HYPERTRASH Winter 2020 - Full Issue #4

HYPERTRASH

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HYPERTRASH QUARTERLY CARS X CHAOS WINTER 2020 / VOLUME 1 / ISSUE 4 PUBLISHER / CREATIVE DIRECTOR NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO EDITORS JAMES SINGER RHYS HAYDON KYLE BARNES DAVID CZARNECKI NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO WRITERS / PHOTOGRAPHERS NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO JAMES SINGER RHYS HAYDON KYLE BARNES DAVID CZARNECKI TRENT WHICKER DANIEL H LACKEY AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS HELENA CHRISTENSEN HARRY MASON DENT IV COLE MANESS AARON ESPINO IRON MIKE ALZONA TALIA LEDNER JESSICA MALAFOURIS

DUMPSTER CRASH: JOE SUITOR

ILLUSTRATIONS JOE SUITOR JORGE SIXTO-SANCHEZ NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO MEAN MACHINES DANIEL DAVIS MEDIA SPECIALIST JOSEPH DOLL ADVERTISING DIRECTOR GTFO CONTACT OR SUBMISSION HYPERTRASHMAG.COM @HYPERTRASHMAG COVER PHOTO: HARRY MASON DENT IV Warpaths's blown HEMI at Island Dragway, NJ 2019 BACK COVER: Jorge Sixto-Sanchez 'Woman with wrench' 2020 $17 D.I.Y. / SELF FUNDED

© 2020 HYPERTRASH MAGAZINE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED



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CONTENTS

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CORNER SHOP Sleepers Speed Shop Words and photos by KYLE BARNES

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CURVED LINES ARE ACTUALLY BULLSHIT Elements of automotive style

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Words and layout by DAVID CZARNECKI

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SKY'S THE LIMIT For STEPH WILTON Words and photos by DANIEL H. LACKEY

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3 SATURDAY NIGHTS IN 1995 Before my parents kicked me out again Words by JAMES SINGER Photos by IRON MIKE ALZONA, JAMES SINGER, and AARON ESPINO

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BIG BORE BASH With some trailor envy mixed in Words and photos by KYLE BARNES

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Interview with RALPH BALZANO Interview by AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS Photos by HELENA CHRISTENSEN

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MY RALPHIE

HYPERTRASH QUARTERLY

CARS X CHAOS

REST EASY, LES Dreams are always what they seem

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Words and photos by RHYS HAYDON

...BUT CALL HIM MASON Interview with HARRY MASON DENT IV

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Interview by AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS Photos by HARRY MASON DENT IV

MULHOLLAND PLUNGE Hiking through the graveyard

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Words and photos by COLE MANESS

OPINIONS AND EDUCATION Scars are left and lessons learned

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Words by TRENT WHICKER

98 HYPRCOMP #1 Music for driving

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VARIOUS OPINIONS

PSA So your friend wrecked your car?

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Words by DAVID CZARNECKI

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Photo contest: Who took this photo? If you know who snapped it, contact us with your answer to receive a free magazine.

W HAT S ORT OF P E R S ON R E A D S H Y P E RT R A SH ?

The sort who smells like gasoline and Irish Spring. They know they’re a lucky son of a bitch. They’re on IG a little too much but they’re working on it. They laugh big even though their teeth are kinda funny. They like using their hands instead of paying other people to fix their problems. They are stubborn. They are controlling.

Their iTunes library is deep and their shoe choices are intentional. Old people love them. Mother-in-laws are exasperated by them. Children think they’re hilarious. They act 16 but look either 35 or 55 depending on the week.

They’ve done a lot of dumb shit and know they’ve got a lot more to learn.

They like imperfect things.

They talk about driving more than anyone you know.

You’d definitely have a beer with them.

-Talia Ledner

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Send hate mail, it's motivating. hypertrashmag.com

S R U O Y R E D OR TODAY! HYPERTRASH HYPERTRASH



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CORNER SHOP SLEEPERS SPEEDSHOP, located in Costa Mesa, CA has

become known for its work on Porsches... But if you take a closer look, you’ll find a shop that’s just dedicated to making cool shit.

Len Higa—the man behind Sleepers—has had an interesting journey to where he is now. From drag racing, motorcycle racing, tuning and most importantly—fabrication. All of that creates a unique approach to the shop's builds, to which the customer benefits most.

We were fortunate enough to catch up with Len and chat about the shop. Enjoy.

WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHS

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KYLE BARNES

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KYLE BARNES What makes Sleepers different from the other shops when it comes to Porches and how you approach a build?

LEN HIGA Not sure how or if we are any different. We definitely have a different style than most shops and have a really diverse interest and skill set here. From classically trained technicians, race car fabricator/engineers, concept design work, engine building, machining, welding.The list is long.

We’re a small shop but can do a lot in-house… We’re just us I guess.

We like to consult and collaborate with our clients while preparing for a build. We give our input and opinions but it's ultimately up to the owner. Sometimes it's "build as if it were ours" and sometimes its tailored to what the client specifically wants.There's a pretty wide range of Porsche enthusiasts. You got the guys and gals that were modifying Hondas, Subarus etc that are now building Porsches and you got the traditional hot rodder that also has a hopped up Porsche. I feel we're right in the middle and can handle most needs and wants.

I got my start from being the head of Research and Development for a pretty well known Japanese aftermarket/ race parts manufacturer. The company’s GT300/Super GT (JGTC at the time) team principle and drivers all had Porsches and they developed a parts line in the off season. Our office got a hold of the line to test fit for the US market but there wasn’t much interest. That was in 2002. It’s crazy, because I think most of those parts would really do well now.

Sometimes, we work on other makes as well. Right now we are working on and building two Nissan GTRs. We also are building a 1928 Model A Roadster hot rod.

Regardless of its purpose, what’s the most important modification to a car in your opinion?

Good tires… Actually scratch that. A hole… Multiple holes.

Ain’t nothing lighter than a hole. Light cars are quicker all around. Quicker acceleration, speed, handling, and braking.



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You have experience with new and old, which do you prefer... and what are the pros and cons of both?

I like both for obvious reasons and we [Sleepers] work on both new and old… I think I always have. I used to work as a fabricator for a concept car studio years ago. There, we built concepts for 75% of car manufactures and restored many significant vintage cars and hotrods. It was interesting because one of the partners' father was Mike Alexander (rest in peace) of the famed Alexander Brothers. We got to witness and work on some historic cars as they located and acquired their old cars. Neat being able to dissect cars from the early days of production of the 1920’s and also build cars of the future. So if I really had to choose… I prefer old cars. Nostalgia is a magical thing and nothing beats working on and driving analog cars.

With a vibrant past in drag racing, from building to racing...

Do you still find yourself wanting to stuff as much power into your builds as possible, or have you grown to enjoy balance?

Hmm. Contrary to belief, drag racing does require a good deal of balance. I guess it’s a little bit different though. I think balance has always been important in both vehicles and life.

Even while I was engulfed in drag racing or road racing, I still would surf and skate. These days I balance it out with hanging with my wife and kid and Jiu Jitsu. My drag car was pretty balanced as well. I had a few different suspension set ups for the track and street… Yes, my drag car was still streetable. Random fact—In 1999, I won NHRA / IDRC West Coast Nationals and drove my car back to a friends shop an hour away. The NHRA official said that there hasn’t been a car that drove home after winning a Pro-Class in decades. Going full circle, a few friends who I skated with were sponsored by Alphanumeric… Which in turn help me get a sponsorship deal for racing. Sorry, going off tangent here… But yes, I have more enjoyment in a well balanced and sorted car.

You’re also an accomplished motorcycle builder, building bikes for AHMRA and Born Free. How do you think motorcycle aesthetic bleeds into the cars you build, and vice versa?

Hah! I can’t say accomplished but thank you for the kind words.

Funny, I haven’t thought about it, but after listening to this question, I realize that AHRMA and Born Free bikes are quite different (obviously). I can’t say all cars but yes, I would like to think that my bike building aesthetic carries over to cars we build, even if it’s a small percentage. We collaborate with our 12

clients so they have their personal touches and liking the end product. It really depends on the car and client though.

I personally prefer a car that shows one-off, hand made and sometimes subtle details—a car that is a bit weathered that shows its age and life. There are two Japanese words/terms that are always on my mind while building anything. “Kintsugi” is a centuries-old method of repairing pottery with gold. I believe the underlying message is to repair something better than it was originally. The second term is “Wabi-sabi” which is the acceptance of imperfections.

With Porsche and so many other vintage marquees continually climbing in value, how do you think that effects the youth.. that these cars are becoming borderline unobtainable... Do you think the values and the “buy and store” mentality is justified in any way?



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Man, It's kind of a bummer. It's getting harder for younger enthusiasts to purchase and hop up a vintage car… which may kill the future scene. I mean, Porsche and Alfa were never meant to be cost effective but I see Datsun and Honda going for premium prices these days. On the other hand I’m happy some other car manufacturers are getting love too. I guess it's bittersweet. The buy and store thing sucks. It's just another form of gentrification. I do have some hope though. I saw/see it with vintage bikes a lot. Some people have a romantic idea of owning and driving an old vehicle around until it breaks and leaves you stranded on the side of the road… multiple times. It goes with owning an old car or bike. Sometimes these become the deals to buy which in turn may go to that young enthusiast.

You’ve set foot in a lot of automotive and motorcycle worlds throughout your life... How are they the same, how are they different and do you have any issues on how certain scenes tend to have an exclusive feel to them?

Maybe I might have answered this partially with the last question. Continuing—I think it changes with the genre within each. For instance, I’ve had friends with a hot rodded Porsche go to some meet put on by “purists” and get otherized and vibed out. I just think of it as the right car for the wrong place. You would assume that wouldn't happen at a vintage car, bike or chopper meet. There’s a humility and camaraderie of being broken down on the side of the road within those circles. The meets, shows and scenes that have that exclusive feel have their place but sometimes I feel it's straight up classist. I had this conversation with some friends recently. A question I got was do I feel contradictory since my shop mainly works on Porsches? My thoughts are—Porsches aren't cheap but they are still somewhat obtainable relatively speaking. I've always thought of Porsche as still a working person's sports car. I can equally get excited over a Porsche, Honda, hotrod or anything else done right… Except Lamborghinis. They are the worst. Even Joe Strummer thought so.



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What do you enjoy about the current car culture in Southern California? What would you change?

I think the car culture here in Southern California is great. It has a broad range of genres that gives everyone options.

There's pretty much a meet up or event every weekend of the year with the weather to support it. What would I change? I would rather see people stop doing things just for Instagram. I understand the importance sometimes but shit is out of control.

What would like people to take away from Sleepers when they leave the shop?

A little bit of the shop… the feeling of it. Whether it's one of our production parts or a one-off hand fabricated part, knowing that it was thought out with functionality and style. Service and repair—Leaving with peace of mind.

Maybe even some music they enjoyed from one of our playlists. I think our shop overall has an aesthetic that translates well into our personalities and craftsmanship.

Also wanted to throw in a huge thanks for this opportunity.

Some of these questions help remind me why we love cars and the people within them so much. This year has been nothing short of nutty but cars and motorcycles have given so many of us an outlet for dealing with the stresses of 2020. 3

@hamburgerfantasy

@sleepersspeedshop sleepersspeedshop.com



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IMAGINED AND VISIUALIZED BY

DAVID CZARNECKI (unless otherwise noted) 18

WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHS

DAVID CZARNECKI 

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LINES ARE ACTUALLY BULLSHIT X CURVED XX

When asked to explain the sentiment, he calmly says 'No'.

Enter Gioretto Giugiaro, whose early design language echoes the function aesthetic theory, yet such designs are not reducible down to pure ration because they elicit emotion.

Let’s explore GG’s anti-hero reasoning for why curves are bullshit. You see: curves are bullshit if they are meaningless: they become a false erotica.

Why did CAR BROS’S Ferrari Enzo sell for under $6k, after showcasing at the Quail?

Because it was fake.

Let’s consider various aesthetics. Was he inspired by the ‘international style’ and ‘brutalist’ architecture? Is there a vulnerability to his work? What the fuck is up with car design today?

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Lotus Esprit shot by Markus Spiske of Unsplash

CURVED LINES ARE ACTUALLY BULLSHIT

Elements of Style: Salvador Dali, before becoming a surrealist, could paint photorealistic paintings. He was a hyper realist. Dali mastered painting before going HAM and creating the Dali Surrealist technique. Giugiaro did that very same thing in car design. At 21 years old he had already designed no ugly cars, and five technically perfect ones. One of those is the Alfa 105 GTV; still today as relevant as ever, this car has no bad angle to be viewed - it’s an absolute masterpiece in motor vehicle classicism.

Architectural Influences: Before GG’s time, in the 20’s and 30’s Le Corbusier knew that the automobile would change society, and called houses “machines for living.” Inspired by the automobile, Le Corbusier was a radical he penned with straight lines: simplified, stripped down buildings that connected functionality with a bit of human spirit.

