#I live Lamborghinis. especially the Countach

[smoothshift]

I didn't have a Countach poster on my wall, but I finally got to see one, got me thinking about designers then and now via /r/cars

I didn't have a Countach poster on my wall, but I finally got to see one, got me thinking about designers then and now

Living in a not so upscale country does have its merits for a gearhead. It keeps the scene very "MacGyver" so to speak, which I've attested throughout my life with some of my friends going on insane builds, twin engine, triple engine stuff and so on, and it also bring this appreciation to anything exotic that stumbles across the road. I guess I'm trying to say I wasn't spoiled as someone living in Monterey Bay, or perhaps I'm just coping? :D

Either way, this September I got tipped off by a instagram friend (see, that app *can* be useful) about a Lamborghini event happening just an hour away, and so I hopped on my bike and went to check it out and film something. Hopefully this plug isn't as shameless, it's just more of a "anyone who appreciates these types of things - here's something you might potentially like". Not interested in growing a fanbase or making money from YT, just filming it for the heck of it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzLgpSTc4OI

Seeing Countach live for the first time was, as much as I was skeptical, all that they hyped it up to be. It really looks out of time, and sort of give me the blues about the over-tech world we have today, none of the cars today make me thing about "this is how the future will look"...where as Countach really looks like some kind of concept futuristic car, even today, albeit a bit less of course, the wedge does show its age a bit and all.

But I have to say, as this was my first encounter with Miura as well, there's something inexplicably beautiful about that car. I know it's considered the "original" sports car with the MR layout and everything, but the lines of that car and just so perfect, not too much, just enough, accents on the right places, I was really impressed by its presence as I was riding next to the convoy while they were going home. A lot of people say S is nicer, probably because of the eyebrows, I liked the SV better but none the less, an incredible car. Perhaps the times of deductive design and taking off layers of clay without endless "undo" options put designers under more pressure to think and the results were more organic? I don't know. But it's an incredible car to look at, and especially see it rolling on the road...just perfect.

#reddit #autonews #auto #cars

[bestautochicago]

Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX

Think of Subaru today and, besides the excellent BRZ sports car it codeveloped with Toyota, you most likely envision outdoorsy owners happily shuttling Fido around in a boxy, all-wheel-drive wagon. But long before the BRZ, there was another three-letter Subaru sports coupe: the SVX. Never heard of it? You’re forgiven.

Subaru’s U.S. roots date to 1968, when the brand was established as a contrarian, would-be alternative to Volkswagen, Toyota, and Datsun. That’s when Malcolm Bricklin founded Subaru of America in the celebrated automotive hotbed of Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania. Bricklin is the same wildcatter who later produced a gullwing-doored sports car bearing his name in New Brunswick, Canada, and later imported the much-vilified Yugo to these shores.

By the early 1990s Subaru’s automotive business was taking off, and the automotive division of Fuji Heavy Industries decided to build a halo car to take on BMW. Yes, the brand associated with all-wheel-drive economy cars, most of which were station wagons, conceived a plan to offer a Subaru that could be a German luxury coupe competitor. And while the car maker was at it, Subaru figured it might as well poach some Lexus SC sales and maybe a few Mercedes-Benz SL intenders.

Subaru’s secret weapon was the SVX, an angular design by Giorgetto Giugiaro whose resume includes the BMW M1, DeLorean DMC-12, and Maserati Bora. How could Subaru miss with Italian design, seating for four, a very plush interior, a responsive six-cylinder boxer engine, and all-wheel drive? And smaller, operable windows within its larger stationary windows, like the DeLorean and Lamborghini Countach? The car was aerodynamically sleek, with an impressive drag coefficient of 0.29.

Giugiaro’s initial concept made its debut at the 1989 Tokyo Motor Show. Response was enthusiastic, and the Alcyone SVX—the name a reference to the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster as seen on Subaru’s logo—entered production for the 1992 model year, looking very much like the original show car. In the U.S., the car was simply badged SVX (Subaru Vehicle X) for its five-year run.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came.

As it happened, the SVX didn’t really bring that star glow to the rest of the line. It was something of an orphan within its own family, having little in common with the more run-of-the-mill Legacy and Impreza models. One of the car’s perceived shortcomings was the fact it came only with a four-speed automatic transmission, Subaru not having a manual gearbox capable of handling the 3.3-liter engine’s 230 hp and 228 lb-ft of torque. But the real problem was that the SVX retailed for almost $10,000 more than any other Subaru despite rumors Subaru lost roughly $3,000 on each one. Those unsustainable economics led to the car’s cancellation at the end of the 1996 model year with no successor planned. Subaru sold a little more than 14,000 in the U.S. despite expected sales of 10,000 per year. Cars were sold Stateside into the following year as 1997 models.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came. But that’s changing. Scott King and Sandy Edelstein own the SVX finished in Polo Green seen here. “It’s an intriguing car, different and weird,” King says. “You’re a celebrity when you drive this car. People have no idea what it is, and the Subaru badging just adds to the confusion.”

Their car is a top-of-the line 1996 LSi that still looks somewhat anonymous after all these years, though that rear spoiler seems to have lots in common with the configuration seen on the Lotus Esprit, another Giugiaro design. The exterior is pleasing and smooth but visually engaging, while the interior is absolutely sumptuous. The seats are upholstered in buttery beige leather, but there are also rich brown suede-swathed door and dash panels.

That six-cylinder boxer engine might foster Porsche thoughts, and driving an SVX does offer a solid, almost Stuttgartesque experience. The steering gives weighted assurance without any jitters, irrespective of road surface. It’s a pleasant car to drive, accepting of an active driver’s input or a more laissez-faire approach. It is quick enough, scooting from 0 to 60 mph in a tad more than 7 seconds and onward to a top speed of 154 mph (reduced to 143 mph via a speed limiter in post-1993 cars). Torque-split for U.S. market cars is up to 50/50 front/rear in low-grip situations and 90/10 in normal driving; Japanese versions were more rear-biased. A handful of front-wheel-drive SVXs were sold in the U.S. for the 1994-’95 model years in lower trim models as a cost-cutting measure, but the option was unpopular and discontinued after just two years.

Italian DNA: The SVX’s look was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro, who also penned the DeLorean DMC-12. Note the window-in-window feature and a sleek interior with hidden stereo system.

King and Edelstein bought the car from the original owners with just 53,000 miles on the odometer, and to most eyes it’s quite flawless. Edelstein, however, says it’s one paint job away from perfection. The SVX is best appreciated on highways and interstates, which is, after all, where grand tourers are meant to be. “It’s just a joy to drive, and you get a panoramic view you don’t get in any other car,” King says.

On a practical note, it has a big trunk with folding rear seats for trips to Home Depot. And even the window-in-widow design isn’t much of a hindrance. “We actually owned a DeLorean, and the SVX’s windows are much better for a drive-through restaurant. You can theoretically crawl out of it in an emergency.” Well, maybe if you have a 28-inch waist. With all that glass, it’s a literal comfort to hear King boast, “It has the coldest AC we had in any of our cars.”

The SVX is a rolling paradox. It is more than capable of providing the kind of enhanced driving experience associated with traditional prestigious makes, but its eccentricity is partially its charm. Today, it’s one of the better classic-car values going, and the odds of parking next to another one at cars and coffee are slim to none. With classic Japanese sports cars becoming ever more collectible, now is a great time to jump on the SVX bandwagon.

Living with the SVX

A positive aspect of SVX ownership is the active community of owners who keep each other posted on parts, service tips, and events. Mark Schneider, who lives in the Houston area, is one such enthusiast who runs the SVX Nation group on Facebook. His ’95 LSi had more than 189,000 miles on the clock when he bought it, and he immediately proceeded to use it on his 100-mile daily commute. He says he’s seen an SVX with 300,000-plus miles, one of 30 that showed up for the most recent national meet in Lafayette, Indiana, where Subaru builds the Outback, Legacy, and Impreza.

Schneider remembers being a child when a neighbor bought an SVX and—you could see this coming—“The windows blew me away. I was infatuated.” That love affair has blossomed now that he’s had a chance to spend quality time on the other side of those windows. “They’re just beasts on the highway,” Schneider says. “You can park it at 85 mph for thousands of miles. That’s its happy place.” Which is just what he did when he drove his car more than 2,000 miles to Lafayette and back.

The automatic transmission remains an image problem, but it can be a mechanical issue as well, especially on early production cars. There is, however, a solution that addresses both concerns: Remove it. Schneider fitted his SVX with a five-speed manual sourced from a later WRX. “The original intent and design precluded a manual,” he says, “but with one installed it’s a completely different animal and a hoot and a half to drive.”

As with just about any collectible, you are well advised to spend a bit more to get a well-cared-for example. Parts availability is getting to be problematic since there’s not a whole lot of interchangeability with lesser Subies. The throttle positioning sensor for a ’95 Legacy will set you back $55, and one for an SVX could be as much as $350. That said, SVX Nation is a great source if your local Subaru dealer isn’t. As Schneider notes, “A lot of the younger Subaru techs have no idea why this strange spaceship has rolled into the dealer’s service bay.” As a result, he urges new owners to find someone “who actually knows what it is” when it comes time to work on it.

The Market Perspective

With the SVX’s rarity and the uptick in general values for collectible Japanese cars, you might think that these sporty Subies have taken off in value. You’d be wrong; the market has remained virtually flat for the SVX, regardless of year or trim level. That means you should be able to find a solid example for well under $10,000. Start looking at the $5,000 price point to avoid bottom-feeder examples needing lots of overdue maintenance.—Rory Jurnecka

The Specs

ENGINE 3.3L DOHC flat-6/230 hp, 228 lb-ft TRANSMISSION 4-speed automatic DRIVE All wheel or front wheel SUSPENSION Struts BRAKES Discs WEIGHT 3,580 lb

The Info

MODEL YEARS 1992-1997 NUMBER SOLD 24,379 (globally, including 14,257 in U.S.) ORIGINAL PRICE (U.S.) $24,445 (’91 base SVX L), $36,740 (’96 SVX LSi) VALUE TODAY $3,900-$4,700*

*Hagerty average value (www.hagerty.com)

Source: http://chicagoautohaus.com/collectible-classic-1992-1997-subaru-svx/

from Chicago Today https://chicagocarspot.wordpress.com/2017/12/22/collectible-classic-1992-1997-subaru-svx-2/

[eddiejpoplar]

Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX

Think of Subaru today and, besides the excellent BRZ sports car it codeveloped with Toyota, you most likely envision outdoorsy owners happily shuttling Fido around in a boxy, all-wheel-drive wagon. But long before the BRZ, there was another three-letter Subaru sports coupe: the SVX. Never heard of it? You’re forgiven.

