Gilded lilies, like most things in life are relative. The Golden Angel Wing however, out-guilds most.
Like us poor scribes, the brains behind the processes of car making spend countless hours honing and perfecting, improving and re-checking to ascertain the best that is possible at a given moment in time. Midnight oil is a precious resource which, dependant on the individual, can prove somewhat finite, with unfortunate consequences lingering by.
Concerning cars, now factor in updates, facelifts, upgrades – call them what you will – they must be considered. The 1953 Mercedes-Benz W120 (or Ponton as it was better known) was a plain but honest, safe yet somewhat bland quality conveyance. Built primarily in Stuttgart, these one eighties (as they were badged) made impacts the world over. Continue reading “Destined To Shine”
Amid the Pandemic’s height, a reminder of a more resilient time.
There is a certain perverse satisfaction in driving what in automotive terms amounts to an old shoe. Banger, beater, clunker or jalopy – whatever term you prefer, once a car reaches a certain level of decrepitude, the keeper soon realises that not only is there no route back, but that they have been released – freed from the grinding tyranny of upkeep. It is now possible to Continue reading “Act of Defiance”
From Bradford via Mlada Boleslav to Middle Earth – DTW takes a circuitous (if scenic) narrative route.
The story of an expatriate entrepreneur from Blighty by the name of Arthur Turner, who created an Aoterean automotive empire from a milk delivery business is an unlikely one, but stranger things have probably happened in the Land of the Long White Cloud. Free from governmental import license fees, the Jowett Bradford van delivering that milk proved the spark that lit the Turner flame. Soon enough, the Javelin landed on Kiwi soil, along with Turner’s new facilities to make them there, sadly just as the Bradford firm hit the skids.
Despite life returning to a semblance of normality around these parts over recent months, the sighting of 2020-registered cars remain something of a novelty. Of course cars have been registered – some having even been sold – but in a country where new car sales had already been in state of contraction before the pandemic swept all before it, the current situation facing the Irish retail sales trade must be sobering indeed.
One of the more superficial downsides to this is that sightings of new models, while normally a relatively frequent prospect, have been sporadic at best. Amongst the more recent arrivals to these shores is Opel’s current generation Corsa (none of your Vauxhalls in these parts), but to be honest, and in contrast to the (closely-related) Peugeot 208 which preceded it to market, it has been a comparatively rare sight.
Comecon in and enjoy part two of Bruno Vijverman’s trawl through the former USSR’s automotive waifs and strays.
Moskvitch C1, 1975
AZLK, or Avtomobilny Zavod imeni Leninskogo Komsomola – which translates as Lenin-communist Youth Union – sold its vehicles under the more palatable brand name Moskvitch (Moscovite). In February of 1975 the C1 prototype was readied in response to a demand for a successor to the dated 412 model. Under its SAAB-esque skin, the work of chief designer Yuri Tkachenko, still beat the 412’s 85hp four; the hump stamped into the driver’s side of the bonnet accounted for by the engine’s height. Sharp eyes may spot the Opel Ascona B headlights. Still, the C1 looked modern- sporting even.
A Laguna Coupé ought to be both a rare and welcome sighting. But it doesn’t do to look too closely.
The Renault Laguna, especially in its third and final iteration was a popular car in Ireland. Not popular in Passat or Avensis terms, but sold in quite respectable numbers nonetheless, notwithstanding Irish motorists’ long-standing distrust of the larger offerings from our esteemed French neighbours.
This was all the more surprising really, given the frightful reputation its immediate predecessor earned over its lifespan – riddled as it was by electronic gremlins which cost the carmaker dear, both in market share and in warranty costs. But then, Renault’s Irish importers were (perhaps through grim necessity) somewhat generous when it came to sales incentives. Continue reading “Sighting and Seeing”
As regular readers roll their eyes skywards in exasperation, we return to a familiar theme, but in a somewhat untimely setting.
As some of you know all too well, DTW’s editor has something of a habit of repeating himself – almost as much as the subject of today’s nocturnal meditation. The more astute amongst you, by the way will have discerned that these photographs were not taken all that recently, which I will admit to – they were in fact snapped in early December, when the world was young(er) and life was, well, a little simpler.
Skoda’s success story in Ireland is such that the Czech carmaker is cementing its position, naming its latest in honour of its most lucrative musical export. No Bono… sit down, it isn’t you.
