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At the end of his career at Lamborghini, Luigi Marmiroli was invited to take part in a supercar project being launched in Japan. It could have been a unique opportunity for the Sant’Agata-based manufacturer, if the project hadn’t been blocked mid-way, ending up – as the engineer tells us – in the bottom drawer of broken dreams. Photos courtesy of Luigi Marmiroli Archive Towards the end of 1996, and at the end of my fantastic experience as Technical Director at Automobili Lamborghini, I was invited by the then-CEO to a meeting for the presentation of a unique supercar project: the ‘Aerosa’ by Japanese designer Nobuo Nakamura, president of Gigliato Japan. In addition to the project, those Italian-sounding names tickled my curiosity: Gigliato and Aerosa. I must say that a few years early in Lamborghini we had been enthusiastically working to try and design a car, which unfortunately did not come to fruition, to replace the Diablo, so that this would not be the only Lamborghini on the market: the P140, which I will describe to Speedholics readers in another article soon. Styled by Gandini, it could have been worthy of the line-up of the Urraco, the Jalpa and the Silhouette. Unfortunately, the project was sacrificed during the transfer of ownership from the US Chrysler to the Indonesian Megathec. After my job at Lamborghini, and returning full-time to my Fly-Studio in Modena - where I sought to maintain that raging bull imprinting - I thought that a partnership between Lamborghini and Gigliato could have been a solution to the problem of the Diablo as a single product. I set off for Japan, enjoying an unforgettable “full immersion” in the ancient Japanese culture as well as their modern industrial and technological world. In this respect, I must admit that I quickly learned to perform the “ceremony” of exchanging business cards... I must say that, thanks to my experience and background in Lamborghini, and Ferrari before that, all the doors opened for me, including those in the largest companies. And so, when I finally met Nobuo Nakamura, I realised how much talent he had expressed in the Aerosa and, beneath that typical Japanese veil of impassiveness there was that passion for supercars shared by Latin peoples. When I returned to Italy, also with the agreement of Lamborghini, I threw myself into a preliminary technical and financial analysis of the Aerosa with a view to a joint venture between Italy and Japan. The result was an incredible international partnership that was both challenging and fascinating. I had an underlying philosophy in mind: heading towards the end of the century, the world was becoming increasingly global, and this led me to think that supercars and racing cars were the ideal means for peoples of different nations and different cultures to share the same passion. This is why Gigliato Germany was set up in Dusseldorf, to oversee the economic management of the project, and an agreement was signed with the UK’s Lotus to supply their new-born TYPE 918 Twin Turbo engine. At the same time, agreements were signed with the Japanese giant Kobelco for the supply of extruded aluminium parts for the chassis, with the Italian company Tir for the body panels, and a Memorandum of Understanding was signed between Lamborghini Automobili and Gigliato. However, what I was most interested in was the creation of Gigliato Italy in Modena; for me it was a great honour to be appointed as the design, prototyping industrialisation manager for the whole project. We set up a workshop in the abandoned site where Lamborghini had produced its Formula 1 engines. I brought five Japanese engineers, CAD experts, to Modena and they worked at the design workstations along with some skilled local craftsmen with golden hands and brains who had already been involved in the local supercar world. Needless to say, the greatest difficulties lay in the communication between them. The Japanese spoke an incomprehensible English, while the Modena guys preferred to express themselves not even in Italian but in local dialect. Some rather embarrassing situations occurred in this Tower of Babel, but the enthusiasm of working on a new project, supported by a few glasses of Lambrusco, helped them to overcome all misunderstandings. But while I was looking forward to seeing the new Aerosa on the assembly line, alongside the Diablo, Lamborghini changed hands again and the project was ditched, and I had to file it in my drawer of broken dreams. A drawer that, alas, is already stuffed with many other wonderful unfulfilled dreams (and we will talk of these in the coming articles…), first and foremost that of the P140. An interesting fact: when the Aerosa was presented to the press in Tokyo (with the agreement of Umberto Agnelli, then Ambassador for cultural and commercial relations between Italy and Japan), above our heads there were three flags: the Japanese, the Italian and the German, reminding of the countries involved in the project. During my speech, it came naturally to me to refer to and distance myself from the infamous “Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis” signed during the Second World War. It is well known that this alliance led to huge disasters and infinite losses across the world and above all in Japan. Ironically, I assured the journalists present that, in contrast to the previous one, this new agreement would have led to a peaceful, common passion for supercars. But I got the impression that the historical reference didn’t go down well… I consoled myself with the thought that the audience, mostly young, must have deliberately cancelled that ugly page of history from their minds.

Early years 2000 was a busy period at Alfa Romeo's Centro Stile, its in-house design department. Not so much for the work load which was normal but because of many organizational changes which involved the entire Fiat Auto group, or, should we say Fiat-General Motors after the March 2000 alliance. Those mergers are always made in the name of efficiency and efficiency means cost-reductions achieved by synergies. Photo Courtesy of Italdesign and Stellantis Archives Synergy means reduction of the number of project and production related activities to the absolute minimum. In this way the development and production costs can, at least in theory, be spread over much larger number of the final products. The Marques, with all their peculiar characteristics acquired in time become mere Brands. There is no more any intrinsic character left in each brand cars as they all share the same components with others within the Group. There is only one “platform” for each size or market category. Same with engines, transmission, brakes, suspension, HVAC and all the components. The only “brand-characterization” is possible through styling and fine-tuning of shared components. The old, historical Italian brands like Lancia and Alfa Romeo have already went through this process when they were “absorbed” by Fiat in 1969 and 1986 respectively. At the time it seemed big and drastic changes and limitations because both makes had their own, established methods of working and their products had clear and distinctive characteristics. But at least in those years all the players were from the same northern Italy industrial area, with similar if not the same history and culture. There were differences but at least everybody knew each other pretty well. This time we were talking about merging not only with many car makes, all with their history and characteristics but also with different nationalities from different continents... That means not only different working methods but different cultures, different languages, even different time zones. At our Centro Stile all the current projects in different state of advancement had been suspended and radically reconsidered in view of the new realities. The old, well known synergies assumed a whole new meaning, we no longer had to share platforms and components with Fiat and Lancia but with a number of totally new brands like Opel, Vauxhall, Saab in Europe as well as Holden in Australia and, obviously, all the American brands of GM. General Motors has been one of the pioneers if not the inventor of employing synergies between numerous brands making part of their group so for us the main problem or at least a novelty was not so much the number of new platforms and components but a totally new way of project management. First of all their reference grid, a basic tool, necessary for spatial orientation within the project had different origin from the one we were used to. They were also using different CAD systems which meant changing hardware and software and learn to use it. All this long and apparently superfluous introduction is necessary to explain in what state of stress and often confusion all our project and design departments were in the early years 2000. All our current projects suffered big delays as they had to be reformulated on new platforms with all relative complications. Strangely enough the only project relatively immune to those complications was the concept Sportività Evoluta or Evolved Sportiness because it was already heavily based on the synergies with the Ferrari Maserati group which wasn't directly involved in the Fiat GM merger. Initially there were some attempts to consider the GM's Chevrolet Corvette platform as it was similar in typology of the vehicle and its dimensions but, fortunately, the “Italian” solution has been confirmed. All this peculiar and often confusing situation had resulted in a strange situation in which most attention and internal resources of our Centro Stile were focused on the secondary and decidedly a fun-project of the concept sports car. Apart from the usual restyling projects which for obvious reasons continued with the “old” system, this concept, thanks to its Ferrari Maserati based platform, was the only new car project that followed the usual and familiar all-Italian procedures. It was the mainstream, future range models like Alfa 156, 166 and 147 projects that suffered from all the changes, lack of clear decisions, accumulating delays. It was in this hectic times that we were all surprised with a new Alfa Romeo concept presented during the March 2002 Geneva Auto Show by Italdesign, the Brera. For many of us at Centro Stile it was perceived as a threat as it was clearly positioned as an alternative to our Sportività Evoluta concept. It had exactly the same, Ferrari Maserati based platform, drivetrain and general dimensions. There were no doubts for us that Giugiaro must have received detailed informations about the characteristics of our concept car project which was going on for quite some time already... Maybe somebody in the Fiat head quarters was becoming impatient and wanted to prove that it was perfectly possible to conclude a concept like this in a very short time? Anyway all the comments at Centro Stile Alfa Romeo about the new Brera concept were of “political” nature and generally