Carfreax

PASS MASTERS

The scenery, the cars, it all looked great on the pictures. The first edition of an exhilarating event. A bunch of cars slicing the Alps in three days. That was last year. It is the beginning of June. One year later things look different. No longer am I limited to see the aftermath, I am in the middle of the action! Cars tagged with numbers and stickers. This is not a race, but a extremely well organized get together of passionate car enthusiasts.

Pass Masters 2011. Friday morning, I arrive late in Munich at the Haus der Kunst. The parking lot is closed, or better, reserved for a private happening. The lady at the gate looks at me with a slightly grim face. "One of them I guess?" The gravel cracks as I slowly roll around the corner. It is raining. Action. A jaw dropping colorful avalanche of metal. My pulse rises, excitement. Finally I am awake. This is amazing. Exotic and classic cars parked all over the place. People putting stickers on the flanks of their beauties.

A couple of minutes later I return to my car. Road book, "racing" numbers and some Carfreax.com stickers, a last minute action by me and Steve with the help of Florian. The latter is one of the style police crew, giving the event a graphical identity and in charge of documentation. I wonder why I am given number 77, a late arrival or does it just looks great on a TT Mark I? It mimics the name of the car. During the event one can undoubtedly see the the concept looking at the other cars. Designers at work that is.

No time to take pictures. In a pack we leave the compound, cruising through Munich. Bystanders point fingers, smiling faces. Soon after I got lost, followed by a Porsche. "One of us" I think. Together and with the help of the soft voice from the navigation we make it to the autobahn, direction south. We catch up with other members of the group. A first flexing of muscles, ready for the Alps, hungry for some hairpins.

A regroup at a Raststaette. The whole bunch together. More than seventy cars, about one hundred petrol heads. Magnificent vibes. Click click. A final call, "let's take it easy guys, this is not a Gumball trip". No space to speed. Soon after we are struck in traffic. An opportunity to open the stylized lunch package and let the pack of cars slowly pass by. Mustangs, Beetles, Porsches, Italian classics. To much to name all of them.

On the other side of the border, after Garmisch, the group of cars thins out quickly. After I stop for some pictures I am on my own. Every now and then I grab the road book from the passenger seat. Still on track, with my own pace, aiming for the end of stage 2. First steep climbs. "Over crest, cows, maybe" I think as I speed through the "Kuh Tal".

At the Oetztaler Glacier I catch up with the others, just in time. Or not. It rains and its cold. We won't go through the clouds today, but still, heaven is just some miles away. Direction Italy. A pearl necklace of passes, swinging asphalt and twisty roads. Don't have the rhythm yet, but slowly it's coming. The quattro feels great, grippy and eager for more.

Goodwood is just one week ago. The images still burn on my retina. This, though, is my private hill climb. Pure action. With every curve the bond between men and machine gets more intense, almost intimate. No squealing wheels, over- or understeer so far. A certain respect for road, car and my own limits. Ups and downs, I am getting in the flow, cutting the curves sharper by the minute.

Finally Italy. A quick look in the road book. Miles away from our destination and still quiet a bit to travel. Am I ahead or behind the pack? I can only guess. Did I take to many stops trying to freeze the moments when the amazing landscapes unfold? The play of light and shadows, the stony tectonic breaks and amazing formations of rocks. It all flies by in a rush. A kinetic experience, hard to nail down in a picture. I up the speed, hoping to be one time for the end of stage 3.

Carfreax in the mist. At the top of one pass I meet some others. Steve and I take some quick shots in a blurry environment. His R8, numbered 88 parked next to my 77. The tuned beetle passes, fighting for speed. "Ready to go?" "Damn, I like this!" A gray windshield, no sight. Soon after the stinging breaking lights of Steve dilute into the fog. A different league, or attitude.

Some hours and many hairpins later the last pass before Bolzano. Penser Joch. I have seen the Veyrons taking a break and have been chasing a MX5. The group is mixed up once again. Lost the feeling of time and space. This must be the concept of the Pass Masters. The last stint is a hard one. Curvy stretches of mountain roads, pushing the clutch every couple of seconds. It is getting late and I am craving for some pizza.