The Czech based, German owned, global (excepting the United States) manufacturer, Škoda, has form with odd names; some of whom have been covered on this site afore, the Octavia at least meaning eighth. The Superb is an old name, Rapid too. Then came the K-Škoda’s: Kodiak, Karoq, Kamiq, which, if one listens to or reads to Škoda’s PR treadmill, all have meaningful and charismatic connotations, background: spirit. Along with increasing difficulty in differentiating between them.
Then, from out of the primordial soup leapt something called Enyaq. Yes, you read that correctly: Enyaq. That treadmill must have blown a fuse, for this name is surrounded by Celtic myths, rolling green pastures, and the dulcet ululations of Enya, the Irish singer once of the band, Clannad. Her original name being Eithne Pádraigín Ní Bhraonáin, anglicising to Enya Patricia Brennan. Continue reading “A Goblin Green Plies the Lanes of Ireland”
Time accelerates as we get older, so one feels moderately for the youth of today. Take my work colleague, Sophie, who at 21 is onto her fourth car in as many years. Initially hesitant about learning to drive, with some encouragement from friends and family, she passed the theory and then the practical exam four summers ago.
Hard to believe but I have seen more Buick Rivieras* than Volvo 300s in the last fifteen years. Here is maybe the third 300 I’ve seen in Denmark since 2006. I also saw one in Sweden, in a museum. That doesn’t count.
This model is the 1985 360 GLS, a more elaborately trimmed version of the 340 which had a smaller engine. While the 260 and 760 had six-cylinder engines, the 360 was slyly trading on the name. It had a 2.0 litre petrol four, fuel injected (hence the “S” bit of the badge). What kind of car was it? For comparison, the asking for this car (in 1987) was within 200 quid of a 2.0 litre Ford Sierra LX or even a BMW 316. For about the same money one could also even go so far as to
An Urban Explorer makes a break for the coastline.
Life has been of late, more than a little, shall we say, constrained. Not that I’m necessarily complaining – it’s for the greater good and after all, matters could be a good deal worse – but from an automotive perspective, thus far, 2020 has been something of a damp squib. All this being so, one takes what thin gruel that comes one’s way.
Today, Andrew Miles gets his Super Trouper out for the lads.
Research (undertaken by no-one in particular) has shown racing cars to be 0.02 faster and infinitely more aggressive when their lights are switched on. My amazement is that manufacturers haven’t as yet cottoned on to this phenomenon.
Car makers spend spend a great deal of time and resources on those devices that help us to see and be seen. From the rudimentary acetylene lamps of yore to today’s laser beam-like LED’s found in ever more angular and reflective cages. The head, and indeed tail lights can make or break a car’s appearance.
On the quiet streets of Skive I found this alien space ship, gently landed from the end of the 1960s.
Pedestrian safety and low-speed crash regulations did away with this kind of design. Subsequently, General Motors’ own mismanagement and a radical shift in the car market gradually killed the brand attached to the car. If we want to Continue reading “Brisk Business in the Bakery”
A photo for Sunday: A DTW icon in an atmospheric setting.
If one must be confined somewhere, there are worse places to reside than the picturesque Co. Cork harbour town I increasingly call home. Owing to matters which surely don’t require elaboration under current circumstances, I have been spending considerably more time in the anteroom to the Wild Atlantic Way than strictly intended at the start of the year. Still, one makes of things what one can.
Everything looks better against a decent backdrop, and while the Volkswagen Golf really does personify the term ubiquitous, there was something about the quality of evening light, combined with the timeless silhouette of the fourth-generation model that caused me to Continue reading “Dock of the Bay”
The rural East Anglian market town my partner and I call home has many fine qualities, but it is emphatically not a nirvana for car spotters. Suffolk and Norfolk people have mainly conservative tastes in matters automotive and even our most affluent neighbours tend to Continue reading “A Photo for Sunday: 1986 Porsche 928 S2”
A late evening encounter with a synthesized Audi crossover got our Sheffield operative thinking about additives.
Mono Sodium Glutamate, or MSG was invented back in 1908 by a Japanese chemist named Kikunae Ikeda who was searching for a food additive he named umami which is given as “neither sweet, nor salty, bitter or sour” and was marketed by the fledgling Suzuki company, though under the brand name Aji-no-moto, itself a part of Suzuki pharmaceuticals. Its European name is E-621. Do Suzuki make a car with that code name in Japan?
