They’re all British car companies, but more importanly, they all have factory-sponsored racing teams. For decades, these companies have battled it out on the racetrack in everything from Formula 1 racing to grand touring to group racing.
What these companies would typically do is take one of their production cars and modify it to compete in a specific class of racing. There is one catch, though. Auto manufacturers are required to build a minimum number of vehicles and sell them to the public in order to classify as a production car. This practice, known as homologation, means that a small number of factory-built race cars will make it out into the real world – completely road legal. This is exactly what happened in the 1960s with the Lotus Cortina.
The Geo Storm is clearly the shit end of the 2nd generation Isuzu Impulse stick, and now you can have one of your own. This one is special though, it’s the perfect low and slow lowrider. The trunk is literally filled with hydraulic pumps to handle all of the low, and the swapped 1.8L takes care of the slow. Continue reading →
There must be some sort of odd subconscious check list in my head that decides whether or not I like a car, would I drive it, and why. Somehow this thing passes the test. Although it’s nowhere near as pleasing to the eye as the first generation Impulse, this second gen wagonback still satisfies. Continue reading →
They’re last unrefined burp of automotive machismo to wear the Fleur-de-lis/Checkered flags. They ran every bizarre type of small block that Chevy could cram into them: Crossfire, TPI, the DOHC LT-5, and even twin-turbo models (RPO B2K) from the factory.
In it’s time, the C4 handily beat many of it’s “super car” contemporaries in performance comparisons. It was the fastest, meanest, plastic-fantastic-piece-of-shit on the road. It liked to metaphorically hold it’s competitors down like an evil bully and make them smell it’s nasty, overhead valved farts and then shove them into a trashcan. On the road, where there was no authority other than the local police department, the super cars had to take their lumps and move on. On the track however, they complained to the SCCA about the C4’s utter domination. The blue-bloods of racing were sick of being pushed around like the antagonist of some Pantera song, and by 1988 they had gotten their way. Continue reading →
These are the few times that I love how everyone not from Arizona is attracted here almost magnetically, such as it’s original residents are in turn repelled away. It makes more room for things like this.