The journey is the reward. I flip through the maps to get a feeling where the f#*k I am. Must have taken the wrong turn somewhere. The Seisser Alm is our final destination for today. After some u turns I coincidentally bump into a pack of Pass Masters, chasing the Italian hills. We stop a couple of times and decide to let the navigation be our master for the last miles of the day. In a rather adventurous way we reach our destination. The road through the woods gets narrower with every curve. A look in my rear view mirror to check if the wide Diablo is able to make it. Vrooop Vrooop.

A phone call to number 88. Steve must be behind me. Must have been quicker than I thought. We re-unite at the local pizzeria, craving for food and sharing impressions of a fantastic first day.Tired after an intensive.day one. One hundred petrol heads with empty stomachs, but loaded with stories. Along the way we have lost some cars and we will loose some more the day after.

The saturday will be another ride through heaven, crossing the holy grounds of motorists walhalla. The Dolomites are the decorum with its impressive rock formations. Another 300 Kilometers of passes. This time with a co driver. Bernd's quattro has a troubled fuel pump. We listen to jazz music as we slice through the greens of northern Italy. Another perfect day, topped with a neat dinner in the middle of nowhere. Petrol holidays.

1200 Km. Those are the back lid numbers as I return home on late sunday evening. These are just the facts. I spastically open the door in Ingolstadt, the gear changes still reverb in my nerves. 4th, 3th, 2th, a quick turn, throttle. I mastered the passes. Man meets machine.

-Matt.

CURBED

We are strolling down Guloudong Dajie, a street full of little boutiques and tea houses. I can't help drawing parallels with Main Street Santa Monica, or better, Melrose Avenue. The atmosphere, the trees, city life. As my mind travels back in time my local city guide asks me to stop comparing. "This is Beijing, not California!"

He is right. A different kitchen with new ingredients, nevertheless spicy and colorful. One would not expect it, but the locals have a hang towards Tokyo style car tuning. Bright with a broad brush approach and funky detailing. A colorful example is parked in front of a model and figurines shop. A perfect match. CFX Beijing could be a nice side kick. To be continued...

- Mattijs.

CURBED

Somewhere in a parallel universe someone had the same idea I guess. I am on my way back home after a fantastic weekend in the Ardennes.

As I weave through the one way streets of Thuex it starts to rain cats and dogs, well a whole asylum that is. In centre ville the Belgium grays are lit up by dashes of bright yellow. An opportunity I can't resist. I park my car, grab my camera and run across the street. A curbed Alfa Romeo 1750 GTV Bertone in full rallye trim. Within minutes I am soaked with inspiration and rain, wondering what the fire extinguisher is doing here on the sidewalk.

- Mattijs.

QUOTOMOTIVE

"Race cars are neither beautiful nor ugly. They become beautiful when they win."

"Aerodynamics are for people who can't build engines."

"What's behind you doesn't matter."

"The client is not always right."

Only 'Il Commendatore' could have produced such inimitable, self-confident one-offs - writing history and building the myth that is Ferrari, along with the most fantastic racing and sports cars ever conceived.  You can just picture Ferruccio Lamborghini's face when thinking about #4 up there. But no matter what - Enzo's quotes, as his cars, do live on in history. The best ones (in both categories) probably conceived long before the introduction of autocue.

Their masters' voice...

Do you recognize the other familiar faces in the grid? And do you know who could've added to his own immortality by saying "Mr. Bentley... he builds fast trucks"?

Or: "People remember the crashes - but drivers remember the near-msses"? And what about "Auto racing, bull fighting and mountain climbing are the only true sports. The rest are merely games."

Here's a great lineup of some quotes to remember. You never know; it may come in handy to know your classics when the time arrives...

- Geert.

RUSH, RISK, RIDE

Achtung exclamation marks!

Weapon of choice: Nissan GT-R. Location: Nurburgring.

So there I was, at the gates of "the green hell"; “the toughest, most dangerous, and most demanding purpose-built racing circuit in the world.”

