Category Archives: CAR CULT

HISTORIC SOIL

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We leave the gravel road and the horizon widens. Hot dry air slips through the opened windows as the sound of the tires disappears. No tickling stones. We enter historic soil.  I have been here before, many times in many years. Be it in childhood magazines, car books or eighties television series. Where beige tones blur into blue hues the air burns. I wait for that black Pontiac to roll into our scenery. Finally, El Mirage!

-Matt.

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OVER THE FENCE

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No one home, a walk around the compound, a look over the fence. This is as close as we can get. Mind the dog. "Do you see those welding lines across the pillars? Top chop". Stacked polyester moulds sandblasted by the desserts winds of the Mojave. Future surrounded by history. That could have been  one of the police cars from the Robocop movie.

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Shaved. Car bodies reduced to their essentials, as flush as possible. Who needs door handles anyway? A white and crisp canvas over here, a rusty bucket over there. A landscape of projects. Where to start or…where to stop.

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"Pasadena find, old lady owned". What we are looking at is the gold mine of Gene Winfield's Rod & Custom Shop. A place where American car history is being recycled, remodeled and refined. Lower, wider, longer. Turning old sleds into the sleek sketches they once where on Detroit's drawing boards. Circle closed. And what about Gene? I did not have the guts to walk up to the door. It turned out he was not at home anyway, but that is on another page.

to be continued.

-Matt.


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LAP TIME

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Curbs down town. Skid marks, traces, history. Famous bends, perspectives. Rascasse, Casino, Tunnelle, la Piscine. On a late and mild november afternoon I walk the complete lap in Monaco. The champagne light bounces of the retro concrete facades. Everything is quiet, but in my head I hear the engines screaming. Best lap time.

-Matt.

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ENTREE

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Did you see that? Strange somehow! We just arrived and are heading towards our hotel. Delayed, tired. The streets are dark and behind the tinted windows of our shuttle bus we get first vague glimpses of this city. The last couple of kilometers turn into an emotional pinball machine scenery. What, where, saw that. Mc Laren, right? Bentley at nine o'clock! Magnum Magnum! Strange somehow, still in protectional wax? One day later I find out the truth. Monaco just pulled a trick on me.

-Matt.