He imagined a world where houses would be mass produced on an assembly line, like automobiles. In fact, Le Corbusier was madly in love with the idea of the automobile, which back in his time was a luxury reserved for upper classes. Being a badass mofo, Le Corbusier drove a Voison - that was a car for ballers back then. But being a user centered designer, he conceived a car for all people [sound familiar?] called the Voiture Minimum, which he imagined would be driven by people of the future.

It was one of Le Corbusier’s most loved projects and he pitched to several car companies, to no avail. 10 years later the concept would catch on in cars that were strikingly similar, the Beetle and 2CV, showing just how much Le Corbusier was ahead of his time. Notably Gioretto studied the Voiture Minimum in detail, and even created a full scale model of it. GG felt Le Corbusier’s car proposal was very advanced, pushing the state of the art, and proposing something more accessible and functional to the masses.

Folded paper era: Giugiaro would deeply influence car design for two decades, and he began it in his 6th professional year, 1966 with the Detomaso Mangusta.

The Mangusta was such a curvy car, it’s overall impression was razor sharp, and about as subtle as Sophia Loren. Its rear wheels larger in diameter than it’s front because “don’t fuck with us.” The Mangusta was concept car for the street, pure haute couture metal. It had gull wing doors for its rear engine cover. This was now GG’s runway show and at this moment the public realized GG knew what the fuck was up. In the Mangusta GG started sharp lines and tapered proportions that would become a dominant design trend. Called his folded paper aesthetic, it was more refined and clearly pronounced in his Lotus Esprit.

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CURVED LINES ARE ACTUALLY BULLSHIT

Car design today: Let us look at the contemporary vehicle design trends. Surely GG’s cars appear dated, no? Designers today incorporate as many creases and surface transitions as they can fit into any given panel. Fake swoops and scoops adorn cars like the new Supra: plastic fantastic.

From studio to studio, it’s a nuclear arms race to crease and curve things more than the last model.

We are living in a time of design Baroque. OTT Gothic, the new M3 is a gargoyle sitting on a spire of contemporary car design. That Thing's Baroque and the internet is trying to fix it. You see, cars are art. Wait, isn’t art a spray paint throw up on a wall

by Banksy? No: art is the expression of our ideas and imaginations, designed to elicit emotion in you.

Cars are conceived in creative studios, by teams of like minded humans obsessing over them. It doesn’t matter if you draw the hubcaps, or pen the engine, if you are engineer or designer, the team is all embroiled in creating the greatest expression of that particular project.

What’s happening with the state of the art in car design today? It’s natural to think that one's job is the most important job, so it is understandable that they might outdo themselves if they’re working on this next Supra. Its design has to have more muscle tone than a Miata or BRZ, because it’s the same size but costs 30% more. In a stimulation consumption society, we have decided that our vehicles have to look like future alien technology, even though they are barely capable of anything more than autos were 40, 50, 60 years ago. When will we move on from this stylistic broke Baroque? It is quite a dark time for car design and a renaissance is coming.

Dark era: In every great character there is a tension within, an internal conflict. So, in the 90’s why does the GG Folded Paper Movement suddenly melt?

Did the world suddenly leap to heavily curvaceous aesthetics? Did Giugiaro engage the trend with ambitious designs? The Cala, the Firepoint, the well proportioned but lack luster Daewoos: his dark period a dichotomy of tension and kinetics. Looking back it seems he was paradoxically giving into a curvilinear language, or perhaps exploring a new style. After all, designers always seek the unknown.

Maybe curves allowed GG to attempt a cleaner and calmer design. His curvy design decisions are hard to comprehend, and they illustrate how fad-ish car 24  design can be.

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CURVED LINES ARE ACTUALLY BULLSHIT More folded paper aesthetic and GG’s democratic ethics: His work looks as if he was slicing his idea out of a steel block. Giugiaro knew that a design has got to breathe: nothingness, sometimes is all you need. Good. There is an absence of noise and clutter. Stop and look over a Lotus Esprit: not left unfinished, all the lines have a purpose and their endgame is striking. Hatori Hanzo would have driven an Esprit. Bond did. GG’s designs have nothing prove, no marketing brief to bow down to.

What made his cars great was his ability to bring them to us unfettered by bean counters and suits and VP’s— he kept the concept purity through production. He was able to get his madness down on paper, and shepherd it despite hoops and challenges every step of the way to the showroom. Do you know how hard it is to make your production car look like your original sketch? He took a stand. Step out of mediocre, and see how far you Now rewind back to the 70’s, at this point GG’s had already can get. It’s an uncomfortable place to go, you will meet designed Ferraris and Maseratis and at 29 years old he resistance, and GG did it. had just started his own design studio, Italdesign. Why was he interested designing the successor to the Beetle, an entry level econobox for Volkswagen? I don’t know why it’s considered the design of his career. I don’t know why GG has said that the Golf project was his most important he has ever done. It definitely ties back to his love of Courbosier’s democratic Voiture Minimum - which he had made a model of. There are so many other more gorgeous, more famous, more eccentric cars he made. “When

people buy a car, they don't generally care about who designed it. Cars are not artworks.

Art is prestigious, but cars are not." -GG, in a CNN interview. GG could not have created the VW

Golf if it weren’t for his own sincerity, humbleness, and honesty to us, the rest of the world. The truth is that it is much harder to design a VW Golf beautifully, than it is any sports car. Ballin' on a budget. This type of authenticity is a common thread through his design work: one can argue that his Golf looks as good as his Lotus. It was his signature style, back then, his true self. Car design was Giugiaro’s Today, enthusiasts are bringing their money to Bring house and we were living in it. a Trailer en masse: well designed cars are auctioning high. All of the real blue chip cars are put away, traded in quiet, without public fanfare. So what do we dream of? The beautiful darlings rolling over the digital auction block today are less a nostalgic premix of poster cars than we are led to believe. No one gave a shit about old Hondas, yet now we undress them with our eyes. The online auction house community valorizes the inherent desire we crave for authenticity in the human experience.

The older designs just might be purer. One’s car is one’s constitution. Our enthusiast’s constitution will not be found in a high horsepower shitbox from a shambolic showroom. But there’s a butt for every seat. We vote with our money. Blah blah wagons blah blah touring etc depreciating asset lol etc etc. Look here's the deal: Enthusiasts buy a car NOT because we need it, we buy one because it calls our name. On any given Sunday there are 3-5 Giugiaro's on Bring-A-Trailor[-of-Money]. They are works of art, and the enthusiasts are bidding for them.

Good design is the least design possible.

- Deiter Rams

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CURVED LINES ARE ACTUALLY BULLSHIT ACT II

Opposite page artwork by Wolf @mean_machines_the_game

As translated from the Italian by Hypertrash. We cannot take responsibility for the accuracy of this fictional translation as we only speak the most basic of Italian.

GG was not available for confirmation of the conversation, nor was Ferrari as he is still dead.

Gioretto Giugiaro was strolling down a twilight Via dei Neri in Florence. He stopped for an espresso, his fifth and last of the day. He felt the cool breeze that grazed the ancient Roman walls around him. He looked up to admire the autumn leaves.

There by happenstance was the Enzo Ferrari, in the open balcony of some atelier, practicing his opera singing. In his 80’s, the man’s notable energy and movement defied his years.

"Ciao Mr. Ferrari! Are you going to the race today?" asked GG. Enzo wasn’t, he never did, but GG thought he would poke him for it.

"Your SWB was merda, why don’t wash it off of your shoes?!"

Enzo replied with a big smile on his face.

That had been many years ago, one of GG’s first cars at Bertone. GG’s crisp suit bent perfectly in half bow, almost Japanese, never losing sight of Ferrari, “Well your SWB had needed a new body shell anyway Il Commendatore, as to Mr. Enrico’s eyes“ parried GG smiling. GG opened a small notebook, and wrote something down. He stood there, quietly taking in the celebrity of a man larger than life. Ferrari was dressed very simply and classically, white shirt and wool pants. GG thought to himself: Ferrari incorporated a lot of my SWB's ideas 10 years later.

Enzo stared back, the silence was… tense. The barista, that was witnessing the conversation, broke the silence with an ALLORA! and some hand gesture as if to tell them to get on with it.

Enzo spoke concertedly “Certainly, Giugiaro, yes. To me the body shell is meaningless, just an engine cover. I don’t sell cars, I sell engines, bellissimo motore. We make their covers as voluptuous curves so customers will feel splendid as we collect their admiration. Many customers, the general public, can’t drive anyway. But our cars make them feel like they are part of my Scuderia. My engines...my soul.” Enzo waved the thought away from his balcony.

GG, ever the masterful negotiator of design said, “Well Mr. Ferrari, I have always found your models exquisite, exuding from themselves with a kind of amuzing Italianess. My cars have been, let us say, more purposeful. I find inspiration in your race cars and I have noticed you’ve been moving your production cars to echo that ethos.”

Ferrari’s voice was now almost operatic, “Dripping with chrome, long exhausts hanging off their rears, a theatrical 28



art piece! That was then, this is now. Why don’t I show you something I’m mulling over? Come in!” said Enzo.

Through heavy, ornate doors Enzo lead GG down a metal staircase into a secret room. Stories beneath Italy the two men walked a catwalk somehow lit only by dusty daylight tinted by red stained glass—something could be seen gleaming through thin fabric.

As they descended, “I have always thought your work needed a little, finesse, Giugiaro.”

"Ah Il Commendatore, I am glad you have been watching!"

GG said cheerily, taking this criticism as complementary. GG knew the old man well and knew they would not be down here, in what looked like some sort of development studio, if not for a certain camaraderie.

Enzo: “The automobiles I make control the public’s opinion about them, not the other way around you see? My cars consume them...” Enzo was very animated about his point waving his hand in a pinch gesture, “Road cars never mattered, I’ve been telling my team. Racing is everything.”

His eyes pierced the low light with excitement.

“Ah yes. The first principle of a Ferrari car, is to win” agreed Giugiaro.

The prototype, still covered, was sat facing a long exit tunnel. The proportions read to Giugiaro as an aggressive enclosed racer. A long flat box, small cockpit. The coke bottle aesthetic wasn’t apparent here as in Modena’s previous road cars. The wing on back stretched the width of the butt.

Without another word, but with a wry smile, Enzo uncovered the racer. Red car in red room, not by accident: the color was known to accelerate viewers' heart beats.

Standing poker faced, eyes intense, Giugiaro was speechless, he adjusted his tie as he scanned the F40 slowly front to back. From a production perspective it looked: undone. From a design perspective, brutalist.

Straight lines connected it to the tarmac, scoops fed engine, the severe body shell cut of a crisper carbon fabric. Giugiaro immediately knew that this was changing everything, recalibrating the language.

On a neatly arranged desk, Ferrari poured Johnnie Walker Blue for the two of them. Ferrari, a bit smug, looking at the F40 pondered, “It is not hungry, nor satisfied. Not clothed and not nude. It is not beautiful nor ugly.”

Then in a gracious gesture, IL Commendatore raised his whisky glass to Giugiaro and bowed ever so slightly, as if to say the one thing he would not in public: “Grazie mille for the inspirations over the years.” 3

@_the_racers

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SKY'S THE LIMIT FOR

STEPH WILTON

WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHS

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DANIEL H. LACKEY

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T

he forecast predicted heavy rain, but for now at least, the thick blanket of cloud has permitted the slightest glimmer of sunshine. There is hope yet. It’s 8am and racers are arriving and unloading in the Goodwood paddock. The AC Owners Club Sprint has always attracted a varied selection of road going and competition vehicles. Entry is not restricted to Thames Ditton machinery, so amongst the AC Aces, Acecas and Cobras there is a strong contingent of pre-war racing cars, historic single seaters, classic Jaguars and even some American muscle.

I’m here to meet historic racer Steph Wilton ( @steffiwilton ) who will be competing in a rare and unusual 500cc Formula 3 singleseater known simply as the Mackson.

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Pressure drop - Steph lowers the tyre pressure for added traction on the wet circuit. 

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One of three - Mackson 500cc Formula 3

The Mackson F3 car was the brainchild of aeronautical designer Gordon Benson and a chap by the name of “Mac” McGee. Reflecting the technical abilities of its constructors, the diminutive race cars were highly advanced and featured fully independent front suspension with double wishbones made from lightweight magnesium but it was at the back where things got really clever. Centrally driven swing axles connected by chain under the car and suspended by tensioned rubber cords connect to the chassis through long radius arms. The unusual arrangement allows the chassis complete freedom of movement whilst keeping both rear tyres in full contact with the ground. Between 1951 and 52 only three cars were built. They had moderate success but never won a race. Competition between constructors was fierce with every team eventually losing out to the near total dominance of the Cooper Car Company.

