“Not making a car like the Prius was a mistake.” In recent days, GM’s Car Czar has amped-up his pro-hybrid rhetoric, including this mea culpa. Clearly, Vice Chair Bob Lutz’s enthusiasm for gas – electric products has undergone a volte face, inspired by his fatalistic conclusion that only alt power can satisfy federal regulators’ mandates for increased fuel efficiency. But in his newfound zeal, Maximum Bob is rewriting history. In the interests of truth, let’s set the record straight.

“We had the technology to come out with a hybrid at the same time as Toyota… In hindsight, it was a mistake… We made the mistake and we won’t make it again” (ABC News). 

Lutz is referring to GM’s 1996 EV1, whose release predated the Prius by a model year. More specifically, the year after the Prius began its long, slow, difficult march into the automotive mainstream, GM introduced several alt power variants of their all-electric EV1 at the Detroit Auto Show. They displayed a diesel/electric parallel hybrid, gas turbine/electric series hybrid, fuel cell/electric and compressed natural gas low emission internal combustion engine EV1.

With the benefit of hindsight, it’s easy to say GM should have developed the EV1 as a gas – electric hybrid. But the EV1 was NEVER designed as a mainstream vehicle. It was produced solely to satisfy the demands of California’s Zero Emissions Vehicle regulations and, latterly, PR. The exotic powerplants the EV1 could have been offered were blue sky. Besides, it’s quite a leap to think that GM would have backed the right horse in this alt power race when, in fact, they didn’t.

In contrast, Toyota chose one environmentally-friendly technology and stuck with it– through three years of development and many more thereafter. Right from the start, the Synergy Drive-equipped Prius was designed to be both scaleable and affordable. In terms of price, range, convenience and comfort, the dumpy first generation Prius was irrefutably more of a “real world” vehicle than the 90-miles-per-charge EV1.

“Lutz said being late to the market with hybrids has cost GM billions in sales because it lost its image of having superior technology” (Detroit News). “I think the company has learned when you step out and do bold things, you win” (ABC News).

Truth be told, GM hasn’t had an “image of superior technology” since the mid-fifties. Since then, GM’s half-baked efforts to cultivate “superior technology” have destroyed its image, wounded its rep and shed sales. Corvair, Buick aluminum V8, Vega, the Wankel rotary engine, Cadillac V8-6-4, Oldsmobile diesel, X-car FWD, plastic intake manifolds— GM’s list of abortive cutting edge technologies is long and depressingly consistent.

GM has not learned from this history, and if it has, it’s learned the wrong lesson. In its attempt to recapture the technological high ground, GM has developed four hybrid systems, all of which are bold, none of which is commercially viable. GM could stick with one system and try to use economies of scale to generate a profit. But it hasn’t. Once again, it’s chasing a new technology.

“GM’s initial estimates of 60,000 to 100,000 annual Volt sales could grow five-fold, Lutz said, adding that the car is a ‘game changer’ on par with the Ford Model T.” (Detroit News).

The Volt has absolutely nothing in common with the Model T. Henry Ford’s “game changer” was all about the rationalized production of a quality, economical low-cost car. The affordable, reliable Model T was the most profitable industrial undertaking the world had ever seen.

The $2500 Tata Nano is a “game changer” on a par with the Crazy Henry’s Tin Lizzy. To suggest that the $40k-plus Chevrolet Volt (or the forthcoming $48k plug-in Saturn Vue) will revolutionize transportation and save GM’s bacon is the worst kind of hyperbole: the kind that deceives its originator into self-destructive delusions of grandeur.

“I don't think it would be a vast overstatement to say the Volt is in many ways symbolic of a renaissance in the American auto industry” (Bob Lutz, Wired).

Lutz is re-writing history in advance. While it’s often said that history is written by the winners, it’s equally true that propaganda is written by its losers.

In any case, the U.S. auto industry has already experienced its renaissance— in the transplant factories dotted across the South. Volt or no, GM will never– can never– recapture the market share its shed over the last five decades.

(Lutz comparing the Volt to the moon shot) “Yes. That's a good analogy. If it doesn't work, it's not fatal. But if it does work, it will be sensational” (Wired).

The history here is apt. The moon shot was a hugely expensive and unsustainable exercise in national pride that enriched its subcontractors but not its “investors” (i.e. taxpayers). The Volt will eventually appear. But it will not save GM. It will be a historic achievement marking the end of GM's history.  

As sure as night follows day, you can count on seeing the following after news of an automaker in trouble.  “___ is in talks with Renault/Nissan CEO Carlos Ghosn.” The other thing you can count on: these talks won’t amount to a hill of beans. At most, the result will be some sort of technology-sharing venture in some peripheral market or an engine deal for a car you’ve never heard of. Why all this sound and spin signifying nothing? Because the Brazilian-born auto exec knows which side of his bread is buttered. 

The biggest problem facing Renault Nissan (R/N) isn’t failure; it’s their lack of “success.” R/N’s operations are profitable, their factories efficient, their cars respected. All this is true, but… while both companies’ model lineups contain plenty of fine cars, there are no “segment-busters.” Worse, these R/N machines aren’t languishing in second place; they’re forgotten cars. 

Nissan’s USA ops are a classic example. The Altima and Sentra are not even mentioned in the same breath as Accord/Civic or Camry/Corolla, sporty performance or not. The Quest is buried deep in the minivan heap. Nissan’s crossovers are a mishmash: two-row vehicles in two sizes (and price points) with no true three-row offering.