negative. Personally, for me Brera was a surprise but in a different way. I was one of very few at Centro Stile not constantly involved in the Sportività Evoluta concept project and I was not particularly convinced it was evolving in the best way, in fact I clearly preferred the alternative scheme of a light, compact central engine sports car in the Tipo 33 Stradale spirit. Therefore, in a certain way, I wasn't emotionally involved in the dispute and I was looking at the Brera concept from a purely aesthetic point of view. And I must say I liked it from the first moment. It wasn't the overwhelming kind of liking, the one that amazes you at first but then gradually and inexorably fades away with time. I liked its general proportions, its non banal disposition of volumes and its simplicity and purity of lines. It was one of those designs that grows on you, that doesn't shout but gently invites a second look, then third... until you realize that the more you look at it the more you like it. It is a perfect example of what can safely be described as timeless design. I limit myself to analyzing only the exterior design aspects because I regard the interiors of both concept and the later production cars as non particularly interesting. I remember I started to gather images and dimensional data of Brera, it wasn't easy as internet wasn't very diffused yet and anyway it seemed it didn't have the press coverage it deserved. The image I liked most was a photo of the partial, work-in-progress stage of the classic Italian “figurino” of Brera on the drawing table of Giorgetto Giugiaro. It was a typical Italian School method of car design. This first, usually 1:10 scale “figurino” or a set of all views or, more precisely, orthogonal projections is subsequently completed with sections to become “piano di forma”, a true and complete 2D definition of the 3D object. This piano di forma serves to build a physical model of the future car. It is the same method I now teach the future designers at the Automotive Design master course at Polytechnic of Milan. I said I was gathering drawings and photos of Brera because, when it suddenly disappeared from Auto Shows, I decided to make myself a scale model of it. I guarantee you there is no better way to study a car's form than making a scale model of it, especially without a complete documentation because you have to recreate it yourself based only on photos and some partial dimensional data. I mentioned before that at some point Brera disappeared from public view, if I remember well, with an improbable excuse of having suffered a damage in transport... I was puzzled because any damage can be repaired and an independent design studio like Italdesign wouldn't easily give up on publicity generated from showing a concept car like that at different occasions for at least a couple of years. Initially somebody at Centro Stile was gladly convinced that this uncomfortable contender of our Sportività Evoluta had lost the contest and our proposal, named in the meantime 8c Competizione, was progressing safely and undisturbed... That was until we discovered that Italdesign was working hard on a totally new family of cars based on the new GM-Europe platform and based on the design of the Brera, that would eventually substitute both Alfa 156 and 166 cars... Here finally was the logical explanation of the “sacrifice” of the Brera concept car. Every automotive designer knows it is relatively easy to design a flashy sports car on a classic “thoroughbred” chassis with huge wheels, long low hood and a strictly two seat accommodation with barely any practical luggage compartment. The situation changes drastically when somebody asks you to apply the same design on a bulky front-wheel-drive, five passenger car with a full size boot. Or even worse when they ask you to make a two door, 2+2 coupe, as much as possible similar to the concept and even with the same name Brera, BUT... with the same long front overhang and relatively short and tall engine hood of the FWD sedan car... In this case the comparison is even more merciless. That's why they decided to hide the perfectly proportioned Brera concept car, to avoid any, certainly inconvenient confrontations... Anyway, in the Brera concept and in the subsequent 939 production project Giugiaro proved once again his professionalism. The Alfa 159 sedan and station wagon design granted these otherwise bulky cars with that unique Italian flair and made them resist very well the passage of time. The difficult, Machiavellian decision to suppress the Brera concept car in order to make everybody forget its thoroughbred proportions and accept the relatively compromised ones of the production car of the same name worked perfectly, both Brera coupe and its cabrio version were and still are very good looking sporty cars with undeniable Italian flavor. Only when you have a very rare occasion of seeing again the original Brera concept car, you realize the substantial difference in the proportions between it and the production car. We all know the production Brera is based on a totally different chassis architecture and that, as all the series production cars, it represents a compromise. And knowing the circumstances, it is a damned good compromise.

The result of an intimate and personal research, Giorgetto Giugiaro created an unconventional design that defied the rules of the time. And in fact, when it was unveiled at the Geneva Motor Show in 2002, the result was breath-taking. Twenty years on, SpeedHolics tells the story through an exclusive interview with its creator. Still Life Photography by Paolo Carlini (IG: @paolo.carlini.photographer) Black & White Photography by Alessandro Barteletti (IG: @alessandrobarteletti) Video by Andrea Ruggeri (IG: @andrearuggeri.it) With the collaboration of GFG Style, Italdesign, 939Privilege.club Giorgetto Giugiaro’s hand caresses the side, lightly touching the lines and following the shapes, moving confidently around the form of one of the most extraordinary automotive sculptures made in modern times. He suggests a very precise perspective, around three quarters along the back left-hand side. “Come here. Can you see that? It’s the only line that starts at the front and finishes at the back. It turns here and fades out in the centre of the rear window.” Then, looking at the front bumper: “This edge should have been sharper. It doesn’t stand out much like this.” And then at the front: “There’s no cut here, otherwise we would have had to put a joint there, and another one there…”. Giugiaro's thoughts and words travel at the speed of light as he gives me a tour of the Alfa Romeo Brera Concept: pure sculpture, and exactly twenty years after it was presented at the Geneva Motor Show in March 2002, we are standing in front of the only one ever built. We are in Moncalieri, just outside Turin, at the GFG Style, the company founded in 2015 with his son Fabrizio. This is the home to some of the cars designed in over sixty years in the business: scale models, mass produced cars and prototypes tell of the story and genius of this man, class of 1938, who boasts seven honorary degrees, five Compasso d’Oro prizes - the one in 2004 thanks to the Brera - and is universally recognised as Car Designer of the Century. click to watch the video Every contour of the Concept shows how, in the early 2000s, Giugiaro performed a small but great miracle. He ignored all the sterile rules of marketing, went beyond the laws of the market and withdrew into an intimate, personal research. And in that place of the soul, he found the inspiration to shape the silhouette of a work that is as contemporary as it is classic, and this is why I prepare for the interview, not a discussion of technical and style solutions but a chance to listen to his way of feeling and seeing things. “I would call the Brera Concept the result of a purely egoistic process, because at the ripe old age of sixty-four, I wanted to create something personal, something that would please myself. And what came out was a declaration of love for the brand I owe everything to: Alfa Romeo.” The Brera lines are original, seen for the first time, but somehow when you look at them you know that you are certainly looking at an authentic Alfa Romeo. “These is no specific formula, some things are like you, they come from your past and your experience. In these cases, inspiration is a kind of magic, being able to propose the simple lines that mark the physiognomy of a brand in a new way.” And as we know, Giugiaro is the designer who more than anyone personally contributed to defining the style and stylistic features of the Alfa Romeo in modern times. He didn't have to study the past to interpret the future, because that past was a part of him, he was its author and creator. Mentioning this to him triggers a chain reaction of anecdotes that take his mind back to the late Fifties. The start of his career. “I was just a kid, twenty years old, I worked for Fiat but I had attended an illustration course and that was where I wanted to go. One day, at the Turin Motor Show, a friend introduced me to Bertone, who, finding out what I did, told me to take him some of my works. So I went, and he gave me the drawing of the Alfa Romeo 2600 chassis and asked me to study something around it. I did a few sketches and he took a week to assess them. I was nervous, because I wanted to buy a new pair of skis and I hoped that the drawings could earn me some cash. In fact, he contacted me just three or four days later: ‘The drawings are fine, Alfa Romeo will make this car,' he told me”. The young Giorgetto hadn’t realised that Bertone would really have taken them into consideration, even showing them in Milan. “I was in seventh heaven, but at the same time I didn’t know what to do about my job at Fiat. Bertone asked me how much I earned, and I told him that my salary was 80,000 Lire a month. He offered me 120,000. I handed in my notice on the spot and Bertone hired me even though I had to leave shortly for military service. And that’s how the Alfa Romeo 2600 Sprint and my story with Alfa Romeo began.” Following on from this came the Giulia Sprint GT, prototypes like the Canguro and - with Italdesign - the Iguana and the Caimano, production cars including the Alfasud, Alfetta GT and Alfasud Sprint, up to the restyling of the 156, the Brera and the 159. “The advantage of an Alfa is that its badge is both particular and identifying: that’s all it takes to recognise one instantly. Yet at the same time it is traditionally a sporting vehicle with top-notch mechanics, and so designing its outer shell is always a huge responsibility. The far-from-easy mission is to be able to transfer all the interior substance to the exterior. The bodywork has to describe what is under the bonnet.” And this is why Giugiaro chose such top pedigree mechanics for his Brera. “I wanted it to be a step above what had been seen until that time, so I worked on a platform that could mount a longitudinally positioned V8 engine.” Lifting the bonnet in carbon