In the halcyon pre-Covid past, a night out at a local Latin American restaurant, where the tapas was tasty, the cigars and rum both plentiful and expensive (neither sampled) and the beats both seductive and loud, led to a rather unexpected (and frustrating) conversation regarding car design with my better half. Well kind of. The rum and ‘gars must Continue reading “Bland Recipe? Add E-621”
Our Sheffield correspondent encounters a Cullinan.
Sheffield is a city synonymous for not only making but also the shaping of steel. Construction and heavy industry to more specific, not to mention artisanal variations such as myriad uses in the cutlery, aero and medical fields. Some of that steel ends up in the carmaking business. Sadly, some too resides within men’s hearts.
The site of our local retail park was once Fox steel works of Stocksbridge, providing employment for the whole town at one point, making the steel and wire for umbrellas. When the 1980s recession hit, the steel ceased flowing and a dilapidated site remained for years. That is until the supermarkets began to take over land purchases from house builders, before even those plans went west. This left a cleared area but nothing to build. Until Mark Dransfield and his property investment business arrived to Continue reading “The Beast”
If you roam the streets at night, don’t be too surprised by what you encounter.
We have, on a number of occasions brought to light the manner in which the nocturnal streetscape can alter one’s perceptions, especially when it comes to the appreciation of automotive design. In some cases this can bring nuances to bear which might not have been as apparent in daylight. On the other hand, the fluorescent glare of street lighting can render a car in a manner somewhat less becoming.
We conclude our Global tour of Méhari-derivatives.
The acronym FAF stands for “Facile A Fabriquer – Facile A Financer” (Easy to build, easy to fund). FAF was Citroën’s official response to the Baby Brousse that predated it. The aim was to have a range of vehicles based on the “A” platform intended for assembly in developing countries with limited -or no- resources and experience in producing cars.
The first FAFs were produced in 1973 in Portugal but later, factories were opened in Guinée Bissau, Central African Republic, Senegal and Indonesia. There were six available bodystyles: a Saloon, 3-door Estate, Van, Pick Up, 4×4, and a Runabaout in Méhari fashion. The 4×4 version was purchased by the Portuguese army and saw action in the Angolan civil war. Continue reading “Herding a Dromedary’s Lost Siblings (2)”
I am no expert when it comes to the subject of car design, lacking as I do the in-depth knowledge, training, vocabulary, or indeed, ‘eye’ to interrogate or illuminate a car’s form in a truly meaningful manner – mercifully, others upon these pages are better placed to do just that.
We’ve all experienced it at some point in our lives, have we not? You want something so badly, you feel there’s almost no privation you wouldn’t endure to obtain it. Rationality be damned; even to the point of detriment, just as long as you Continue reading “The Cost of Entry”
Rounding out our Costa del Sol observations with a tapas of varied local delicacies.
Given that Sundays are intended to be days of rest, rather than framing any over-riding narrative, I’m presenting these automotive gleanings largely without much by way of comment and even less of insight.
Firstly, we find a current generation Fiat Panda. Nothing of terrific note here, you might say and I might even agree, but isn’t that Tangerine colour marvellous? An added bonus being the Jade green of the Ford Focus in the background – a handy nod to Green Car Bingo of distant memory. Continue reading “Small Plates”
Today’s Andalucían postscript is Seat’s shortlived Fura. What, if anything can it signify?
When Seat parted from its Italian benefactor and fell into the arms of Wolfsburg, it was necessary to place some distance between the two former partners. So while prior to the severance of connubial relations, all Seat models simply took the equivalent Fiat nameplate (or number), from around 1981/2, Seat products would have (to varying degrees) their own, distinctly Spanish identity. Continue reading “All Sound and Fury”
Driven to Write suffers from heat stroke – for your benefit.
It’s hardly revelatory of me to point out that in this corner of the Costa del Sol, the ratio of sunshine to overcast is overwhelmingly in the favour of the former – after all, the hint is in the name. No great insight either in suggesting that in the warm glow of a sunbaked afternoon, everything looks more attractive – except perhaps, pale, light-averse Irishmen. The effects of ambient lighting is a subject that has reared its head on more than one occasion on these pages, so if I repeat myself, I can only suggest you Continue reading “The Glare”
The works car park is frequently a mundane beast. The same people in the same cars, day after day. Occasionally though, a visitor might just drive here in something a little more exotic, expensive or preferably just different.