Nissan’s American SUVs tell the same tale: competent enough, but lost in the shuffle. The recent meltdown/price war in pickups hit Nissan even harder than the beleaguered Chrysler Corporation. The Titan’s profits evaporated. Toyota, the new new kid on the block, managed to shift four times as many Tundras as Titans.

And that’s where it hurts. If you were to boil Nissan’s corporate motto down to two words, they would be “beat Toyota.”

If you were allowed a caveat it would be “especially in Japan.” Historically, chasing down Toyota on its home turf has been the doom of ambitious Japanese makers. Mazda is no longer an independent automaker (part assimilated by Ford) because they tried to fight Toyota in Japan; Suzuki’s making a push right now (film at 11). Fighting Toyota in every niche (and keeping enough capacity to match them) almost killed Nissan ten years ago.

Ghosn is still hailed as a savior and great business leader in Japan for pulling Nissan’s fat from the fire. But it’s important to note that most of Ghosn’s miraculous “fixes” were nothing more than cutting Nissan down to its actual size, jettisoning their unrealized ambitions. And just because Ghosn made Nissan see sense– in the short term– doesn’t mean that Nissan’s old guard have to like it. To trail Toyota can be borne. To trail Honda (the Taro-come-lately of the Japanese makers) is unacceptable.

This is the rub at Renault/Nissan: while they’re holding their own in terms of profits and market share, their natural rivals– both above and below– ARE gaining ground. 

With organic growth stuck resolutely in neutral, Ghosn understands that there’s only one other path capable of placating his Japanese taskmasters: adding another “partner” to the firm. After all, it worked before. Hence the abortive merger talks with GM— which ultimately served to consolidate both GM CEO Rick Wagoner and Ghosn in their respective executive suites. Hence murmurs of a Chrysler conglomeration.

Without delving too deeply into Ghosn’s Machiavellian machinations, it’s highly doubtful that the Brazilian-born auto exec is doing anything more than a head fake when he speaks of cooperation. Ghosn is smart enough to realize that trying to recapture the “magic” of the Renault/Nissan merger would put the company on a hiding to nowhere. After all and again, it wasn’t THAT successful.

IF the Nissan – Renault merger would have been wildly profitable, leading to a true Toyota-rivaling corporate colossus, Ghosn would now be untouchable. If the R/N merger had been an abject failure, he would have been axed. Stuck in the middle, Ghosn keeps the acquisition pot boiling. Removing him would kill the [theoretical] deal that would deliver the last bit of wanted size.

And if such a merger should happen, Ghosn's the only logical person to handle the change-over. Clearly, demonstrable, he's the consummate integrator. Other auto execs are sharper with numbers (though Ghosn's no slouch with financials). Others have closer ties to product (though Ghosn is quite the car-nut). But it’s doubtful any other auto exec could have held two such disparate automotive companies together while keeping them out of each other's hair. This is, was and will be Carlos Ghosn's genius.

As long as Nissan and Renault’s owners dream of expansion, Ghosn’s position is safe. The moment Nissan or Renault believe that Ghosn can’t fulfill their long-term aspirations, they will begin the process of finding someone who can. It is therefore in Ghosn’s best interest to fuel rumors of mergers that are not in the best interest of Renault Nissan or its [supposed] dance partners.

Yesterday, Justin and I caught wind of GM Car Czar Bob Lutz' private pow-wow with bloggers attending the New York Auto Show on GM's dime. Christopher Barger, GM's Director of Global Communications Technology, barred our way. "It's invitation only," Barger announced. "Thirty-five is the limit." I asked Barger if he was TTAC-aware. "Sure, you guys hate us." So I waited in the hallway and collared Maximum Bob. I introduced myself and asked permission to attend. "Do we know these people?" Lutz asked. "Do we like them?" "It's up to you," a stunned Barger replied. We were in. 

Lutz sat down and warmed-up the hopeful handful by dissing bloggers. "It's getting to the point where there will be millions of bloggers, each with one reader… himself." But seriously folks, it's great to be here with the little people. Incredibly a couple of the attendees laughed on cue, and seconded their own irrelevance. Without asking a single question, Justin and I were left wondering what alternative universe we'd infiltrated, looking at each other with painfully, soon-to-be permanently arched eyebrows.

As promised, I was there to ask the tough questions that my obsequious colleagues wouldn't dare ask. The thing of it is, Maximum Bob doesn't need a journalist provocateur to say things that any attentive automotive scribe would find outlandish, inane, mis-informed, deluded, strange, contradictory or just plain weird. You put a microphone in front of this guy and boom! The winner of TTAC's first annual Bob Lutz award stops making sense.

We've already chronicled Lutz' "the planet will save itself" exchange with a bright-eyed blogger, whose upbeat demeanor made My Little Pony seem like an HBO miniseries. We've already blogged the Car Czar's self-professed subversion to his marketing mavens' desires. We've reported on his abandonment of the $30k Volt, and any near-possibility of profit for same. All this before I could raise my hand.

In fact, as I furiously scribbled notes on the bon mots dropping from the mouth of God's gift to automotive journalists, I got a feeling for Maximum Bob's basic beef: GM's Car Czar thinks the world's gone nuts. Talking about the "political solution" hatched by Washington legislators to raise fuel economy standards to 35mpg, Maxi Bob was saddened by their inability to grasp the cost to consumers of these more fuel efficient cars. "They're like this," Lutz said covering his ears with his fingers. "lalalalalalalala."