Subaru’s U.S. roots date to 1968, when the brand was established as a contrarian, would-be alternative to Volkswagen, Toyota, and Datsun. That’s when Malcolm Bricklin founded Subaru of America in the celebrated automotive hotbed of Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania. Bricklin is the same wildcatter who later produced a gullwing-doored sports car bearing his name in New Brunswick, Canada, and later imported the much-vilified Yugo to these shores.

By the early 1990s Subaru’s automotive business was taking off, and the automotive division of Fuji Heavy Industries decided to build a halo car to take on BMW. Yes, the brand associated with all-wheel-drive economy cars, most of which were station wagons, conceived a plan to offer a Subaru that could be a German luxury coupe competitor. And while the car maker was at it, Subaru figured it might as well poach some Lexus SC sales and maybe a few Mercedes-Benz SL intenders.

Subaru’s secret weapon was the SVX, an angular design by Giorgetto Giugiaro whose resume includes the BMW M1, DeLorean DMC-12, and Maserati Bora. How could Subaru miss with Italian design, seating for four, a very plush interior, a responsive six-cylinder boxer engine, and all-wheel drive? And smaller, operable windows within its larger stationary windows, like the DeLorean and Lamborghini Countach? The car was aerodynamically sleek, with an impressive drag coefficient of 0.29.

Giugiaro’s initial concept made its debut at the 1989 Tokyo Motor Show. Response was enthusiastic, and the Alcyone SVX—the name a reference to the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster as seen on Subaru’s logo—entered production for the 1992 model year, looking very much like the original show car. In the U.S., the car was simply badged SVX (Subaru Vehicle X) for its five-year run.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came.

As it happened, the SVX didn’t really bring that star glow to the rest of the line. It was something of an orphan within its own family, having little in common with the more run-of-the-mill Legacy and Impreza models. One of the car’s perceived shortcomings was the fact it came only with a four-speed automatic transmission, Subaru not having a manual gearbox capable of handling the 3.3-liter engine’s 230 hp and 228 lb-ft of torque. But the real problem was that the SVX retailed for almost $10,000 more than any other Subaru despite rumors Subaru lost roughly $3,000 on each one. Those unsustainable economics led to the car’s cancellation at the end of the 1996 model year with no successor planned. Subaru sold a little more than 14,000 in the U.S. despite expected sales of 10,000 per year. Cars were sold Stateside into the following year as 1997 models.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came. But that’s changing. Scott King and Sandy Edelstein own the SVX finished in Polo Green seen here. “It’s an intriguing car, different and weird,” King says. “You’re a celebrity when you drive this car. People have no idea what it is, and the Subaru badging just adds to the confusion.”

Their car is a top-of-the line 1996 LSi that still looks somewhat anonymous after all these years, though that rear spoiler seems to have lots in common with the configuration seen on the Lotus Esprit, another Giugiaro design. The exterior is pleasing and smooth but visually engaging, while the interior is absolutely sumptuous. The seats are upholstered in buttery beige leather, but there are also rich brown suede-swathed door and dash panels.

That six-cylinder boxer engine might foster Porsche thoughts, and driving an SVX does offer a solid, almost Stuttgartesque experience. The steering gives weighted assurance without any jitters, irrespective of road surface. It’s a pleasant car to drive, accepting of an active driver’s input or a more laissez-faire approach. It is quick enough, scooting from 0 to 60 mph in a tad more than 7 seconds and onward to a top speed of 154 mph (reduced to 143 mph via a speed limiter in post-1993 cars). Torque-split for U.S. market cars is up to 50/50 front/rear in low-grip situations and 90/10 in normal driving; Japanese versions were more rear-biased. A handful of front-wheel-drive SVXs were sold in the U.S. for the 1994-’95 model years in lower trim models as a cost-cutting measure, but the option was unpopular and discontinued after just two years.

Italian DNA: The SVX’s look was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro, who also penned the DeLorean DMC-12. Note the window-in-window feature and a sleek interior with hidden stereo system.

King and Edelstein bought the car from the original owners with just 53,000 miles on the odometer, and to most eyes it’s quite flawless. Edelstein, however, says it’s one paint job away from perfection. The SVX is best appreciated on highways and interstates, which is, after all, where grand tourers are meant to be. “It’s just a joy to drive, and you get a panoramic view you don’t get in any other car,” King says.

On a practical note, it has a big trunk with folding rear seats for trips to Home Depot. And even the window-in-widow design isn’t much of a hindrance. “We actually owned a DeLorean, and the SVX’s windows are much better for a drive-through restaurant. You can theoretically crawl out of it in an emergency.” Well, maybe if you have a 28-inch waist. With all that glass, it’s a literal comfort to hear King boast, “It has the coldest AC we had in any of our cars.”

The SVX is a rolling paradox. It is more than capable of providing the kind of enhanced driving experience associated with traditional prestigious makes, but its eccentricity is partially its charm. Today, it’s one of the better classic-car values going, and the odds of parking next to another one at cars and coffee are slim to none. With classic Japanese sports cars becoming ever more collectible, now is a great time to jump on the SVX bandwagon.

Living with the SVX

A positive aspect of SVX ownership is the active community of owners who keep each other posted on parts, service tips, and events. Mark Schneider, who lives in the Houston area, is one such enthusiast who runs the SVX Nation group on Facebook. His ’95 LSi had more than 189,000 miles on the clock when he bought it, and he immediately proceeded to use it on his 100-mile daily commute. He says he’s seen an SVX with 300,000-plus miles, one of 30 that showed up for the most recent national meet in Lafayette, Indiana, where Subaru builds the Outback, Legacy, and Impreza.

Schneider remembers being a child when a neighbor bought an SVX and—you could see this coming—“The windows blew me away. I was infatuated.” That love affair has blossomed now that he’s had a chance to spend quality time on the other side of those windows. “They’re just beasts on the highway,” Schneider says. “You can park it at 85 mph for thousands of miles. That’s its happy place.” Which is just what he did when he drove his car more than 2,000 miles to Lafayette and back.

blem, but it can be a mechanical issue as well, especially on early production cars. There is, however, a solution that addresses both concerns: Remove it. Schneider fitted his SVX with a five-speed manual sourced from a later WRX. “The original intent and design precluded a manual,” he says, “but with one installed it’s a completely different animal and a hoot and a half to drive.”

As with just about any collectible, you are well advised to spend a bit more to get a well-cared-for example. Parts availability is getting to be problematic since there’s not a whole lot of interchangeability with lesser Subies. The throttle positioning sensor for a ’95 Legacy will set you back $55, and one for an SVX could be as much as $350. That said, SVX Nation is a great source if your local Subaru dealer isn’t. As Schneider notes, “A lot of the younger Subaru techs have no idea why this strange spaceship has rolled into the dealer’s service bay.” As a result, he urges new owners to find someone “who actually knows what it is” when it comes time to work on it.

The Market Perspective

With the SVX’s rarity and the uptick in general values for collectible Japanese cars, you might think that these sporty Subies have taken off in value. You’d be wrong; the market has remained virtually flat for the SVX, regardless of year or trim level. That means you should be able to find a solid example for well under $10,000. Start looking at the $5,000 price point to avoid bottom-feeder examples needing lots of overdue maintenance.—Rory Jurnecka

The Specs

ENGINE 3.3L DOHC flat-6/230 hp, 228 lb-ft TRANSMISSION 4-speed automatic DRIVE All wheel or front wheel SUSPENSION Struts BRAKES Discs WEIGHT 3,580 lb

The Info

MODEL YEARS 1992-1997 NUMBER SOLD 24,379 (globally, including 14,257 in U.S.) ORIGINAL PRICE (U.S.) $24,445 (’91 base SVX L), $36,740 (’96 SVX LSi) VALUE TODAY $3,900-$4,700*

*Hagerty average value (www.hagerty.com)

The post Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jesusvasser]

Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX

Think of Subaru today and, besides the excellent BRZ sports car it codeveloped with Toyota, you most likely envision outdoorsy owners happily shuttling Fido around in a boxy, all-wheel-drive wagon. But long before the BRZ, there was another three-letter Subaru sports coupe: the SVX. Never heard of it? You’re forgiven.

Subaru’s U.S. roots date to 1968, when the brand was established as a contrarian, would-be alternative to Volkswagen, Toyota, and Datsun. That’s when Malcolm Bricklin founded Subaru of America in the celebrated automotive hotbed of Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania. Bricklin is the same wildcatter who later produced a gullwing-doored sports car bearing his name in New Brunswick, Canada, and later imported the much-vilified Yugo to these shores.

By the early 1990s Subaru’s automotive business was taking off, and the automotive division of Fuji Heavy Industries decided to build a halo car to take on BMW. Yes, the brand associated with all-wheel-drive economy cars, most of which were station wagons, conceived a plan to offer a Subaru that could be a German luxury coupe competitor. And while the car maker was at it, Subaru figured it might as well poach some Lexus SC sales and maybe a few Mercedes-Benz SL intenders.

Subaru’s secret weapon was the SVX, an angular design by Giorgetto Giugiaro whose resume includes the BMW M1, DeLorean DMC-12, and Maserati Bora. How could Subaru miss with Italian design, seating for four, a very plush interior, a responsive six-cylinder boxer engine, and all-wheel drive? And smaller, operable windows within its larger stationary windows, like the DeLorean and Lamborghini Countach? The car was aerodynamically sleek, with an impressive drag coefficient of 0.29.

Giugiaro’s initial concept made its debut at the 1989 Tokyo Motor Show. Response was enthusiastic, and the Alcyone SVX—the name a reference to the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster as seen on Subaru’s logo—entered production for the 1992 model year, looking very much like the original show car. In the U.S., the car was simply badged SVX (Subaru Vehicle X) for its five-year run.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came.

As it happened, the SVX didn’t really bring that star glow to the rest of the line. It was something of an orphan within its own family, having little in common with the more run-of-the-mill Legacy and Impreza models. One of the car’s perceived shortcomings was the fact it came only with a four-speed automatic transmission, Subaru not having a manual gearbox capable of handling the 3.3-liter engine’s 230 hp and 228 lb-ft of torque. But the real problem was that the SVX retailed for almost $10,000 more than any other Subaru despite rumors Subaru lost roughly $3,000 on each one. Those unsustainable economics led to the car’s cancellation at the end of the 1996 model year with no successor planned. Subaru sold a little more than 14,000 in the U.S. despite expected sales of 10,000 per year. Cars were sold Stateside into the following year as 1997 models.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came. But that’s changing. Scott King and Sandy Edelstein own the SVX finished in Polo Green seen here. “It’s an intriguing car, different and weird,” King says. “You’re a celebrity when you drive this car. People have no idea what it is, and the Subaru badging just adds to the confusion.”