Numerous times I've watched the webcam at the entrance. Numerous times I've seen this spot in magazines, on television or on youtube. Numerous times I've seen the outline of the circuit on the back of cars. The sign of a family I did not belong to. And even once, I've smelled and almost touched the holy tarmac when my best buddy and I decided to take a square angle while cruising the A61. 

This time we were better prepared. We checked and double checked the "Offnungszeiten" before we started the trip to the Ring. After I read:  “.. police reports to estimate the number of fatalities at somewhere between 3 and 12 in a full year” I stopped investigating. This was something between nature, men and machine. Statistics is for bankers, and where did they end up?

This time we square angled the A61 again but now, right after the "easy right maybe" the atmosphere in the car went instantly tensed. We did not speak during the 14 km drive along the Eifel mountains. Music was off and even while filling up de car, we only heard our heartbeats.

The parking lot showed a variety of cars and people. Russian rich kids in pimped M3's, doctor-like Germans in beautifully restored Le Mans classics, Old men in American-plated Ruf rt12s or a family in an A6 3.0 tdi quattro. And I almost forgot, lots of motorcycles. The vibe was great, like we were all waiting for a baby whale to show up in the plane ocean.

Then, the moment of truth. The waiting line drove our heartbeats to 120 per minute again until it was our turn to beat the Nordschleife. The modified GT-R accelerated so fast, I felt lightheaded immediately. What a scary machine! Was that metal shift-sound ok? What would happen if the right wheel would decide to quit? Don't think, rev up the Japanese bastard! Hell yeh go! go! go!

It took me 450 meters to understand why Jacky Steward used to call this “the green hell”. Sharp curves and huge height differences. Scary as sole events. Imagine combining these elements with a narrow circuit, trees alongside and traffic from all angles and you can understand I needed dry socks.

After a the first few kilometers I was more comfortable with the car, the g-forces and those suicidal motorbikes. Off to those ruf-woosies! Two of the three Rufs entered our screen. Reaching their tails felt like victory, but we wanted more. The circuit can be so tricky that every once in a while we lost eye contact, whilst still being not more than a few meters away. We missed a few opportunities to pass them. To be honest, we could have passed them before but we missed cojones to actually floor the gas. Or more positively phrased: a sense of reality struck every time my right foot found an overtake possibility. Just after my right foot won for the first time, I passed kilometer 22,81.

Damn what a rush, what a risk, and what a ride!

NOW OR NEVER

Car designers of the world, unite!

Surely there must be a way... to keep the 'numero uno' dreamcar of all time out of the stone cold hands of the next billionaire automotive investor-collector...

Why am I writing this with such urgency?

The 1970 Bertone Lancia Stratos 'Zero' is going to be up for sale - very soon. And with it, the Lamborghini Marzal (yes, one of your favourite Matchbox cars, indeed), Bravo and Athon. Absolute landmarks of automotive design, and -all four of them- so 'Bertone' that I find it hard to believe this is actually happening. The Stratos and Marzal are estimated to bring between 1 and 1.8 MM Euro each into the ailing carrozzeria's cash register.

The venue: Villa d'Este, 21st May. Mark your agendas. What if each of us gets a small additional mortgage, and we add it all up?

- Geert.

OH NOSTALGIA !

Just when you thought it was safe to go back onto the world wide interweb...

...our friends at formfreu.de hit you right in the sensitive parts with their latest blog, the über-nostalgic 'Autostolz' (Car Pride).

Though not too densely populated just yet, this lovely initiative can only grow as it eagerly anticipates any heart warming contribution from folks with the car-heart in the right place.

That's you and me!

So, after indulging in the warm bath that is Autostolz, why don't you go up your attic and dust off that good ole shoebox of yours to dig out some car-piccies that turn smiles on people's faces?

God knows that that is just what today's profit-driven car industry needs: soul.

Great stuff Tom, keep it coming; (nice one with the Kadett!) :)

- G.

Pomona

During my two years in California with Audi I had the chance to discover the incredibly rich car culture that exists there, either every day on the street or at car-meets and organized events.

Pomona is just one such example I'd like to share with you. In 2008 I compiled a book which try's to capture the spirit and color of this fantastic event.