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Nearly 70 years on and this Mackson F3 car now belongs to a fellow named Chris Wilson, only he’s not the one here to drive it. Chris kindly loaned the car to Steph after a series of unfortunate events left her without a car this season.

STEPH WILTON

Chris lent me the Mackson which was very, very kind of him.

Last year I started racing Dads Cooper-Bristol. That is a bloody brilliant car. We were at Zandvoort in the Netherlands and Dad had the fire in it! So he ruined that for me. And last year my sister crashed the Austin so that one is pretty knackered. To make it worse the ERA B-Type broke its gearbox at Goodwood so we actually have all three cars broken.

" So there’s me in the Austin, screaming in fourth gear, as fast as it will go, and these grand prix cars are just flying past me.

A real baptism of fire. "

Warming-up - The Manx Norton motorcycle engine is run to temperature ahead of the first session. 

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" Less than 5% of pilots are female.

It’s the way the industry is and I guess it’s the same with motorsport.

I think it comes down to exposure. "



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Steph attributes her love of motor racing to her father and grandfather, both of whom have been racing vintage cars for decades. Steph and her younger sister began racing at 19 and 17 respectively in a singleseater Austin 7 built by their father. Steph admits that even though her father had hoped for a son he never discouraged his daughters from racing. On the contrary, he embraced and cultivated their interest by building them a car based on that of a well known female racing driver of the 1930s. Kay Petre, a woman who would become a role-model for Steph and her sister.

Dad had built an Austin 7 single seater as a Kay Petre replica.

He said, “If I’m going to build the girls a car, why not base it on a car that’s quite famous, that had a female racing driver in period.” He obviously thought it through quite a lot.

Steph began racing in sprints and hillclimbs with the VSCC (Vintage Sports Car Club) before she moved onto circuit racing. In sprints and hillclimbs, like Autocross in the US, a single driver is timed over a single run of a course or lap of a circuit.

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My first hillclimb was at Wiscombe in Devon. We used to go there for family holidays because dad and grandad would be competing. It was a VSCC event and I’m pretty sure grandad and dad were competing that year as well, so it was all three of us. I didn’t start circuit racing until two or three years ago. Our good friend Gary White was racing at Silverstone in a GN. He had an accident and passed away. That really knocked our confidence, but I promised Gary I would start racing, so in his memory I had to go and do it.

Losing a close friend knocked her confidence but determined to make good on her promise she booked her test and secured her circuit racing license. She had a good few years behind the wheel of the Austin, so naturally, it seemed the obvious choice for her first race.

Racing the Austin is difficult as it’s very slow. My first ever time on track was at Silverstone and they sent me out for practice with the single-seater grand prix cars. So there’s ERAs, Coopers, a Maserati 250F, a Ferrari, and the marshal says, “You either go now or you don’t go at all!” So there’s me in the Austin, screaming in fourth gear, as fast it will go, and these grand prix cars are just flying past me. A real baptism of fire.

Not to be deterred, Steph persisted racing the little Austin, often alongside her father in his CooperBristol, the car she would have been driving today had it not been for the fire at Brands Hatch. Although disappointed not to be racing the Cooper-Bristol, Steph has relished the experience the 500cc midengine Mackson has afforded her.

The Austin is such a sweet car but it’s not going to break any records. Whereas with the Mackson… you put your foot down and it goes! But it's also tail heavy. With the Austin and the Cooper the engine is in the front, so in the corner, you turn, point it where you want to go and put your foot down. With the Mackson, in the wet at Goodwood, just a little kink and the tail is coming out. Makes it lively, makes it fun.

Today will be Steph’s third time out in the Mackson, her first was at Mallory Park back in July with 750 Motor Club. She was supposed to race the car at Zandvoort in the Netherlands but the event was cancelled due to COVID-19. Chris encouraged Steph to race the car at Castle Combe instead but torrential rain made it a challenge.

The damn thing wouldn’t start in practice. I got to the holding area, stalled it and couldn’t get it restarted so I was late out. I only managed two practice laps so they put me at the back of the grid. I couldn’t see anything on the start line. You know they do rolling starts… Jesus. I was literally following someone's little red rain light. I’m like, “If you’re coming off pal I’m following you because I can’t see anything else apart from your light.” I think that’s the worst I’ve ever raced in. The next day all racing was cancelled. It was a really wet day.

Steph's love of motorised machines isn’t limited to those with four wheels. Now in her third year of training, she will soon be fully qualified as a commercial pilot. As rare as female racing drivers are, there are equally few women in the skies.

Less than 5% of pilots are female. It’s the way the industry is and I guess it’s the same with motorsport. I think it comes down to exposure. My dad is into racing so I’ve had the exposure to it. Most of the female pilots here are here because their families are pilots. I never even considered becoming a pilot because I didn’t know anyone who was a pilot. Then I met somebody through racing who planted the seed. Going forward, I think that giving more attention to women in these roles will give young 

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girls more exposure to things that are traditionally dominated by men. I think the only thing stopping us is not knowing that the possibilities are out there.

She attributes the lack of women in many walks of life to a lack of exposure, not every girl is told she can be a racing driver or a pilot when she grows up. But things are changing, as the generations go by it becomes more acceptable for girls to be introduced to activities and careers that were once considered to be just for the boys. She also credits social media for bringing more attention to women.

In vintage racing, my dad's generation is definitely all men.

Almost all white middle-class men, there are the odd one or two women. With our generation there is actually a lot more coming through who are women. It’s quite nice when there’s a little gang of you. I think social media helps as well. I’ve heard of a lot more female racing drivers because of social media.

It is obvious to anyone taking part that historic motorsport is a world that is largely populated by men. Out of thirty or more racing cars gathered at Goodwood today, I’ve only spotted one other female driver.

To me, I'm just another person taking part. It sounds really cliche but I never bring gender into it. Racing is a sport where you are more on an equal playing field. It’s not a physical sport where men can have the upper hand. If you look back to racing drivers in period, Kay Petre for example, was more famous because she was female. Nowadays, as a woman you don’t stand out as much. You’re praised more for your achievement than for just being a girl.

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Back to the task at hand. The Mackson's engine needs warming up and it must be noise tested before it can compete.

Operating one of these 500cc F3 cars is more involved than you might expect. The single-cylinder Manx Norton motorcycle engine requires priming of the oil and fuel before you start it. Additionally, there’s no starter motor so getting it going requires the use of powered rollers beneath a driven wheel. With the rear wheels suspended off the ground the engine and transmission is properly warmed through.

Back on the ground and with engine running, Steph heads over for the noise test. The usual limit for UK competition is 105 decibels (dB), Steph holds the revs up as the Norton engine generates an acceptable 104dB. With the noise test out of the way she returns to the paddock to prepare for this morning's practice run.

The sky has darkened but it remains dry as cars begin to hit the track.

Glorious noise - Just 1dB shy of the 105dB limit. 

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" We waited in flooded garages as Steph's sister made us toasted cheese sandwiches and cups of tea. "

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Support network - Sister Francesca Wilton stands by with mechanical support from 44 Simon Frost and George Shackleton.

By midday, any hopes of a dry competition have been thoroughly quashed. Whilst Steph queued for her first timed run the predicted down pour ensued. We abandoned her, taking shelter as the rain intensified. With umbrella in hand she patiently waited for her turn on track. Everybody managed one timed run but areas of the track were already beginning to flood. Two cars came off and hit the tyre wall, both picked up significant damage. Competition was halted as conditions were assessed. We waited in flooded garages as Steph's sister made us toasted cheese sandwiches and cups of tea. Sadly the afternoon runs had to be cancelled.

There was just too much water on the track and after two hours of standing in the rain many competitors were already fed up and loading their trailers. For many this event was the last one of the season, cutting short a season that was already blighted by the COVID-19 pandemic. We can only hope that 2021 brings brighter skies. 3

@daniel_h_lackey



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WORDS JAMES SINGER PHOTOGRAPHS IRON MIKE ALZONA / JAMES SINGER / AARON ESPINO

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ALZONA

wild animal park I woke up around 1pm Saturday and my parents were not home. I could tell because it was quiet when I opened my eyes. No loud radio. No talk talk talking.

I get up and immediately trip over my tuxedo and apron kicking a guest check book across the room as I try to catch myself, my eyes still partially closed. I got home from work at about 3am. I brushed my teeth, took off my clothes, and just fell into bed. Now I am awake again.

My hair is still heavy with pomade. I comb my hair back and rinse off my face with cold water in the sink. I walk into the kitchen and make a cup of crappy instant coffee. I take it out onto the back porch. I space out for a while and eventually go back inside to get in the shower. I need to refill my NOS bottle and get back to clean my car before my parents get home and start yelling at me.

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I head out to Miramar and get my NOS bottle filled. Right as I pull up, some guy asks me if I want to race tonight for money or something. He is squatting next to my car looking at my wheels. “I’ll race you for your Racing Hart wheels!”

I do not know this guy. “Against what?

Your stock wheels?” He took off the badges on his car, so it is supposed to be “stealthy” or whatever. I can tell he thinks it is some big joke. He seems like a huge asshole. We have the same car, so his friends are interested too. “Is yours an SE-R? Mine is just an E.” He painted his bumpers black to look like the base model Sentra but I know his car is an SE-R from the taillights. I play along telling him mine is an SE and that I don’t go to the races anymore. I add that I have to work hoping I won’t see him, his stupid car, or his idiot friends tonight.

A bunch of dudes are standing around looking at catalogs compiled into a giant unmarked 3 ring binder on the counter.

They are looking at the cheap body kits binder while I am paying. One of the 

dudes wants to put a Supra wing on his slammed green Del Sol. I get back before anyone else is home and start washing my car. While I am finishing, my parents get home—first my dad, and then my mom. I come inside and they ignore me as I lay out my outfit for the night and get in the shower. I get dressed and head out without any hassle.

I can tell I am about to get kicked out again. I moved back a couple months ago to go to community college. I am doing good in my classes but I am not getting along with my dad, so I know I am going to get kicked out again pretty quick.

I drive to Mike’s house and see a dozen cars parked in the garage, all over the driveway, and on the street. I pull into the driveway and Emo is detailing his red EG. A bunch of guys are standing around a teal EF up on jacks. The stock exhaust is on the ground next to a Mugen box and a Mike is under the car bolting on a new Mugen exhaust.

SAN DIEGO COUNTY 

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ALZONA

There is a little get together going on in the back yard. I walk back there and see Bong and Min who I lived with in Koreatown right before we got evicted and all had to move home. Bong sees me and fixes me a plate of food. Min is busy BBQing. Mike’s sister is sitting with a bunch her friends at a table and Bong clears me a spot. They are playing Speed.

I watch as I eat. The whole scene is very pleasant. We all moved out on our own right after high school but one by one, we all ended up moving back home a year later. It sounds like a bummer but it isn’t so bad when parents aren’t around.

Everyone had their apartments for a minute but it ended up not working out for most of us. People said the recession is over but it doesn’t look that way to me. There is an awkward moment where we are all living back at home as part of the North County Late Bloomers Club. Everyone has plans to move out again but no one seems to be rushing too hard.

I go say hi to the people inside. Chis and Dave are playing street fighter on the living room couch while Kat is spraying some clippers with WD40 preparing to do another fade in the dining room. Her little cousin Danny is sweeping up around her. A few other younger kids are sitting around watching and talking. Some of them with fresh cuts and some are waiting.

Everyone seems generally chill in the early fall Saturday evening. I greet everyone inside and make my way out the front door. Emo is still cleaning his car, so I get some stuff out of my trunk and finish up my car with him.

ALZONA

The get together grows a bit before we start getting ready to leave. None of the girls are interested in coming with us.

Mike is long done with the teal EF and is just finishing up something on Rodney’s black DA GS-R. Even though everyone has been friends since elementary school, there is little talk about what people are running on their cars. I am pretty positive I am not the only one with a fresh bottle of NOS tucked away though. My bottle is mounted behind my driver’s seat with a custom carpeted sub box over it. Everything is set up so it can be taken out at a moment’s notice. The bottle purges underneath the car. There is no squeeze button because the kit is staged and throttle controlled. It’s only an 85 shot but that is enough to make traction an issue in first and second. I know Dave’s CRX is running a 150 shot because he helped me hook my system up. I am not sure what everyone else is running.

Right around 11:30, we head out to the Mira Mesa In-NOut in a line. I am not really part of their crew, so I hang back a bit. Only 6 cars ended up in our group after the get together got a lot bigger as curfew hit. There are a couple hundred cars around the In-N-Out parking lot when we pull up. The gas station is full as we pull in. Everyone is parked in groups all the way to the Ralphs. We all park together on the other side of In-N-Out. Bong and Chris walk to go get some milkshakes while the rest of us stand around sharing some of Min’s Newports. Everyone is dressed up smelling like Spencer Squash, Tres Flores, and Newports. All the cars are freshly detailed. It is a lot of work to stand in a strip mall parking lot in Mira Mesa around midnight on a Saturday.