Their car is a top-of-the line 1996 LSi that still looks somewhat anonymous after all these years, though that rear spoiler seems to have lots in common with the configuration seen on the Lotus Esprit, another Giugiaro design. The exterior is pleasing and smooth but visually engaging, while the interior is absolutely sumptuous. The seats are upholstered in buttery beige leather, but there are also rich brown suede-swathed door and dash panels.

That six-cylinder boxer engine might foster Porsche thoughts, and driving an SVX does offer a solid, almost Stuttgartesque experience. The steering gives weighted assurance without any jitters, irrespective of road surface. It’s a pleasant car to drive, accepting of an active driver’s input or a more laissez-faire approach. It is quick enough, scooting from 0 to 60 mph in a tad more than 7 seconds and onward to a top speed of 154 mph (reduced to 143 mph via a speed limiter in post-1993 cars). Torque-split for U.S. market cars is up to 50/50 front/rear in low-grip situations and 90/10 in normal driving; Japanese versions were more rear-biased. A handful of front-wheel-drive SVXs were sold in the U.S. for the 1994-’95 model years in lower trim models as a cost-cutting measure, but the option was unpopular and discontinued after just two years.

Italian DNA: The SVX’s look was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro, who also penned the DeLorean DMC-12. Note the window-in-window feature and a sleek interior with hidden stereo system.

King and Edelstein bought the car from the original owners with just 53,000 miles on the odometer, and to most eyes it’s quite flawless. Edelstein, however, says it’s one paint job away from perfection. The SVX is best appreciated on highways and interstates, which is, after all, where grand tourers are meant to be. “It’s just a joy to drive, and you get a panoramic view you don’t get in any other car,” King says.

On a practical note, it has a big trunk with folding rear seats for trips to Home Depot. And even the window-in-widow design isn’t much of a hindrance. “We actually owned a DeLorean, and the SVX’s windows are much better for a drive-through restaurant. You can theoretically crawl out of it in an emergency.” Well, maybe if you have a 28-inch waist. With all that glass, it’s a literal comfort to hear King boast, “It has the coldest AC we had in any of our cars.”

The SVX is a rolling paradox. It is more than capable of providing the kind of enhanced driving experience associated with traditional prestigious makes, but its eccentricity is partially its charm. Today, it’s one of the better classic-car values going, and the odds of parking next to another one at cars and coffee are slim to none. With classic Japanese sports cars becoming ever more collectible, now is a great time to jump on the SVX bandwagon.

Living with the SVX

A positive aspect of SVX ownership is the active community of owners who keep each other posted on parts, service tips, and events. Mark Schneider, who lives in the Houston area, is one such enthusiast who runs the SVX Nation group on Facebook. His ’95 LSi had more than 189,000 miles on the clock when he bought it, and he immediately proceeded to use it on his 100-mile daily commute. He says he’s seen an SVX with 300,000-plus miles, one of 30 that showed up for the most recent national meet in Lafayette, Indiana, where Subaru builds the Outback, Legacy, and Impreza.

Schneider remembers being a child when a neighbor bought an SVX and—you could see this coming—“The windows blew me away. I was infatuated.” That love affair has blossomed now that he’s had a chance to spend quality time on the other side of those windows. “They’re just beasts on the highway,” Schneider says. “You can park it at 85 mph for thousands of miles. That’s its happy place.” Which is just what he did when he drove his car more than 2,000 miles to Lafayette and back.

blem, but it can be a mechanical issue as well, especially on early production cars. There is, however, a solution that addresses both concerns: Remove it. Schneider fitted his SVX with a five-speed manual sourced from a later WRX. “The original intent and design precluded a manual,” he says, “but with one installed it’s a completely different animal and a hoot and a half to drive.”

As with just about any collectible, you are well advised to spend a bit more to get a well-cared-for example. Parts availability is getting to be problematic since there’s not a whole lot of interchangeability with lesser Subies. The throttle positioning sensor for a ’95 Legacy will set you back $55, and one for an SVX could be as much as $350. That said, SVX Nation is a great source if your local Subaru dealer isn’t. As Schneider notes, “A lot of the younger Subaru techs have no idea why this strange spaceship has rolled into the dealer’s service bay.” As a result, he urges new owners to find someone “who actually knows what it is” when it comes time to work on it.

The Market Perspective

With the SVX’s rarity and the uptick in general values for collectible Japanese cars, you might think that these sporty Subies have taken off in value. You’d be wrong; the market has remained virtually flat for the SVX, regardless of year or trim level. That means you should be able to find a solid example for well under $10,000. Start looking at the $5,000 price point to avoid bottom-feeder examples needing lots of overdue maintenance.—Rory Jurnecka

The Specs

ENGINE 3.3L DOHC flat-6/230 hp, 228 lb-ft TRANSMISSION 4-speed automatic DRIVE All wheel or front wheel SUSPENSION Struts BRAKES Discs WEIGHT 3,580 lb

The Info

MODEL YEARS 1992-1997 NUMBER SOLD 24,379 (globally, including 14,257 in U.S.) ORIGINAL PRICE (U.S.) $24,445 (’91 base SVX L), $36,740 (’96 SVX LSi) VALUE TODAY $3,900-$4,700*

*Hagerty average value (www.hagerty.com)

The post Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jonathanbelloblog]

Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX

Think of Subaru today and, besides the excellent BRZ sports car it codeveloped with Toyota, you most likely envision outdoorsy owners happily shuttling Fido around in a boxy, all-wheel-drive wagon. But long before the BRZ, there was another three-letter Subaru sports coupe: the SVX. Never heard of it? You’re forgiven.

Subaru’s U.S. roots date to 1968, when the brand was established as a contrarian, would-be alternative to Volkswagen, Toyota, and Datsun. That’s when Malcolm Bricklin founded Subaru of America in the celebrated automotive hotbed of Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania. Bricklin is the same wildcatter who later produced a gullwing-doored sports car bearing his name in New Brunswick, Canada, and later imported the much-vilified Yugo to these shores.

By the early 1990s Subaru’s automotive business was taking off, and the automotive division of Fuji Heavy Industries decided to build a halo car to take on BMW. Yes, the brand associated with all-wheel-drive economy cars, most of which were station wagons, conceived a plan to offer a Subaru that could be a German luxury coupe competitor. And while the car maker was at it, Subaru figured it might as well poach some Lexus SC sales and maybe a few Mercedes-Benz SL intenders.

Subaru’s secret weapon was the SVX, an angular design by Giorgetto Giugiaro whose resume includes the BMW M1, DeLorean DMC-12, and Maserati Bora. How could Subaru miss with Italian design, seating for four, a very plush interior, a responsive six-cylinder boxer engine, and all-wheel drive? And smaller, operable windows within its larger stationary windows, like the DeLorean and Lamborghini Countach? The car was aerodynamically sleek, with an impressive drag coefficient of 0.29.

Giugiaro’s initial concept made its debut at the 1989 Tokyo Motor Show. Response was enthusiastic, and the Alcyone SVX—the name a reference to the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster as seen on Subaru’s logo—entered production for the 1992 model year, looking very much like the original show car. In the U.S., the car was simply badged SVX (Subaru Vehicle X) for its five-year run.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came.

As it happened, the SVX didn’t really bring that star glow to the rest of the line. It was something of an orphan within its own family, having little in common with the more run-of-the-mill Legacy and Impreza models. One of the car’s perceived shortcomings was the fact it came only with a four-speed automatic transmission, Subaru not having a manual gearbox capable of handling the 3.3-liter engine’s 230 hp and 228 lb-ft of torque. But the real problem was that the SVX retailed for almost $10,000 more than any other Subaru despite rumors Subaru lost roughly $3,000 on each one. Those unsustainable economics led to the car’s cancellation at the end of the 1996 model year with no successor planned. Subaru sold a little more than 14,000 in the U.S. despite expected sales of 10,000 per year. Cars were sold Stateside into the following year as 1997 models.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came. But that’s changing. Scott King and Sandy Edelstein own the SVX finished in Polo Green seen here. “It’s an intriguing car, different and weird,” King says. “You’re a celebrity when you drive this car. People have no idea what it is, and the Subaru badging just adds to the confusion.”

Their car is a top-of-the line 1996 LSi that still looks somewhat anonymous after all these years, though that rear spoiler seems to have lots in common with the configuration seen on the Lotus Esprit, another Giugiaro design. The exterior is pleasing and smooth but visually engaging, while the interior is absolutely sumptuous. The seats are upholstered in buttery beige leather, but there are also rich brown suede-swathed door and dash panels.

That six-cylinder boxer engine might foster Porsche thoughts, and driving an SVX does offer a solid, almost Stuttgartesque experience. The steering gives weighted assurance without any jitters, irrespective of road surface. It’s a pleasant car to drive, accepting of an active driver’s input or a more laissez-faire approach. It is quick enough, scooting from 0 to 60 mph in a tad more than 7 seconds and onward to a top speed of 154 mph (reduced to 143 mph via a speed limiter in post-1993 cars). Torque-split for U.S. market cars is up to 50/50 front/rear in low-grip situations and 90/10 in normal driving; Japanese versions were more rear-biased. A handful of front-wheel-drive SVXs were sold in the U.S. for the 1994-’95 model years in lower trim models as a cost-cutting measure, but the option was unpopular and discontinued after just two years.

Italian DNA: The SVX’s look was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro, who also penned the DeLorean DMC-12. Note the window-in-window feature and a sleek interior with hidden stereo system.

King and Edelstein bought the car from the original owners with just 53,000 miles on the odometer, and to most eyes it’s quite flawless. Edelstein, however, says it’s one paint job away from perfection. The SVX is best appreciated on highways and interstates, which is, after all, where grand tourers are meant to be. “It’s just a joy to drive, and you get a panoramic view you don’t get in any other car,” King says.

On a practical note, it has a big trunk with folding rear seats for trips to Home Depot. And even the window-in-widow design isn’t much of a hindrance. “We actually owned a DeLorean, and the SVX’s windows are much better for a drive-through restaurant. You can theoretically crawl out of it in an emergency.” Well, maybe if you have a 28-inch waist. With all that glass, it’s a literal comfort to hear King boast, “It has the coldest AC we had in any of our cars.”

The SVX is a rolling paradox. It is more than capable of providing the kind of enhanced driving experience associated with traditional prestigious makes, but its eccentricity is partially its charm. Today, it’s one of the better classic-car values going, and the odds of parking next to another one at cars and coffee are slim to none. With classic Japanese sports cars becoming ever more collectible, now is a great time to jump on the SVX bandwagon.