In the coming months I hope to be bringing you some more stories and pictures from my times in California. 

Enjoy!

POMONA by Steve Lewis | Make Your Own Book

Another one bites the dust

And what a sad fact it is, that this time the hour has struck for Mercury.

Last week -as a matter of fact in a traffic jam- I had only just noted down a simple outline for my take, in this blog, on that sad fact, when I got home to find my bi-weekly car mag in the post. The editor's note was totally dedicated to the superfluity of the Mercury brand - and to rubbing in that it would not be missed by the car loving community at all. 

I was definitely too late with my scoop. 

But, what made it worse, his negative comments had hit a raw nerve.

Because, way before I had found out about those other -now also extinct- Pontiacs Firebird and Plymouths Barracuda, my one and only benchmark of the American Musclecar had been my King Size Matchbox Mercury Cougar 'Dina Mite' dragster - which Santa had thrown down our chimney as Drag-Pack gift set. 

The fact that the Cougar was later skillfully re-painted black by myself, and donned a highly experimental Humbrol flame job, went to testify that the original, rather feminine purple metalflake paint job was -also to my liking- not suitable for this ultimate badass Yank. It was just too Batman for that (the Bob Kane one with the square chin, not the tights-wearing skinny Adam West version)!

As I started drawing cars in my high school note books, that impressive grille came back more than once in my 'Daytona' fantasy brand model line-up. It was just sooo cool - and mean. For another contemporary parallel: if Darth Vader were a car, he'd also be a Mercury Cougar!

 

When, in those days, my dad's ten-year-old 1970 Ford Capri was finally to be replaced -being half consumed by rust- I played all the tricks in the book to convince him towards buying its logical successor: a Mercury Capri ! This car somehow looked more interesting than the feminine (non-) Mustang it was supposed to offset. Especially in black.

He got a golden Taunus, with a brown vinyl roof, instead. 'Nuff said.

Then, in my late teens and early twenties, getting more into hot rods and street machines  (it took me half a year of persistent writing 'par avion' to Petersen Publishing in California to organise a subscription to Hot Rod magazine), it soon became clear that there was no kooler platform for a lead sled than a 1950 Mercury. Simply shaving and frenching, chopping, lowering and louvering these cars (maybe adding some Lakes pipes in the process) automatically produced the most breathtaking fat 'sleds on the planet. Proof of this may still be produced in the form of my pristine copy of the 1983 Hot Rod Magazine 'Custom Cars' special edition - in the 'giant custom Merc section'. (No, that's not Mercedes.)

But, admittedly, after this my Mercury fad kind of faded over time. 

In retrospect, those lead sleds still look totally awesome, but the Capri has definitely become a bit of an odd relic that people -rightfully- have long forgotten. 

And the Cougar?

In hindsight, it of course never really came close in iconic style to the '68 'Stang, '69 Camaro, '70 Firebird, '70 Challenger or '71 Barracuda. In fact, it only took Ford a couple of years (three, to be exact) to turn it from a menacing Mustang derivative into a sloppy and overweight gas guzzler. Also, they failed to make that breathtaking fastback version.

Yet... the early ones remain truly cool.

It was not until 1996, when the Black Cougar, that epitome of evil, was finally re-introduced to the bigger public by Roberto Rodriguez, giving it instant fame with a starring role as the ultimate bad guys' wheels in 'From dusk till dawn'.

Justice after all...!

- G.

GREEN HELL

Alright then, another flick from the web. Due to a lack of new input of self organized events, I would like to drop nine minutes of full inspiration. Last weekend I have been following the 24 hours of the Nuerburgring up close, close to the telly that is. Beamers battling the rings from ingolstadt and a hybrid from Stuttgart. An exiting race.

And, to get the broader historic perspective on the whole, strolling through Youtube I stumbled into this. Back to the old days where advertisement was still naive,big, blunt and simple. Racing drivers used to smoke and wear big shades. You get the picture. Fantastic footage of cars rumbling down the green hell. Enjoy!