It was a highly ironic moment. Here was the man [supposedly] in charge of GM's global product plans accusing the federal government of childish detachment from reality. And the more Maximum Bob talked about these costs of compliance– $3500 to hybridize the majority of GM's products– the more it was apparent that Lutz was living in a vacuum. GM's Car Czar never made any mention of his employer's competitors.

More to the point. Lutz was operating from the principle that GM could do whatever the Hell it wanted and consumers would simply have to suck it up. No, that wasn't it, exactly. It was more like GM now has its hands tied by the feds. The American automaker will respond– grudgingly– with expensive technology. And THEN U.S. consumers will simply have to suck it up.

In that sense, Maximum Bob seemed to be paving the way for The Mother of All Excuses: the politicians drove us out of business. "The Tahoe two-mode hybrid costs about $7k more than the standard model," Bob said. "That doesn't even come close to paying for it." The clear implication: WTF can WE do about it?

So I popped the question. "You and Rick Wagoner recently received a re-raise. What is your pension package and is it bankruptcy proof?"

"You're not seriously asking the man to discuss his personal pay are you?" the until-this-point silent Barger interceded.

"It's a matter of public record," I countered.

"I don't know my exact pension," Lutz said. "I'm a short term employee this time around."

"Is it bankruptcy proof?" I pressed.

"I have no idea," Lutz replied. "I never spent an hour of my life looking at my personal finances."

And then we were back in lalalalalala Land, with Lutz revealing that owners of the Chevrolet Volt will have to start their internal combustion engine once a month; it will probably run on batteries the whole time and the gas could foul. And the plug-in Vue will cost $48k. And all GM hopes to do with the Volt is… not lose money. And then Bob Lutz was off to tell someone else that GM's brands are all, now, in good shape.

But before Lutz left the bloggers, the man made one quick aside. "I need to go check if my pension is bankruptcy proof."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Angus MacKenzie did everything but call TTAC by name in his essay GM Shares Tumble. So What? Yes, the Motor Trend scribe can “almost hear the Detroit death-watchers rubbing their hands with glee” at the news of GM's stock hitting two-year lows. It's true. Every time GM's share price dips, we light giant cigars, twirl our collective mustache and laugh maniacally. That Mr. MacKenzie sees critical coverage of the auto industry as journalistic schadenfreude goes some ways towards explaining Motor Trend’s increasingly toothless car reviews. But how can MacKenzie, an experienced car hack, justify pinning Detroit’s woes on anyone other than, well, Detroit? Hey, a man’s gotta eat.

What prompted GM's share price slump, said analysts, was a drop in the overall auto market, and worries about future profits in light of disappointing February sales… What the analysts really meant was Wall Street's money men don't think GM's a good bet for making them a quick buck right now. And if the money men don't think a company can make them a quick buck, then it's basically worthless.

This kind of rhetoric– references to unnamed, evil “money men”– smacks of Ye Olde International Jewish banking conspiracy. As populist as such a sentiment may be, it’s unconscionable for a responsible journalist to perpetuate such a well-worn shibboleth.

More to the point, MacKenzie is dead wrong. The short-term thinking that caused GM's stock price to head for the basement came from RenCen— not Wall Street. Nobody from the financial community forced General Motors to squander billions on misbegotten foreign alliances, or destroy its brands, or capitulate to union demands. Nobody told GM’s management to buy Saab and Hummer, or set-up Saturn. The end result of GM’s self-inflicted management failure is a company in deep financial crisis. This is clearly, unequivocally, completely GM’s fault.    

In an era when nameless screen jockeys can move billions of dollars at the touch of a computer keyboard, Wall Street's institutionalized ADD has resulted in a feverish short-term view of the auto business. Lengthy product cycles and huge investment costs, combined with a fickle, cyclical, fashion-driven market, are just too damned difficult to deal with.

Sure. Automotive analysts like John Casesa begin looking at the car industry, get bogged down in the numbers and market cycles, throw up their hands and say, “Whoa! That’s just too damned difficult. Forgeddaboutit.” And what of all those institutional investors who’ve stood by The General for decades? In fact, GM was once known as a “blue chip stock,” held as much for its healthy dividend payments (recently halved) as its share price.

There’s one reason this is no longer true: the company’s management has run the automaker into the ground. And why’s that? According to Mr. MacKenzie, it’s all about GM’s pesky quarterly financial reports.

Maybe that's why the world's most successful automakers — Toyota, BMW and Porsche, to name three – are those that have never had to sweat a quarterly earnings call with a posse of skeptical Wall Street analysts ready to trash their stock price when they don't see the opportunity to make that quick buck.

Wrong. BMW files quarterly reports. Toyota files quarterly reports. As does every major automaker you can name save privately-held Chrysler– and we all know how well that’s going. As publicly held companies (save Porsche), ALL automakers have to face the music. Just like GM.

Never mind. MacKenzie is determined to paint GM as a victim– even if he has to undermine his own argument to do it.

Bunkie Knudsen, who ran Pontiac and Chevrolet in the '50s and '60s, reckoned it all started to go wrong when Fred Donner became president of GM in 1958. Knudsen was outraged Donner would insist on talking about GM's stock price, and what the analysts thought about it, at his daily meetings with the heads of GM's divisions. Before Donner, those meetings were mostly about making cars and trucks. After, as the financial engineers took over from the real ones, GM's cars and trucks got worse and worse.

Again, how is this Wall Street’s fault? 