Living with the SVX

A positive aspect of SVX ownership is the active community of owners who keep each other posted on parts, service tips, and events. Mark Schneider, who lives in the Houston area, is one such enthusiast who runs the SVX Nation group on Facebook. His ’95 LSi had more than 189,000 miles on the clock when he bought it, and he immediately proceeded to use it on his 100-mile daily commute. He says he’s seen an SVX with 300,000-plus miles, one of 30 that showed up for the most recent national meet in Lafayette, Indiana, where Subaru builds the Outback, Legacy, and Impreza.

Schneider remembers being a child when a neighbor bought an SVX and—you could see this coming—“The windows blew me away. I was infatuated.” That love affair has blossomed now that he’s had a chance to spend quality time on the other side of those windows. “They’re just beasts on the highway,” Schneider says. “You can park it at 85 mph for thousands of miles. That’s its happy place.” Which is just what he did when he drove his car more than 2,000 miles to Lafayette and back.

blem, but it can be a mechanical issue as well, especially on early production cars. There is, however, a solution that addresses both concerns: Remove it. Schneider fitted his SVX with a five-speed manual sourced from a later WRX. “The original intent and design precluded a manual,” he says, “but with one installed it’s a completely different animal and a hoot and a half to drive.”

As with just about any collectible, you are well advised to spend a bit more to get a well-cared-for example. Parts availability is getting to be problematic since there’s not a whole lot of interchangeability with lesser Subies. The throttle positioning sensor for a ’95 Legacy will set you back $55, and one for an SVX could be as much as $350. That said, SVX Nation is a great source if your local Subaru dealer isn’t. As Schneider notes, “A lot of the younger Subaru techs have no idea why this strange spaceship has rolled into the dealer’s service bay.” As a result, he urges new owners to find someone “who actually knows what it is” when it comes time to work on it.

The Market Perspective

With the SVX’s rarity and the uptick in general values for collectible Japanese cars, you might think that these sporty Subies have taken off in value. You’d be wrong; the market has remained virtually flat for the SVX, regardless of year or trim level. That means you should be able to find a solid example for well under $10,000. Start looking at the $5,000 price point to avoid bottom-feeder examples needing lots of overdue maintenance.—Rory Jurnecka

The Specs

ENGINE 3.3L DOHC flat-6/230 hp, 228 lb-ft TRANSMISSION 4-speed automatic DRIVE All wheel or front wheel SUSPENSION Struts BRAKES Discs WEIGHT 3,580 lb

The Info

MODEL YEARS 1992-1997 NUMBER SOLD 24,379 (globally, including 14,257 in U.S.) ORIGINAL PRICE (U.S.) $24,445 (’91 base SVX L), $36,740 (’96 SVX LSi) VALUE TODAY $3,900-$4,700*

*Hagerty average value (www.hagerty.com)

The post Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jimdsmith34]

5 People So Blinded By Their Hobbies They Forgot To Live

Not everything we do needs to have this super-special, universe-altering purpose behind it, especially since the universe could give negative shits about what us sentient specks of space dust do with our brief love affair with consciousness. So go ahead, indulge in a pointless hobby or 10 — play the shit out of your video games, color all the adult coloring books, get that doctorate that everybody spits on because you weren’t born with 35 years’ experience. Just don’t let the pursuit of pointlessness consume your life to the point where actual important stuff goes forever ignored.

If you ever find yourself doing anything like the following, burn it all to the ground, hug your family, and apologize profusely for so coldly ignoring them all these years. If you don’t have a family, hug Mario and Luigi. They miss you too.

#5. Don’t Blow 40 Years And $2 Million Building A Giant Boat, Especially If You’re Landlocked

Dillon Griffith isn’t the first person to build his own boat. But while most content themselves with stitching together a pile of wood and praying to the Sky God that the Tuna God doesn’t whisk them away for a forced marriage to Aquaman, Griffith went and built himself a 64-foot, 40-ton, steel-and-electric monstrosity that he dubbed the “Mystic Rose.” It took him 38 years and cost roughly $2 million to complete.

Naturally, he did it to earn money.

Now we know who taught Axl Rose everything he knows about managing start-up costs.

He was inspired to build his own giant boat in 1977, after chartering his first, less-giant boat for fishing trips failed to earn him any money. After concluding this was because his galley was too small to allow for truly hardcore fishing, he set out to build his own, ginormous fishing boat. That way he could charter more people for more trips and make more sweet, sweet mackerel money.

Reminder: He spent $2 million to get there.

Unless somebody catches the Kraken, good luck breaking even before the next supercontinent forms.

He also took 38 years to finish, because Dillon Griffith is not a professional huge-boat maker. What’s more, he eventually moved away from the ocean and into a land-locked area, yet he continued to build his boat. That’s like moving to Death Valley and trying to build your own ice hockey rink. Oh, and the project damn near killed him, and not in the typical “oh, all this hard work is killing me” kind of way. No, more like a crane fell on him once and shattered his body. That kind of killing. Also, an 11-pound cylinder once broke his neck. After that, it was probably less a labor of love and more one of pure stubbornness. He saw a ship that steadfastly refused to be built, and he stared it right in the barnacle-encrusted porthole and said, “Fuck you, thou shalt be built.”

And build it he did — after nearly 40 years of lonesome, dawn-to-dawn work days, the ship is ready to sail. Finally, as Griffith says, he’ll “make money and [he] won’t have to worry anymore.”

Of course, there’s still the issue of getting the boat to sea, since he lives far away from it and all. He estimates it’ll cost an extra $55,000 to have it towed there, but then he’ll make money for sure! He’s set up a GoFundMe to cover these final costs, so feel free to help him if you like. He’s almost there; he just needs a little push over that finish line.

Well on his way!

#4. Don’t Waste Half A Century Building Your Own Helicopter Out Of Garbage

Like so many children of the pre-1950s (and post-2020s, after President McCarthy executive-orders all vaccines into the same dirty pit where we stashed those Atari ET games) a Honduran man known simply as Agustin contracted polio. He’s been unable to walk since.

Young Agustin dreamed of being a pilot, so he’s spent the past 50 years constructing a helicopter out of garbage. This despite knowing precisely dick about helicopters aside from “they exist.” And he insists his will fly, despite it never coming even once close to doing so. Ever bet 99 percent of your poker chips on what winds up being a 6 high? That’s this, in weird mutated sorta-copter form.

And this is insisting your 2-2-4-5 is a royal flush and the dealer’s just blind.

Agustin started this project in 1958, thinking it would take only three months because what’s a helicopter compared to a soap-box racer or a homemade turkey sandwich. So already we have a grown man cock-sure that he could build a working helicopter, single-handedly, with everything that Oscar The Grouch had grown sick of masturbating to, in three months. He missed that deadline by a mere 573 months, because, according to him, “Things kept getting complicated.” Big flying machines that typically require an entire crew to assemble do tend to be that way, yes.

Nothing should take 20 years to finish except raising a child. And writing The Winds Of Winter.

But still he perseveres, tinkering with his helicopter daily, all by himself. He gathers junk, trash, and spare parts wherever he can find them and assembles them all on his own — even the propeller’s chains are DIY. It’s neat, but it’s also Fallout 4: Saddest-Ever Edition. And I do mean he finds those parts wherever — for years, Agustin used an old, rickety wheelchair, until his friends and family bought him a shiny, new, working one, direct from the United States … which he immediately disassembled for helicopter parts.

Good parts.

If this were simply performance art, it’d be one thing. But Agustin still believes, and will likely keep believing until his final day, that his literal pile of garbage will get visited by the Blue Fairy one night and become a real helicopter. He outright admits that it “looks like a caricature of a helicopter” but somehow doesn’t grasp that that’s exactly why his only hope to fly is the same as ours: Board a plane, get drunk on boxed wine, and let someone who knows what they’re doing help him roam about the country.

#3. Don’t Spend 17 Years Building A Wooden Lamborghini In Your Basement

Hey, let’s watch 1/27th of a movie!

That’s the intro to Cannonball Run, and even non-carheads can see it’s awesome, as is the Lamborghini Countach Tara Buckman zooms around in. Ken Imhoff certainly agrees, but unlike us the film didn’t inspire him to drink shitloads of beer and fantasize about getting coldly laughed at by Buckman if he dared approach her. He was instead inspired to build his very own Countach. Out of wood. And not just some rinky-dink model for his mantel. He was going to build a life-size wooden Lamborghini, engine and all, and he was going to drive that motherfucker.

Maybe he drank shitloads of beer after all.

He can’t drive 55. Or 45. Or 35. Or 25. Or 5.

Like most people who don’t know what they’re doing but confidently stumble through it anyway, Imhoff figured his “Bull In The Basement” project wouldn’t take long — five years, tops. It took him 17, the literal length of childhood. That’s an appropriate analogy, by the by, since he missed much of his kids’ own childhoods while locked in his basement sanding, polishing, fucking up, redoing, sanding, and polishing again.

Wouldn’t want to enter the void with anything but a perfect shine, after all.

By 2007, his Treeborghini was finally finished and ready for unveiling. Except, he couldn’t get it out of his basement, since basements don’t have garage doors. So, Imhoff did the only logical thing he could: He paid a guy to cut a big hole in his basement, dig up a gnarly dirt ramp, and tow the car out of the basement and into the light. He would’ve driven it out — it theoretically being a car and all — but it’s a chunk of wood.

Good thing he brought those protective blankets. Wouldn’t want anything to get damaged and plummet in value or anything.

He eventually powered it up enough to joyride around the block, bring his kids to school, and gather a few termites. But, after five years, Imhoff decided to sell. He claimed the maintenance was too much to handle; all that wood polish sets you back, but presumably he’d also love to recoup some of the “unimaginable [financial] extremes” his Cannonball Pratfall put him and his entire family through. At least we know he won’t try anything this dumb again.

Oh wait, no. He immediately started work on a wooden Studebaker Hawk. Check back with Cracked in about 20 years for an update.

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/08/13/5-people-so-blinded-by-their-hobbies-they-forgot-to-live/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/08/5-people-so-blinded-by-their-hobbies.html

[adambstingus]

5 People So Blinded By Their Hobbies They Forgot To Live

Not everything we do needs to have this super-special, universe-altering purpose behind it, especially since the universe could give negative shits about what us sentient specks of space dust do with our brief love affair with consciousness. So go ahead, indulge in a pointless hobby or 10 — play the shit out of your video games, color all the adult coloring books, get that doctorate that everybody spits on because you weren’t born with 35 years’ experience. Just don’t let the pursuit of pointlessness consume your life to the point where actual important stuff goes forever ignored.

If you ever find yourself doing anything like the following, burn it all to the ground, hug your family, and apologize profusely for so coldly ignoring them all these years. If you don’t have a family, hug Mario and Luigi. They miss you too.