fibre, the material used for the rest of the car too, we discover a four-litre Maserati engine capable of providing maximum 400 horsepower. The red intake manifold and the sophisticated design of the engine compartment make the eight-cylinder engine look like a beating heart, nestling among what seems to be a constellation of precious stones. In fact, these are refined milled aluminium caps through which the fluids are topped up. The front-centre position of the engine, further back and positioned inside the axle, gave the designer full freedom in the design and proportions of the front, which for the first time - and perhaps involuntarily - showed that family feeling of the mass-produced Alfa Romeos from 2005 onwards. “Talking about the front headlights, I decided to include the three lights in what seems a slit in the bodywork. My aim was that, moving around to the side, the headlights disappeared from view and the slits seemed like air intakes. Yet another way of highlighting that sporty aggressive feeling the car has to give.” And then the doors, with their monumental dimensions, that open upwards: a solution as spectacular as it is practical. “Imagine having to open them in the traditional manner, in a tight parking space it would be impossible to get out of the car.” Contrary to what many might think, Giugiaro’s approach to a new project is always very pragmatic. “Above all today, young people start from a sketch, but how can you design a car like that? You have to start from reality, this is why I never get carried away by my visions, I prefer to define all the limits set by the project first: I have never wanted to mislead my clients with something that is unachievable. For me, you start with the maths. I’m talking overall dimensions, driveability, how far the engine protrudes, how the wheels jolt. First of all, I fix these points, and only once I have joined all the dots creativity comes into play.” Giugiaro has often defined himself a connoisseur of detail and balances, and the Brera certainly didn't betray this vocation. “This is an exercise that starts way back. Like an athlete training every day, the designer repeats an idea, a concept, an intuition, and improves its performance every time. This is how you achieve the sensitivity to the equilibrium of shape and the proportion of volumes. The Brera was born at a time when things had to be simple, because cars are like certain songs: when they’re too complicated, you just can't get into them. Other simpler songs hit you the first time you hear them.” And that is precisely what the Concept did: acclaimed by the critics and press alike at the 2002 Geneva Motor Show, its presence made it an instant classic. And indeed, shortly afterwards, Alfa Romeo found itself having to translate it into a production car, and in 2005 the Brera was on the manufacturer's price list. A long and tough road, which in the Biscione tradition has one precedent: the Montreal, presented as a prototype at the 1967 Expo in Canada, was so applauded that it became a production car just three years - and many compromises - later. Giugiaro recalls: “You could immediately see how the public and the experts didn’t want my work to end there, they wanted to see it develop. I was really pleased about that, but I had never thought of it as a production car. I hadn’t worried about the type-approval, the costs or the production and moulding criteria. For instance, the shape of the glass I had designed didn't allow the window to slide down into the door. Or the front, made in a single piece: if you make a prototype that’s fine, but if you have to mass produce the car it has to be split into several pieces. These are all adaptations which can be done without upturning the essence of the design. When I saw the end result, however, the story of the human face came to mind. We all have eyes, eyebrows, a nose, a mouth: they have been shaped like that for thousands of years, slightly different from one person to another, and that’s what makes us unique in a billion different combinations. But when certain proportions appear, we become beautiful, attractive, as if by magic. It’s the same with a car: it takes just a few minor differences to create, or upset, a perfect balance. And in my opinion this is what happened when the parameters and measurements of the prototype were changed to mass produce the Brera.” In Alfa Romeo and Giugiaro’s past, there are cars with the most improbable names. Female names, names inspired by the animal kingdom, or those that taken straight from the design number. But Brera has nothing to do with all this. “Brera is an area in Milan, so it pays homage to Alfa Romeo, which was born there, but it is particularly a district that, in the collective imagination, brings to mind a concept of art, sophistication and culture. I think that overall a car is something extremely fascinating: it’s a joy to see its mechanics, or what sheet metal solutions were adopted, as if it was a sculpture.” Giugiaro pauses for a moment, and looks towards the room where all his cars are kept. “I must admit: I like to think that a car, the result of human creativity and talent, can be considered a work of art.”

Photo by Tim Scott - Scott Photo Co. (IG: @scottphotoco) THE TRIP TO WILDWOOD, NJ Thursday, June 8th, 2017 awoke to glorious sunshine and I was beyond excited about the trip to Wildwood in the hot rods. Mr. Carter Cook had arrived, introductions were made, and Dick DeLuna’s Salinas Special was loaded into the trailer for Carter to drive at The Race of Gentlemen. I made the trip down in Jon’s coupe so that I could get shots of Ken’s car. When you see a Rolling Bones car you immediately know that it is a Rolling Bones car. They look fast and mean, and I was honestly expecting it to be a very long day of super loud engine noise and kidney testing jolts, especially on the New Jersey highways. Now, I’m not going to say that riding in the hot rods was a Cadillac-like ride, but the cars were so well built and engineered that I very quickly forgot that I was in a one-of-a-kind car built using technology that was over seven decades old and instead could completely just enjoy the fact that we were cruising down the interstate at 80-90 miles an hour. Ken had recommended that I wear ear plugs, not for the engine noise, but for the wind noise as these cars are strictly air-conditioned by Mother Nature. It is amazing to be cruising down the highway in hot rods that you’ve seen and have only dreamed about riding in. The look on people’s faces as we drove by varied from scowls to very enthusiastic thumbs-up and everything in between. The enthusiastic reactions far outnumbered the scowls, and I was really wondering how many accidents had been caused by some idiot trying to drive while using his phone to get a photo or video to put on his social media feed. With a stop for gas and a stop for lunch and by the time my adrenaline had come down to more human levels we were pulling in to Wildwood, NJ. THE RACE OF GENTLEMEN Suffice it to say that the Race of Gentlemen is a story in itself but I’ll share a bit of what it was like hanging out with the crew during the three days of TROG so you can get a small sense of what it was like. In a word, family. Now this isn’t a 1950’s TV version of a warm and cuddly family. It’s a slightly dysfunctional, don’t-make-me-pull-this-car over kind of family. The kind of family that has great debates, differing points of view and shows its love and acceptance by giving you a hard time kind of family. It’s great to have an opinion but you better be able to back it up kind of family. The kind of family that takes the good times and the bad and makes the best while all the time making memories that last a lifetime kind of family. It was an honor to be a part of this small family for the few days I was there. The days were pretty much meet for breakfast to start the sh!t talking followed by heading down to the beach to be a part of the race. Lining up in the Rolling Bones cars in the line heading to the beach for the races felt kind of like hot rod royalty. The evenings were always entertaining as the crew and other friends of the Bones gathered to make the nightly pilgrimage to whatever restaurant was chosen for the evening’s sustenance and vocal recollections of the day. There were four Rolling Bones cars and drivers at The Race of Gentlemen for the event: Ken Schmidt and his three window 1933 Ford coupe “591”; Jon Suckling and his and his 193; Ford “The 232 Roadster”; Carter Cook who was driving Mr. Dick DeLuna’s 1934 Ford “606c Salinas Special”; Drew Garban who was driving the Rolling Bones 1932 “575” while his car is being built. While Jon, Carter and Drew made as many runs down the sand on day one as possible Ken took one for the team and stayed in the spectator area to meet the fans and sell copies of the Rolling Bones book the Book of GOW. There were huge smiles all around, racers and spectators alike, and the sights and sounds of vintage racing had me smiling like a crazy man all day long. Day two of TROG was a big one for the Rolling Bones as Ken was tasked with setting up and running the bracket races. To say that the people racing at TROG were competitive would be an understatement. To make a long story short the Rolling Bones cars made a beautiful showing of themselves ultimately with Carter driving Mr. DeLuna’s coupe to win in the V8 class. It was a glorious day all around. ROLLING BACK TO NEW YORK I can’t speak for everyone else but after three days of racing, heat, sun and sand I was exhausted. Knowing that we still had the ride back to the Barn was just icing on the cake on a week that I had looked forward to for a long time. For the trip back I rode with Ken so that I could get some shots of Jon’s car as we travelled north. One thing I can say about Ken, he LOVES this stuff. When we were on the New Jersey turnpike every time we would come through the toll booth you knew that on the other side, he was going to hit that gas pedal hard and let that Y-Block powered piece of art show you just what it was built for. Each time I would look over and see Ken with a grin on his normally very controlled face as his inner 19-year-old self-celebrated the joys of wheels, steel and speed. So, what do I remember most from this adventure? That’s a tough question and I’m sure that the answer will vary as time passes. Spending time with the guys that call themselves the Rolling Bones was a pleasure. People like this are what this world needs more of. People with skills, talent and a point of view that they live for. While they are well known for what they do they haven’t fallen into the traps of “success” but remain welcoming, honest and true to themselves. To the other members of the Rolling Bones family, the people lucky enough to own a Rolling Bones built hot rod and the others of us that also love this stuff as much as they do that have been welcomed into the clan, thank you all for your kindness, your warm welcome and the memories that I’ll have for a lifetime.

