at the end of my west coast ski season, I was able to talk Jessica “Birdie” Shannon into spending the second half of March 2012 co-driving to Boston with me. In her car.
And this was not another ski-bum beater… she had a beautiful(ly dented) black-on-black Mercedes ML that I had been eying hungrily since the first time she gave me a lift to the slopes.
Apparently her family was keen to unload the 4×4 they affectionately referred to as “The Champ” …a title earned by surviving nearly fifteen years of shenanigans from Lake Tahoe to Beverly Hills.
The Benz was marred by substantial body damage to the starboard side (maybe from its time as an extra in Jurassic Park II?) but I was convinced I’d be able to sell it for them easily enough on the east coast.
I mean, a double-black Mercedes with California tags? I reckoned the lot of “boston.craigslist.org” would be stoked on it.
I’ll write the trip up in subsequent posts as we did it- in about ten stages. Enjoy…
Rambo’s Lambo Back With A Vengeance
In a Beijing Auto Show press conference, Lamborghini CEO Stephan Winkelmann (I know, I was expecting a name like Alessandro Botticelli or Domenico Ghirlandaio myself) announced that the brand’s buyer demographic is projected to diminish in the coming years.
Apparently the market just ain’t what it used to be for two-seat cars that look awesome getting less than 10 MPG in stop-and-go Beverly Hills traffic.
Fear not Lambo/Audi/VW shareholders, Winkie’s got the solution.
They will bring you… a second shrubbery SUV!
The powers that run Lamborghini are under the lordship of Audi in the kingdom of Volkswagen (you’ve noticed the same switches in your Gallardo that your mum has in her A4 and your sister has in her Jetta, haven’t you?)
At Beijing this year those powers announced plans to bring you the Urus (say “Ooo-ros”). A slat-styled ass-hauling mall crawler poised to dominate what enthusiasts generally consider the weirdest market segment of all motoring: fast SUVs.
Reportedly longer, lower and wider than the competition (Mercedes ML 63, Porsche Cayenne and BMW X6 M) the Urus will leapfrog the Touareg and Q7 in every aspect of awesome to claim the throne of least practical grocery getter on Earth.
“The Urus is the most extreme interpretation of the SUV idea; it is the Lamborghini of the SUVs,” said Winkelmann.
Ha. Ha. “The Lamborgini of SUVs” you’re a rascal you know that, Stephan?
Production plans, and word on the wire is that Lambo’s determined to go through with this, are slated for 2015/2017 depending on who you talk to. Powertrain details are just as speculative, but the output claim is just under 600 (!). A version of the Gallardo’s 5.2-liter V10, along with a hybrid variant seem like the most likely powerplants with, sadly, not much hope for a beastly diesel.
What I want to know; will it have scissor doors!? (Probably not).
As for the name “Urus” is an ancient breed of bovine creatures also known as “aurochs”. Specifically, the term refers to bulls between fighting size and hauling size. What?
Ever since Maserati christened their super sedan “Quattroporte” and somebody named “The Situation” became famous those Italians think they can get away with anything in the name department.
But I suppose it’s no worse than Lamborgini’s last 4×4- the “LM 002“
You’ve probably never seen an LM 002 in real life, because for its ’86 to ’93 production life only around 300 were made.
If Google Images doesn’t satisfy your interest in the Rambo Lambo, check it out as the bad guy’s motorcade car in the fourth Fast & Furious movie.
In any case, the Urus looks nothing like it. See for yourself and let us know what you think.
Failcars: C-Class Assaulted By Kids From Autozone Daycare
Have you ever put down your Practical Sportsbikes magazine in a room where little kids are playing, only to come back to find it covered in Cheerios and crayon scribbles?
Well, that’s exactly what happened to this poor bloke in the Boston burbs the other day. He made the mistake of parking in a plaza with both an AutoZone and a daycare center. Naturally the kids escaped, got their hands on the most heinous accessories at the ‘Zone and, well… the picture speaks for itself.