WATCH THIS

A couple of months ago this commercial was on every display at our studio. Great sound, beautiful imagery and motion. Enjoy.

Thanks to Peter for the inspiration.

Sub-culture: AutoSalon Tilburg (reprise)

About a month ago I posted a last-minute event alert on our CFX|NL sister site, to try and tempt some of my Dutch buddies into visiting a one-off local 'car meets art' happening downtown Tilburg; the AutoSalon. Rik picked up the gauntlet and brought his son Henk along, while Gerard went to check out the Auto Salon's audio channel on the 013 rock temple stage.

I wonder how many unsuspecting car-lovers were lured into that underground parking in the city centre, only to find out that some local artists (a.k.a. the illustrious Tilburg CowBoys) had set them up for something completely different. Spread out over most of the bottom level of the multi-storey car park were not cars, but art. Automotive art. Well, there were parked cars in between. And a couple of show room exhibits. Or was this all part of the event?

All was kind of difficult to fathom. The first surprise came pretty soon though. After a harmless collection of photographs (Dutch owners of American muscle), some of the more unsettling exhibits grabbed us before we knew it. Not aware of what could be our part, we sat down in an old boxy Volvo 740 - only to witness a modern dance performance from the comfy seats in this safe and protective Swedish enclosure.

The dance... was very modern indeed, and seemed inspired by creepy horror movies if anything. Our car was standing still, yet a hysterically running damsel chased it down the deck. And before we knew it, we'd hit and run over something (someone) in the front. Disturbing. The Vloeistof ('Fluid') dancers kept disappearing and popping up, out of nowhere, did a 'Blair Witch' closing scene under the ramp and ended up perched right onto our windscreen, eyes staring as possessed body snatchers, out to do something unspeakably horrible to us, harmless passengers. They finished, of course, on the roof of the Volvo, rocking it about while peering down the sunroof. It was not a very comfortable feeling when, at the end, they suddenly jerked the doors open.

Car related, yes, I guess. But from quite a different perspective.

On that same note, a bit further down, a collection of road kills had been artistically framed and arranged by Bart Jansen. Not a lot of time was spent on preparation (or should I say preservation) of the artwork though - the stench was unbearable. Thank God, Bart had decided not to also run his second exhibition piece, 'Fuel Press', there and then; this perpetuum mobile was pressing seeds, in order to extract oil - to run its own engine. Weird and wonderful.

While one artist had violently fired rounds at a white UN car before compressing it to a small package of rusted metal, rubber and textile, another one had merely painted shadows and refections of a car on the concrete floor, setting off the alarm of this invisible vehicle if one approached its 'private space' footprint too closely.

Others had taken a more straightforward approach and built tangible visions of their dream vehicles - be it a stationary, dragster-like tribute to 30's and 40's silver arrow race cars in welded steel, or a bizarre polyester trailer that looked like an amputated Beetle with large tumor-like bulges on its back. The tumor-bug, also known as Appenda 3000, was towed through the city all weekend long, leaving behind bemused (or just plain confused) spectators.

 

The (moving part of the) exhibition had in fact started off on Day One with the 'Merry Go Roundabout', a 'live' merry-go-round on one of the city's roundabouts (this time including full size icons like the obligatory fire truck, a convertible, horse cart and two motorcycles, side-by-side of course) and also included a driving Boom Car Concert, which randomly appeared throughout the city. Next to these 'traditionally' tuned hot hatches (is there such a thing as traditional customizing?), the 'Ben Hur Tuning Studio' offered a more ground breaking pimping service for individual cars - applying large, hand painted decals that varied from imagery of flames and animals to ...Frankfurter sausages.

 

That all? Well... no.

Hand drawn animations (including one of a thumping engine in line art) were projected by artist Nick Castricum on the hood of a white Daihatsu, while Paul Veroude -of Jenson Button Honda F1 fame- had meticulously arranged and laid out all the components of a torn-down Toyota 1000, resulting in an almost religious pattern. Danitsja van Dijk re-created a traffic jam with inflatable youngtimers...

  

...and all of this inside a poorly lit car park. 

Truly underground - in more ways than one.

- G