Bunkie Knudsen believed in a simple concept: The people in Detroit had to make good cars, and if they did, the people in New York would take care of the stock. After decades of fixating on financial engineering, GM is only now getting back to the business of making good cars. Only problem is, no one in New York seems to care anymore.

Reality check. It’s not “the money men’s” job to “care” about making good cars. That’s GM’s job. This they’ve failed to do, in spectacular fashion. MacKenzie’s finger-pointing at dark forces on Wall Street doesn’t change the fact that GM is in a hole of its own making. Their share price reflects that reality, which GM, like MacKenzie, refuse to face.

[Read MacKenzie's rant here.] 

Media-wise, the new Pontiac G8 is a hit. Obviously. The Aussie four door conforms to the pistonhead paradigm: a powerful, rear-wheel-drive sports sedan. According to the jobbing journos flown to a first-class California hotel to test the new machine on local roads, the G8 GT isn't aesthetically offensive, goes like stink and handles well. While hooning hacks are celebrating the return of the [imported] American muscle car, they seem to have forgotten the fact that the muscle car is dead. As is Pontiac. And, by extension, GM.

The Dodge Charger is the obvious, indeed inescapable, template for the Pontiac G8's prospects. While enthusiasts may balk at the comparison– citing important [to them] differences in power, handling, interior fitment, etc.– the G8 and the Charger live in the exact same niche. They sell at the same price, offer the same driven wheels configuration and boast the same aggressive style. Last year, the Charger sold a not-inconsiderable 119,289 units.

The billion dollar question: can the G8 make those numbers, or better? Although the initial plan is to import limited numbers (20kish) of G8s, given the cost of production, there's only one way this car will ever make money for GM: if it sells in sufficient volumes to justify larger, and more local, production. At least that WAS the plan…

The Pontiac G8 may find some measure of sales success simply by stealing buyers from the Charger and its other logical competitor, the Chrysler 300. But even if the G8 scams 20 percent of these two ‘merican-style machines' customers, the Pontiac can't thrive on defectors alone. To make its nut, G8 buyers have to come from… somewhere else.

The chances that loyal/satisfied owners of transplant sedans will opt for the new Pontiac are small. While the new G8 may embody the erstwhile carmaker's old "excitement division" selling point, Pontiac destroyed that brand equity decades ago in a torrent of poorly-built, badge-engineered cars and minivans. In spite of (because?) the flame-out success of the Solstice roadster, Pontiac has no cachet upon which the G8 can draw. The company itself has moved on to a new motto: "Pontiac is car." How great is that?

So what about SUV escapees? Perhaps the G8 will tempt mainstream truck buyers to return to the large American-style cars of their youth. For years, pundits have predicted that SUV refugees will eventually opt for comfy sedans (remember Ford's Year of the Car?). Unfortunately, lackluster large sedan sales lead us to conclude that most SUV escapees are "trading down" to slightly more fuel-efficient CUVs or "all the way" to four-cylinder sedans.

Truth be told, the most likely customers for the new Pontiac G8 are consumers considering another GM sedan. What's the bet people looking at the Chevrolet Impala and/or Buick Lucerne/Lacrosse and/or a lower-spec Cadillac CTS will opt for a G8? In other words, once again, cannibals loom large in GM's sales schemes. 

Alternatively– and this is the best case scenario– the overall market for the G8-type of vehicle will expand. In a shrinking new car market beset by rising fuel prices, any hope that the audience for a relatively thirsty rear-wheel-drive sedan will suddenly enlarge is destined to remain unfulfilled. The fact that sales of the Dodge Charger and the fleet-bolstered Chrysler 300 are flat does not bode well for the Pontiac.

While the G8 may get off to an auspicious start (the thrill of the new), it's highly unlikely G8 sales will have "legs." The Pontiac G8's "killer app" is American muscle. But it should be remembered that the V8 variant accounts for just 24 percent of the Charger's total sales (24,630 vs. 90,659). So, while the G8 GT offers remarkable bang-for-the-buck, the "normal" V6 version will make or, more likely, break this car.

Yes, the G8 V6 is rear wheel-drive and significantly faster than the Charger V6. But the bread-and-butter model G8 is slower than both the V6 Accord and V6 Toyota Camry. The base Pontiac's sloth leaves the Australian-built sedan with no appreciable advantage for the average American sedan buyer. 

In fact, when it comes to evaluating the "average" G8, the average U.S. car buyer couldn't care less about horsepower, driven wheels, handling or speed. They want brand rep, reliability, comfort, a competitive sticker price and maximum fuel efficiency– and not necessarily in that order.

Speaking to that point, The base Pontiac G8 gets 17/25mpg. The Honda Accord V6 gets 19/29; the six-pot Camry clocks-in at 19/28. And anyway, six-cylinder Accords and Camrys do NOT account for the majority of the models' sales. They are easily and completely outsold by variants with more fuel efficient four-cylinder engines; which the G8 doesn't offer.

Not to put too fine a point on it, the Pontiac G8 is the wrong car at the wrong time for GM. Whether or not there's any profit in importing a $30k car from halfway around the world, what GM really needs to survive is a single, highly competitive four-cylinder sedan. Instead of adding the G8 to their line-up, GM should have improved what they had.

For some people, climbing into a car, starting it on the first try and driving off with reasonable confidence in actually arriving somewhere is as sacrilegious as getting communion wafers out of a vending machine. These zealots (let’s call them Tinkerers) regard motoring as a religious experience filled with arcane ritual, unfathomable mystery and fervent prayer (or at least frequent blasphemy). To members of The Church of The British Sports Car, there are few better altars than the MGB upon which to sacrifice one’s time and money. But perhaps MGB ownership is not so much automotive-hair-shirt-wearing as it is Guy Fawkes emulation: brilliant plan, ‘orrible execution.