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While Bong and Chris are getting milkshakes five cop cars come into the parking lot from the different entrances.

People start to scramble. No one in our group moves. The rush clogs the exits temporarily. As Bong and Chris walk up, we all get in our cars and leave the cops behind. The cops turn right on Mira Mesa Boulevard to go after a few random cars I do not recognize. We go left to the freeway. A lot of people are pulled over along Mira Mesa Boulevard as we make our way to the freeway. Mike is out front revving as he shoots past the cops making them look up from their ticket books. We head out of the Mira Mesa cop’s area to Kearney Villa Road. It is a quick jump on the freeway with 50 to 60 other cars to Kearney Villa. People are weaving in and out of the light Saturday night traffic.

When we are exiting, we can see people exiting on the opposite side. Cars line Kearney Villa between the two freeway entrances.

As we pull up and park a couple cars line up and take off. Two more cars pull up immediately behind. By the time they start, there are two more sets of cars lined

up. By the time the second cars are mid run, the cops come blasting in from both sides and try to cork the freeway entrances unsuccessfully. We all make it onto the freeway hopping to the next city with no CHP between. The local cops have a helicopter but it is sticking to the surface streets around Kearney Villa.

slammed but pretty stock. I squat down, and the slicks are so wide they go from touching the rear fenders to what looks like a millimeter or two from the big polished rear diff. Some guy squats next to me and says, “Those rears are absolutely stuffed in there!” I go over to the exotics and see some type of Ducati 916 Pista with a single PIAA 1200 as a headlight zip tied on under the front numberplate. A guy with a camera and remote flash walking around claims the Ducati is going to race the arena red Porsche Turbo parked next to it at the Wild Animal Park spot later. “This bike raced in Superbike!” he is telling anyone in earshot. I start to understand why all 3 groups of cars have gathered together. There are definitely more cars and bikes that do not look like they see a lot of daily driving. The stuff parked in the lot tonight looks more like it only sees track time. I hear a random guy say, “I am surprised there are no trailers here” to no one in particular. Another guy indirectly replies, “This stuff got driven here?” I look at my watch and it is already 1:30. We’ve been standing in this lot for over an hour. Most of these people are here for a car show.

I get off a few exits south and I see a line of cars going into the Ross parking lot next to Yaohan. Everything is closed except for the In-N-Out across the street.

The In-N-Out is full of people on dates and curious families. Most of the people at the In-N-Out are looking into the Ross lot. The domestics are all parked in front of Ross. I figure they got chased out of whatever spot they were at. Exotics and sport bikes are taking up the middle of the lot as well. All the imports are taking up the area around Yaohan.

I am not sure why all 3 separate groups of street racers ended up in the same lot but I walk around for a while checking out a 69 Chevelle with the rear all tubbed out for super wide slicks. I walk around it and the car just looks clean and stock, a little



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XXX

SINGER

SINGER

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I walk back over to Yaohan and tell Bong about the Ducati and the 911 Turbo. I cannot find Chris, Mike, or Min. “Well, this is a bust. We’ve been here too long.” Bong has managed to get a drink at In-N-Out in the time I walked the lot. I feel like the cops are aware of the cars filling the lot but as long as no one is doing anything crazy, they are keeping a distance.

We have been in the lot for too long though. There are 200 or so cars still in the lot and they all do not look familiar. We get in my car and decide to cruise the 25 miles north to The Wild Animal Park.

I just want to leave now that a bunch of high school kids in their mom’s Windstars have shown up. Bong gets in with me and I run the CRX one more time. He is at my door before the bend in the road. We take the bend together both keep going in tandem. He honks and waves as I turn back down San Pasqual Road. Bong is fading as I slow down coming up to the mall. By the time I’m on the 15, he is asleep.

We pass some people on the way up the 15. A lot of people blast past us at well over 100. When we get off at North County Fair, the gas station lot off the exit is packed and cars are lining Rancho Parkway to the bottom of the hill. There is a security guard or a cop at the mouth of the mall. We can’t tell what he is, so we drive past mellow and continue on towards The Wild Animal Park. I pick up speed when San Pasqual Road thins out into fields. I get more excited when we turn onto San Pasqual Valley and blast towards the service entrance to the park.

San Pasqual Valley Road runs past the entrance to The Wild Animal Park but the park itself is a mile or so up from the main road past all the parking lots. Anyone working there would never even know we are there. It is 2:30 now, so no one is around anyways. Cars line the road a half mile in each direction from The Wild animal Park entrance. From the bend in the road, past The Wild Animal Park to the next road, cars are lined up on both sides of the road. The entire mouth of the entrance and exit of The Wild Animal Park is packed with cars. Streams of more cars are arriving. I do not see Mike, Min, or anyone else from our group. There are pockets of imports, domestics, groups of crotch rockets, and more exotics than I have ever seen at the street races.

Cars blast by as I pull up. It is a silver CRX followed by a black 5.0 about 3 car lengths back. Bong is hanging out the passenger window. He yells, “Haha, 5 point slow! 5 point slow!” I am tired, so I just pull into a pocket of familiar cars from a Mira Mesa crew. 2 Sport bikes blast past followed by 2 slammed but otherwise stock looking Civics. A 300zx, 2 Sport bikes, and an MR2 with a Tom’s snorkel all line up 2x2.

The 300zx and the first bike launch. The other bike and the MR2 blast right after them. “This seems super sketchy” I say to Bong watching the Z blast past some dude in a white DA Integra parking with his nose poking out into the lane people are running in. Bong walks a ways up and comes back.

“People are starting to double park.” There are only 2 open lanes now. A 2G GSX feels like it brushes past my calves after launching crooked. The 2G connects up and blasts past a burgundy 240sx with a really loud turbo.

The 911 Turbo and Ducati Pista don’t show up. I line up with a familiar white CRX from Escondido. It is some dude I kind of know. We take off and are pretty even. I am not squeezing on him. A minivan starts to back up into the lane I am in mid run. I slam on my brakes locking them up to swerve and pop behind the CRX to avoid hitting the minivan. Bong is standing down at the start and says I missed the Van by inches. It didn’t feel so sketchy from in the car but people are yelling at the guy and I am pissed. 

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ESPINO



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mira mesa in-n-out I woke up around 1pm Saturday and my parents were not home. I could tell because it was quiet when I opened my eyes. No loud radio. No talk talk talking.

I get up and immediately trip over my tuxedo and apron kicking my name tag in one direction and a guest check book across the room as I try to catch myself.

I am pretty positive I just re-destroyed my pinky toenail. I closed the cigar bar last night. I got home from work at about 3am, brushed my teeth, took off my clothes, and just fell into bed. Now I am awake again. I open my bedroom window to let the cigar bar smell out.

My hair is still heavy with pomade and I smell like a cigar butt that someone left smoldering in an ash tray. I comb my hair back and rinse off my face in the sink.

I walk out into the kitchen and make a cup of crappy instant coffee. I take it out onto the back porch and stand in my boxers drinking the coffee. I walk back inside, make another cup of coffee, and get in the shower. I need to refill my NOS bottle and get back to clean my car before my parents get home and start yelling at me.

I head out to Miramar and get my NOS bottle filled. While they are filling my bottle, I look at the cars up on the racks and on display. The owner’s DAP EK with Spoon motor is inside. I think about how I could fix it. The motor is good, and I like the color but there is a PS2 in it and some kooky clear Altezza taillights that could go. He also ruined the interior with some leather wrap bullshit that looks like a 50s diner booth. I would just swap everything out for the Type R pieces and ditch any extra stuff like the PS2.

I get back before anyone is home still and start washing my car. While I am washing my car, my parents get home—first my dad, and then my mom. I come inside and they ignore me as I lay out my work clothes for the night. I pack a change of clothes in my backpack. I get in the shower and try to be careful to shower in a way that does not antagonize my dad. He hates shower air, so I try to get in and out of the bathroom without letting out too much shower air. I iron my uniform, get dressed, and head out without any hassle.

I can tell I am about to get kicked out again but my parents smoked weed while I was in the shower, so they are chilled out 58

on their respective couches enough for me to escape without any bad noise. They have on their comfortable clothes now and are in for the night. I moved back in a few months ago to go to community college. I am doing good in my classes but I am not getting along with my dad, so I know I am going to get kicked out again pretty soon.

The security guard is not in his little booth when I get to work. My car is low enough that I creep under the security gate and pull into the employee lot and back in at the far corner next to Jason’s white DC GS-R, Emo’s red EG Si, and Other Jason’s Spoon swapped white EG coupe. The 4 cars are freshly detailed and look good together. I look over the cars before heading up to the dining room.

I clock in and walk through the kitchen just as the self-appointed head waiter Pinche Mike yells at the cooks to “Fire Bread!” too close to my face. I will only be here for 6 hours max but I am immediately annoyed. Pinche Mike is red in the face and yelling to the chef who is paying too close of attention to whatever he is whisking in the opposite direction, 

“I asked for the bread to be fired and Jose laughed at me! I’m not going to stand for this shit! When I yell fire bead, I want that shit fired!” The whole hot line is laughing as I walk by because Pinche Mike cannot see their faces through the line.

The cooks always do not fire the bread when Pinche Mike calls for the bread to be fired. One reason is that Pinche Mike is a cabrón. The other reason is that Pinche Mike fires bread all the time, even when the bread warmer was full. Pinche Mike lost his bread firing credibility before I was even hired. Bread firing credibility is crucial during a rush.

Last night I worked dinner on the line as an expeditor before closing the cigar bar. During the rush, the new dishwasher Ozy snuck into the locker room and tied the sleeves to Pinche Mike’s denim jacket into very neat looking nautical knots.

Pinche Mike yelled and cursed at all of the kitchen staff while trying to untie his jacket. In a final battle with the knotted mess, he ripped his jacket to shreds with a large kitchen knife and vowed to make the person responsible pay. No one except me, the cooks, and the dishwashers

ALZONA

knew who tied Pinche Mike’s jacket into a knotted mess but everyone marveled at the brilliance of the prank.

“The motherfucker who did that to my jacket is going to pay…110 dollars!”

Pinche Mike was rushing around the kitchen still steaming about his “vintage” Levi jacket and the bread always not being fired by Jose. Nobody really cared about Pinche Mike’s constant dilemmas except Rocky who cared about anyone who could possibly help him advance in the ranks to become a waiter.

I checked in and found the spot furthest from Pinche Mike in the back southernmost bus station TJ. Jason was back there reading the paper. He handed me the business section as I made myself some tea. “What’s your sidework?” I hadn’t looked at the clipboard next to the time clock when I came in even though I checked in by signing it. “Not sure yet.”

Jason was leaning back in a chair smuggled in from downstairs “yeah, me too. I need a minute after seeing Pinche Mike to reset.” Jason was lying. His sidework was done and next to him covered in a tablecloth. I pretended to read the

business section in silence until I finished my cup of tea while Jason kept acting edgy.

I could tell she didn’t really want to talk to anyone, so I just thanked her again.

Eventually, I went back and saw my sidework was to put oil in all the ancient stinking oily oil table lamps and to trim all the nasty burnt crumbly wicks. I walked over to the main bus station but the gross smelly oil cart was not there. I looked down into the dining room and Katherine was on the floor filling the lamps stoically.

“Hi Katherine. Did you want to trade me sidework?” Katherine was sitting with all the ancient stinking oily oil lamps on a tablecloth on top of the cart wearing some latex gloves from the kitchen, “Nah. I finished my sidework and didn’t want to be stuck in the kitchen with Pinche Mike or his shitty little sidekick Rocky.” Katherine is an Archeology PhD at UCSD. I know it is silly but I always imagine her doing Indiana Jones things.

I do not really know what archeologists actually do. I just picture her casually beating Nazis to powerful treasures stolen from indigenous people in some far off area wearing stylish but very high waisted khakis and a crisp white blouse. Definitely Alden boots. “Wow. Thank you Katherine. I don’t like all the smelly oil.”

I walked back into TJ. Emo came in right after me with the reservations for the night looking amped, “Let’s try to get out of here if they let people go!” We all looked at the floor for a minute doing the mental math of leaving on a Saturday night. Saturdays are always good money but really unpleasant otherwise. “Other Jason won’t leave. He has to pay rent!”

Emo laughed, “gotta pay off that Spoon motor!” No one claimed their tips right.

Other Jason didn’t claim his tips at all.

Other Jason didn’t claim his tips to the point where he had enough cash on hand to buy a Spoon Sports B18C for his 95 Civic Coupe. Emo was excited taking up most of the bus station by moving all around, “I heard that swap was ten grand.” Jason looked up, “More. I think his Civic ended up costing more than my whole GS-R build.” Emo stepped out of TJ to take the reservations back up to the hostesses, “I am going to try to get out of here!” Jason and I agreed, “Let’s take off if they let people go.” We knew this meant we would go to the races for sure.