#5. Don’t Blow 40 Years And $2 Million Building A Giant Boat, Especially If You’re Landlocked

Dillon Griffith isn’t the first person to build his own boat. But while most content themselves with stitching together a pile of wood and praying to the Sky God that the Tuna God doesn’t whisk them away for a forced marriage to Aquaman, Griffith went and built himself a 64-foot, 40-ton, steel-and-electric monstrosity that he dubbed the “Mystic Rose.” It took him 38 years and cost roughly $2 million to complete.

Naturally, he did it to earn money.

Now we know who taught Axl Rose everything he knows about managing start-up costs.

He was inspired to build his own giant boat in 1977, after chartering his first, less-giant boat for fishing trips failed to earn him any money. After concluding this was because his galley was too small to allow for truly hardcore fishing, he set out to build his own, ginormous fishing boat. That way he could charter more people for more trips and make more sweet, sweet mackerel money.

Reminder: He spent $2 million to get there.

Unless somebody catches the Kraken, good luck breaking even before the next supercontinent forms.

He also took 38 years to finish, because Dillon Griffith is not a professional huge-boat maker. What’s more, he eventually moved away from the ocean and into a land-locked area, yet he continued to build his boat. That’s like moving to Death Valley and trying to build your own ice hockey rink. Oh, and the project damn near killed him, and not in the typical “oh, all this hard work is killing me” kind of way. No, more like a crane fell on him once and shattered his body. That kind of killing. Also, an 11-pound cylinder once broke his neck. After that, it was probably less a labor of love and more one of pure stubbornness. He saw a ship that steadfastly refused to be built, and he stared it right in the barnacle-encrusted porthole and said, “Fuck you, thou shalt be built.”

And build it he did — after nearly 40 years of lonesome, dawn-to-dawn work days, the ship is ready to sail. Finally, as Griffith says, he’ll “make money and [he] won’t have to worry anymore.”

Of course, there’s still the issue of getting the boat to sea, since he lives far away from it and all. He estimates it’ll cost an extra $55,000 to have it towed there, but then he’ll make money for sure! He’s set up a GoFundMe to cover these final costs, so feel free to help him if you like. He’s almost there; he just needs a little push over that finish line.

Well on his way!

#4. Don’t Waste Half A Century Building Your Own Helicopter Out Of Garbage

Like so many children of the pre-1950s (and post-2020s, after President McCarthy executive-orders all vaccines into the same dirty pit where we stashed those Atari ET games) a Honduran man known simply as Agustin contracted polio. He’s been unable to walk since.

Young Agustin dreamed of being a pilot, so he’s spent the past 50 years constructing a helicopter out of garbage. This despite knowing precisely dick about helicopters aside from “they exist.” And he insists his will fly, despite it never coming even once close to doing so. Ever bet 99 percent of your poker chips on what winds up being a 6 high? That’s this, in weird mutated sorta-copter form.

And this is insisting your 2-2-4-5 is a royal flush and the dealer’s just blind.

Agustin started this project in 1958, thinking it would take only three months because what’s a helicopter compared to a soap-box racer or a homemade turkey sandwich. So already we have a grown man cock-sure that he could build a working helicopter, single-handedly, with everything that Oscar The Grouch had grown sick of masturbating to, in three months. He missed that deadline by a mere 573 months, because, according to him, “Things kept getting complicated.” Big flying machines that typically require an entire crew to assemble do tend to be that way, yes.

Nothing should take 20 years to finish except raising a child. And writing The Winds Of Winter.

But still he perseveres, tinkering with his helicopter daily, all by himself. He gathers junk, trash, and spare parts wherever he can find them and assembles them all on his own — even the propeller’s chains are DIY. It’s neat, but it’s also Fallout 4: Saddest-Ever Edition. And I do mean he finds those parts wherever — for years, Agustin used an old, rickety wheelchair, until his friends and family bought him a shiny, new, working one, direct from the United States … which he immediately disassembled for helicopter parts.

Good parts.

If this were simply performance art, it’d be one thing. But Agustin still believes, and will likely keep believing until his final day, that his literal pile of garbage will get visited by the Blue Fairy one night and become a real helicopter. He outright admits that it “looks like a caricature of a helicopter” but somehow doesn’t grasp that that’s exactly why his only hope to fly is the same as ours: Board a plane, get drunk on boxed wine, and let someone who knows what they’re doing help him roam about the country.

#3. Don’t Spend 17 Years Building A Wooden Lamborghini In Your Basement

Hey, let’s watch 1/27th of a movie!

That’s the intro to Cannonball Run, and even non-carheads can see it’s awesome, as is the Lamborghini Countach Tara Buckman zooms around in. Ken Imhoff certainly agrees, but unlike us the film didn’t inspire him to drink shitloads of beer and fantasize about getting coldly laughed at by Buckman if he dared approach her. He was instead inspired to build his very own Countach. Out of wood. And not just some rinky-dink model for his mantel. He was going to build a life-size wooden Lamborghini, engine and all, and he was going to drive that motherfucker.

Maybe he drank shitloads of beer after all.

He can’t drive 55. Or 45. Or 35. Or 25. Or 5.

Like most people who don’t know what they’re doing but confidently stumble through it anyway, Imhoff figured his “Bull In The Basement” project wouldn’t take long — five years, tops. It took him 17, the literal length of childhood. That’s an appropriate analogy, by the by, since he missed much of his kids’ own childhoods while locked in his basement sanding, polishing, fucking up, redoing, sanding, and polishing again.

Wouldn’t want to enter the void with anything but a perfect shine, after all.

By 2007, his Treeborghini was finally finished and ready for unveiling. Except, he couldn’t get it out of his basement, since basements don’t have garage doors. So, Imhoff did the only logical thing he could: He paid a guy to cut a big hole in his basement, dig up a gnarly dirt ramp, and tow the car out of the basement and into the light. He would’ve driven it out — it theoretically being a car and all — but it’s a chunk of wood.

Good thing he brought those protective blankets. Wouldn’t want anything to get damaged and plummet in value or anything.

He eventually powered it up enough to joyride around the block, bring his kids to school, and gather a few termites. But, after five years, Imhoff decided to sell. He claimed the maintenance was too much to handle; all that wood polish sets you back, but presumably he’d also love to recoup some of the “unimaginable [financial] extremes” his Cannonball Pratfall put him and his entire family through. At least we know he won’t try anything this dumb again.

Oh wait, no. He immediately started work on a wooden Studebaker Hawk. Check back with Cracked in about 20 years for an update.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/08/13/5-people-so-blinded-by-their-hobbies-they-forgot-to-live/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/164116858212

[samanthasroberts]

5 People So Blinded By Their Hobbies They Forgot To Live

Not everything we do needs to have this super-special, universe-altering purpose behind it, especially since the universe could give negative shits about what us sentient specks of space dust do with our brief love affair with consciousness. So go ahead, indulge in a pointless hobby or 10 — play the shit out of your video games, color all the adult coloring books, get that doctorate that everybody spits on because you weren’t born with 35 years’ experience. Just don’t let the pursuit of pointlessness consume your life to the point where actual important stuff goes forever ignored.

If you ever find yourself doing anything like the following, burn it all to the ground, hug your family, and apologize profusely for so coldly ignoring them all these years. If you don’t have a family, hug Mario and Luigi. They miss you too.

#5. Don’t Blow 40 Years And $2 Million Building A Giant Boat, Especially If You’re Landlocked

Dillon Griffith isn’t the first person to build his own boat. But while most content themselves with stitching together a pile of wood and praying to the Sky God that the Tuna God doesn’t whisk them away for a forced marriage to Aquaman, Griffith went and built himself a 64-foot, 40-ton, steel-and-electric monstrosity that he dubbed the “Mystic Rose.” It took him 38 years and cost roughly $2 million to complete.

Naturally, he did it to earn money.

Now we know who taught Axl Rose everything he knows about managing start-up costs.

He was inspired to build his own giant boat in 1977, after chartering his first, less-giant boat for fishing trips failed to earn him any money. After concluding this was because his galley was too small to allow for truly hardcore fishing, he set out to build his own, ginormous fishing boat. That way he could charter more people for more trips and make more sweet, sweet mackerel money.

Reminder: He spent $2 million to get there.

Unless somebody catches the Kraken, good luck breaking even before the next supercontinent forms.

He also took 38 years to finish, because Dillon Griffith is not a professional huge-boat maker. What’s more, he eventually moved away from the ocean and into a land-locked area, yet he continued to build his boat. That’s like moving to Death Valley and trying to build your own ice hockey rink. Oh, and the project damn near killed him, and not in the typical “oh, all this hard work is killing me” kind of way. No, more like a crane fell on him once and shattered his body. That kind of killing. Also, an 11-pound cylinder once broke his neck. After that, it was probably less a labor of love and more one of pure stubbornness. He saw a ship that steadfastly refused to be built, and he stared it right in the barnacle-encrusted porthole and said, “Fuck you, thou shalt be built.”

And build it he did — after nearly 40 years of lonesome, dawn-to-dawn work days, the ship is ready to sail. Finally, as Griffith says, he’ll “make money and [he] won’t have to worry anymore.”

Of course, there’s still the issue of getting the boat to sea, since he lives far away from it and all. He estimates it’ll cost an extra $55,000 to have it towed there, but then he’ll make money for sure! He’s set up a GoFundMe to cover these final costs, so feel free to help him if you like. He’s almost there; he just needs a little push over that finish line.

Well on his way!

#4. Don’t Waste Half A Century Building Your Own Helicopter Out Of Garbage

Like so many children of the pre-1950s (and post-2020s, after President McCarthy executive-orders all vaccines into the same dirty pit where we stashed those Atari ET games) a Honduran man known simply as Agustin contracted polio. He’s been unable to walk since.

Young Agustin dreamed of being a pilot, so he’s spent the past 50 years constructing a helicopter out of garbage. This despite knowing precisely dick about helicopters aside from “they exist.” And he insists his will fly, despite it never coming even once close to doing so. Ever bet 99 percent of your poker chips on what winds up being a 6 high? That’s this, in weird mutated sorta-copter form.

And this is insisting your 2-2-4-5 is a royal flush and the dealer’s just blind.

Agustin started this project in 1958, thinking it would take only three months because what’s a helicopter compared to a soap-box racer or a homemade turkey sandwich. So already we have a grown man cock-sure that he could build a working helicopter, single-handedly, with everything that Oscar The Grouch had grown sick of masturbating to, in three months. He missed that deadline by a mere 573 months, because, according to him, “Things kept getting complicated.” Big flying machines that typically require an entire crew to assemble do tend to be that way, yes.

Nothing should take 20 years to finish except raising a child. And writing The Winds Of Winter.

But still he perseveres, tinkering with his helicopter daily, all by himself. He gathers junk, trash, and spare parts wherever he can find them and assembles them all on his own — even the propeller’s chains are DIY. It’s neat, but it’s also Fallout 4: Saddest-Ever Edition. And I do mean he finds those parts wherever — for years, Agustin used an old, rickety wheelchair, until his friends and family bought him a shiny, new, working one, direct from the United States … which he immediately disassembled for helicopter parts.