Sometimes I dream of hot rods – a well designed and built coupe with that timeless essence and the delicate balance of rawness and finesse flying down an open road while the vintage flathead purrs its beautiful music as the scenery passes by in a blur. This may be the fantasy of a lot of people have as we daydream about things that we love. So, when Mr. Ken Schmidt of Rolling Bones fame kindly invited me into the inner sanctum to photograph the cars and shop and then ride down with them to the 2017 Race of Gentlemen there was no way I could say no. Photo by Tim Scott - Scott Photo Co. (IG: @scottphotoco) THE ROLLING BONES What can I say about the Rolling Bones that you don’t already know? Their cars and reputation for building one-off custom hot rods first came to my attention in the early 2000’s when a friend shared a video of the Bones and their cars driving across the country from their home in upstate New York to the hallowed salt flats at Bonneville where they would see just how fast these beautiful pieces of wheels and steel would fly across the salt. After a week of pushing for speed records driving back to New York at a measly 80-90 miles an hour probably felt like they were crawling. But regardless, these cars were meant to drive. And while they look amazing just sitting still they are in their prime habitat when the engine is pulling these works of art as fast as possible into the horizon. I met Ken and Keith, founders of the Rolling Bones, at the Grand National Roadster Show in January of 2017. I had seen them at previous GNRS shows but thanks to my good friend Mike Takagi a more formal introduction was made. Mike is an incredible illustrator and true artist and had “met” Ken and Keith on-line through their shared passion for art and hot rods. Ken and Keith welcomed us into the crew and immediately invited us to join them at “a small gathering in Burbank”, later that evening. Not really knowing where we were going or what was happening, we were directed to a dark driveway and a door by a small lot in Burbank. When we walked in, we were greeted by a collection of historic cars and memorabilia that that one only dreams about in testosterone fueled fantasies. A very kind, vivacious and passionate gentlemen named Tom McIntyre graciously welcomed the small group into his inner sanctum and shared his incredible stories of the cars in his collection and his love for all things automobile. It was an unforgettable evening. The following day I shared some of my images from the 2016 Race of Gentlemen at Pismo Beach with Ken and Keith and that was when I was kindly invited to visit the barn known as the Rolling Bones shop just outside of Saratoga Springs, New York. I had five months to plan for an adventure that so many people dream about but relatively few have the opportunity to experience. “As a photographer with a specific vision I shoot film. This is a creative choice for me as it best represents the vision I have and hope to share with my viewers. It’s also a challenging vision as it can be gear heavy and requires a commitment to the process. I shipped out two decent size boxes to New York a week before the trip. These boxes included a 4x5 camera made some time between 1910-1912 and a ridiculous amount of film. I also took along a Rolleiflex twin-lens camera, a Pentax 67 and a Nikon 35mm camera. Why so many cameras? Because every camera, lens and film combination has its own distinct look and perspective and I wanted to show a variety of perspectives to best convey how I experienced this trip.” THE BARN There is much lore about this old barn in upstate New York where incredible hot rods are born. Well, it is just that–an old barn–and that’s pretty awesome in itself. Coming from Southern California I was struck by just how green and beautiful the area was as we rolled up to the shop for the first time ever. Sitting just to the side of the barn under a small awning there stood two Rolling Bones builds that hot rod dreams are made of. The door was open, and we could hear the sounds of activity as we approached the door that had a small Rolling Bones metal sign hanging on the front. We walked into the shop and were immediately greeted by the sights and sounds of hot rod heaven. Some might even call it the ultimate man-cave. Surrounded by five Rolling Bones cars in various states of build I immediately wondered if any of the Rolling Bones might consider adopting me. Work stopped briefly as Ken, Keith and Matt came to welcome us to the shop and see if we brought donuts. There are three master builders known as the Rolling Bones. Mr. Ken Schmidt whom I affectionately call the Godfather, Mr. Keith Cornell, partner and builder extraordinaire and last but far from least Mr. Matt Schmidt, son of Ken and also a master builder. These three men work together on each and every project to collectively make some of the most beautiful hot rods I’ve ever seen. These cars are made to run, and run they do. Ken gave Mike and I a tour of the shop and it was everything I dreamed it would be with a combination of tools, dust, vintage parts and cars tucked into every nook and cranny. If heaven were a hot rod shop, I believe that it would look and feel a lot like this. There is so much history, so many stories and so much knowledge in this modest barn in the countryside in upstate New York that if those walls could talk there would probably be a lot of guys in a lot of trouble and one hell of a good book. So, how do you tell the story in a new way of a hot rod shop that has been talked about, photographed and shared for over a decade? This was my dilemma as I grabbed one of my cameras and started exploring this storied brand. “My goal with this story, both visual and written, is just to give you a glimpse from my perspective of what this experience was for me. There is no way to capture all that the Rolling Bones are, personally, professionally or even all that they have accomplished in their time working as the Rolling Bones. So, as you read and see images from my trip my best wish is that you could get just a taste of what I saw, felt and experienced with the Rolling Bones for a few days in June, 2017.” THREE DAYS TO THE RACE OF GENTLEMEN Preparation was fast and furious as cars were readied for the trip to Wildwood, NJ for the 2017 Race of Gentlemen. With three days to prepare the cars, as well as continue work on the builds in progress the shop was in constant motion. Well, with the exception of coffee and donut breaks, which I came to learn are vital to the creation of hot rods, the shop also seems to be a community gathering spot for neighborhood gearheads and people would randomly stop by just to talk hot rods and soak in some of the hot rod juju that seemed to flow from the barn. Stories are told, some true, some questionable, friends are made, and the builds go on. Two of the three days before we left for TROG it rained. And rained. And rained. I spent a lot of time inside just looking and listening, trying to take in as much as I could to remember and capture this experience. Matt and Keith constantly move around the shop focused and crafting incredible details at every corner of the builds in places that most mere humans will never even notice. Mr. Jon Suckling flew in from England to race his car 232b at The Race of Gentlemen and to see his coupe in progress. His new build was sitting at the very front of the garage and every time I turned around Jon was sitting there looking at every detail, curve and element of his car trying to keep his excited child-self in check as his mind saw what this car was going to be someday. It is already a work of art. There is no modesty or restraint in this build, yet there is a refined subtly and finesse that seems to be in every Bones creation. This car is going to be incredible. Ken, the godfather, seems to be everywhere and see everything. He knows what’s going on and is always there to make sure there are no corners cut or effort wasted in building the best hot rods in the world. Mr. Schmidt, as I’m sure he was known to his former students when he taught school is also a fine artist and you can see his eye for shape, form and detail in everything the Bones do. Ever the teacher, Ken took Jon aside and showed him how to shape the ribs of aluminum that would form the nose of his car. With a lot of good-natured ribbing Ken gave Jon the chance to experience a very small part of just how much work it takes to build something that ends up looking so perfectly simple. While Jon spent quite a few hours learning to shape these elements we were educated to the fact that this was not even a scratch on the surface of the work that it takes to build the nose-let alone the entire car. I can’t speak for Jon but knowing that I had had a small part in making something that was going on such an incredible build would be largely fulfilling and satisfying. A truly unique Rolling Bones build experience. On the day before we were to leave for New Jersey the sun finally revealed itself. As the day passed tires were checked, oil was changed, and details reviewed all in preparation for the trip to The Race of Gentlemen and the race on the beach to come. (To be continued...)