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We could tell everyone was gathering between the main bus station and the wine closet to see if the Maître D was going to send people home or not. Everyone else wanted to stay, so Jason, Emo, and I were not going to run into issues if we wanted to leave. The Maître D stood facing the staff frowning. “We scheduled a full staff for tonight but we do not have enough covers, so we are going to send 2 teams home.

Before we start cutting people by seniority, does anyone want to go home tonight?” We raised our hands. “Ok, you guys can go. Anyone else?” Before they made any more decisions, we all clocked out and were laughing on the way to the garage.

Other Jason stayed, so it was just Emo, Jason and Me. We hung out in the garage looking over our cars for a while just in case Other Jason changed his mind.

After a while we rolled out of the work lot down past the security guard reading some super thick trade paperback that looked very well worn. The security guard sits up and eyes us as we pass. Each car does not have to wait for him to lift the gate in either direction. We fit easily under his scissor gate.

He gets mad at anything that undermines his false sense of authority. All 3 of us rev on him and laugh as we pass under his gate.

We pick up some sandwiches still in our uniforms. The sandwich guy can’t get over our tuxedos. “Are you guys getting married or something?” We kick back at Jason and Emo’s apartment watching Option Video and eating the sandwiches.

I stop paying attention and change out of my tux. I go out 60



on the balcony to look at the strip mall across the road. The stores are closed and I can tell it is about time for us to go.

We take off towards Mira Mesa on the 15 in a row. Jason jumps off the freeway at Mercy Road for some reason and we come to a stop on the side of the road. “CHP was up there.

Did you see the lights?” Emo and I did not. “All good, let’s go up Mercy.” We get back into our cars and head up Mercy Road to Black Mountain. Emo sees another cop, so we turn onto Westview Parkway. We pull over again after Emo is pointing up Westview with his window down, so we follow him after he seems to only be able to yell, “Cop! Cop! Cop!” We turn in and the entire parking lot is packed.

People are walking around looking at cars. There is a whole section of mom and pop minivans packed with high school kids. I know this means cops. The In-N-Out is packed. I stick close to my car. As I am thinking I should get Emo and Jason to leave, the cops pour in. Instead of running around inside the lot trying to catch a few people, they cork the exits fully. No one in or out. They shut it down.

I hope they are just doing a curfew sting. I look around for Emo and Jason. People are trying to get out in a flurry even though the exits are clearly blocked off. I can’t see them in the chaos. I see some tow trucks starting to line up on Westview.

A few cops are snaking through the lot telling people to line up to exit. I can see they are inspecting every car as they try to leave. I sit in my car figuring out what to do. After a while a cop rolls up and tells me to move towards the exit.

I decide to try to go out the back loading area but when I come around to West View, the cops have the back driveway blocked too. I park in the employee area and sit trying to figure out if the cops are looking at me. They are pretty far away. My car and lights are off now. A cruiser goes by me but I am nosed in between two SUVs and he doesn’t stop. No one else is coming around the back but the cops keep the driveway there shut down. A confused dad in a minivan drives up and is let out. I see him gesticulating to the cops angrily. His family is craning their necks all around trying to figure out what is going on.

After an hour, I get out of my car holding my work apron for credibility. I consider putting my tux back on. I am not really sure what I would do in a tux but I figure I could tell them I am coming from work. In these clothes, maybe I am a stocker.

I start to think of being a stocker and what a graveyard stocker is like. What are graveyard stocker’s interests? I think of an entire outfit complete with Walkman that I do not have on me and make my way over to check out the lot still holding my apron thinking a cop probably wouldn’t know the difference between my apron and the Ralphs employee aprons.

The lot is thinning out and everyone is in lines at each exit point. I notice that there are a lot of seemingly normal looking cars in the lines and that the lines still stretch back pretty far. The In-N-Out is empty inside and I can tell, they are not letting anyone in. The gas station is empty too. I go up to the Ralphs and it is open. I realize it is a 24-hour Ralphs. I go in.

When I was living on my own, I would do my shopping late at night because there were less people in the supermarket. I get a cart and start snaking up and down every isle. I pick out my usual stuff. Each time I come around to the front, I look out.

The lot is still thinning out. I wonder where Emo and Jason are. I can see cars on flat bed tow trucks and I feel a little sick to my stomach. Once my cart is properly full, I head up to the front and casually punch in my Ralphs Rewards number. A cop is buying some gum and a drink in the next isle over but he doesn’t really pay attention to me. I guess I do not match the profile.

I check out. It looks like the groceries were about $130 but I saved $57 on my Ralphs card. All in all, it is a pretty good haul. I get back to my car and put some of the groceries in the trunk but fill my back seat across with bags of all the groceries

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for display purposes. The cops are still blocking the back exit as I roll up to them quietly as possible. They look at me confused. “How did you get over here?” I figure they blocked the entrance to the loading area at some point too. “Excuse me officer?” Two cops are shining lights in my eyes. “How did you get back here? This area is closed!” I look behind me “Oh, sorry officer. I just got off work and then was doing groceries. I did not see that is was closed sir.” I put my car in reverse “Sorry sir, I will go back around.” I start to back up as if I am just going to go to a different exit. “Whoa Whoa WHOA” the officer yells. “You were working and then you did your groceries?” I look back at my groceries, “Yes sir. I am just going home after work now.” His partner is shining his light into the back of my car directly on my “speaker box” with a couple grocery bags on it. “Can you pop your trunk?”

I know this is my only chance to get out and the only thing in my trunk is the groceries I just bought with my backpack.

I cut my engine and pull the trunk lever. “Sure! Would you like me to get out and open it for you sir?” He motions to his partner with the light “That won’t be necessary.” I hear rustling and then my trunk is slammed shut much too hard. The officer shines his light on my dash and gauges, “Any drinking tonight? Do you have anything in your car I should know about?” I look back at my groceries again, only my groceries sir.” I feel like they have me figured out but I am trying to stay calm. “I can open the glove box if you want sir.” It is a cold night and I am starting to shiver. I cannot tell if it is from seeing the line of tow trucks loaded up with cars or from the cold.

There is a long awkward pause. “Where is your front plate?”

I look to the passenger footwell where I am sure the cop saw my plate. “I bumped into someone in traffic and it stripped the bolts out sir.” He walks around and makes a big deal of inspecting my bumper. There are 2 holes in it. I crane my neck out of the driver side window, “I can try to screw it in now sir but the screws keep falling out.” He comes back around to the passenger side and shines his flashlight on the plate. “You must have a plate fixed to the front of your car at all times.” I look into the blinding light of his flashlight “yes sir. I will fix it right away.” There is another long pause and I figure they are running my plates.

I feel like I am sitting for an hour. The cop has his spotlight on me and his flashlight still in my eyes. I just focus on breathing. My hands are frozen at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Another car comes up behind me and distracts the cop’s flashlight from searing my eyeballs for a second. His partner walks up to the car behind me. A cop comes up on my driver’s side and tells me I can go. I start my car and roll out of the lot slow as my eyesight returns.

I knock and Emo comes to the door still charged up. “Anyone want some groceries?” Jason comes to the door and they both look at me super confused. “When they blocked off all the exits, I noticed a lot of regular people were trapped inside the lot, and since Ralphs was open, I figured I would pack my car with groceries.” They look at each other. “We both got a bunch of tickets!” They’re incredulous that I didn’t get any tickets as we walk back to my car to get the rest of the groceries. I help them put away all the stuff. “We got fix it tickets and exhibition of speed tickets just for being in a parking lot!” Emo was on the couch with the yellow pages open looking at lawyers.

“We have receipts from In-N-Out! What did you get?” Jason was looking at some vegan sausage trying to decide if he wanted to give it any freezer space. “I got these groceries and a talking to about my front plate. The cop didn’t even ask me for my license.” Jason and Emo were in disbelief. “You guys got free groceries that are cheaper than another point on my license and a Contest of Speed ticket.”

ESPINO

ESPINO

I drive to the freeway figuring I have some degree of immunity from getting pulled over again but there are lines of cars pulled over and just as many tow trucks waiting as I creep towards the 15. I don’t know what to do with all these groceries. I live at my parent’s house. Bringing home groceries would just upset them. There is a system in place and me grocery shopping throws off the system. Throwing off the system leads to yelling.

On the freeway, I pass my exit and get off at Emo and Jason’s exit. I pull up to their apartment and all the lights are still on.

I walk up as quietly as possible with some of the groceries.

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the firehouse I woke up around 1pm Saturday and my parents were not home. I could tell because it was quiet when I opened my eyes. No loud radio. No talk talk talking.

I get up and immediately trip over my tuxedo and apron kicking my name tag in one direction and a guest check book across the room as I try to catch myself.

I am pretty positive I just re-destroyed my pinky toenail. I closed the cigar bar last night. I got home from work at about 3am, brushed my teeth, took off my clothes, and just fell into bed. Now I am awake again. My head is pounding because I didn’t eat or drink after work.

Just bed. I open my bedroom window to let the cigar bar smell out.

get kicked out again. My mom gets home while I’m in the shower. My parents are in their comfy clothes and chilled out on their respective couches enough for me to escape without any bad noise. I moved back in a few months ago to go to community college. I am doing good in my classes but I am not getting along

with my dad, so I know I am going to get kicked out again pretty soon. The semester is over in less than a month.

tone Lambretta. All the scooter boys are sitting at the outside tables wearing snorkel parkas and suits. I go inside and Leilani is at the counter. There are some scooter girls inside where it is warmer.

Leilani makes me some tea and we hang out for a while.When I finish my tea I head west and cruise down Washington winding around the airport.

I end up on Harbor Drive and head out to Ocean Beach. I get a couple tacos and a bottle of coke over on Newport and say what’s up to the Rockabilly guys parked in the Hodad’s parking lot drinking beers.

Someone is playing oldies on a boom box. Everyone has stopped what they are doing to watch the sun set.

I decide to go down to Gelato Vero Caffe to see my friend Leilani. When I get to Gelato, I park next to a row of Vespas and one green and white two

My hair is still heavy with pomade. The smell of Tres Flores is gone. Instead, I smell like a cigar butt that someone left smoldering in an ash tray. I comb my hair back and rinse off my face in the sink.

I walk out into the kitchen and make a cup of crappy instant coffee. I take it out onto the back porch and stand in my boxers drinking the coffee. It is almost Winter, so the sun feels decent warming my face. I walk back inside, make another cup of coffee, and get in the shower. I need to refill my NOS bottle and get back to clean my car before my parents get home and start yelling at me.

I head out to Miramar and get my NOS bottle filled. When I get to the shop, some guy is trying to sell the counter guy a jacket with the security tag still on it. “Just freeze it in the freezer for like a day and then just cut it off once the dye is frozen.” There is another guy trying to stuff some other jacket into the too small mini fridge with just the security tag stuffed into the freezer door. He has a bunch of old fridge food sitting on the counter and it is smelling the place up with old fridge food smell. The guy starts trying to sell me a watch while my NOS bottle is getting filled.

I get back before anyone is home and start washing my car. While I am washing my car my dad gets home. He ignores me cleaning my car as I am finishing. I come inside and he aggressively ignores me some more as I lay out my clothes for the night and get in the shower. I try to shower, get ready, and get out before any yelling starts. I can tell I am about to 66

After a while, I get back in my car and head out north to Mission Beach. There are a bunch of Marines on crotch rockets and in Jeeps driving up and down Mission Boulevard. PB looks the same but with frat bros and a bunch of girls avoiding them or not avoiding them. I merge onto La Jolla Boulevard and cruise through

La Jolla Cove during the dinner rush checking out all the people on dates.

I park and stand out on the Jetty by children’s cove for a long time until other people come and stand out there too.

I end up on UCSD campus over by The Ché Café but the show is some noise

of cars gets broken up and confused but everyone seems to come together again to head west on the 52. Some people start really blasting down the 52 but Emo and I hang back together because we know where people are going. We take the 805 and exit back onto Mira Mesa Boulevard.

Most people are turning down Scranton but we decide to check out the area real quick and come down Pacific Heights.

When we come down from Pacific Heights onto Carroll Canyon, the street and all the parking lots are packed. There are over 300 cars down there for sure.

The parking lot next to the fire house is completely full. It looks like people have been here a while. Lots of people are just hanging out and only a few people are racing. Emo and I stay in our cars and back into some spots a little further away from the street. I lean out of my window and tell Emo “This looks sketch.” I am looking at all the kids in minivans and other high school looking kids.

ALZONA

At some point everyone is just relaxed.

A race starts every few minutes now but most people are out of their cars standing around and the atmosphere is more of a party than races. Some dudes are betting fives on each race. I want to leave but Emo is out of his car and talking to a group of people a few cars over.

Someone yells “Five Oh!! Five Oh!!” and the crowd starts to scramble. The cops pour in. People are trying to get out the parking lot exits onto Carroll Canyon and are stuck.

band so I don’t go in. I sit outside The Ché and watch their entire set. It is getting later now, and I feel like I killed enough time. I walk slowly through the campus back to my car.