With a color combo as awesome as silver-on-black, this C-Class strutted out of Sindelfingen with loads of potential. But park in the wrong area and just look at what can happen.
The defiling begins with a sunroof spoiler… trace the A-pillar down to a stick-on fender vent >sigh< which brings your eye to that weird Hunger Games bird below the sheetcrease.
Sadly that is a fake quarter panel vent. In chrome. On backwards.
Those rims, latched to the modest powertrain like the burden of Sisyphus, will be massacring every aspect of performance this car could ever hope to have. And finally, you can’t see it in the picture but the Starmark on the bootlid is abutted by two chrome mudflap trucker girls.
I can only imagine the owner’s fury when he came out of Extreme Packing Solutions and saw this. My advice would be to go nuts with some Goo-Gone and a flathead screwdriver pronto, or else the Mercedes-Benz lease office is going to be very upset when they repo this thing.
740 Horses Prance Out of Maranello
Ferrari has just announced its latest contribution to the world’s selection of supercars; the “F12 Berlinetta”.
Since Ferrari saves the “F-followed-by-two-digits” nomenclature for its most extreme machines, I knew this was going to be big. Berlinetta, of course, stands for “two seats, enclosed cockpit (hardtop)”.
And as it’s possibly the prettiest pony to prance out of Ferrari’s Maranello facility since the 550, I figured it was worth putting on blast for you to enjoy.
Ferrari builds amazing machines in a variety of powertrain configurations and sizes, but the front-engined V12′s have always set the pace that keeps the Black Horse relevant in the supercar business.
With a beautifully sculpted shape that melds the drama of modern angles with the classic sexiness of a svelte señorita, the Berlinetta is a spectacle to behold.
But the real magic is happening under hood. You knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?
With a ridiculous 13.5:1 compression ratio trapped inside it’s 6.2 liter twelve-banger, the F12′s engine cranks out a blistering 740 horsepower near the 8,700 RPM redline- making it the most powerful roadgoing Ferrari yet.
That engine is also one of the smoothest, thanks to lightweight engine components keeping physical inertia to a minimum.
0-100 K’s in 3.1, top speed claimed to be “over 340 KPH/211 MPH”.
For some more Italian Stallion eye-candy check out the F12′s own website which packs more drama than an episode of Jersey Shore.
Beautiful New Independent From A Soggy Island
News from the wild world of independent automobile manufacturers- the Vizualtech Growler E concept, a wild one-off tribute to the Jaguar XKE developed last year by Robert Palm at his “Classic Factory” facility, will be tweaked and released to the tune of fifty examples based on the current Jaguar XKR.
It’s getting a weight reduction, more dramatic lines, some mean squinty-eye headlamps and a way cooler name; “Lyonheart K“
Why “K”? Who cares, “Lyonheart” looks and sounds bloody righteous. Way sexier than “Vizualtech”, which sounds like a company that made three-ring binders in the 90′s (sorry Bobby).
The Lyonheart’s heart (hehe) will be a five-liter V8, which pumps out 405kW and will reportedly blast the rolling sex bomb to 60 in 3.7 seconds and on to a top speed of around 180 MPH.
The car’s not going to be shipped to the US of A, but delivery is included in the half-million Euro price tag if you want it dropped off in the EU or Switzerland.
To keep with the company’s complete “Made In England” concept, the machine is being developed, engineered and hand-built in Coventry. Yep, that’s also where Jags are (were?) born.
England being a nation known for developing, engineering and hand-building beautiful but tragically unreliable machinery, I’d be sure to go for the extended warranty if the Lyonheart K is on your shopping list.
Enough nonsense, let’s have a look!
If you want to know more or maybe place an order, head to Lyonheart’s very sleek website here.
Forgotten Gems: Sisqó Rides A Ducati
Sisqó was a simple man with a simple message. In 1999 he graced music with the artistic gem known as “The Thong Song” and one of the first music videos my twelve-year-old self felt compelled to tape.
Since I didn’t follow his jump to country music (yep) I had completely forgotten he existed, until I found this dredging YouTube with my usual “Ducati + music video” search.
