What eye-candy poster was pinned up on your bedroom wall when you were thirteen? A black Lamborghini Countach sprouting numerous spoilers? Farah Fawcett-Majors with blindingly-white teeth? Metallica? KISS? What I gazed lovingly upon– whilst sprawled across my bed– was a giant detailed cross-sectional drawing of a Chrysler hemi engine. Thus was the spell that the mythical engine had on me.

If there's any doubt that the ’57 Chevy is THE iconic American car, it’s been erased. Long the favorite with the hot rod and collector crowd, the classic Chevy has now attained automotive immortality: they’re making new ones again from scratch. For $180k, you can buy a brand new 1957 Bel Air Convertible assembled from reproduction parts. The story of how the ’57 Chevy (and its ’55 – ’56 predecessors) became a living legend is worth repeating, since it includes some lessons still relevant today.

The pop rivets on the crudely fabricated rocker panels were a dead giveaway: tell-tales of ill health under the distraction of a box fresh $29.95 Earl Scheib paint job. I noticed the rivets as soon as the smarmy soon-to-be seller of the ’57 MGA pulled into the driveway. But I was 15, and not the intended victim. That would be my older brother, who was utterly blinded by lust as the late-summer sun sparkled on the curvaceous roadster. He was 19, and about to enter that unique form of parallel hell endemic to the ownership of a clapped-out rusty English car. His only consolation: unlike most self-inflicted drives to auto-hell, his would at least be fairly quick, and a one-way trip.

GM’s decline began fifty years ago, when the domestic automaker failed to repel import sales with competitive products. GM’s rear-engined air-cooled Corvair provided the template: technically advanced, but too expensive to provide profit. A string of over-ambitious and ultimately doomed imports fighters followed: aluminum-engined Vega, the Wankel, X-Body FWD, Olds Diesel V8, Cadillac V8-6-4 and EV-1. Now, when it can least afford a costly mistake, GM is launching a blitz of four different hybrid systems in a desperate attempt to counter Toyota’s successful Hybrid Synergy Drive (HSD). Is GM’s Volt the Corvair reincarnated?

Following hundreds of deaths and injuries of innocent bystanders, police departments nationwide have been forced to re-consider their pursuit policies. The [Oregon] Register Guard provides yet another example of a dangerous high speed police chase. This time 'round, Albany police radared a motorcyclist doing 81mph. When the biker kept on going, Officer Flierl activated his lights and siren and tried to overtake the motorcycle on Hwy. 126, a two-lane road that winds through the Cascade Mountains. Biker boy passed a vehicle in a no-passing zone before merging onto Highway 20, and then overtook seven to 11 more vehicles at speeds that "might have" topped 100 mph. Eventually, Buckley Duane Church II pulled over. Police charged him with felony attempt to elude a police officer, reckless driving and recklessly endangering another person (his passenger, his sixteen year-old daughter). Although we're happy to see a successful resolution to what could have easily been another tragic situation, it's worth noting that Mr. Church II is an off-duty police officer. Perhaps the court will order Mr. Church II to educate his fellow officers about how NOT to trigger the "fight or flight" response. 

Readers who’ve accompanied me on this long, strange trip– from my automotive awakening to this, the final installment of my Auto-Biography– may recall my earliest childhood memory: riding in a 1950’s VW Beetle in Austria. The bug was the automotive womb from which I sprang. I’ve carried the Volkswagen DNA ever since. Even as a freewheeling young adult, I was a loyal Volkswagonista. Eventually I strayed, looking for more space, speed, comfort and even prestige. But I’ve finally returned to my automotive happy place, reunited with my one true love.

Twenty years ago, I was a well-heeled young exec. One day, I decided to indulge in a four-wheeled “weekend toy.” Instead of a Dino or XK-E, I dropped $500 on a 1966 Ford F-100 pickup. Sure, I’d harbored fantasies about Ferraris and Jags for years. But I didn’t want to be saddled with an expensive toy that offered temporary or unreliable escape. My dream has always been about real freedom. The freedom to wake up in the morning, sniff the air and go… berry picking! Lumber hauling! The simple, rugged, frugal Ford represented my ideal life. And I knew it would get me there.

Five years ago, on a whim, I rented an RV and we headed for the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho, Yellowstone, and the Grand Tetons. The late October weather was exquisite; we didn’t see a single cloud for the whole two weeks. And the scenery was stunningly, drop-dead awesome. Once again, my wife and I (and now our youngest son) were hooked on the freedom of the open road and self-contained camping. But steep prices and free-fall depreciation of new RV’s was off-putting. But the answer was waiting just down the street…

Instead of holding down a “real” job and paying other professionals to maintain my lifestyle, I stay at home and do it all myself: rebuild old houses, deliver the children, grow our organic berries and fix the cars. One day, back in ’99, this shade-tree mechanic finally grew tired of wrestling with the Gordian knot of hoses and wires nestling underneath our fifteen-year-old Cherokee. When the Jeep’s headliner let go and draped me in rancid mouse fur, I’d had enough. 

No wonder the Germans are so gung-ho on sending their diesels across the pond. Europe’s two-decade long diesel-keg party has been crashed by a new generation of super-efficient, clean and cheaper gasoline engines. A royal diesel-overproduction hang-over is inevitable. The Germans’ morning-after solution: send the stinky leftovers to enthusiastic Yanks waiting with open arms, who’ve conveniently forgotten their killer hangover from the last US diesel orgy.

Unless you live under a highway, an empty box has no intrinsic value; it’s what’s inside that counts. The Dodge Grand Caravan we bought in 1992 was little more than a big dumb box on wheels. But by the time I got rid of it fifteen years later, I’d filled the Caravan with a lifetime of family memories.

If you’re looking for someone to blame for the whole yuppie-SUV fad, look no further. Back when I was bouncing over Rocky Mountain off-road trails in my VW bug, I sneered at actual Jeeps. And when I headed out across the desert in my Dodge van, I (almost) never missed having four-wheel drive. The moment we became city folks with kids, we just had to have a genuine 4X4 SUV.

In 1985, I started a Spanish language TV station. Having run a multi-lingual broadcast outlet for the world’s most famous guru, I was ready to rock and roll. There was only one minor detail: thirty million dollars. Fortunately, my partner and I found it. Unfortunately, we didn’t choose our sugar daddies carefully enough. It was a wild roller-coaster ride– even if I did end back on the ground. At least I got a sharp set of wheels out of the deal.

The recent surge in the price of gas has turned this middle-aged man’s mind to thoughts of electric cars. And then I take a walk down the block and get cold feet. Down the street, there’s a driveway with four cars parked end-to-end. The three closest to the garage are electric car conversions, long-abandoned relics from the first two energy crises. The fourth car, closest to the street, is a Camry. Did the owner finally come to his senses? Or is he just waiting for his Tesla?

In 1993, Toyota began developing a radical gas-electric hybrid vehicle called the Prius. With gasoline at historic lows, internal company documents gave the concept a five percent chance of commercial success. In May 2007, the Prius was America's sixth best selling passenger car, with 24k units. Toyota also just passed the one-million-hybrids-sold milestone. Toyota deserves a raspberry for the worst internal forecasting ever, and an award for one of the most successful new-car launches in automotive history.