- Joined
- Sep 29, 2016
So I figure we need a good car thread, not about the latest choices in overhead cams or how to get the best mileage on shit tires and old oil, but the actual culture, history and craft that comes with automobiles. Some argue cars cannot be art because they serve a utilitarian purpose, but many would argue that not all cars do. Sure, a Toyota Corolla is about as far from art as possible and any given crossover SUV is to a minivan what a C student on hard times does to pay her cell phone bill after daddy cuts her off.
What purpose does an Alfa Romeo 4C serve that an expertly made oil painting of a nude ballerina doesn't? Both only exist to be beautiful, but you can also use them to impress people, turn heads and maybe get in to arguments with self-appointed experts in their respective fields about what they represent.
Cars are art because they're an extension of the self for so many people. Talk to an old man who has a car that he truly loves, or, loved. He'll beam with joy and he'll tell you stories about his experiences with the car, much more than if he's just rattling off facts about wheelbase, transmission gearing and displacement. He'll tell you about how the tires would scream when he took it through a tight corner and how his wife, then young and beautiful, would shout at him for doing it. Because to him it wasn't utilitarian at its very core, but a means of expression, a vent for his life's frustrations and a metric to which all frivolous happiness is compared against.
I'll start with my favorite car that I have ever owned.
A 1971 Lotus Elan (+2).
(Mine was the same color, but in no where near as good shape)
Surely this car served no utilitarian purpose for me, I also had an 89 Grand Prix for getting places, picking up groceries and going to work. But the Pontiac's main purpose was to haul the guts of that Elan to the garage so I could fix her. The motor in the Lotus was, at best, a massive piece of english engineered shit. It was slow, it was a garage queen and worst of all, it would get wet faster than the girl's who hung out at the bars in Pensacola when they saw a flight student walk through the door as they imagined leaving their panhandle shithole and collecting BAH. There was always a leak to be found and fixed, so that the new found pressure would cause yet another hose or internal to pop and start the process anew.
But these imperfections were unimportant, just bumps in the road really, because when I was driving that slow and poorly balanced sports car through any turn faster than 30mph and feeling the body roll worse than my unibodied American midsize car, it felt like I was 8 years old and on a rollercoaster. Like something could go wrong and throw me to my death, but if I held on tight enough and leaned in to the turn, then I could probably survive the imagined catastrophe. That mere thought would provide me with better thrills than the 30 year old Navy training jet that I had just landed a few hours before. I didn't understand it at the time, but I loved it.
When I would crnak the engine over I could tell which cylinder was misfiring and begin to start fiddling with carb to see if I could sort it out, or if it was the timing yet again. It would seem to chew up tires as well, with the camber and toe constantly changing because the joints were weaker than they should have been, but for all of these issues, it seemed to reward me for lovingly fixing them. For 3 years I drove that car on every sunny day I could. She lived in my car port most days with a tarp drawn over tight, and the days when I'd take her out she'd turn heads. Women would ask to ride in her, men would ask how much I wanted for her.
The day I sold her was a sad day, but I had got to the point where 2 cars just didn't make sense and I needed the cash to pay for my then-wife and I's deposit on a condo in San Diego before I left to work in Africa for a few months. I sold her to an older man who had always wanted a classic lotus, who had experience with the engine, albeit in a Ford Escort and who had asked me to sell it to him at 3 times what I had paid for it. It was a sad day for me back then, but I knew that car no longer could be the rolling renaissance painting that it had been for me any longer and I passed her on to another art lover who would hang her proudly and admire her daily.
So please, use this thread to talk about your favorite cars. Cars you've driven, ones you've owned and ones you would dream about as a kid.
What purpose does an Alfa Romeo 4C serve that an expertly made oil painting of a nude ballerina doesn't? Both only exist to be beautiful, but you can also use them to impress people, turn heads and maybe get in to arguments with self-appointed experts in their respective fields about what they represent.
Cars are art because they're an extension of the self for so many people. Talk to an old man who has a car that he truly loves, or, loved. He'll beam with joy and he'll tell you stories about his experiences with the car, much more than if he's just rattling off facts about wheelbase, transmission gearing and displacement. He'll tell you about how the tires would scream when he took it through a tight corner and how his wife, then young and beautiful, would shout at him for doing it. Because to him it wasn't utilitarian at its very core, but a means of expression, a vent for his life's frustrations and a metric to which all frivolous happiness is compared against.
I'll start with my favorite car that I have ever owned.
A 1971 Lotus Elan (+2).
(Mine was the same color, but in no where near as good shape)
Surely this car served no utilitarian purpose for me, I also had an 89 Grand Prix for getting places, picking up groceries and going to work. But the Pontiac's main purpose was to haul the guts of that Elan to the garage so I could fix her. The motor in the Lotus was, at best, a massive piece of english engineered shit. It was slow, it was a garage queen and worst of all, it would get wet faster than the girl's who hung out at the bars in Pensacola when they saw a flight student walk through the door as they imagined leaving their panhandle shithole and collecting BAH. There was always a leak to be found and fixed, so that the new found pressure would cause yet another hose or internal to pop and start the process anew.
But these imperfections were unimportant, just bumps in the road really, because when I was driving that slow and poorly balanced sports car through any turn faster than 30mph and feeling the body roll worse than my unibodied American midsize car, it felt like I was 8 years old and on a rollercoaster. Like something could go wrong and throw me to my death, but if I held on tight enough and leaned in to the turn, then I could probably survive the imagined catastrophe. That mere thought would provide me with better thrills than the 30 year old Navy training jet that I had just landed a few hours before. I didn't understand it at the time, but I loved it.
When I would crnak the engine over I could tell which cylinder was misfiring and begin to start fiddling with carb to see if I could sort it out, or if it was the timing yet again. It would seem to chew up tires as well, with the camber and toe constantly changing because the joints were weaker than they should have been, but for all of these issues, it seemed to reward me for lovingly fixing them. For 3 years I drove that car on every sunny day I could. She lived in my car port most days with a tarp drawn over tight, and the days when I'd take her out she'd turn heads. Women would ask to ride in her, men would ask how much I wanted for her.
The day I sold her was a sad day, but I had got to the point where 2 cars just didn't make sense and I needed the cash to pay for my then-wife and I's deposit on a condo in San Diego before I left to work in Africa for a few months. I sold her to an older man who had always wanted a classic lotus, who had experience with the engine, albeit in a Ford Escort and who had asked me to sell it to him at 3 times what I had paid for it. It was a sad day for me back then, but I knew that car no longer could be the rolling renaissance painting that it had been for me any longer and I passed her on to another art lover who would hang her proudly and admire her daily.
So please, use this thread to talk about your favorite cars. Cars you've driven, ones you've owned and ones you would dream about as a kid.