Experimentation is the distinguishing feature of the visionary Tuscan designer’s career. Among all his works, two particular projects focus specifically on aerodynamic research, two record cars born between the Fifties and Sixties: the 1956 Fiat-Abarth 750 Record and the 1963 Stanguellini-Guzzi Colibrì Drawings courtesy of Massimo Grandi When we talk of record cars, our thoughts turn instantly to a formal repertoire linked closely to that essential purpose of pure speed, just like aircraft, where everything is based on efficiency and nothing is expressed in its aesthetic dimension. But when the research into this efficiency reaches the highest levels of synthesis between form and function, when function, or rather functionality, reaches the limits of perfection, form is also expressed in all its coherent beauty. Talking in terms of aesthetics, how can we not admire the beauty, for example, of a 1943 Lockheed L-049 Constellation, the four-engine plane with a triple tail which is still considered today by specialised literature as one of the most elegant planes ever made: the sinuous main lines of the fuselage were designed to optimise aerodynamic penetration, but ended up representing one of the most characteristic elements of the plane, creating a simple yet sophisticated appearance with an elegant profile reminiscent of a grey heron in flight. These forms were not intentionally designed to be “aesthetic”, there was no research into beauty, but they were rather merely the response to technical specifications, created by adopting solutions based on the mathematical principles of aerodynamics. This is therefore a form of “mathematical beauty”, the aesthetics of “pure function”. In other words, when the shape reaches these levels of synthesis, it creates coherent beauty that is far from self-referential, super-structural or superfluous. And these considerations must also be applied to the world of cars designed to beat land speed records. Like aircraft, beyond the technical components such as the engine, chassis etc., the aerodynamic function of the external shape, the body, and therefore the design, is of fundamental importance. In car history, some designers have based their approach to design on aerodynamic research, the element used to build and define the form of their creations. To name but a few of the most important: Edmund Rumpler, Paul Jaray, Bell Geddes, Hans Ledwinka, Jean Andreau, Reinard Koenig, Ervin Komenda, Malcom Sayer, Giovanni Savonuzzi and Franco Scaglione. Throughout his intense yet unfortunately relatively short career, Franco Scaglione made aerodynamic research one of the pillars of his work. One particular example is his experimentation with Bertone on the BAT 5, 7 and 9 (respectively in 1953, 1954 and 1955). Among all his works, however, two in particular focused specifically on aerodynamics, and I refer to two record cars: the 1956 Fiat-Abarth 750 Record and the 1963 Stanguellini-Guzzi Colibrì. Fiat-Abarth 750 Record - In eleven years, between 1956 and 1966, the Abarth won a total of 113 international records on the Monza circuit, including 6 World Championships, with 11 different cars. Six of these were streamliners, designed and built specifically to beat track speed records. The first of these six was built in 1956, on a Fiat 600 chassis, adapted and fitted with a Fiat-Abarth 750 engine, and was designed specially to draw the attention of both the public and engineers to the skills of Abarth in developing Fiat-based models. Bertone was tasked with designing this special car. In this car, Scaglione’s creative flair and passion for aerodynamic science could be expressed to their full potential, as Abarth’s underlying objective was to reach the maximum possible speed with a specific engine power. A single-seater, its length-to-width ratio was optimal. Moreover, used only on the track, it was freed of all the possible regulatory constraints of a road car. The overall inspiration to similar German pre-war cars, for example the 1937 Auto Union Rekordwagen Type C, is clear, but the general solutions applied came strictly from the baggage and linguistic repertoire of Scaglione’s previous experiments on the BATs, starting from the large rear fin. With its polished aluminium body, the prototype presented at the Turin Motor Show in 1956 expresses all the harmonious elegance of the forms of Scaglione’s design work. In the first track tests, however, Abarth made substantial modifications to the design, shortening the tail, lowering the mudguard profile and perforating the fin to reduce the air pressure on the central fairing. For all this, the Fiat-Abarth 750 remains an example of the expressive power of a harmonious composition of pure beauty around an object of cold, objective determination to become a record car, superseded only by the subsequent 1963 Stanguellini-Guzzi “Colibrì”. Stanguellini-Guzzi Colibrì - This car, built on a chassis designed by Stanguellini and produced by the company "Gransport" in Modena, was initially supposed to be fitted with a Moto Guzzi "8C" 500 cm³ engine, which had been shelved a few years earlier when Moto Guzzi withdrew from world motorcycle racing. However, the costs of developing such a complex engine for a car, and the more advantageous advertising of the smaller engine, therefore led to the use of the single-cylinder, twin-shaft, air-cooled 248 cm³ racing engine developed by the motorcycle company from Mandello del Lario for the record attempt. We are therefore talking about an essential “machine” intended for pure speed performance. The displacement and the power output of just 29 HP are very small for a four-wheel vehicle, so everything was influenced by the lightness of the car and its aerodynamic profile. Scaglione’s studies and applications in the aerodynamics field have already been underlined, but here the essential technical and mechanical features blend marvellously with an equally essential and synthetic design, a sublimation of the form which adapts like a clinging veil placed delicately over the skeleton of the car, on the wheels, the driver’s cab, like Stefano Maderno’s marble veils covering St. Cecilia, which shape and outline the body beneath. They bring to mind the extraordinary forms of another record car, but which never had the chance to get on the track, the 1939 Mercedes T80. When we talk of aerodynamic profile, we must not simply refer to the profile of a car, but also its ability to penetrate the air, creating as little disturbance as possible for the streamlines moving along the surface of the body. The most aerodynamic shape is the elongated drop, and here this is taken to its most precise dimension, entirely in the roof, cut off at the rear to overcome the excessive length demanded by its proportions, in the fairing. Then, to increase the stability and load on the driving axle, the rear of the fairing was squashed to minimise the turbulence generated by the K-tail, almost taking on the shape of an authentic downforce spoiler. To understand the size of this perfect synthesis between aerodynamic research and shape modelling even better, we should think only of the 1956 Guzzi Nibbio II. The forms of the Guzzi Nibbio are undoubtedly aerodynamically functional, and the speed records bear witness to this, but they still bear the signs of the classic, compact wing profile of the 1940s/50s, even if “enhanced” by the long, shaped rear tails/spoilers. If we compare the main lines of the two cars, we can see how the Colibrì has a completely different architecture, more similar for example to the 1960 BlueBird Proteus CN7. Today we would call the design minimalist and strictly functional, but precisely because of these essential forms and succession of curves and sinuous lines it seems to evoke the language of bio-design. The Colibrì has a “natural” shape, drawn only by the wind, yet it is moulded to levels of disconcerting harmony and beauty. The careful profiling and structural lightness of the "Colibrì” helped the drivers Angelo Poggio and Pietro Campanella to win 6 world class middle-distance records on 9 October 1963, on the high-speed track on the Monza circuit. -- Massimo Grandi, architect and designer, previously director of the Car Design laboratory at the Design Campus of the Department of Architecture at the University of Florence. Member of the ASI Culture Commission. Among his published works: “La forma della memoria: il progetto della Ferrari Alaspessa”, “Car design workshop”, “Dreaming American Cars”, “Ferrari 550 Alaspessa: dall’idea al progetto”, “Quando le disegnava il vento”, “Il paradigma Scaglione”, “La più veloce: breve storia dei record mondiali di velocità su strada” (with others). Some of the drawings in this article were taken from the following publications: M. Grandi - “Quando le disegnava il vento”, ASI libreria, Turin 2012 M. Grandi - “Il paradigma Scaglione”, ASI libreria, Turin 2016 G. Genta, M. Grandi, L. Morello - “La più veloce”, ASI libreria, Turin 2017

The Lamborghini men had some amazing adventures during the first, top-secret tests on the Diablo prototype. Years later, Luigi Marmiroli recalls what incredible lengths they had to go to, to avoid the lenses of the photographers chasing a scoop. Photos courtesy of Luigi Marmiroli Archive As explained in previous articles, I was hired by Automobili Lamborghini with a mission: to design a new supercar to replace the legendary but now obsolete Countach. Having studied all the designs of my illustrious predecessors, engineers of the calibre of Bizzarrini, Dallara, Stanzani, Alfieri, and having met the founder himself, Ferruccio Lamborghini, I threw myself whole-heartedly into the P132 project, the future Diablo. The first thing I did was send the mechanical layout of the car to two of the most important stylists of the period: Giorgietto Giugiaro and Marcello Gandini. Traditionally, at any car manufacturers the burden and honour of the choice of style lay with the shareholder. And Patrick Mimran, the young shareholder, with all my support and approval, chose Marcello Gandini. I think readers will be pleased to see Gandini’s first P132 rendering, which he kindly dedicated to me. In April 1987, the P132 prototype was rolled out into the factory courtyard for the first time, for the tests on the road and in the wind tunnel. And no-one could have imagined that the moon could have influenced the development of the design...! Episode One: the real moon. The news that Lamborghini was working on a new prototype had reached the press, and outside the factory gates we began to see photographers with their telephoto lenses, trying to steal a few shots and be the first to publish a photo of the new car. Today, specially designed skins are applied to the bodywork to completely hide the shape of the car. But at that time, they didn’t exist, and we decided to paint the P132 in an anonymous “mousy grey” colour and add improbable air intakes using adhesive tape. We had also decided to do the road tests at night: both to hide the prototype from prying eyes, and to avoid any speeding fines, as it was fundamental to test a high-performance car at high speed. Not far from Sant’Agata, there was a petrol station on a long straight road, and at night it was closed, but kept a few dim lights switched on. It immediately became our control and support base. I remember perfectly how, in the dark, you could hear the roaring engine in the distance, and then suddenly when the grey car flashed past the station it caused a huge thrill. The test driver was almost always Valentino Balboni. One night, in the car with him was an engineer from the ‘Esperienze’ department who was recording the vehicle data. Suddenly, the – clearly still experimental – electrical system broke down, and the car, at high speed on a rather narrow road, found itself with no engine and no headlights. Luckily, there was a bright full moon that night, and Valentino was able to stop the car without hitting any ditches, bollards or trees. So, the moon saved Valentino, the engineer and the newborn P132 prototype. Episode Two: that same moon brought us luck. Obviously, I was anxious to test the aerodynamics of the P132 in the wind tunnel. The nearest tunnel to the Lamborghini factory was at Pininfarina in Turin, but I thought we should avoid that one because Ferrari used it for both their competition and road cars: I was worried that the results could fall into the hands of Ferrari, potentially our competitor. So I decided to go to the St Cyr tunnel in Paris. To save money and keep things under wraps, we decided not to appoint a professional haulier but to transport the prototype ourselves. So we put the prototype on a trailer. Of course, we covered it with a waterproof canvas, and used polyurethane blocks to make the cargo unrecognisable. Then we hitched the trailer to my company car, without thinking that its front-wheel drive wasn’t suited to towing a heavy trailer. And we realised this immediately, when one Sunday morning we set off for Paris. There were four people in the tow car, all involved in the tests in the wind tunnel. I was half asleep in the back, and as we were driving along the A1 motorway near Parma, a terrible thing happened. I woke up with a jolt as the convoy, heading north, suddenly found itself in the fast lane, but heading in the opposite direction. The prototype on the trailer was resting heavily against the guardrail, but luckily was undamaged thanks to the polyurethane masking. All four of us in the car were unscathed, but our hearts were pounding, and we were terrorised by the thought of a truck coming at high speed towards us, which would have caused an inevitable and disastrous head-on collision. With a cool head, the driver did a U-turn to face the right direction and move onto the hard shoulder, as many cars continued to fly past. We were all safe, us and the prototype. A miracle. The only problem was that the drawbar on the trailer had broken: we fixed it and set off once more for Paris. However, at speeds of more than 50 km/h, the convoy would sway awfully, and we were worried that we would find ourselves in that same dangerous situation we had narrowly escaped. At that speed, it took us a whole day to get to Paris. Our nerves in tatters from the hazardous journey, and worn out, we were welcomed by a Frenchman, whose words I will never forget: “Les italiens sont toujours en retard”. The Italians are always late. I didn’t even have the strength to retort. However, immediately afterwards, the positive aerodynamic tests made me forget the fatigue and fear of the journey. But in any case, I took the plane home.