Good parts.

If this were simply performance art, it’d be one thing. But Agustin still believes, and will likely keep believing until his final day, that his literal pile of garbage will get visited by the Blue Fairy one night and become a real helicopter. He outright admits that it “looks like a caricature of a helicopter” but somehow doesn’t grasp that that’s exactly why his only hope to fly is the same as ours: Board a plane, get drunk on boxed wine, and let someone who knows what they’re doing help him roam about the country.

#3. Don’t Spend 17 Years Building A Wooden Lamborghini In Your Basement

Hey, let’s watch 1/27th of a movie!

That’s the intro to Cannonball Run, and even non-carheads can see it’s awesome, as is the Lamborghini Countach Tara Buckman zooms around in. Ken Imhoff certainly agrees, but unlike us the film didn’t inspire him to drink shitloads of beer and fantasize about getting coldly laughed at by Buckman if he dared approach her. He was instead inspired to build his very own Countach. Out of wood. And not just some rinky-dink model for his mantel. He was going to build a life-size wooden Lamborghini, engine and all, and he was going to drive that motherfucker.

Maybe he drank shitloads of beer after all.

He can’t drive 55. Or 45. Or 35. Or 25. Or 5.

Like most people who don’t know what they’re doing but confidently stumble through it anyway, Imhoff figured his “Bull In The Basement” project wouldn’t take long — five years, tops. It took him 17, the literal length of childhood. That’s an appropriate analogy, by the by, since he missed much of his kids’ own childhoods while locked in his basement sanding, polishing, fucking up, redoing, sanding, and polishing again.

Wouldn’t want to enter the void with anything but a perfect shine, after all.

By 2007, his Treeborghini was finally finished and ready for unveiling. Except, he couldn’t get it out of his basement, since basements don’t have garage doors. So, Imhoff did the only logical thing he could: He paid a guy to cut a big hole in his basement, dig up a gnarly dirt ramp, and tow the car out of the basement and into the light. He would’ve driven it out — it theoretically being a car and all — but it’s a chunk of wood.

Good thing he brought those protective blankets. Wouldn’t want anything to get damaged and plummet in value or anything.

He eventually powered it up enough to joyride around the block, bring his kids to school, and gather a few termites. But, after five years, Imhoff decided to sell. He claimed the maintenance was too much to handle; all that wood polish sets you back, but presumably he’d also love to recoup some of the “unimaginable [financial] extremes” his Cannonball Pratfall put him and his entire family through. At least we know he won’t try anything this dumb again.

Oh wait, no. He immediately started work on a wooden Studebaker Hawk. Check back with Cracked in about 20 years for an update.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/08/13/5-people-so-blinded-by-their-hobbies-they-forgot-to-live/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/08/13/5-people-so-blinded-by-their-hobbies-they-forgot-to-live/

[allofbeercom]

5 People So Blinded By Their Hobbies They Forgot To Live

Not everything we do needs to have this super-special, universe-altering purpose behind it, especially since the universe could give negative shits about what us sentient specks of space dust do with our brief love affair with consciousness. So go ahead, indulge in a pointless hobby or 10 — play the shit out of your video games, color all the adult coloring books, get that doctorate that everybody spits on because you weren’t born with 35 years’ experience. Just don’t let the pursuit of pointlessness consume your life to the point where actual important stuff goes forever ignored.

If you ever find yourself doing anything like the following, burn it all to the ground, hug your family, and apologize profusely for so coldly ignoring them all these years. If you don’t have a family, hug Mario and Luigi. They miss you too.

#5. Don’t Blow 40 Years And $2 Million Building A Giant Boat, Especially If You’re Landlocked

Dillon Griffith isn’t the first person to build his own boat. But while most content themselves with stitching together a pile of wood and praying to the Sky God that the Tuna God doesn’t whisk them away for a forced marriage to Aquaman, Griffith went and built himself a 64-foot, 40-ton, steel-and-electric monstrosity that he dubbed the “Mystic Rose.” It took him 38 years and cost roughly $2 million to complete.

Naturally, he did it to earn money.

Now we know who taught Axl Rose everything he knows about managing start-up costs.

He was inspired to build his own giant boat in 1977, after chartering his first, less-giant boat for fishing trips failed to earn him any money. After concluding this was because his galley was too small to allow for truly hardcore fishing, he set out to build his own, ginormous fishing boat. That way he could charter more people for more trips and make more sweet, sweet mackerel money.

Reminder: He spent $2 million to get there.

Unless somebody catches the Kraken, good luck breaking even before the next supercontinent forms.

He also took 38 years to finish, because Dillon Griffith is not a professional huge-boat maker. What’s more, he eventually moved away from the ocean and into a land-locked area, yet he continued to build his boat. That’s like moving to Death Valley and trying to build your own ice hockey rink. Oh, and the project damn near killed him, and not in the typical “oh, all this hard work is killing me” kind of way. No, more like a crane fell on him once and shattered his body. That kind of killing. Also, an 11-pound cylinder once broke his neck. After that, it was probably less a labor of love and more one of pure stubbornness. He saw a ship that steadfastly refused to be built, and he stared it right in the barnacle-encrusted porthole and said, “Fuck you, thou shalt be built.”

And build it he did — after nearly 40 years of lonesome, dawn-to-dawn work days, the ship is ready to sail. Finally, as Griffith says, he’ll “make money and [he] won’t have to worry anymore.”

Of course, there’s still the issue of getting the boat to sea, since he lives far away from it and all. He estimates it’ll cost an extra $55,000 to have it towed there, but then he’ll make money for sure! He’s set up a GoFundMe to cover these final costs, so feel free to help him if you like. He’s almost there; he just needs a little push over that finish line.

Well on his way!

#4. Don’t Waste Half A Century Building Your Own Helicopter Out Of Garbage

Like so many children of the pre-1950s (and post-2020s, after President McCarthy executive-orders all vaccines into the same dirty pit where we stashed those Atari ET games) a Honduran man known simply as Agustin contracted polio. He’s been unable to walk since.

Young Agustin dreamed of being a pilot, so he’s spent the past 50 years constructing a helicopter out of garbage. This despite knowing precisely dick about helicopters aside from “they exist.” And he insists his will fly, despite it never coming even once close to doing so. Ever bet 99 percent of your poker chips on what winds up being a 6 high? That’s this, in weird mutated sorta-copter form.

And this is insisting your 2-2-4-5 is a royal flush and the dealer’s just blind.

Agustin started this project in 1958, thinking it would take only three months because what’s a helicopter compared to a soap-box racer or a homemade turkey sandwich. So already we have a grown man cock-sure that he could build a working helicopter, single-handedly, with everything that Oscar The Grouch had grown sick of masturbating to, in three months. He missed that deadline by a mere 573 months, because, according to him, “Things kept getting complicated.” Big flying machines that typically require an entire crew to assemble do tend to be that way, yes.

Nothing should take 20 years to finish except raising a child. And writing The Winds Of Winter.

But still he perseveres, tinkering with his helicopter daily, all by himself. He gathers junk, trash, and spare parts wherever he can find them and assembles them all on his own — even the propeller’s chains are DIY. It’s neat, but it’s also Fallout 4: Saddest-Ever Edition. And I do mean he finds those parts wherever — for years, Agustin used an old, rickety wheelchair, until his friends and family bought him a shiny, new, working one, direct from the United States … which he immediately disassembled for helicopter parts.

Good parts.

If this were simply performance art, it’d be one thing. But Agustin still believes, and will likely keep believing until his final day, that his literal pile of garbage will get visited by the Blue Fairy one night and become a real helicopter. He outright admits that it “looks like a caricature of a helicopter” but somehow doesn’t grasp that that’s exactly why his only hope to fly is the same as ours: Board a plane, get drunk on boxed wine, and let someone who knows what they’re doing help him roam about the country.

#3. Don’t Spend 17 Years Building A Wooden Lamborghini In Your Basement

Hey, let’s watch 1/27th of a movie!

That’s the intro to Cannonball Run, and even non-carheads can see it’s awesome, as is the Lamborghini Countach Tara Buckman zooms around in. Ken Imhoff certainly agrees, but unlike us the film didn’t inspire him to drink shitloads of beer and fantasize about getting coldly laughed at by Buckman if he dared approach her. He was instead inspired to build his very own Countach. Out of wood. And not just some rinky-dink model for his mantel. He was going to build a life-size wooden Lamborghini, engine and all, and he was going to drive that motherfucker.

Maybe he drank shitloads of beer after all.

He can’t drive 55. Or 45. Or 35. Or 25. Or 5.

Like most people who don’t know what they’re doing but confidently stumble through it anyway, Imhoff figured his “Bull In The Basement” project wouldn’t take long — five years, tops. It took him 17, the literal length of childhood. That’s an appropriate analogy, by the by, since he missed much of his kids’ own childhoods while locked in his basement sanding, polishing, fucking up, redoing, sanding, and polishing again.

Wouldn’t want to enter the void with anything but a perfect shine, after all.

By 2007, his Treeborghini was finally finished and ready for unveiling. Except, he couldn’t get it out of his basement, since basements don’t have garage doors. So, Imhoff did the only logical thing he could: He paid a guy to cut a big hole in his basement, dig up a gnarly dirt ramp, and tow the car out of the basement and into the light. He would’ve driven it out — it theoretically being a car and all — but it’s a chunk of wood.

Good thing he brought those protective blankets. Wouldn’t want anything to get damaged and plummet in value or anything.

He eventually powered it up enough to joyride around the block, bring his kids to school, and gather a few termites. But, after five years, Imhoff decided to sell. He claimed the maintenance was too much to handle; all that wood polish sets you back, but presumably he’d also love to recoup some of the “unimaginable [financial] extremes” his Cannonball Pratfall put him and his entire family through. At least we know he won’t try anything this dumb again.

Oh wait, no. He immediately started work on a wooden Studebaker Hawk. Check back with Cracked in about 20 years for an update.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/08/13/5-people-so-blinded-by-their-hobbies-they-forgot-to-live/

[buildercar]

New Post has been published on http://www.buildercar.com/seven-lamborghinis-and-an-unforgettable-european-road-trip/

Seven Lamborghinis and an Unforgettable European Road Trip

Three Lamborghinis spear fast through France at 160 mph. One, the Countach, with its 375-horsepower, 4.0-liter V-12, could go faster. But its driver remains in the convoy with the Silhouette and Urraco; their 250-hp, 3.0-liter V-8s are flat out. The cars, each painted a bronze gold, glisten in the early sun of this pristine fall morning and gobble up the miles. It’s a quiet Sunday, and they slice through the long, lazy curves of the A6 Autoroute du Soleil as it climbs through the soft hills of the Côte-d’Or northwest of Beaune. A lonely Renault, Simca, or Ford occasionally looms ahead. The Lamborghinis leave them lost in a different time.