The MGB arrived in 1962 with lightweight unibody construction propelled by literally dozens of horsepowers. It did zero to sixty miles per hour in roughly eleven seconds. It could pull a respectable 9/10ths-of-a-G on the skid pad. And the MGB would hit a top speed of 100mph “without fuss” (early evidence of journalistic pandering).

The MGB’s ever-so-British styling was simple and appealing: long hood, short deck, two seats and a drop-top; keep ‘er low to the ground and add lashings of chrome. Compared to the lead-bottomed behemoths of the time, the ‘B was a frothy delight. My Dad bought a used one. He cheated death when a gravel truck ran a red light and smacked the MGB.

Our bent MGB spent several decades in a bramble-covered barn on a corner of a neighbor’s property while several generations of rodents ate the upholstery. (Marinating a car in a medley of rust, dust and time is an important step in creating a classic/relic.) Dad would periodically check in to see how things were getting on. There was much standing around with arms folded and grand plans that never materialized. It wasn’t until the neighbor decided to knock down the barn that my father was forced to come and shift the corpse.

While the MGB was hauled off to the rack for some chiropractic frame-straightening, Dad cleaned out the garage and tried to find all the errant components of his socket set. I soon learned that automobile restoration is not so much a project with a definite ending point as it is an ongoing process, like self-improvement or, more accurately, continental drift. What other possible reason could there have been for investing several days in painting each engine component a different colour of rust-proof Tremclad?

I seemed to be primarily involved in shining the trouble light on what was, invariably, the wrong bolt. And yet what an education I was receiving! Not in the inner workings of the combustion engine, nor the basics of tool use; I learned the language of automotive repair.

Being of Irish extraction, my father was blessed with the knack for inventive cursing. My young ears soaked-up his best material. To this day, I find no salve as soothing to a crushed fingernail as the ability to earn oneself a few extra years in purgatory with an ingenious epithet.

As the years passed, and perhaps despite my father’s best efforts, the MGB drew nearer completion. And then that fateful day arrived. There was nothing left to do except fire it up. Which couldn’t be done.

“Aha!” cried Dad with barely-disguised glee, “The carburetors must need adjustment.”

Out came the wrenches. There was some last-minute choke-cable difficulty. And then the indignant spluttering gave way to a muffled roar. And that was just Dad. Still, when the bluish smoke had cleared, there she stood: a gleaming, candy-apple red Lazarus, purring as she would have done brand-new in 1967. Then she stalled.

Eventually we got her running rather lumpily. After several test-circuits, my father decided to reward all my hours of semi-incompetent grease-monkey-ism by letting me get a feel for late ‘60s motoring, UK-style.

Grasping the yacht-sized, somewhat floppy Bakelite wheel, I felt a twinge of unease. I soon discovered that the brakes favoured the Neville Chamberlain approach to forward velocity: they preferred appeasement over action. To avoid becoming a tree-ornament, constant forward planning was required. Still, with the wind in my hair, careening around a blind bend with the narrow tires squealing, I couldn’t help feeling alive; perhaps even going so far as to shout, “I don’t want to die!”

The MGB sleeps in a shed (where else?) waiting for the sunny morning when Dad will begin the pre-flight preparations necessary for taking an autumn blast through the leaves. Wherever he parks it, it will mark its territory with scattered oil patches, like an elderly and incontinent dog.

Should it unexpectedly rain, Dad will find its convertible roof as pointlessly complicated and time-consuming to assemble as the Millennium dome. My mother will need to have the phone nearby if/when an emergency SOS comes through. As for me, I’m off down the pub. On the bus.

Do you remember when you couldn’t leave the table– or have desert– without finishing your vegetables? Personally speaking, the parental requirement didn’t make me any more likely to eat or enjoy vegetables. The same holds true when it comes to green cars. I’m as sensitive about saving the planet as the next guy, if not more. But ever since “planet friendly” jumped to the top of the list of PR-friendly attributes– above performance and styling– I’ve been turning back into a child that hates his greens.

Take this year’s Geneva show. Please. Yes, there were some stunning cars. But apart from the flacks, hacks and enthusiasts who visited the Swiss city on the lake, the rest of us will never see these machines in flesh. O.K., maybe you live in a neighborhood where the guy next door rocks-up in a Maserati Granturismo S looking for some Grey Poupon. And Maser man may wave at a passing a Rolls Royce Phantom Coupe driver as he exits your mile-long drive.

Me? I’m left hoping for an early sighting of the new VW Scirocco. Unless my spam blocker was secretly set for new metal, the new Portuguese VeeDub was the biggest launch from a mainstream manufacturer at Geneva this year.

And there I was, all excited with VW’s press release days before the show. Wolfsburg promised to “take [Geneva] by storm with four new models.” And then I found out that, Scirocco aside, the psychological tempest in question involved a TDI hybrid Golf, a natural gas version of a TSI Passat estate and a diesel Sharan with longer gear ratios.

Again, I can appreciate new technology. Despite my pistonhead passion for lateral and horizontal G-forces, there’s still an engineer inside me that loves to pop the hood and see what’s what. And again, I’m all for saving polar bears by driving cleaner cars. But no matter how green it may be, I just can’t get excited by a new kind of oil burning VW Golf. Not with ten million units already out the factory door.