I get to the Mira Mesa In-N-Out right around 11:45. There are already a couple hundred cars. I do not see anyone I

know. I circle the lot until I see Emo’s familiar red EG. I back in next to him.

We sit around for about an hour before people start to head out. We get on the 15 in a long train of about 200 cars. As we come up on Kearney Villa, the cops have it closed off and are sitting at the on ramps with their lights on. The train 

I tell Emo to follow me as he runs over and we blast to the back of the lot. Mid way to the back of the lot, a cop is sitting in the lot half-assedly trying to block the area but we squeeze past him swerving into the parking spots at high speed. I tense up as my rear end fishtails slightly as I pass the cop a little too close. Emo also slides a little and gets about an inch from the curb at the end of the parking spots. We both scrape on the rain gutter sending off sparks as we swerve back into the lane. I look back and the cop is scrambling. Because it is a tight alley, I can hear the cop push his cruiser hard.

He is trying to get his spotlight on us.

Our headlights are off and only our fog lights are on.

Towards the back of the lot, there are 2 more cops parked nose to tail near the exit not really blocking it but they see us coming and I can tell they are also scrambling.

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Emo is almost touching my rear bumper and in this confined space, the cop is on us. We scrape again over the second gutter before the exit. The buildings flash with the light from the sparks and our exhausts shooting out flames. Everything is otherwise dark and silent on this side of the parking lot. I veer left to the edge of the curb and take the driveway at full speed slightly sideways. I feel the jump and brace for the inevitable. My car comes crashing down and I am sliding towards the curb on the other side of the street. Instinctively, I floor it and pull myself out of the slide back into my lane. I feel the NOS hit as my car blasts forward with a huge cloud of tire smoke. I look up and Emo comes crashing down onto his bumper in the cloud. I see him spinning tires up Oberlin drive as we pull away from the cops.

I go all out coming up Oberlin to Mira Mesa Boulevard.

Oberlin is long and mostly straight, so we are pulling away from the cops now. As Oberlin hooks up towards Mira Mesa, all I can see is Emo’s yellow fog lights behind me. I pull all the way into the left most lane right before the turn and power slide into Mira Mesa. I brace to hit the center curb but I miraculously keep my foot to the floor as the slide locks into a controlled launch up Mira Mesa. Emo comes sliding into the intersection right behind me with a lot of understeer but I see his rear tires lock and his front tires start spinning with a huge cloud of smoke as he pulls it straight up Mira Mesa Boulevard. The cops blast into the intersection more sloppy trying to cork it but there are no cars to cork on Mira Mesa.

I rev out every gear coming back up on Pacific Heights. The cops are falling behind us but as we reach Pacific Heights, I can see why there are no cars on Mira Mesa.

The cops have corked the road at Pac Heights, which means they also probably corked it at Scranton a block behind where we popped out. They didn’t expect anyone to shoot through the middle. Emo and I get side by side going up Mira Mesa and the cop lights fade as we go up the hill at full speed. Emo is kind of next to me, kind of following, so I just empty my NOS bottle through Mira Mesa. I am squeezing NOS in 5th gear coming back into Mira Mesa and realize my brakes cannot stop me at this speed, so I lift off before I get back to Reagan Road and I turn my lights back on.

I figure all the cops working right now are back down at Carroll Canyon except for any that are still chasing us. The cops seemed focused on corking one area, so I do not see any cops on the way up but it is hard to see anything at this speed. I come to Reagan Road at the edge of the Mira Mesa Mall and I am still going 120 on the brakes. Emo Falls in behind me and we go hard on the brakes into the taco shop parking lot on the corner. We both pull into spots backwards at the very back corner of the packed lot and turn off our cars. My NOS purges under my car from behind my drivers seat and a cloud comes out from under the car. People turn around as Emo’s NOS purges from under his engine bay shooting out a cloud as well. Very stealthy. I look at both cars and our brakes are smoking visibly.

We get in line at the taco shop as quickly as we can without talking. A second later, we see 2 cop cars go by with full lights and sirens. Emo tells me that when I jumped, he saw the entire underside of my car in the air up to the front wheels. I know I hit my front end hard and I want to assess the damage but we need to blend in right now.

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He tells me he heard a cracking crunch as he hit his bumper hard coming out of the lot. We stand around with a bunch of high school kids as we wait for our food.

The cops are searching around in the Mira Mesa Mall lot with their spotlights. Emo looks nervous, “Dude, I think we are caught.” Our order is up and I get our food, “Maybe. We had our lights off, and I only tapped my brakes once or twice running from them. I wonder what they saw in all that chaos?” We walk back to the cars and put our food on the hoods of our cars like everyone else standing around does. Both cars are still super hot and smell like a mix of burning tires, brakes, and clutch. Emo notices a dent in his hood where his bumper popped off and hit the hood. He muscles the bumper back into their tabs. I am afraid to look under my car but I reach in my glove box and grab my flashlight. I get down on my hands and knees and immediately see that 2 of the 4 runners on my headers are crushed flat. The lower crash bar for the engine that usually protects the headers is also smashed up. No fluids are spilling out under the car. The taco shop has filled in a bit more as the clubs and bars are closing.

One of the cop cars pulls out of the Mira Mesa Mall lot and turns left towards In-N-Out. The other one comes into the taco shop lot. I see Emo stiffen up. “Just turn your back to them” I tell him. Emo sits on his hood where his bumper dented it and starts eating a taco as the cops lurk by. I am pretty sure it is one of the two cops that chased us but I cannot really tell. I awkwardly say hello to the cop in the passenger seat as they stop. The cop in the passenger seat has his window down, “Where are you guys going?” Emo and I look at each other putting our food back on our hoods. “Huh?” The cops look at us annoyed. The cop in the passenger seat swings his door open a little too aggressively, stands up, and slides his billy club into a holster on his side. “Where are you guys going tonight?” Emo and I look at each other again, I stand up more straight, “Oh, we just got off work and are grabbing a bite sir.” Emo stands up but keeps his legs against the damage to his bumper and his hood. He adds, “We're roommates!” Our random answers seem to baffle the cops. Besides our cars being lowered on wheels, they look stock otherwise. Neither of us are rocking any stickers or weird wings. “Well, you guys cannot loiter here.

We are clearing this lot.” Emo catches on a bit more, “Yes sir. We will leave right when we finish our food sir.” The cops roll over to the other side of the lot where some high school kids are making a scene and being loud. I see them get out to check IDs for curfew. I do not think these are the same cops that chased us. “Time to go.” We throw away the rest of our food and drink quickly to leave as quietly as possible from the other side of the lot. I know the cops will be stopping anyone in or around In-N-Out, and maybe even anyone on Mira Mesa Boulevard at this point, so make a quick right down Camino Ruiz towards Miramar because I know they won’t go that far over. We take Miramar to the 15 without incident. It is almost 3 at this point. I wave to Emo as I exit Poway Road. My crushed headers will cost less than a ticket. I just hope I didn’t damage anything else. 3

@jamesinger 

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ESPINO

Extra fuel ready for the Trans-Labrador Highway. 1500 miles of gravel and dump 70 trucks.

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BIG BORE BASH WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHS

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KYLE BARNES

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Driving a vintage race car around a track in the desert probably doesn’t sound too attractive to most people.

But it sounds pretty fucking sweet to me.



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It’s expensive, time consuming and takes lots of coordination, but when you’re hauling ass around the track it all makes sense.

Not to mention you’re doing your civil duty by inspiring the punk kid in the back seat of his parents station wagon by giving him some eye candy on the highway. 

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That shit sticks man.

I remember seeing a race prepped Shelby Cobra on the 10 freeway headed towards Phoenix and it was forever etched in my brain.

I was probably the only kid that preferred the 289 FIA to the 427 because I bought all the books on the Cobra with my allowance.

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PERRAUD

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Give me an RV with my race car in tow...

Or give me death.

3 @hamburgerfantasy

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SAWAMURA

MY RALPHIE INTERVIEW AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS PHOTOGRAPHS HELENA CHRISTENSEN

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W

hen I was 19 years old, in 2003, I moved to Red Hook, Brooklyn. A peninsula facing the Statue of Liberty with no subway. There was a pack of wild dogs roaming the streets based out of the sugar refinery, cabs would illegally absolutely refuse to take you there, and it was full of the best people I’d ever met. The closest thing I could imagine to the Wild West today and mere moments from Manhattan. A good place to get stabbed, but also the best place to see Smokey Hormel, Bob Hoffnar, and Charlie play Western swing songs every week.

I went religiously to Sunny’s, a longshoremen's working class bar I still go to in my dreams at night. A far cry from the absurdly wealthy styleless infestation of Croc wearing baby stroller pushers that have since ruined the neighborhood. Like battery acid on its soul causing the starving artists to flee like a building on fire and the rents to skyrocket.

My 1880s ex-brothel of an apartment that was $700 a month I've heard is now $5,500 without renovations, if that gives you any idea. Long before my arrival, and still to this day, there remains one person in particular I’ve always had an extreme affection for, one of the coolest cats to ever live, Ralph Balzano.

My Ralphie.

Red Hook royalty, car collector, tough guy with a huge heart, best hair, brother of the late Sunny of Sunny’s bar, just to start painting the picture. Before I had the pleasure of being able to call Ralph my dear friend and chosen family, I would peer into his badass clubhouse, just dreaming of being his friend. I can’t say I’ve ever been someone who targets people to befriend, but his coolness literally was/is spilling out onto the street. Buoys, cars, horse buggies, vintage toys—the list goes on. Ralph is a collector of anything cool across all genres. A greaser, salt and pepper pompadour-havin’ chain smoker, white wine drinking, longshoreman/cowboy, dreamboat from heaven, if I ever met one.

Okay, now that you know what a special human we are dealing with I’m, starting a segment ‘Storytime with Ralph’ where I get to milk him for stories about cars to share with you. Chapter 1.

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AUDREY

AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS

So I know you’ve currently got an El Camino with flames on it, which, you know, I’ll buy if you're ever selling, an Electra 225, an F150, a horse buggy, and a Vespa scooter...You have owned so many vehicles.

Can you talk to me about your cars and how you got into cars?

RALPHIE BALZANO

You're first in line for that car... I got into cars when I was young, like when I was 17 years old. The first car I really owned was a 1947 Ford convertible. I forgot what it was. I bought it very very cheap. It was a little messed up, so what I did, I customized it. I redid the whole thing over. I put electric doors, an electric trunk, flames on it. I painted the flames blue and white. A new top, convertible top. And I had that for quite a while. That was a knockout, that car, forgetaboutit. And I had that for a while. I think I sold that and I bought, uhhh..something else. What did I buy? Oh right, my father had a ‘62 Pontiac Bonneville, which one of my brothers wrapped the front up. And he told me the whole front was done and my Dad had cut the insurance on it. And back then my Dad used to call me Peanuts— that was my nickname, Peanuts. Everyone used to call me Peanuts—my Dad, my Uncles. But anyway, he says, “Peanuts, take the car you can have it.”

I got it and I was shopping around to put a nose on it. You know, whole nose, fenders… I found one on Cadman Plaza, and stupid me—this is when I was young and stupid. The car was abandoned, and I wound up taking the whole nose off this one car. Same color and everything.

And I now had to carry it. So I had a 57’ Pontiac, a beat up Pontiac. I got it and tied it up on the back of this Pontiac, and the cops come over and say, “What are you doing, are you crazy?” No, I need the nose for my magadaas (sound he made in place of long explanation of car)…. “You get this car and get the F out of here.” I wound up getting the nose and putting it on this car and it was like brand new.

I've done a lot of crazy stuff, but it's fun, it's fun. Then I wound up getting a ‘55 Caddy. I had that for a while and then I wound up with a ‘51 Ford convertible and then I wound up with a ‘57 Caddy convertible and then a ‘58 Caddy convertible and then I had a ‘59 caddy convertible, which was beautiful. I bought it from a guy up in the Bronx. He was a Greek guy. He had a concession. And I bought that and had it for a while. But at the time I was working out in Plainview, Long Island and I was traveling back and forth from Brooklyn here to Long Island, Plainview. I couldn't afford the gas anymore, you know what I'm sayin’.

I think it was like $2100 for that car back then. Brand new. So I said, “Will you take a trade in?” He says, “Yeah, I’ll take a trade in. Whaddya got?” I got a ‘59 Caddy convertible outside. He says, “OK, I’ll come take a look at it.” We go outside. He says, “You want to sell this for that!?!?” And I said, “Yeah, I can't afford the gas going back and forth.” He wound up buying the Cadillac, for him! So I had that Volkswagen for quite a while going back and forth to Long Island everyday.

I wasn't crazy for it cause compared to the Cadillac which was a luxury car, this was a little little car you know, but… Well back then I had a lot of things going on. (My mind races to fill in those blanks about what things and the stories I know I'm smiling, just listening.)