The police won’t bother the Lamborghini drivers. This is October 1976, and France has yet to introduce autoroute speed limits. The Countach howls past a stationary motorbike cop, and the V-8s follow suit. He mounts up and tails them into the next service area, moseys over, nods hello, and admires the cars. Two more bike cops do the same, and then a group of gendarmes comes over to look. Word is spreading.

The drivers — I’m one of them — know they’ll be OK. After breakfast, we accelerate hard back onto the A6 and chew the remaining 400 miles to the north French coast at Calais. We’ll get a ferry across the English Channel, 80 miles to London.

The Huracán Spyder leads the convoy through Great St. Bernard Pass.

It all began four days earlier when England’s Lamborghini importer, Roger Phillips, phoned and said if I got to Heathrow Airport in two hours, I could fly to Italy with him and two pals to drive three Lamborghinis from the factory at Sant’Agata Bolognese to London. I was editor of Car at the time, so I shot home, got clothes and passport, and sped to Heathrow.

The Countach stayed in its monumental second gear and occasionally third. “It’s certainly a driver’s car. You have to keep going to the gym to have the strength to drive it on an epic road like this.”

In Sant’Agata, we waited a day while the Silhouette was finished then took off Saturday morning. We got into our stride at a steady 110 mph or so on the Autostrada del Sole up to Milan, sailed past trucks in the Aosta Valley up to the Mont Blanc Tunnel into France, and cleared gaggles on the back roads beyond Geneva. At nightfall, after a struggling Citroën 2CV on the wrong side of the road nearly took out the Silhouette, we called it a day and stopped at a hotel near Nantua. We fired up the Lamborghinis at 6 the next morning. They were properly warm when we struck the D979 that swoops in and out of the Ain River valley. It’s the kind of road you dream about. The day was magical. Mist turned the valley below us silver, and as we zoomed down we stayed nose to tail, windows open, relishing the thunder of 28 cylinders, 12 cams, 14 Webers, and eight exhausts bouncing off the banks in the still air.

A few months ago, Lamborghini Silhouette-owner Richard Head reread the 1976 Car story titled “Convoy!” I wrote about the journey. It also appeared in Car and Driver’s August 1977 issue, thanks to my good friend and AUTOMOBILE founder David E. Davis Jr., who was then Car and Driver’s editor. Head had thought it would be neat to do a sequel. He hatched a plan with fellow Lamborghini enthusiast Alan Robb for a reboot with a Countach, Silhouette, and Urraco, and maybe a few more Lamborghinis. Robb is after-sales manager for Super Veloce Racing, a high-performance car sales, service, and events company in England. The company is the sole agent for the Noble M600 in the U.K. and Europe, and among the marques it handles, it has a particular penchant for Lamborghinis going back to when SVR’s owner, Ben Adnett, bought a Countach when he was 23.

The Silhouette and Urraco glide along in formation.

We sought a different route this time. With no need to rush, we wanted as many miles on captivating roads as possible. I had two in mind. My friend and automotive journalist Peter Robinson, who lived in Italy for 16 years, reckons the SP85 up and over Monte Bondone, near Trento, is Italy’s best driving road. Robinson, with American Pete Davis (then Fiat design boss and later director of interior design for General Motors), in 1996 determined that the epic opening scenes with the Miura in the classic movie “The Italian Job” were filmed on the SS27 north of Aosta. Irresistible.

So six privately owned Lamborghinis — a Countach LP5000 QV, Silhouette, Urraco 3000, Diablo SE30, Murciélago SV, and Espada — traveled by transporter from England to a hotel near Bologna, along with a Huracán LP 610-4 Spyder loaned by Lamborghini.

They say bad things happen in threes. Before we got to Sant’Agata, we lost the first of the cars, Tadek and Verna Lipinski’s Countach, when a coil lead failed. Then the front brakes went out on Head’s Silhouette, and as we reached the factory, Chris and Sandra Notley’s Urraco dumped its clutch fluid. Lamborghini’s workshop, dedicated to restorations and getting new premises as part of its expanding Polo Storico program, squeezed in the Silhouette to fit new front calipers and took care of the Urraco. The Countach was soon ready, the Silhouette and Urraco 24 hours later.

The Countach QV paces the stealth-fighter Huracán.

In the morning the SP85 showed us its delights, a 35-mile mix of visually clear hairpins and fast open bends interspersed with straights. We soon had the stirring sight of the Countach, its exhausts spitting sparks on the overrun, hounded by the thunderous Diablo and sinister Murciélago, braking hard into bends, squatting onto fat rear tires to power out and bolt through the gears to triple-digit speeds. In the Diablo and especially the Countach, unassisted steering, hard brakes, meaty clutches, and gated gearshifts made for a physical experience. The more recent Murciélago, despite its paddle shifts, was stirringly tactile too.

The Huracán delivered today’s kind of supercar experience: mega performance with little effort. I knew by now how well it rode and behaved and why its stonking 5.2-liter V-10 suffers no inferiority complex in the company of older V-12s. As we climbed toward Monte Bondone, it gripped and tore through the bends—accurate, dependable, and fast.

Returning from the top of SP85, on the 11-mile-long stretch that’s been one of Europe’s best hillclimbs since 1925, I learned what the Huracán is about. Switching from Strada to Sport mode sharpened the engine map, seven-speed gearbox, Haldex all-wheel drive, steering, and stability control. The exhaust note snapped to spine-tingling, with fortissimo pops and crackles on the overrun and ferocious downshift blips. With the throttle flat between bends, the V-10 held its gears to 9,000 rpm, well past its 8,250-rpm power peak. The carbon-ceramic discs delivered amazingly short braking distances as the transmission snipped down — blam, blam, blam — to whichever gear it decided was right. For a while I manually flicked the paddles, but I couldn’t do it as fast or perfectly as the system. This was very different from driving an old-school manual such as the Countach or Diablo. Without time to shift so often, you’d stay in second or third and utilize the V-12’s flexibility and engine braking. Same in the V-8s.

I’d been mindful of comments that early Huracáns understeered. With the Spyder’s introduction, Lamborghini recalibrated the front-rear torque split. In Strada mode the settings lean toward understeer, but I wasn’t getting run-out at the nose. Both ends’ grip matched the speed and power, and the Huracán flowed around accurately. In Sport, where Lamborghini anticipates a higher level of driver skill, the attitude moves to the verge of oversteer. If there’s enough room and power, the tail will move but not much. Corsa delivers dogged neutrality for ideal cornering speed. The takeaway: This car allowed me to access as much of its power and capability as I wished, with supreme safety and dependability to enjoy a thrilling drive.

Memories of 1976 as the Silhouette tails big brother Countach.

Back in the bar, Nick Tranter reckoned it was the best day’s driving he ever had as he discovered new aspects of his 518-hp Diablo SE30. “Given the Diablo’s size, the thing that surprised me,” he said, “was how nimble she was through the hairpins and how quickly she restored balance under full power out of them. That huge whoomph of torque kicked in early and stayed there all the way to the limiter. Second gear’s versatility was fantastic for acceleration and engine braking. … It’s an analogue experience versus a digital experience.” Glenn Brooks in the Murciélago SV, with its paddle shifts, used the gears more as he laid down all of his car’s 661 hp and found it just as soul stirring.

After stretching his Urraco’s legs for the first time: “It surpassed our expectations. It’s an elegant, remarkably comfortable, and surprisingly quick and economical sports grand tourer.”

The Silhouette and Urraco arrived, and we left next morning for the 240-mile run across the top of Italy to Courmayeur. Top down (dropped in 17 seconds) the Spyder was a quiet, comfortable cruiser in the autostrada traffic. Near Courmayeur, we peeled onto the serpentine SS26. High up, its bends are so compressed that the Huracán’s speed was governed by how fast I spun the wheel from lock to lock. There’s little feel in the electronic steering, but its variable ratio seemed to match it to each corner. The orchestration of V-8s, V-10, and V-12s through the route’s tunnels was an utter delight. Sant’Agata has always understood that kind of music.

The Huracán pauses at an abandoned roadhouse in France.

The next day we pressed on to the Great St. Bernard Pass, where the old SS27 veers off the new T2 to the tunnel. If you’ve never driven it, find a reason. Here you’ll see the breathtaking Dardanelli viaduct, which the Miura drove across so evocatively in “The Italian Job.” In the Countach on the way to the top, it was fascinating to note the different feel and effect of Lamborghinis 30 years apart. The Huracán’s V-10 is light and snappy as it revs. The QV’s V-12 has 155 hp and 43 lb-ft less, but its brawniness and linearity is addictive, with a rack-and-pinion steering (heavier than in earlier Countachs) that demands muscle. The reward was fingertip-fulfilling feel. As with the Diablo, the Countach stayed in its monumental second gear and occasionally third, working up and down the rev range. “It’s certainly a driver’s car,” Tadek Lipinski said with a grin. “You have to keep going to the gym to have the strength to drive it on an epic road like this.”

Brookes put Robb, who rates the Murciélago SV highly, into his SV for the climb. “In Corsa, I could lean on it and use the weight to set it up through the corners,” Robb said gleefully. “Left-foot braking kept it balanced, either using just the grip or pushing on to get the four-wheel drive to help. At one point, it was so eager and confidence-inspiring I went into fourth and took the corners as fast as I dared. Savoring every new push of power from the V-12 on the way to the redline on that road, with no traffic and perfect weather, goes down as one of my all-time great drives.”

On the Swiss side of the pass, the road is narrow and bumpy, and there’s often no guardrail. Toward Martigny, the highway broadens into sequences of fast, open bends. “The Silhouette was awesome on those sweepers,” Head reckoned, “and responded so well to being driven hard.”

The herd takes on the twisties.

There are interesting differences and similarities between the Urraco and the Silhouette derived from it: lighter but sharper steer-ing in the Urraco, meatier feel in the Silhouette, plus a lower driving position and tighter seats. In both, modest oomph from the 3.0-liter V-8s to 3,500 rpm, then a brisk climb to 250 hp at 7,500 rpm. Both delivered strong directional stability and comfortable rides. Chris Notley, able to stretch his Urraco’s legs for the first time, said, “It surpassed our expectations. It’s an elegant, remarkably comfortable, and surprisingly quick and economical sports grand tourer.” Our run finished on the D1506 from Martigny to Chamonix, along the top side of Mont Blanc, another cracking road that gave us the perfect ending to a perfect day.