As for the Passat wagon, that model wasn’t exactly what I’d call thrilling on the day it was launched in Geneva. Time has not added to its emotional appeal. And don’t even try to get me down memory lane to remember when the Volkswagen Sharan minivan went on sale for the first time. Or the last time I saw one.

Of course, VW’s sister-under-the-skin was also on board for the “green is beautiful” shtick. Audi actually tried to convince people the TDI ΤΤ is a new car. Even someone as starved for diesels as I am (oil burners are not allowed in Athens) can’t see any more beauty in the new old Bauhaus design– even it has tree-pulling torque and a 50mpg sticker.

At least Audi had a new model launch, although the new A4 Avant looks exactly the same as the old one which you couldn’t tell from the one before that or the very first one (for that matter).

BMW fans were also starved of new car love. The Bavarian automaker’s Geneva stand offered no new Bangle shapes to offend the faithful. In fact, that dreamy look in their eyes was probably down to the effects of reading the support materials for Bimmer’s EfficientDynamics powertrain; a tome filled with so many technical details you get college credit just for cracking the binding.

And hello, Mr Fioravanti (call me Pininfarina). No matter how sleek and futuristic you make it, a faceless hatchback with nanotechnology windscreen (and no wipers!) is about as interesting as three black beach balls taped together trying to pass themselves off as Mickey Mouse. 

Where did all the drop-dead gorgeous concept cars go? I remember when designers debuted show cars made of exquisitely shaped foam, with no more mechanicals than four wheels. Aside from Cadillac’s engineless Provoq concept, it’s now the other way around. Automakers “debut” cars they’ve been making for years with an exotic engine.  

I understand car manufacturers have to satisfy new, highly stringent CO2 regulations or, more likely, pay the fines and whack-up prices. I understand that we’re [supposedly] in a time of transition, when various [over-complicated] powerplants are vying for future domination. I know that the press is infatuated with the pursuit, as it beats beating-up the people who pay the advertising that pays their salaries. But c’mon. Cars are about emotion, not reason.

Why can’t carmakers pay R&D and styling studios? Let’s face it: if a car manufacturer wants consumers to “eat” green cars, they have to be beautiful. Would the Chevy Volt get as much attention if it looked like a Malibu? (Will it?) Like the vegetables of my childhood era, shoving green cars down my throat just because they’re good for me won’t make me want to buy them.

When we last left our hero, I was dodging post-wine tasting Buicks and Caddys in a hair-brained sprint to Los Angeles before the sun went down. My steed was a sparkle-blue 1981 Corvette with non-functioning headlights. Until this point, I’d been lollygagging along in the right lane. I assumed that the ‘Vette’s engine would crap-out on me if I gave it the boot. But the fear of getting caught with no lights– and then watching the DEA strip the car to the frame– forced my foot to the firewall.

Chevy small blocks are amazing. Yes, this C3 left the factory with just 190 horses. But the mini mill stumped-up 280 ft-lbs. of torque at 1600 rpm. Sadly, I can't tell you how much of a toll the intervening 27 years exacted on the Corvette’s performance– or how fast I was going. Not because the Nixonian speedometer tops out at 85 mph. Because it wasn't working. Regardless, y'all would have loved the burble.

Amazingly, the Corvette was behaving flawlessly. The engine was strong. Sure, you can get more handling from a photograph of a Miata. But around the gentle twists of Paso Robles, the car was aces. Braking? Not so much. And when you hit 'em the car shot left and then right. But I didn’t need any stinking brakes. I had no intention of stopping.

Suddenly, just north of Santa Barbara the right headlamp popped up. As fate would have it, I had left the lights on. You could almost hear the opening bars from Flight of the Valkyrie. "Come on, come on you little shit," I started screaming at the left lamp. "Pop!" Fifteen long, gut-twisting seconds later it did. Sure, I could have got more illumination sitting on the hood and holding a Zippo, but the lights were up! I was going to make it.

If you've never been through Santa Barbara, there are two things you need to know. 1) Eat at Taqueria Super Rica 2) Don't speed.

I've received six speeding tickets in my life. Three were in Santa Barbara. Case in point: as soon as I passed the sign welcoming me to Goleta (once again travelling at sane speeds) I saw a CHP officer climbing back on his hog and a blue BMW taking off from the shoulder. Then I saw a Highway Patrol car. Then another. I would have been toast. Or tased.

Now that I was back to cruising, I had some neurons to spare to contemplate the C3. What a brilliant little car. How did it know to pop those lights then and there? And maybe those neurons were cooked a little, but I realized what was going on. The Corvette knew.

This was it: the poor thing's swan song. It's death rattle. The last chance the tri-decade dog would have to be flogged California style. Sure, they have roads in Euroland. But 'Vettes — especially C3s – were built for the Golden State. Somehow, like a race horse about to be put out to stud, the Corvette knew. This was its victory lap.

Respect. I like how the Sting Ray makes you feel dangerous. And sleazy. It's akin to driving a van with a waterbed in back. You're a bad element; daughters' mothers know it. I can't even tell you how many times I looked in my rearview and caught a wife in the passenger seat checking me and my 'Vette out. Seriously, they couldn't take their eyes off the long, sleek, blue-speckled phallus.

I stopped at the beach to snap some photos and got mobbed by surfers. I've never heard "Dude!" so many times in my life.