In the past we’ve had a few Porsche’s, Boxsters and Cayennes though never any form of 911. Once a Mustang was heard burbling through but we believe the driver was lost, for once the exit was pin-pointed, the throttle was floored and the dust disturbed.
Well, what is one supposed to do on vacation anyway?
As regular readers may have appreciated, I have of late been on holiday. I don’t do this sort of thing as often as I ought, but when I do, I like to set myself a little intellectual challenge, and given that my predilections tend towards the automotive, it is here these exercises more than usually rest.
The last time I ventured to this part of Southern Spain, the task I placed before myself was that of Green Car Bingo, which was an enjoyable (for me at least) divertion, but not really replicable. So given that the Andalucían city of Marbella would form my base for the duration, the quest I set myself was to was to Continue reading “Dos Marbelleros”
Music history has frequently been littered with the broken wreckage of bands who blasted into the public consciousness with an precocious debut, only to lose it with the follow-up. Artists such as the Stone Roses, The Sugarcubes, Franz Ferdinand and perhaps most notoriously, 80’s pop sensation, Terence Trent D’Arby all followed their well-reviewed debuts with what were varying degrees of disappointing to disastrous.
A rare encounter prematurely cut short. Sorry about that.
I’m aiming to keep this brief, given that it’s Sunday and I’m nominally on holiday. A two week sojourn on Spain’s Mediterranean coastline is hardly anyone’s concept of a mortifying act and let’s face it, there are plenty of other, more pleasant diversions to be found around these parts.
Consequently, it’s probably just as well that I am driven to write, because otherwise you, dear readers would stand a better than even chance of facing an empty page today. But my duty to DTW, as I trust you appreciate, is absolute.
But to the subject at hand. One of the more diverting aspects of places such as this are the areas of diversity and digression – and the automotive end of the spectrum is no different. The Southern European markets have long diverged from their Northern neighbours, although needless to say, a growing and regrettable conformity is starting to Continue reading “A Line Foreshortened”
A municipal stroll through an Andalucían streetscape elicits a shameful case of neglect.
There’s something almost unbearably sad about a nice car being left to ruin that even a sun-dappled Costa del Sol setting cannot quite assuage. Initially somewhat thrilled by the now ultra-rare sighting of this 1988-1991 era second generation Honda Civic CRX, your (temporarily) Andalucían correspondent’s initial enthusiasm quickly gave way to dismay at the manner in which it’s been maltreated.
The CRX was one of those brief flowerings in coupédom which promised much but somehow fizzled out in the end. While Europe had put all that frivolity behind them during the 1980s, establishing that instead of expensively developed bespoke coupé bodystyles, they could Continue reading “Civic Minded”
Sliding then from the sculpture to the sow; Volvo’s Sugga, pronounced Soo-Ga is quite an exaggeration. And a world away from the Bilo.
Made strong and robust, which may have been mentioned earlier, initially as a taxi cab. The chassis was given the nomenclature PV800 and being built like the proverbial out-house was adored by taxi drivers for its longevity. Perhaps some Germans were on holiday in Sweden at some point and liked the idea of a strong, forever lasting, easy maintenance taxi cab? Again, hardly an elegant car having an American style with Swedish slants.
Originally conceived in 1938, the Sugga had a twenty year production run with variations from encompassing a glass screen to separate passengers from the driver (PV801) and the version omitting the screen (PV802) which lent itself to be easily converted into an ambulance, the stretcher for the poor soul being fed in through the boot. Still, if this vehicle assisted in saving your life, you could happily and rightfully Continue reading “The Sculpture and the Sow : Part two”
Andrew Miles casts his eye Northwards for a tale of marble and swine.
(c) The Guardian
In historical terms, Volvo are similar to Citroen; both engineering driven, both regarded as extreme at times, both brimming with frisson and an inbuilt nature to excel and impress, even if looking a tad more internally than we might expect. This tale deals with the Swedes.
Our Sheffield correspondent’s urgent mission for Myristica fragrans is disrupted by something shiny and yellow.
Gulp. Sharp intake of breath. No, not because talking to the salesman makes me nervous but my first design review for this oftentimes design-centric website. If you have yet to see my takes on design, prepare to be deflated. I like what I see. Well, sometimes. Then again, sometimes I’m horrified by what’s presented in front of me. But in this particular instance I liked – a lot.