The thing I really didn't like about that car is you had to move along for the fans to work. If you were in the car with somebody talking, the windows would fog up and you'd have to keep wiping them. That was a trip and a shame, but you know. Then I went on and on and on with different cars, it was good.

So there used to be a dealer on Flatbush Avenue where Kings Plaza is. A Volkswagen dealer, this was back in 1966. I said, let me see what they want for a brand new Volkswagen. So I went in there and asked the salesman, “What you do want for the Volkswagen?” I’ll never forget, it was dark blue with white interior, sun roof, big hubcaps. 

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What was your favorite of all of your cars?

My favorite? Hmmm, I’d have to go to the ‘59 Caddy convertible OK, so the one you sold for the VW? Exactly right. That was classy, the colors were there.

Spoke wheels and it was a classy, classy car.

What color was that?

Fire Engine Red. Red and white interior. White wall tires.

Spoke wheels. I mean it was a knockout. You know what that car would be worth today? Forgettaboutit. Close to a hundred thousand dollars. You know my El Camino you love? Someone wound up giving me that car. This friend of mine used to go in my brother's bar, Michael, (wondering if he means Michael Shannon or Michael Buscemi, the actors in the neighborhood, but not sure.)

I got to really know him, and he came around one day with this car. It was blue. I liked it then. I said, “Hey,that’s a nice car.” Then he wound up going away for a while and came back again, and he had it painted and he had a problem with the engine or something. We’re sitting in the bar, in the corner of the bar, in Sunny's bar, he says, “Are you interested in my car, Ralphie?” I said, “Yeah, whaddya want for it?” He says, “Give me five thousand dollars for it.” I said, “Alright, I don't have the cash right now, but you can work it out with me”. He says, “No, Ralphie, I'm going to give it to you. I don't want to leave it on the street, it's going to get ruined. I’d rather you take it and get it in your garage and you keep it.” Then I started doing work on it. I fixed the engine, put some skirts on it. Odds and ends, the pipes, new interior. I had fun with it. Eventually he came by, looked in, and said, “Woow.” I said, “Yeah, anytime you want to use it, Mike, it's there.” But he never drove it and haven't seen him. And the Buick I did some work on (referencing his electra 220). New exhaust, new top -- so that's cool, that's cool. Did you ever see my YouTube? You have the internet right? Look up “Ralph Balzano Red Hook” on the YouTube.

Yes, I've got the internet. Ralphie, I've been living it for 17 years. But I’ll totally watch! I love you.

(I can only imagine this video’s delightful, so without seeing it I encourage you to watch.)

I love you too.

Are there any cars you've dreamed of owning that you haven't owned yet?

I've owned them, but I’m sorry I got rid of them. You know what I'm sayin’? I had a ‘50 Mercury—that’s the one I sold to Joey Pepitone.

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The Yankee?

Yeah. Years ago we used to hang out on Saint Marks Avenue. He lived up there too. I knew his brother and him. They had a candy store. He wanted this Mercury I had. I was customizing that one too. I sold him that one, he had it for just a few days and he wrapped the whole side up. But I never finished that car. I would like another one.

I would like to buy one that's chopped. You know top chopped. That's my next dream car, either a 50 or 51.

Oooh, you better come take me for a ride in that.

You know I will. We’ll see what happens if I can get one. God willing.

What color would it be?

I would paint it white with peacock blue on the bottom.

What car do you see me in?

A convertible that's for sure. Or maybe a BMW TII 2002?

Are you still gambling every afternoon?

Yeah, I got my tickets right in front of me. Take 5 and Pick 4 and all the other goodies. I gotta get a hit. I gotta try to get a hit. I can't get a hit.

I can hear Lorraine, his long time girlfriend and one of my dear friends and most favorite people, in the background going, “Tell her about the Vespa.”

Oh yeah! What happened was I had some tickets, Pick 5 tickets that I didn't cash and you have to cash them within the year. So anyways, with this virus going around you can’t cash them anyplace.

You can't go to the track. So finally they opened up an office in Plainview, Long Island. You had to make an appointment to cash them. One at a time you go in there with a mask and they give you a check. So anyways, I wound up having like nine thousand dollars worth of tickets, right?

I cash it. They give me nine thousand dollars worth of checks, so anyway I cash them in the bank. Lorraine says, “Why don't you buy yourself something?” I know what I'm gonna buy myself.

I'm gonna buy myself a brand new Vespa scooter.

It was like five thousand dollars and change.

Then with taxes it's like seven thousand and change. But then I had some accessories, you know, some goodies put on it, so it was like eight thousand dollars. And then I had some more accessories put on it from somewhere else. So I got about a nine thousand dollar scooter.

At this moment my landline died that I was recording our conversation from and I called him back from my cell or I would have gone on. Okay last question since I'm writing now.

What’s the fastest you’ve ever driven, Peanuts?

I’m not a speed man. Maybe 90 mph? I like to be relaxed. I like comfort and relaxation. When I drive, I drive in the middle lane and just let everyone go around me. I like to enjoy myself.

I can see him enjoying himself so vividly as he says this. Feet up, laid back, on his couch watching action movies, crankin’ butts, drinking white wine, and waiting to play his numbers. I miss hearing him singing Sinatra through the wall of my adjoining apartment.

When I’d hear his screen door shut in the back in the morning, that was my cue to go outside for our breakfast wine. During this time we were hanging out daily, I was also launching a t-shirt line.

Ralph was my first model. I had him photographed with his cars in his clubhouse by my best friend, supermodel Helena Christensen.

These are the images accompanying this article. I’ve recently since moved to the Hudson Valley near Greenwood Lake, one of Ralphie's favorite spots to road trip to in his stories. I can’t wait until COVID’s over to join him in relaxed shenanigans and shoot the shit in person. So, my new friends, you’ve all had a taste of just how freaking fabulous Ralphie (or, should I say, Peanuts) is.

I’ll keep after him to bring you more magic.

There will be audio clips from our conversation available so you can hear just how fabulous he sounds too. 3

@audreylouisereynolds @helenachristensen 

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904

REST EASY, LES WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHS

RHYS HAYDON

It was so fucking LA and if you’re from LA or live in LA then you can’t understand. This house with the twisting driveway up a private mountain overlooking the proletariat reminded me of those old Targa Florio posters and why I held this shit town in such reverence.

And sure enough when I opened the storage container there it was. The car of my dreams. The car that I thought about every single day, not missing a single one, until Les died. I find it funny and unnerving how we get stuck on bullshit things like a single car and just can’t get it out of our system.

The challenge with this car is that it is/ was 904-062.

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For those of you not familiar with the Porsche 904, I am willing to give you some background. And, not being snarky at all, I want to share this with you because of how much this car means to me and how much this particular car meant to me.

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Remember the high school break ups, or maybe it was college if you “bloomed late.” Bright, burning, molten passion intertwined with that wrenching pain when you see her making out with that fucking senior at Jake’s party. For some reason that’s how this car grabs me, like I’m getting over a bad break up. I was left, dumped when Les died.

Fucking sucks.

Certainly not his fault. If anything, his toothy smile felt like a glimpse into my own future. I have a big house with lots of cars strewn about my yard that mean something only I can understand. If you were invited in you would see the 904 models, photos, books. Some people never have anything they are passionate about, but some do. I burn for these cars and can explain why.

But first I promised something about these cars.

They were born sometime in 1962 or 1963 in the mind of a young Butzi Porsche. The dude responsible for designing the 911—for the uninitiated. He imagined a car that could be driven to any race and win then driven home with the podium girl. They are beautiful and timeless with an air of both recklessness and sensibility.

One Hundred and twelve of these special cars were built and scattered around the globe. They were successful. Purchased as street cars or race cars, but excelled as both. With the passing of one or two racing seasons, as was so common in that time, they became long in the tooth and many were relegated to lesser races or converted to street use.



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If you asked Rhys Haydon what he wanted to do before he died in 2014, want to know what he would have said?

I wanted to get in a 356 and drive around the country with my wife. The two of us passing time and miles with each other. Driving with Karisa is when I am the most at peace.

However, before we were able to do this it had been done

by Vern Covet and his wife, in a 904.

Their story fucking gripped me. They bought a race car from Brumos, put some Ford seats in it and cut a T-top into the roof. Then cruised the country going hither and thither with hardly a care. I didn’t understand this at first.

Taking a race car and driving it like a streetcar. This idea was cutting edge shit before the GT3 crowd. Somehow their story stuck with me and my infatuation with the 904 started.

Unfortunately, as we all know, Porsche prices have increased. So back to opening that shipping container door I was staring at what I began to believe was my destiny. Could this car, 062, be the key to my heart?

I asked Les the last time I saw him about a week before his passing if he would sell it. His eyes twinkled brightly and belied his impending death and he said he wasn’t ready. I left his house passing the 904 painting in the living room and the models on shelves, and a life spent in love with one

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machine more than any other, and never saw him again.

He once said to me “I can see you like the 904 as much as I do” which was special to me. At the end of the article I am really no closer to my dream. This article was written for me in order to work through some of the feelings I am having. We have all had car flings, and ones that got away.

We have all felt we are injured beyond repair and our hearts still remain damaged.

I’m at that stage where I can see some hope but am not allowing it to warm me. Ultimately, I think there is still a chance I will be together with a 904. When I am, if I am, I will feel peace and maybe one day some young kid will come along and I will see echoes of my past and future in their eyes.

RIP Les, you are missed. 3

@therhys

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...BUT CALL HIM MASON INTERVIEW AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS PHOTOGRAPHS HARRY MASON DENT IV

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HARRY MASON DENT IV, but call him Mason.

Local car pervert, phenomenal photographer, part-time bathing suit designer, lighter and postcard creator, and the man behind Harry’s OK Used Cars. A blog inspired by his indulgent rides down the craigslist wormhole. Hails from Chicago, but is absolutely lacking in his accent, currently resides in Brooklyn, NY but is considering opening a car garage in Kingston, NY real soon.

When I was asked by Nathan to start writing for this magazine, I immediately thought of an image Mason made in collaboration with his deceased swimwear line, Solarium, my radical stylist friend Ashley Munns, and the always gorgeous Dana Boulous. This picture was so interesting to me. It was like a nod to classic super sexed-up tasteless spankbank car photos from the 80’s, but done with a softness and sense of humor. It was still classically arousing but also hilarious. Not objectifying but uplifting and powerful. Fuck yeah! What a fucking genius way to display this line of rad swimsuits.

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"I started the girls and car pictures and lighters...

...when we started a swimwear line." 

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AUDREY LOUISE REYNOLDS Well, Mason, let’s start at the beginning. What was your first car?

HARRY MASON DENT, IV A 1989 GMC Suburban. 3 speed on the floor, 350, bench seats, red, barn doors and brown interior.

Very rusty.

Did it have a name?

Not a formal one, but we called it The Truck or The Red Wagon.

When did you get behind the wheel?

I did not get my license until I was 18, when I was moving to LA for school. I was kinda a bicycle person before that for a while. So the first thing I did with my license was drive across the country from Chicago to LA. That trip really got me into driving and traveling that way. Then living in LA, I just had to drive everywhere and I really enjoyed it. I love cars as design objects of course but more because of where i’m going and having fun.

What’s your Dream Car? Studebaker Avanti. It’s certainly attainable. Or the bat mobile, not as attainable. You just can’t drive the Batmobile around, it’s just not practical.

I had an MG Midget for 10 years in NYC that was just as impractical as the Batmobile. Primer Grey then Baby Blue, easy to park, and you never have to pick anyone up at the airport! After that I just wanted a car that could do road trips again. I got into cars bc of driving not bc of cars, I wanted to go places. My truck was my last good road trip car and the MG was terrible at that. I have a ‘91 Miata which is better a little faster but I wanted 80 mph all day no problem. Something more reliable than a British car. I hadn’t had a muscle car yet. Javelins are still pretty cheap as far as muscle cars go a little expensive to fix bc of the weird AMC parts.

But really I was just listening to too much Bruce Springsteen and it just made me feel like I want a fucking muscle car and I want to paint it turquoise.

It’s 100% “Hungry Hearts”’s fault, I was listening to that on repeat.

something, they’d always be like, “Uhh, can you just do a big burn out?” And it’s either not our car, or if the owners are there they’re like, “No way, these are brand new tires. I won’t do it.” So I put a line lock in it so the front tire just lock up, and I have a 2nd old shitty pair of tires on wheels. So it’s the burn out machine. You just press the button and it does the thing.

So get ready for my massive smile accompanied by that smell of tires nearly on fire when I get to play with Mason and his Jav to share the before, during, and after once there’s an after. Total ReinCARnation coming in the next issue!

Okay so you love fixing cars and driving cars, but how’d the cars become part of your photography work?

I started shooting photos when I was 14. When I made the shift from pleasure to photographing things for money, that was pretty weird. I got pushed more into portraiture, fashion, and then cars. I even scouted cars for shoots/movies.