At dawn on an August day, forty-six years ago – 1976 – the French film director Claude Lelouch (author of “A Man and a Woman”) grappled with one of the craziest, most controversial and extraordinary attempts at motoring cinema. Original title: “C’était un rendez-vous”. This is the story of a man running from his woman. Pictures © Les Films 13 Archive A modern story, one of wild and reckless romanticism. A subjective sequence shot, eight-and-a-half minutes’ long, covering ten kilometres through the streets of Paris, in a car at ultra-high speed: "The film was made without any tricks and is not speeded up," reads the initial warning. Without any stops, not even at a red traffic light, up to the steps leading to the “Sacré-Cœur”. A beautiful blonde girl appears, the only face seen in the whole film. The man gets out of the car, enters the frame and a still image freezes their embrace. The girl is Gunilla Friden, ex Miss Sweden and semi-finalist in the 1968 Miss World competition, at that time French director Claude Lelouch’s fiancée. The instructions were clear: “Wait at the bottom, and run up the steps as soon as you hear the sound of a car,” Lelouch told her, with no further explanation. The only accomplice in this crazy adventure was Élie Chouraqui, the director’s assistant, who stood at a crossroads where there was not enough visibility. Using a walkie talkie, he was supposed to inform the driver if there were any pedestrians or other obstacles. But, as Lelouch himself later declared, the radio transmitters were faulty and there was no way of communicating during the shoot. “C’était un rendez-vous” (“It Was a Date”) was shot with a single camera mounted on the front bumper of a Mercedes “450SEL” 6.9 to obtain the subjective frame. The car, the director’s own, was considered suitable for the job because of its smooth chassis and the automatic transmission, which guaranteed the necessary stability and progressivity during the shoot. A second lap with Lelouch’s Ferrari “275 GTB” was needed to record a more alluring sound, which was superimposed over the original during post-production. Doing the maths, it is estimated that it took just over eight minutes to cover the 10.6 kilometres, travelling at an average speed of 80 kilometres an hour. But beware: this is an average, because legend has it - and the film confirms - that in some stretches the driver reached speeds of up to 140 kilometres an hour. Out of respect for the traffic rules, the contents compromised the dissemination of the film. It was screened only a few times, unexpectedly, during the interval in other films: anyone who had seen it had something to boast about. Very poor-quality pirate videos cost more than 50 dollars, if you were lucky enough to find one. And then came the Youtube era, and in 2003 attempts were made to get hold of the original film and make a DVD. Years later a remastered Blu-Ray limited edition was released. Today, both have become a real collector’s pieces, very hard to find and very expensive. For years, rumour had it that Lelouch had hired a Formula 1 driver for his escapade. “I was at the wheel; it was my film, and I took on all the risks and responsibilities,” the director later confessed, without every really convincing the film’s fans. “After the film was shown for the first time, I was summoned the police chief in person. He read me an endless list of violations, gave me a hard stare and asked for my documents. He had promised his superiors that he would take my licence away, but didn’t actually say for how long. In fact, he looked at it for a moment and then handed it back to me, with a huge smile on his face. Dismissing me, he told me that his children loved my film”. Forty-four years later, in 2020, the year of the pandemic, Lelouch attempted what has been defined as the “remake” of his famous short film. Title: “Le Grand Rendez-Vous” (see the video here). This time the starring role was played by the Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc, at the wheel of an SF90 Stradale on the streets of the Principality of Monaco, with Price Albert II in the passenger seat. Waiting for them, playing a florist, is Rebecca Blanc-Lelouch, Claude and Gunilla Friden’s granddaughter, just to underline the shrewd connection to the 1976 “Rendez-Vous”. The 2020 edition was filmed during the time the Monaco Grand Prix was due to be held, involving a crew of seventeen people equipped with six iPhones, nine GoPros and a camera. To support the Ferrari SF90 (two of them were used), a team of six mechanics and engineers came over from Maranello. These numbers, and a story that cannot be described exactly as brilliant, are enough to understand that this was a completely different matter. A six-minute “short” that was unable to thrill the fans like the 1976 original did. It was a commercial operation, but above all an “official” one: and today, this is what makes Lelouch’s first crazy and “illegal” race an even more legendary and unrepeatable exploit.

In the Soviet Union and the better part of Eastern Europe, hundreds of millions of people were living under communist terror, in the world where the car market was nonexistent or state-controlled and where listening to western radio stations playing the newest rock and roll records could land you in jail. If you think owning a Mustang in those places would be unimaginable and impossible, you are right. Still, there was a place in the communist universe where new Mustangs were cherished cars just like in the imperialist, western world. Photos courtesy of Vukasin Herbez Archive The history of the Ford Mustang has been a popular topic amongst automotive historians and journalists. After all, despite being one of the definitive 60s cars, Ford's bestseller introduced a completely new segment to the market, abandoned typical American styling of the period, and embraced compact dimensions, sporty image, and youthful appeal, which very few cars actually had back in the early 60s. Its enormous success was a surprise even to Ford's executives but showed just how sound the original idea was. Offer elegant European-inspired styling with a V8 engine, an enormous list of optional extras, and a base price of only $2.368 was the recipe that earned Mustang the place in history as one of the most successful new car releases ever. No wonder that it took Ford just a year and a half to make million Mustangs and that by 1973 and the end of the first generation, Ford managed to sell amazing 2.9 million copies. The global popularity of the Mustang is also well documented, like its racing success. The Detroit pony was raced practically all over the world, from New Zealand and South Africa to 24 Hours of Spa and 1000 Kilometers of Nürburgring, not to mention its dominance in domestic SCCA and Trans Am championships of the late '60s. Along with the appearance in some of the most popular movies of the decade, Mustangs were driven by celebrities and featured in songs by the top artists. It looked like Ford had indeed conquered the world and, for the first time after the Model T, delivered the equally understood, loved, and accepted product in Buenos Aires and Brussels, in Manilla and Milan. However, people tend to forget that for most of the 20th century, the world wasn't a "global village" as it is today. A significant part of it was behind the "Iron Curtain", tightly controlled by autocratic communist governments, rigid political doctrines, and lack of free will. In the Soviet Union and the better part of Eastern Europe, hundreds of millions of people were living under communist terror, in the world where the car market was nonexistent or state-controlled and where listening to western radio stations playing the newest rock and roll records could land you in jail. If you think owning a Mustang in those places would be unimaginable and impossible, you are right. Still, there was a place in the communist universe where new Mustangs were cherished cars just like in the imperialist, western world. This place was the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, an interesting country in Eastern Europe that was one of the rare bright spots in the rather gray and dull communist regime. Before disintegrating in the bloody civil war in the early '90s, Yugoslavia was an open and modern