An errand into town forced me past the row of car dealerships that inhabit the fringes of town. Virtually every make is available within a three mile corridor and if you can’t Continue reading “Nut Job”
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…
Here at the gateway to the wilds of West Cork, we welcome more than our share of visitors from foreign lands. This mostly pleasant state of affairs affords us a degree of human variety which would be otherwise denied our pale, light averse, predominantly sandblasted natives. It also lends itself to a degree of automotive variety which to a dedicated driven to writer can prove something of a godsend.
However, not all such encounters are as timely or fortuitous as today’s. Having touched at some length earlier this week upon the lore of the Tychy White Hen, to encounter one in three dimensions proved something of a novelty. Although to be strictly accurate, what we’re looking at here is, if anything a grey hen – or in Lancia parlance, Elefantino Blu – a shade particularly redolent of the Shield and Flag’s Sixties heyday.
In 1997, then Tory Party MP, Ann Widdecombe was asked whether she would endorse former Home Secretary, Michael Howard’s bid to become the leader of the UK Conservatives. She refused, stating in the House of Commons that there was “something of the night about him.”
It was a nice line in waspish put-downs and one which is believed to have scuppered Howard’s leadership ambitions, but given Ms. Widdecombe’s reactionary and somewhat unpleasant views on, well, just about everything really, there was a strong whiff of pot and kettle about it. In reality however, the phrase probably served both politicians’ purposes – Howard later going on to Continue reading “They Roam At Night”
Forgive the rash of smartphone holiday snaps, but a recent stay in Rome provided an opportunity to check out the local motor cars.
Sadly, the biggest impression left on me by scanning the roads of Rome from the Borghese Gardens down to the Colosseum was what I did not see: not one of my beloved Cinquecenti. And, I don’t mean bright, Broom Yellow, Sportings, I mean none of any type or colour; not one! I am not sure what that says about that model – I saw examples of both its replacement (the Seicento) and antecedents (the 126 and the Nuova 500), but of the Cinq, ‘niente’!
Imagine a thrilling Toyota Corolla. It existed, under another name.
In order to get any doubts out of the way this article is about the 2001-2004 WiLL Vs which Toyota designed, produced and marketed under the Will brand name. In order to clarify somewhat, various Japanese companies cooperated to sell their products through a channel aimed at younger buyers and they named this umbrella brand “WiLL“. As well as the cars, the Will brand covered beer, stationary, tourism, sweets and consumer electonics. Wouldn’t you love to Continue reading “Would They, Could They?”
Forming the subject of our Sunday deliberations this week takes the form of a Japanese lesson with Toyota’s Carina II (or should that be Corona?)
On one hand this last of line survivor lends a somewhat poignant reminder to how our streets and towns used to look. On the other however, it illustrates a curious anomaly in Japanese carmaking. Because unpicking Toyota’s naming logic is something akin to obtaining a working knowledge of Oriental algebra.
The car we in Britain and Ireland remember as the Carina was in fact offered in some markets as a Corona, and in others as a Celica Camry. The Carina as we first came to know and broadly ignore is believed to Continue reading “Learning Japanese”
During a pleasant, early morning walk in Amsterdam, a surprise first viewing.
Apologies for the poor level of just-about-everything about the photos, but, I came across my first DS3 Crossback whilst on a recent work trip to Amsterdam and felt a compulsion to record the event on my phone. I am always terribly self-conscious when taking street-photos of other people’s cars like this, so I got it over with as soon as I could, resulting in this rather sorry gathering of pictures.
Continuing our meditation on the Austin Maxi and Fiat 128, some thoughts prompted by encounters with two survivors.
The two cars pictured were photographed in the last 12 months. As well as being impressively original and looking as if they work for a living, they’re also examples of the last of their breeds.
The Maxi is one of the final ‘Maxi 2’ iteration, introduced to a largely indifferent world in August 1980, just 11 months from the end of production. The bright colour – ‘Snapdragon’ in BL parlance – suits it well. Far too many Maxis were specified in Russet Brown, Damask Red, or hearing-aid beige (formally known as “Champagne”), 1950s colours two decades on, in a time when BLMC’s Austin Morris colour pallet suddenly became positively vibrant. Tellingly, the archetypal Maxi customer avoided Bronze Yellow, Limeflower, or Blaze Red. Continue reading “Every Day Is Judgement Day.”
A close shave with the lesser-spotted Citroen Saxo-BIC® edition.