And then it was the 400-mile haul to Paris, with the D979 on the way. I threw the Huracán at it and, just as with the Silhouette in 1976, it bestowed immeasurable pleasure. In Sport, I switched off stability control and prodded the V-10 hard enough to make the tail creep in the tighter bends. But somehow that seemed at odds with the Huracán’s nature. The car is properly fast, and its control systems lets you access its pace with extraordinary ease. Three accelerometers and three gyroscopes shoot real-time high-speed data about roll, pitch, and yaw to the ESC, AWD, shock absorbers, and steering. Lamborghini’s R & D boss Maurizio Reggiani says it lets the car get close to the point of no return while checking and controlling its attitude. Down the amazing road into the Ain valley, there was an inhibitor, though: Under braking into tight hairpins, the pan under the nose scraped the asphalt. A dashboard switch lifts the height for speed humps, etc. It’s a definite yes on the options list.

There wasn’t a time when the Spyder’s ride gave up any comfort. With sunny weather all the way, the roof was always down; at serious three-figure speeds, the cabin remained calm, with only the V-10’s panoply of wicked tunes as the soundtrack. Hours at the wheel weren’t tiring; the pedals are well aligned, and at 5-feet-9-inches I had enough room in the cockpit, and the seat shape worked for me. All this made long stretches like the miles up the A6 to Paris a pleasure.

Loping along near Beaune, I smiled when I saw in the mirror a low, wide shape closing fast. It could only be an Espada. Richard and Lynne Bull’s immaculate Series III swept past, in its métier. In 1976 I tucked away 900 miles in 11 hours in an Espada and knew full well its ability on open roads. There wasn’t a faster four-seater at the time.

After a night in Versailles, we had just a 190-mile run up the A16 to Calais. Most of the crew said it’d been their best week’s driving. With the original “Convoy!” trip in my memory, could I say that? This was a less intense experience with more variety in a different kind of Lamborghini. Far more powerful than even the Countach, much faster, and notably more refined, the Huracán Spyder gave me a week of unalloyed joy. I loved using so much of its performance so often. I wish it had better cabin storage and a bigger “trunk” in the nose for more than two small carry-ons, but it’s so liveable in every other way. When I shut it down in London after 1,466 miles, I was left with nothing but a hunger to drive it more. The other drivers felt the same about their cars, best or not. It was a hell of a week, just as it was 40 years prior.

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[bestautochicago]

Collectible Classic: 1992-1997 Subaru SVX

Think of Subaru today and, besides the excellent BRZ sports car it codeveloped with Toyota, you most likely envision outdoorsy owners happily shuttling Fido around in a boxy, all-wheel-drive wagon. But long before the BRZ, there was another three-letter Subaru sports coupe: the SVX. Never heard of it? You’re forgiven.

Subaru’s U.S. roots date to 1968, when the brand was established as a contrarian, would-be alternative to Volkswagen, Toyota, and Datsun. That’s when Malcolm Bricklin founded Subaru of America in the celebrated automotive hotbed of Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania. Bricklin is the same wildcatter who later produced a gullwing-doored sports car bearing his name in New Brunswick, Canada, and later imported the much-vilified Yugo to these shores.

By the early 1990s Subaru’s automotive business was taking off, and the automotive division of Fuji Heavy Industries decided to build a halo car to take on BMW. Yes, the brand associated with all-wheel-drive economy cars, most of which were station wagons, conceived a plan to offer a Subaru that could be a German luxury coupe competitor. And while the car maker was at it, Subaru figured it might as well poach some Lexus SC sales and maybe a few Mercedes-Benz SL intenders.

Subaru’s secret weapon was the SVX, an angular design by Giorgetto Giugiaro whose resume includes the BMW M1, DeLorean DMC-12, and Maserati Bora. How could Subaru miss with Italian design, seating for four, a very plush interior, a responsive six-cylinder boxer engine, and all-wheel drive? And smaller, operable windows within its larger stationary windows, like the DeLorean and Lamborghini Countach? The car was aerodynamically sleek, with an impressive drag coefficient of 0.29.

Giugiaro’s initial concept made its debut at the 1989 Tokyo Motor Show. Response was enthusiastic, and the Alcyone SVX—the name a reference to the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster as seen on Subaru’s logo—entered production for the 1992 model year, looking very much like the original show car. In the U.S., the car was simply badged SVX (Subaru Vehicle X) for its five-year run.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came.

As it happened, the SVX didn’t really bring that star glow to the rest of the line. It was something of an orphan within its own family, having little in common with the more run-of-the-mill Legacy and Impreza models. One of the car’s perceived shortcomings was the fact it came only with a four-speed automatic transmission, Subaru not having a manual gearbox capable of handling the 3.3-liter engine’s 230 hp and 228 lb-ft of torque. But the real problem was that the SVX retailed for almost $10,000 more than any other Subaru despite rumors Subaru lost roughly $3,000 on each one. Those unsustainable economics led to the car’s cancellation at the end of the 1996 model year with no successor planned. Subaru sold a little more than 14,000 in the U.S. despite expected sales of 10,000 per year. Cars were sold Stateside into the following year as 1997 models.

The SVXs were uncommon, but they weren’t flamboyant in an exotic-car way, so the stir Subaru hoped to cause never really came. But that’s changing. Scott King and Sandy Edelstein own the SVX finished in Polo Green seen here. “It’s an intriguing car, different and weird,” King says. “You’re a celebrity when you drive this car. People have no idea what it is, and the Subaru badging just adds to the confusion.”

Their car is a top-of-the line 1996 LSi that still looks somewhat anonymous after all these years, though that rear spoiler seems to have lots in common with the configuration seen on the Lotus Esprit, another Giugiaro design. The exterior is pleasing and smooth but visually engaging, while the interior is absolutely sumptuous. The seats are upholstered in buttery beige leather, but there are also rich brown suede-swathed door and dash panels.

That six-cylinder boxer engine might foster Porsche thoughts, and driving an SVX does offer a solid, almost Stuttgartesque experience. The steering gives weighted assurance without any jitters, irrespective of road surface. It’s a pleasant car to drive, accepting of an active driver’s input or a more laissez-faire approach. It is quick enough, scooting from 0 to 60 mph in a tad more than 7 seconds and onward to a top speed of 154 mph (reduced to 143 mph via a speed limiter in post-1993 cars). Torque-split for U.S. market cars is up to 50/50 front/rear in low-grip situations and 90/10 in normal driving; Japanese versions were more rear-biased. A handful of front-wheel-drive SVXs were sold in the U.S. for the 1994-’95 model years in lower trim models as a cost-cutting measure, but the option was unpopular and discontinued after just two years.

Italian DNA: The SVX’s look was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro, who also penned the DeLorean DMC-12. Note the window-in-window feature and a sleek interior with hidden stereo system.

King and Edelstein bought the car from the original owners with just 53,000 miles on the odometer, and to most eyes it’s quite flawless. Edelstein, however, says it’s one paint job away from perfection. The SVX is best appreciated on highways and interstates, which is, after all, where grand tourers are meant to be. “It’s just a joy to drive, and you get a panoramic view you don’t get in any other car,” King says.

On a practical note, it has a big trunk with folding rear seats for trips to Home Depot. And even the window-in-widow design isn’t much of a hindrance. “We actually owned a DeLorean, and the SVX’s windows are much better for a drive-through restaurant. You can theoretically crawl out of it in an emergency.” Well, maybe if you have a 28-inch waist. With all that glass, it’s a literal comfort to hear King boast, “It has the coldest AC we had in any of our cars.”

The SVX is a rolling paradox. It is more than capable of providing the kind of enhanced driving experience associated with traditional prestigious makes, but its eccentricity is partially its charm. Today, it’s one of the better classic-car values going, and the odds of parking next to another one at cars and coffee are slim to none. With classic Japanese sports cars becoming ever more collectible, now is a great time to jump on the SVX bandwagon.

Living with the SVX

A positive aspect of SVX ownership is the active community of owners who keep each other posted on parts, service tips, and events. Mark Schneider, who lives in the Houston area, is one such enthusiast who runs the SVX Nation group on Facebook. His ’95 LSi had more than 189,000 miles on the clock when he bought it, and he immediately proceeded to use it on his 100-mile daily commute. He says he’s seen an SVX with 300,000-plus miles, one of 30 that showed up for the most recent national meet in Lafayette, Indiana, where Subaru builds the Outback, Legacy, and Impreza.

Schneider remembers being a child when a neighbor bought an SVX and—you could see this coming—“The windows blew me away. I was infatuated.” That love affair has blossomed now that he’s had a chance to spend quality time on the other side of those windows. “They’re just beasts on the highway,” Schneider says. “You can park it at 85 mph for thousands of miles. That’s its happy place.” Which is just what he did when he drove his car more than 2,000 miles to Lafayette and back.

The automatic transmission remains an image problem, but it can be a mechanical issue as well, especially on early production cars. There is, however, a solution that addresses both concerns: Remove it. Schneider fitted his SVX with a five-speed manual sourced from a later WRX. “The original intent and design precluded a manual,” he says, “but with one installed it’s a completely different animal and a hoot and a half to drive.”

As with just about any collectible, you are well advised to spend a bit more to get a well-cared-for example. Parts availability is getting to be problematic since there’s not a whole lot of interchangeability with lesser Subies. The throttle positioning sensor for a ’95 Legacy will set you back $55, and one for an SVX could be as much as $350. That said, SVX Nation is a great source if your local Subaru dealer isn’t. As Schneider notes, “A lot of the younger Subaru techs have no idea why this strange spaceship has rolled into the dealer’s service bay.” As a result, he urges new owners to find someone “who actually knows what it is” when it comes time to work on it.

The Market Perspective

With the SVX’s rarity and the uptick in general values for collectible Japanese cars, you might think that these sporty Subies have taken off in value. You’d be wrong; the market has remained virtually flat for the SVX, regardless of year or trim level. That means you should be able to find a solid example for well under $10,000. Start looking at the $5,000 price point to avoid bottom-feeder examples needing lots of overdue maintenance.—Rory Jurnecka

The Specs

ENGINE 3.3L DOHC flat-6/230 hp, 228 lb-ft TRANSMISSION 4-speed automatic DRIVE All wheel or front wheel SUSPENSION Struts BRAKES Discs WEIGHT 3,580 lb

The Info

MODEL YEARS 1992-1997 NUMBER SOLD 24,379 (globally, including 14,257 in U.S.) ORIGINAL PRICE (U.S.) $24,445 (’91 base SVX L), $36,740 (’96 SVX LSi) VALUE TODAY $3,900-$4,700*

*Hagerty average value (www.hagerty.com)

Source: http://chicagoautohaus.com/collectible-classic-1992-1997-subaru-svx/

from Chicago Today https://chicagocarspot.wordpress.com/2017/12/19/collectible-classic-1992-1997-subaru-svx/