country, economically more oriented to the West while retaining a communist political system. In such a unique climate, Yugoslav citizens could enjoy Hollywood movies and wear Levi's jeans without fear of oppression but still lived in a tightly-controlled society where the communist party was the only political option. Mixing consumerism and communism had a tremendous effect on local car culture. While state-owned car company Crvena Zastava (Red Flag) produced the Yugoslav version of Fiat 600, president Josip Broz Tito's motorcade was filled with Cadillacs. Yugoslav cities were packed with all kinds of cars, including a fair amount of American machines used mostly by companies and government officials. While in other communist countries, owning a car was considered almost a bourgeois act, in Yugoslavia, it was encouraged by affordable loans, domestic brands, and expanding road network. Yugoslav car fans were aware of the new Ford model when the Mustang was released in 1964. Mainly through movies like "Goldfinger" or French classic "Gendarme From St Tropez" but pretty soon by seeing them with foreign plates driven by tourists on Adriatic Riviera or by Yugoslav ex-pats coming for a visit home. Seeing a Mustang on Yugoslav roads must have been a pretty impressive and unexpected sight back in the mid-'60s in a country where the majority of vehicles were economy cars. The initial popularity of the Mustang in Yugoslavia was aided by the legendary Liege-Sofia-Liege rally, which consisted of 5000 kilometers through Europe, from Belgium to Bulgaria and back. Several stages of this tough road-racing event were driven through Yugoslavia, giving local fans a chance to see Detroit's pony in its element, running through the back roads, filling the air with dust and intoxication rumble of legendary 289 cubic inch V8 engine. Those evens enjoyed a fair amount of local media coverage, emphasizing young Jackie Ickx and his winning 1966 Mustang. It is hard to tell who owned the first Mustang on Yugoslav plates, but the first cars were privately imported soon after the official European premiere. In those days, importing a new vehicle in Yugoslavia was a costly, complicated, and time-consuming affair since the Yugoslav state was protective of its industry. Still, apparently, in 1965, one dark blue, six-cylinder coupe was registered in Novi Sad and immediately became the talk of the town. In those days, the general importer for Ford vehicles was a state-owned company called "Interkomerc," which was surprised by the interest of the potential buyers. In 1964, the Yugoslav government started significant economic reforms designed to open the market, raise the standard of living and attract foreign investors, which by 1966 showed the first results. Suddenly, there was a small but influential and well-to-do class of people hungry for a hot new sporty coupe with a seductive name, powerful engines, and sexy image. That is why, by the end of 1966, Interkomerc had announced that starting from 1967, Ford Mustang would be offered to Yugoslav buyers and that Yugoslavia would be the first (and only) communist country where this was possible. The official presentation was held in March 1967 at the Belgrade Motor Show, where the newly redesigned Mustang was the centerpiece of Ford's booth and generated an enormous amount of interest. As expected, Mustang was very expensive for the average Yugoslav citizen since the draconian fees of almost 120% over base price were added. However, that high price wasn't a problem for sixteen people who bought brand new Mustangs on the spot. In an effort to promote the tourist potential of Yugoslavia, state-owned travel company "Putnik" bought 18 brand new Brittany blue, six-cylinder coupes for its rental car branch and sent them to all major cities and tourist destinations. In a few short months, communist car fans fell in love with one of the prime examples of the American car industry. But Mustang's popularity has just started, and on the 1968 Belgrade Motor Show, twenty-five people decide that they want to spend their hard-earned dinars on brand new Mustang. The Mustangs started being featured in Yugoslav movies, in commercials, and in magazines. They have greeted the foreign tourists in front of hotels and photographed for brochures. Putnik rental agency even sponsored a popular traveling music festival called "Pesme Leta" (Songs of Summer) and gave several Mustangs to music stars to drive across Yugoslavia. Even the Yugoslav pageant for Miss Europe contest used one of those Mustangs to travel to neighboring Italy. The popular legend from those days states that Yugoslav Mustangs had been so impressive to car enthusiasts from the region that they traveled to Yugoslavia, rented the cars, switched the license plates, and tried to smuggle them back to their countries in which owning such vehicles (or any car for that matter) would be unimaginable. In one of the first big football transfers in Yugoslavia, perspective football player Džemaludin Mušović moved from FK Sarajevo to Hajduk Split in Croatia. In this well-publicized transfer, he was paid an astronomical 36 million dinars. Young football player spent about half of that on brand new and bright red 1968 Mustang coupe, which he used to cruise around the coastal town of Split. Even though almost all of those cars were base, six-cylinder models, their appeal was fantastic, and very soon, Mustangs were well-known all over the country. By the late '60s, the number of Mustangs on the Yugoslav streets grew, and private imports from West Europe started pouring in. Some of them were German-spec, Ford T5, which Ford used in Germany until 1978 because a truck manufacturer owned the name Mustang. Amongst those imports, V8-powered cars were a popular choice, and some people even imported big-block models like S-Code 390 V8, and a few Mach Is. Unfortunately, there isn't any information about ultra-rare Boss 302/429 or Shelby models registered in ex-Yugoslavia. By the early '70s, Mustang's popularity veined a bit along with the final restyle and the global oil crisis. Despite all of that, Interkomerc still offered the cars to the public, but Putnik rental agency decided to retire and sell its fleet. In 1974, the controversial Mustang II debuted, smaller and less powerful, but it was still officially offered in Yugoslavia and managed to find some buyers. For the rest of the decade, Mustang sales were slow, but the car's popularity remained strong, with more privately imported cars roaming the streets. In 1979, the Foxbody Mustang arrived as a fully-redesigned and re-engineered model. Interkomerc managed to sell twenty-one examples in Yugoslavia with a base 2.3-liter four-cylinder and optional 2.8-liter V6 engine. However, in 1981, Ford Europe decided to stop importing Mustangs for the European market, including Yugoslavia. Even then, few Mustangs somehow managed to find their way to Yugoslav roads, keep the name alive. If we wanted to put the exact number of how many Mustangs actually were in Yugoslavia, several hundred cars would probably be accurate, if not a conservative estimate. Since then, Yugoslavia met its tragic end in the civil war, and classic Mustangs were forgotten while the region's history was re-written. Most of the cars never survived, plagued with rust, negligence, and unenthusiastic owners. After a while, spare parts became a problem, depreciation had affected the value, and car enthusiasts turned to more modern and better-performing cars. Some were even lost in the civil war in Croatia and Bosnia. During the 80s, many Mustangs were crudely modified, V8 engines swapped for more economical powerplants, and some even had roofs cut to make a convertible. Of course, since then, the popularity of the Mustang as the classic car influenced car lovers from all ex-Yugoslav countries, so remaining cars were restored and dozens more imported. However, it is quite possible that somewhere in rural parts of one of seven countries born out of the demise of Yugoslavia, in some hidden garage, lies a forgotten classic Mustang waiting for a new generation of car enthusiasts. As one of the coolest and obscure chapters in the history of the Mustang, it would be very cool to find a proud American machine with the red star on the old license plates and communist passport.