In 1944, two Frenchmen, Marcel Bich and Édouard Buffard set up a business in Clichy to produce writing instruments. In the post-war era, the company prospered and having adapted László Biró’s original design for a ballpoint pen, Bich introduced the mass-produced BIC Cristal in December 1950, quickly becoming a stationary cupboard essential. Such was its impact, commercial success and design influence that in 2001 a BIC Cristal pen was added to the permanent collection of the Department of Architecture and Design at New York’s Museum of Modern Art.
In 1973 the company introduced a range of disposable lighters, while two years later BIC launched the one-piece razor. Three staple products; perfect realisations of product design, made in their millions every year, reliable, ubiquitous and disposable. Yet each were masterpieces in their own right, eminently fit for their purpose, used and thoughtlessly discarded by millions around the world every day. Continue reading “Nib of the Matter”
This’d be one of those under-the-radar kind of cars that I don’t notice much less write about. So what’s it doing here, today, now?
First and least importantly, the car’s presence here is a bit of DTW’s public service activity. I am documenting the car and making available a nice, clear side profile. Second, and more interestingly, we find the exception to the rule (and haven’t photographed that). What do I mean?
This is one of 6,999 examples made, an Alfa Romeo 2600 Sprint. Bertone takes the credit for the admirable styling.
Bertone did the coupé, Touring did the Spider and, I suppose, Alfa Romeo did the handsome saloon one sees very little of. In 1962 this must have been certain to make the neighbours sit up and notice, especially in the UK and Ireland where the British marques had such a dominant presence in the market. It would have cost more than three times the price of Cortina or Austin 1800. So if you wanted to Continue reading “The Shoeshiners Dream of Sweeping Chimneys”
Unicorns do exist. I ran into one yesterday. Unusually, it bore a dragon upon its nose.
Car manufacture is difficult, expensive and potentially ruinous, so if you’re going to embark upon it as a career, it’s probably best to carry out the exercise within proximity to others engaged in similar activity, for the purposes of logistics, not to mention access to the requisite know-how. But not everybody cleaves to the safety of numbers.
It’s tempting for the writer to stoop to cliché when one speaks of the harp-shaped hills and valleys of Wales, but moreso is the habitual expressions of surprise, tinged with latent snobbery uttered by auto journalists at the mere notion of a Welsh car manufacturer. The very idea. But why not there, as anywhere else?
The words “Double Six” constitute a very short poem, don’t they?
Even when new, the words Double Six carried a lot of force, a force approximate to the stump-pulling torque of the 12-cylinder power station jammed under the lusciously scultpted bonnet. Since then the heft of the words have only increased. Twelve pot engines are exceedingly rare now and they were not common when this Daimler could Continue reading “See Them Dance Around The Five-Lamps At Sunrise”
For a change this is exactly a single photo for Sunday. And it’s about a BMW. And it involves the humble author descending the sheer face of whatever it is from which one climbs down.
The image (one of three attempts) captures our old friend the BMW 7-series. They aren’t exactly common in north central Aarhus, where I am domiciled, which might be why it snagged my attention. As I stood somewhere recently in central Dublin capturing this car with all the photographic skill I could muster, two others in black rolled by**. The sighting necessitated that I Continue reading “A Photo For Sunday: Surface Richness”
A sure sign that a Transit is hauling people and not boxes must be the non-white exterior coating. I saw an orange metallic one yesterday.
Sure enough, Ford in Denmark even uses this colour in its on-line publicity material. When I saw this one parked up somewhere in Jutland I had to take a closer look. You have to admit, it’s a satisfyingly spacey-looking machine. The bright orange paint brings out the graphic quality of the other elements. Essentially this is a commercial vehicle that has no trouble looking as good as a passenger car. Continue reading “With All Your Vain Fears And Groundless Hopes”
One can see absolutely nothing charming, interesting, appealing or pleasant about Edinburgh airport*. Only this object captured my attention but my camera could not capture a good image.
We have here a Toyota FJ-Cruiser, one of those periodic examples of a strong, brave design that leads nowhere at all. The Fiat Multipla, Isuzu Vehi-Cross, Nissan Pike Factory cars, and Renault Avantime would be other members of this esteemed club. The FJ-Cruiser follows the trajectory of a concept car shown to wide acclaim for its arresting appearance which the public then largely ignores and makes the rest of the car industry Continue reading “The Smallest Man On The Moon”