I didn't dare turn the engine off, for fear of losing the headlights, but looking at the C3 nestled next to the Pacific Ocean, the zeitgeist of this machine became clear. It's the 70s, man. Sex couldn't kill you. Cocaine couldn't kill you. Rock and roll would never die, but you could get more coke and sex at the disco. The world has since moved on, but this Corvette? Still super awesome.

Before I got home, I stopped off for some tacos. The locals loved the 'Vette. "Dude, that is a beautiful car." Indeed, it is. The C3’s lines are timeless, as aesthetically spot on as anything from Italy or Britain from the 70s. And light years ahead of Japan and Germany.

In fact, I'm sorry my time with this C3 was so short. The seats are comfortable, the engine can get out of its own way and the looks– to paraphrase Vince Neil– can kill. With just a little TLC I could see owning this 'Vette big time. The C3’s currently parked in an undisclosed location, awaiting the Czech's further instructions. I bet I could make Mexico in a matter of hours.

[Read Pt. 1 of 440 Miles by clicking here.] 

By most accounts, I’m a good citizen. I work, I pay taxes, I keep my crimes to myself and I call my mother at least once a week. But I have a wild side. Like a vintage race, this part of my personality just begs to be taken out and let loose from time to time. I’m not going to tell you what I spent my first Bush tax rebate on. But I will tell you that when the $600 arrives in June, I will be at a $10/$20 No Limit table. So, when I was contacted by a guy in Prague to transport a 1981 Corvette from Oakland to a container ship in Los Angeles, I jumped at the chance. How could I lose?

It gets worse: The purchaser– whom we’ll call “Bob”– was actually a middle man for another Czech guy. The plan: wire transfer me the money for the merchandise, a one-way plane ticket and a small fee. You haven’t lived until you’re emailed your bank account info to a former communist country. I telephoned the seller to ask if he wanted a money order or a cashier’s check for the ‘Vette. “Cash,” was his not entirely unpredictable answer.

As I was unsure of the feasibility of a big cash withdrawal on a Saturday, I boarded a flight in Burbank with fifty-five $100 bills burning a worry-hole in my pocket.

Aside from a horrific speckled blue paint job, the Vette’s exterior looked ship shape. The interior was in remarkably good condition, too, with just the usual litany of malaise era Detroit bugaboos — shot HVAC, busted electric seats and a sun cracked dash. After handing over the bankroll, the seller fired her up.

As I headed out on the 880 towards the 101, a Led Zeppelin rock block started. Talk about apropos. “Hey hey mama said the way you move, going make you sweat, gonna make you groove!” Man, I was loving this. And felt just like a Jersey pot dealer. Hey, for all I knew, the gas tank was half-filled with smack.

By the time the last few chords of California ended, I was miserable. The turn signal lever had come off in my hand. There was no way to stop the hot air coming out of the vents, which meant I had to keep the windows down. On the freeway. The clutch literally has 14 inches of travel, and someone in the Czech Republic will be rebuilding a Chevy tranny sooner than later. Did I mention that the shocks are completely blown, and that the T-Tops sound as if they’re about to crack over every single road imperfection? Anyway…

My plan was to do the deed during daylight hours on a Saturday. I opted to take the slower, longer and more congested 101 because I’d be better off if the Corvette broke down. I also wanted to stop along the way and take some pretty pictures of the car along the coast, in a vineyard and maybe even parked in a mustard field.

Besides, the wind was a lot less annoying at 65 mph than at 80 mph. Also, why push it? The poor thing’s nearly as old as I am. All of that changed when I got to the Madonna Inn.

Figuring the garishness of the Corvette could only be matched by the surreal boorishness of the Inn, I stopped to snap some photos. And since C3s look so cool with their headlights up, I figured I’d pop ‘em. Only they wouldn’t pop. It was 3:00 pm, the day before daylight savings kicks in. I had 200 miles to go, and the last 30 of those were through Saturday night LA Traffic. I was now racing the sun.

Murliee Martin had been nice enough to check the Corvette out a few weeks before I showed up, so I called him. “There’s no headlights!” I shouted. “OK,” he replied. “You need to build up vacuum pressure. Take it up to 95 mph, shift into second, and let the engine haul you down to 40 mph.”

I’ve heard a lot of bad noises come out of cars in my day, but nothing quite like this. Imagine whacking a dozen circular saw blades with a crowbar. You get the idea, kinda.

I called Murilee back. “Nothing!” I screamed. “It’s probably a fuse,” he said. “You don’t have taillights either.”

So let’s recap: At this point I’m flying through wine country traffic without turn signals, headlights or taillights in a nearly 30-year-old example of the UAW’s finest work that’s titled to some guy in central Europe. And the gas tank’s (probably) stuffed with heroin. Yeah, this was big and dumb.

[Read 400 Miles Part 2 by clicking here . ] 

In February, lovers old and new turn their attention to matters of the heart. No 'bout a doubt it: automakers weren't feeling the love. Overall U.S. light vehicle sales dropped 6.3 percent in February and 5.3 percent for the year.  With precious few exceptions, sales were down across the board. And this time, the usually impervious foreign nameplates and transplants felt the pain along with their Detroit counterparts (although not quite as badly). Let's take a closer look at the love's labor lost.

Pickup Trucks

As you'd expect, as gas topped $3 a gallon, pickup truck sales tanked.  Chevy's Silverado plummeted 24.9 percent compared to last February, down 17.4 percent year-to-date. Ford's F-Series didn't suffer quite as badly, losing just 4.9 percent from last February and 6.5 percent on the year. The Dodge Ram finished the month 20.9 percent below February ‘07, dropping 19.7 percent for the year so far. Toyota's Tundra showed a 48.9 percent gain on last February. The Texas-built  pickup gained 65.6 percent on the year. However, ToMoCo was introducing the new model this time last year; sales were low for the first few months.