Cars are often shown really aggressively. Really intense angles, harsh light, this whole car poster look. I realized I like to shoot them in a more feminine light to subvert the typical car images.

I started the girls and cars pictures and lighters when I started a swimwear line with Amelia Lindquist. I was really thinking about the images on old lighters.

Burn out time!

I did put a burn out button in it. I justified it to myself completely. I was just like, “Oh yeah, it’s totally normal to do this.” Anytime someone wanted to rent a muscle car for a video or 

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Fast cars, slow fashion! Brilliant tagline. I’m lucky enough to have a Solarium swimsuit before it was too late, but I also love your lighters. Are those still for sale?

Yes, you can get them on my website!

Bitchin’. We’ll add those at the end.

If you were a car, what car would you be?

If I were a car, I'd probably be a turbo Volvo wagon, because I’m a 6 times Capricorn. So I’m just pragmatic I guess.

70s? Wooden beads on seats?

80s something. My mom drove them when I was growing up. So if I’m being honest with myself, that’s probably what I am.

What car do you see me as?

Maybe like a Duster?

That’s so good, and I like the band too, so I’m all right with that.

Definitely something fun and American. Why what do you think you would be?

Hmm...oh ummm, I think I’d be like an old big fin Cadillac or something?

Oh sick.

You know, with those big dog dick lights on the back. My style is a little wild with ‘50s kisses and I'm very tall.” We both laugh. What’s the best song to drive to?

Well, the car is the only place I sing. I don’t sing in the shower. My coworker and I are really into British new wave pop like Prefab Sprout and X.T.C., that kinda post-punk new wave stuff, and he’s from Manchester.

The right song depends on what car you're driving and where you're going, but a classic would be Golden Earring, “Radar Love.” They play that on the crappy classic rock station everyday.

What’s the fastest you've ever driven?

Z06 Corvette. Long Island Parkway with Louie, we hit 160 effortlessly. He’s someone I found on craigslist; he loves ‘80s Targa Porsches. He's in my phone as Louie Targa. I did 120 through Utah in the Mini Cooper S. 

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Have you ever had sex in a car?

Yes. The truck was the best for that, by far. I haven’t had a good car for sex in a while.

I’m a firm believer that part of a good road trip car is that you can bone in it.

Yeah. The Javelin, we’ll see. The M.G., impossible.

The Miata, impossible. The Mini Cooper, it happened. The Suburban was excellent for sex. I mean there were multiple places you could easily have sex in it. The rear area was gigantic and two bench seats; I mean, it was ideal. A little messy in there, but it worked.

Do you think cars are sexy?

I think some cars are sexy.

Kinda like people then. If you were like, “Are people sexy?” I’d be like, “Nooo. Isolated people are sexy, but people as a whole…They are fucking gross.”

Yeah! So beautiful cars can take on their owners and then they're just not sexy anymore.

Exactly, how specific beautiful cars can represent being a total d-bag.

That’s the danger of car culture. I was thinking a lot about this. Some people like to say that car guys are horse girls and I ponder that binary a lot.

He and I go on to talk about this but I think this is going to become a whole separate article on the comparison on car guy versus horse girl with a shoot. 3

@audreylouisereynolds HARRY MASON DENT IV

@ hmdiv

hmdiv.com solariumswim.com/lighters Be sure to check out Harry’s OK Used Cars at: hmdiv.substack.com 108

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MULHOLLAND PLUNGE WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHS

COLE MANESS



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C R E S T FA L L E N

T

his isn't so much a tale of the hazards of the Mulholland Drive "raceway" as it is of the failure of the extracting equipment of the 20th century. Everyone knows that a straightaway followed by tight corners, sweeping turns, sheer cliffs and now, ogling celebrity home tour vans is a recipe for vehicles to end up mangled at the bottom from the pavement above. Yet as I've braved the rattlesnakes, sockeating goathead burs, and seas of poison oak on the hillside below, I could only find cars that dated as new as 1985 and not a one with intact hubcaps.

Everything else has been successfully winched up from the depths of the Hollywood Hills. I would not have expected hoist technology to have come so far in the last 30 years, I mean a motor is a motor and a cable is a cable, no? Either way, the cars I have found do invoke a sense of wonder as to who the drivers were, whether they survived, and what they were doing to end up 300 feet down this ravine.



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Mulholland Drive, especially the 2.4 mile stretch of asphalt between Laurel Canyon Boulevard and Coldwater Canyon Ave has been the breeding grounds for young and old amateur racers since cars got fast. 55 miles of Mulholland Hwy was officially opened back in 1924 and built for the then 1.25 million Angelenos to simply enjoy, and enjoy they did.

James Dean cut his teeth and attributed his 1955 Palm Springs Road Race first ever win to the hours spent on this tiny stretch overlooking all of LA. You could hear

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Steve McQueen's Shelby cobra roaring up the mountain minutes before spotting him, and most nights throughout the 60's to the early 80's, you could post up at the Grandstands and socialize with fellow car enthusiasts until the early morning hours.

To read more about the race days from the men behind the wheel, you can search for a book called "The Mulholland Experience"

by Dan Magee and Chris Banning.

Although extremely dangerous, the stories told suggest there was a sort of innocence to that time almost forgotten—as are most accounts from the 60's, 70's and 80's that we're regaled with by the then-youth and now old—drifting back to the time simply before.



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It's easier to dwell on the memories that made you smile than the ones that you buried down deep so as to not cause any further trauma. For every story I read regarding a car taking the dreaded Mulholland plunge and the unlucky soul never to return, I read 10 where the driver, somewhat unscathed, would be seen hiking back up the hill to a hero's welcome. A little bloody and broken, but alive enough to pass along these tales to another generation.

What tended to slow the years of lawless racing was a rise in new homes being built, a few years of heightened deadly car accidents and injuries, and increased police tactics. Now, the police were always a part of the Mulholland International Raceway, but from the stories I've read, it was more of a Tom and Jerry or Sylvester and Tweety relationship as opposed to the "you break the law, we break your jaw" techniques you would now imagine. Stories of straight up taunting the police only to leave them in the dust as you flee through the back streets of the Laurel Hills.

I am not sure how many of these cars I've photographed met their demise at the hands of tempting fate on the Mulholland Raceway or if they simply lost control on the wrong turn at the wrong time. Discovering anything with an unknown history is an experience that drives most of us to the search in the first place. I brought my 4 year old daughter out and was amazed at how she would instantly attribute some wild story to what we discovered. The imagination is a wondrous thing that is obviously instilled in us from day one. 3

@coelmaness



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HYPERTRASH writer Audrey Louise Reynolds put the call out to a bunch of her friends from all walks of life--to ask them-- what their favorite driving song is.

Here's who said what...

INDEX / SHOCK WAVE

Audrey Louise Reynolds, Designer

SIMPLE MINDS / UP ON THE CATWALK Helena Christensen, Supermodel and Photographer

GOLDEN EARRING / RADAR LOVE Harry Mason Dent IV, Photographer

MOTORHEAD / BOMBER Don Rock, Artist

MOTLEY CRUE / KICKSTART MY HEART Statesville Stan

DONNY HATHAWAY / VOICE INSIDE (Live version) Lee Trice, Artist

HER / TELL ME EVERYTHING Sienna Scarritt, Musician

CHRIS ISAAC / WICKED GAMES Ralph Balzano, Greaser and Red Hook royalty

MALARIA / YOU YOU Noah Venezia,Graphic Designer

BJÖRK / BACHELORETTE Nicholas Gurewitch, Cartoonist

JUNIOR KIMBROUGH / FEELS SO GOOD #2 Jeremy Gustin, Drummer

SHIMODA ITSURO / I CRIED Scott Gerald Murchison, Singkhol Frontman and Boat Captain

THIN LIZZY / BORDERLINE Wes McMillan, Custom motorcycle builder, Mechanical Engineer

PULP / Joy Riders Tennessee Thomas, Drummer and Activist

PIXIES / LETTER FROM MEMPHIS Ted Barriow, Art Historian and feedback TS THE POGUES / IM A MAN YOU DON’T MEET EVERYDAY Maria Saleh, Bongwish frontwoman

LOVE BATTERY / OUT OF FOCUS Glenn Brewer, Musician 

BOTCH / TRANSITIONS FROM PERSONA TO OBJECT Nathanael Napolitano, Publisher

PHOTO: NAPOLITANO

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MANUEL GOTTSCHING / E2-E4 Travis Caine Seitz, Musician and Woodworker COURTNEY BARNETT / CHARITY Chris Papiernail, Director and writer

CHRIS SPEDDING / VIDEO LIFE Parker Gispert, Musician PAUL SIMON / GRACELAND Pamela Love, Jewelry Designer

MODEST MOUSE / LAMPSHADES ON FIRE Eric Haugen, Guitarist and Pedal Steel Player

"OPINIONS AND EDUCATION" Words

Trent Whicker

2020 is over. It is done. Scars are left and lessons learned, you like me, were lucky enough to dodge some bullets (I hope).

P-E

We’re exhausted, frustrated, and surly disappointed, but we shall not dwell on the past.

We barely made it to our favorite event in Florida. Amelia is the first weekend in March. The who’s who is there, and good people from around the country I get to see once a year anyways. I was also very fortunate to display a car at my local car club’s annual event (if your special event was cancelled, my condolences). To anyone that spent the time and effort of planning an event, the emotional let down is potentially worse than the financial. Odds are, even with the thousands (or tens of thousands) it takes to be accepted to a concours, that positive energy you get from friends and family is certainly the most valuable.

Before the multi million dollar events such as SEMA and Monterrey Car week, the common goal was camaraderie. Sure, not seeing our fellow car people at our Christmas parties, cars x coffee, and other annual happenings totally sucked. However, through the pooled resources of folks hosting webcasts and telecasting an awesome assortment of car-cultured events which, I argue, may have created more global involvement than could a traditional car week. Connectedness, I should say These events, like COVID's wrath, are not reserved for the elite (they still buy cars you know) and there will be car shows again soon. What became most evident through COVID cancellations, Black Lives Matter and the recent presidential election is how a mantra of car culture is interwoven in the cultural status of America and how we can spectate an entire demographic by who decides to show up to a show.

Many of my historically non-car friends have grown to admire the world of car fanatics they never knew existed before the pandemic. They have seen us grow stronger throughout the course of this year and support each other knowing we are all hurting. Our events have changed, but we have adapted and shown that it is not only our vehicles that are our bond. Cars are the ultimate expression of freedom, and what better a year to express this?

The car world is certainly a a great analogy of how a year of a pandemic and social dynamics can shift individual perspective from local to global mindsets (someone said, ‘We’re all in this together’, like forever ago didn’t they?)

Post-Pandemic and in the new year, I encourage my gear-centric fellows to embrace this reconnectedness to the outside world.

When we are finally able to see each other again, think about including those who didn’t participate in this hobby before.

Roads are still there, go out and drive them!

@jtwhicker 

Cheers, Trent 121

photographed by Igor Vogin

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WHAT TO DO WHEN A FRIEND CRASHES YOUR CAR? Short answer: the best time to consider this is before they get behind the wheel, not after.

But before we get to that: swapping cars with friends is great. It can give a taste of the experience of all the different machinery out there and can spark your interest in new directions. Most classic cars don’t really turn up at dealerships waiting for you to kick the tires, and even then, it’s hard to get behind the wheel. Private party sellers hate tire kickers and test drivers. More and more classics are sold at online auctions, and you won’t find them available on online rental sites, so you are left with a “hey let’s swap cars for a few turns” with friends on back roads.

We’ve seen this situation go wrong ways into a ditch a

PSA.

few times now, so here is a Walking away you don’t want to turn a friend into an enemy, or lose a car or a few thousand dollars due to miscommunication.

Before you drive your close friend’s car or let your friend drive your car, have the hard talk about what risk each of you is running, and know in advance how you’ll both handle a car getting trashed.

Your friend may already be one of the world’s foremost racing instructors. They may be rich, or sane, or totally normal. None of this helps if a deer runs out in front of the car and ‘it’s not their fault.’

That’s when things get very messy very quickly.

“What, it wasn’t insured? I wouldn’t have gotten into it” or “I have insurance but I don’t really have collision” Or they have a different code of ethics.

So here’s a hard-won list of things to discuss before swapping: 1. Talk about how the car is maintained and any known mechanical issues.

2. Talk about your and their insurance.

3. Talk about who’s responsible for what if something were to happen to the car.

4. Talk about how long you want to swap for, and how fast you are comfortable with your friend driving your car, how high they can rev it.

At this point you might be thinking, screw it I’ll just not drive anyone else’s car ever, go the safe route. Fair enough, everyone has a different risk tolerance. But from where I sit, rather than miss out on an amazing driving experience or discovering the next car you're going to obsess over it can be better to talk with each other and take that informed risk - and keep your friendships intact.



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