…Ok, fine, it was “babes + motorcycle”…
Regardless, I think it’s high time Sisqó had a comeback.
What’s that? You disagree?
Well you certainly won’t disagree that Sisqó and his passenger are dangerously under-dressed for road riding and this clip is five minutes of YouTube gold. Possibly the weakest lineup of vehicles ever toted by a rapper (is that a maroon Ninja?) but I’m sure you’ll find it entertaining nonetheless.
There’s even a Land Rover Discovery II at 1:10. Far and away the least gangsta SUV ever to get valeted at a Spearmint Rhino… but as I’m sure you know, one of my favorites.
Either Sisqó’s manager stuffed up on budgeting for car rentals, or his taste is just as bad as mine. In any case, I certainly never had that many scantily senoritas on my Disco…
They probably wouldn’t have been welcome tailgating polo games anyway.
CODA Electric Cars Sets Up Shop in Century City
Having seen just about all there is to see in my temporary ‘hood of Culver City, I held my breath and took the plunge into L.A.’s public transportation system.
So I stumbled out of my friend’s apartment and in a rare stroke of luck, a big green bus was grumbling up to the curb on cue. I got on and rode it to the end of the line; a place full of monolithic office buildings and parking garages called Century City.
Not having enough cash for another leg of bus travel, I was directed to the curb and set out to find an ATM. The obvious choice was the massive commercial establishment to the north, so I crossed the street and proceeded to get hopelessly lost in what I would later learn was the Westfield Mall.
Spacing out at a Victoria’s Secret banner it wasn’t long before I walked straight into a parked car. A bit of a surprise, but not as much as the fact that it was a model I couldn’t identify.
Sitting static in the pedestrian pathway was a small, white poky-looking sedan called a CODA. Further inspection revealed that was a full-electric vehicle, and was on display to attract shoppers to the company’s adjacent storefront.
We’ve all seen car dealers, but this was the first time I’d seen a mall shop selling cars. And yet here was CODA, peddling petrol-free propulsion between Banana Republic and Armani Exchange.
I went inside and chatted up the salesman, who gave me a rundown of CODA’s operation.
The company’s primary interest is battery development. The car itself is designed by Mitsubishi, built in China, then powered by a massive lithium-ion phosphate juicebox developed in Southern California.
The car is fully electric with no gasoline engine on board whatsoever. Range is an impressive 150 miles per six hours of being plugged in to a standard residential powerpoint. That’s plenty of room to get to work, the gym, and whatever nerdy-organic 
grocery store CODA drivers will undoubtedly frequent.
Performance? Despite an impressive 135 horsepower and very impressive 221 foot/pounds of torque, the CODA is governed to 85 MPH. Enough to get the attention of L.A.’s finest, but you probably won’t get a second look when you roll up on Vin Diesel in his RX-7. CODA didn’t want to comment on acceleration numbers, which is fair enough- these cars are designed to spend their life in stop-and-go traffic and 0-60 times are completely irrelevant.
Pricing is a bit complicated, because the tax credit scheme for alternative energy cars varies state to state. But from what I gathered the CODA can be had for between $30,000 and $40,000. Value for dollar varies from state to state as well… with electricity costs being dramatically different across the U.S., the price of kilowatts/hour where you live is going to make a massive impact on dollars/mile of operating a CODA.
Hmm… might be a tough sell in a town obsessed with image, when you can get a used S-Class for that kind of money. But of course, these cars are the anti-S-Class. They’re targeted at cashed up commuters who like the idea of “passing the pump” every day. I was about to say environmentalists but surely that lot will be wise to the massive ecological impact involved in mining lithium ion and transporting car parts across oceans.
The CODA guy claimed they’ve taken payment and arranged delivery of over thirty cars in the few months they’ve had their store going, and will commence delivery next year. So next time you’re star spotting on Rodeo/Santa Monica, keep your eyes open and see if anybody pulls one of these out of the trunk of their Maybach.
Full specs of the CODA can be found here on the company’s official website.