In the year celebrating the 50th anniversary of the legendary Countach, I would like to send the traditional Happy New Year wishes to the readers of “Insights” and to all the “Speedholics”, with two documents that talk about the car and which in some way offer an analogy with our present... Courtesy of Luigi Marmiroli Archive The first document is a vintage greetings card printed by Automobili Lamborghini many years ago. As you can see, the wording is: “A good start to the new year”. This is perfectly suited to our times, wishing a quick start out of this unfortunate pandemic period. The second document, again relating to the Countach, seems to describe the current situation even better. It is an old Pirelli advert, filmed in the old city of Matera. A sudden, unknown disaster stops the Earth rotating around its axis. Panic spreads among all the inhabitants of the planet. But a lady, dressed in white, climbs into a splendid red Countach and drives it into a cave, placing the rear wheels on an uncovered portion of the globe. The power of the Lamborghini engine, and the perfect adherence of the Pirelli tyres, are able to set the Earth rotating again, and save the world. If we replace the planet at a standstill with that caused by Covid-19 and the Countach effect with the vaccine, the analogy is clear. So best wishes for a quick restart…

In the early Eighties, the sports sedan world was dominated by Maserati, and seen with significant interest by Ferrari. But in those years another attempt was made, by Colin Chapman, who chose the all-Italian creativity of Paolo Martin to give shape to his thoroughbred “four-door”. An extreme, pioneering project, interrupted by the sudden death of the British entrepreneur. Exclusively for SpeedHolics, the story is told in the words of the Turin-based designer. Photos Courtesy of Paolo Martin Archive The Lotus Four Doors was to be the most extreme of them all. In line with Colin Chapman’s philosophy, it would show off all its sporting spirit, and would be light, low and racy, much more than the Maserati Quattroporte that dominated a segment which – between the Seventies and Eighties – was watched closely also by Ferrari. As the Trident brand presented its third generation of sports sedans, Pininfarina created the prototype of the Ferrari Pinin, a 4.8-metre-long thoroughbred with the 12-cylinder, 5-litre and 365 HP engine of the 512 BB. It was presented at the Turin Motor Show in 1980, but was never put into production. Meanwhile, from the other side of the Channel Colin Chapman continued to make requests here and there to various stylists for a sporting four-door project. Paolo Martin’s design was deemed the best, but it remained on paper only after Colin Chapman’s sudden death following a heart attack on the night between 15 and 16 December 1982. What remains of this car are the renderings, the 1:4 scale model Martin made at Chapman’s request and the regret of a missed opportunity that would certainly have left its mark on the history of design. But what was so innovative about Paolo Martin’s Lotus Four Doors? And how did the Turin-based stylist beat the competition and convince Colin Chapman of the merits of his proposal? He tells us the story himself. A project that ended in tragedy, and which also began with some equally dramatic warning signs. “In 1979 I got in touch with Colin Chapman, the boss of Lotus in Coventry, when I found out that he intended to design and produce a four-door sports car in competition with Ferrari, which at that time was also planning to build the same type of car. I think he had also contacted other stylists, but in any case, he told me to submit a design to him. He didn’t want it to be anything less than what they could do at Maranello, and his Lotus had to have what it took to compete with Ferrari in that market segment. The car he had in mind was to be built on a very low chassis - no more than 1.2 metres high, which was really not much for a sports sedan. The biggest problem I had was sticking to the design delivery schedule. Fate had it that I fractured a few bones in a stupid domestic accident, falling on my side from a height of just one metre. It left me with five broken ribs, a shattered ulna and radius and a crushed hip, and it was impossible for me to work. I couldn’t move, but at the same time I couldn’t miss that opportunity. I had an orthopaedic bed set up in the lounge, bought a trapeze to keep me in permanent traction for 40 days and, with a specially built table, I began to work on the design, albeit with great difficulty (I fixed the sheets on the table with tacks and held the curved lines steady with my left arm in plaster, but they kept falling on the floor anyway). I did all the pencil drawings in this way, even the ones on red paper, a special card that was perfect for the alcohol-based paints and felt pens that were typical of that period, but which aren’t used anymore today. Chapman had no idea what had happened to me, and on the day set he came to visit me at home, you can imagine his surprise at seeing me in such a state. He probably thought that I wouldn’t have been able to do a good job, and that I would have presented him something rough and ready. “What are we doing here?” was the first thing he said. “Things that happen,” I replied, worried that he would have been upset and left. But he was a gentleman, and examined my drawings before he left. Two days later he asked me to make a 1:4 scale model. The first hurdle had been overcome. A while later Chapman came back to me to see the model, which was still in the rough stage, and together we corrected some minor details. He had come with two of his staff, and as you can see in the pictures, he sat in the garden a few metres away from the model and began to study it. He liked it, and decided to proceed in that direction. The car had a clean, soft line that was quite popular at the time. Imagining that the car needed a powerful engine, I think that commercially, it would have been a success with the clients of that kind of car. It had a smooth, sporting line, we might even say fluid. But it was quite an unusual car. Nobody had ever made a sports car like this before. It was the result of a – I think successful – combination of the philosophy of Lotus, which had always made sports cars, and a more family car, yet still very sporty. Perhaps it wasn’t very easy for the passengers to get in and out, but inside there was plenty of room. And I had even designed a small boot. One of the greatest difficulties in designing a car like this was also due to the material used for the bodywork. Lotus used a fibreglass moulding technique. Fibreglass is much thicker than steel sheet, and so some problems would certainly have been encountered in adapting some of the parts, such as the seals and external components, to be applied to the bodywork. You couldn’t just use standard profiles and adapt them to the new material: it’s one thing to work on six tenths of a millimetre (the average thickness of steel sheet) but something completely different to work on six millimetres of fibreglass. This was a huge obstacle for me. But it was an exhilarating project, because it was quite an unconventional car. A sports car like that had never been seen before. Would it have been feasible to build a car like that? Most definitely. If you look at the chassis, all the elements were well arranged. It would certainly have been revolutionary, very different from the others. Chapman was a car builder who had always aimed to produce different cars, and a sports sedan was a complete novelty for him too. He was quite a discreet person, but with clear ideas. Initially, he was rather hesitant with me, he didn’t really seem convinced about having me design the car. But in the end, he was really pleased. He even hugged me. We had a good relationship. It’s a shame it ended so soon".

"One wonders that if people like Frank had not been around in the early days, whether Formula One would have survived today.” So go the words of Bernie Ecclestone to PA News Agency in memory of Sir Frank Williams, the motorsports icon who passed away on Sunday, November 28 this year. Photos Alamy Stock Photo “He was one of the people that built Formula One,” continues Ecclestone. “It’s the end of an era.” Since his passing, the tributes to the Williams Racing Formula 1 team founder have been flowing in. Lewis Hamilton wrote not just of his racing prestige, but of his humanity. “Sir Frank Williams was one of the kindest people I had the pleasure of meeting in this sport. What he achieved is something truly special. Until his last days I know he remained a racer and a fighter at heart. His legacy will live on forever.” Considering the fact that Williams suffered an injury that left him paralyzed all the way back in 1986, it’s no overstatement for Hamilton to call him a fighter. Just imagine the strength of spirit required from Williams to keep on pushing through physical challenges to build not just one of the world’s best known racing teams, but to help shape Formula One into the cultural behemoth it is today. Before even considering his achievements in the racing world, to simply live until the age of 79 as a tetraplegic beggars belief. A fighter. It’s almost poetic that Williams would sustain his injuries behind the wheel of a car. While rushing to make the airport in time for a flight out of Marseilles, France, Williams crashed his rented Ford Sierra into a wall. Though his passenger Peter Windsor came away unhurt, Williams was trapped – the time spent under the crushed car exterior almost killing him. He spent six weeks on life support, during which the medics attending to him implored his wife Virginia, often known as “Ginny” to give in, to allow the machines to be switched off, but she refused. Just six weeks later, the “fighter at heart” was given a raucous ovation when he showed up for the British Grand Prix in his wheelchair. Williams appeared completely undeterred in his work despite his physical ailments – in fact his resolve was only steeled by the incident in ‘86. He wasn’t long returning to work, keen to innovate and commit to glory. The Williams team went on to claim more victories than it ever had from ‘86 through the 90s. Behind the wheel of his cars, names like Nelson Piquet, Nigel Mansell, Damon Hill, Alain Prost and Jacque Villeneuve were inscribed in the history books. Frank Williams was born to an RAF pilot and a teacher in South Shields in 1942, though his parents break-up led to him being raised by his grandparents. At boarding school in Dumfries in Scotland, it became apparent that young Frank was more enamoured with cars than textbooks – the lust for speed rammed home when he drove in a Jaguar XK150 as a teenager. When he left school, he took up a sales job for the Campbell’s Soup Company, and wouldn’t you know, his company car didn’t last too long. Williams’ daring seemed better suited to the race track, and so he climbed into an Austin 40, stepped on the gas on track day, and quickly climbed the ranks to Formula Three. Crash after crash came, until he was eventually convinced to step up into management. Always determined to succeed no matter the job description, he founded Frank Williams Racing in 1967, and entered Formula One just three years later – with little but an old Brabham and some Cosworth engines. Piers Courage was the driver in those days, a close friend of Williams’, who was courageous by name and nature alike. Tragically, Courage died in the Dutch Grand Prix in 1970. Success came slowly for Williams – no head starts ever given or earned. Even when help seemed to appear, he always went his own way. Call it stubbornness, or call it vision. His team had been sold to the Canadian oil baron Walter Wolf in 1976, and Williams took his leave – no outside interference welcome. He founded Williams Grand Prix Engineering and began from scratch with the help of revered designer Patrick Head. The two innovated and worked for marginal gains everywhere, and once Saudi Airlines agreed to sponsor the team, they were ready to thrive. The Argentine Grand Prix was their first foray, in 1978, and a first win came soon after at Silverstone with the now legendary Clay Regazzoni behind the wheel. Intermittent success followed through the 1980s, with constructors' championships as well as Alan Jones’ drivers’ title in 1980. Then came Keke Rosberg in ‘82, and another constructor’s championship in ‘86. 1986, you’ll remember, was the same year William’s life would change irrevocably, one day in Marseilles. Those post-crash years of Mansell, Prost, Hill et al came thick and fast. The success was heady. But they weren’t without their heartbreaks. In 1994, one year after Prost’s world title and two before that of Hill, the San Marino Grand Prix was the scene of one of racing's greatest tragedies – the death of Ayrton Senna. He was a three time world champion, and the ace in the William’s pack. On lap seven, he hit a wall at a fatal 265 km/h. He didn’t stand a chance. One of the world’s best loved racers was gone, and the blame was placed by a local prosecutor squarely at the feet of Williams, Head and designer Adrian Newey. It would take three years for each to be acquitted of any crime. Throughout this time, the Williams team continued to honour their leading driver – with every Williams race car displaying a Senna logo from 1995 until 2012. After coming through the trials and tribulations of the Senna Trial, after battling his paralysis for over a decade, after elevating the sport at one of its lowest ebbs, and after forging one of the world’s most successful Grand Prix teams at a time when Ferrari and McLaren were also on top of the world, Frank Williams became Sir Frank Williams in 1999. His legacy had been written. In 2012, Sir Frank Williams finally stepped away from his role on the board of the Williams Racing Team, and was duly replaced by his daughter Claire. The name will live on. Always.