Passenger Cars

Chevrolet must still be having production problems with their "everyone wants one" Malibu. The new 'Bu only managed to increase sales 6.5 percent over the old model's February sales (a good January pushed sales up 29.1 percent year to date). Ford's Fusion recovered from a slow start in January, finishing February 12.1 percent higher than last year, with year-to-date sales up 1.2 percent. Chrysler's 300 continues its nosedive, down 11.6  percent in February and 10.8 percent for the year. The Toyota Camry was one of the few cars showing sales growth. The perennial sales champ finished the month up 8.6 percent, 4.6 percent ahead of last year.  The newly-renlarged Honda Accord isn't doing so well. Sales are down nine percent for the month and eight percent for the year.

Truck-Based SUVs

Truck-based SUVs… ouch. The Chevy Tahoe continues selling at sub-2007 levels, dropping 26.4 percent in February and 20.4 percent year-to-date. Sales of FoMoCo's Explorer showed roughly the same performance, declining 27.1 percent from the month last year and 23.7 percent so far this year. The Dodge Boys might want to put a bullet in the Durango's head before it embarrasses them any more; model sales sank by 39.5 percent for the month and 35.8 percent drop for the year. The recently reviewed Toyota Sequoia sales increased 13.2 percent for February and 14.3 percent for the year. But like the Tundra, the numbers compare the new model to the old– and sales volumes are so low that we're only talking about a difference of 300 trucks in February.

CUVs

Although overall crossover sales were down from January, GMC's Acadia was still up 38.5 percent for the month and 122.1 percent for the year. The Edge was Ford's bright spot, racking up a 45.9 percent increase over last February and increasing sales for the year by 66.1 percent. The restyled Toyota Highlander jumped 12.2 percent for the month and 16 percent for the year. The old-style Honda Pilot did even better, growing 24.3 percent compared to last February and  7.7 percent compared to last year.

Prius

Even though gas prices went up in February, Prius sales went down 10.9 percent.  They're still up 8.5 percent overall above last year so far, but sales were so robust in the first half of 2007 they may continue at sub-'07 levels for the next few months.  At least until gas starts climbing to the $4/gallon mark.

Total Sales

GM's turnaround must have turned around. After blowing their horn over a black January, GM turned in a Valentine-red February. They were down 12.9 percent from February of last year. So far this year, the General's down six percent from last year. Ford didn't do quite as badly, turning in a 6.7 percent drop for the month and a 5.5 percent decrease for the year .  Chrysler performed about as expected sliding 14 percent in February and 13.1 percent year to date. Even normally bullet-proof Toyota suffered in February, down 2.8 percent for the month, trailing last year by 2.4 percent. Thanks to CR-V and Civic sales, Honda managed to show growth in February, up 4.9 percent in 2008. HoMoCo finished 1.5 percent ahead year to date.

The Future

Even as new versions of the F-Series and Ram warm up in the bullpen, it doesn't look like anything will pull the truck market out of its tailspin. The CUV market will continue to grow, as Honda brings on its new Pilot and Chevy steals market share from the other Lambdas with the Traverse. In the passenger car market, attention's shifting to small cars– where Ford and Chrysler are woefully lacking and GM offers the the Korean Aveo. Add in GM's and Chrysler's supplier problems and Ford's financial difficulties and the future looks pretty bleak they're pulling the shades. Can any of them tame the shrew haunting the U.S. new car market? Watch this space.

I studied epistemology in a college religion class. Epistemology is a fifty cent word for the branch of philosophy that explores the way in which man learns truth. What leads a person to the certain conclusion that God exists? Is it the conclusion of a logical process? Or personal spiritual experience? Maybe it’s embracing family tradition? At the risk of offending deity and condemning my soul to an eternity burning amid fire and Bridgestone, I liken the process of buying new tires to the quest for faith.

When we buy a car, we are able to visit local dealerships to test drive the vehicles under consideration. We can see, hear, feel, smell and [theoretically] taste a car before we buy it. Of course there are variables that are unknowable after 20-minutes at the helm and an hour putzing around the sales floor. But our personal sensory experience generally provides enough data to conclude whether a candidate car meets our needs, desires, and budget.

It’s not the same with tires. Ideally buyers could mount various tires to their car and perform comparative test drives back-to-back before deciding on what rubber they want to invest in.

The closest experience I’ve had to this occurred last year when Cooper Tires invited me (along with a dozen other auto journalists) to their test track near Pearsall, Texas.  They prepared a number of head-to-head comparisons between their new CS4 tire and selected competitors.

Scribes were allowed to race a Mustang fitted with CS4s through a wetted rally track back-to-back with a second Mustang fitted with Bridgestones. Next we drove two identical Cadillac DTS’ shoed with Coopers and Continentals through an emergency stop trap.  In each instance, the CS4 performed favorably.

I don’t think the Cooper folks did anything underhanded, but like a vacuum cleaner salesman who demonstrates his product sucking-up nuts and bolts, the tests were clearly designed to show their product in the most favorable light. 

So we’re still relegated to grasping for truth through a fog-filled maze of mirrors. The manufactures (i.e. father of lies) and their self-serving marketing claims simply can’t be trusted. Most tire dealers (i.e. devil’s spawn) are equally untrustworthy; they will spin you toward the tire that makes them the most money. Car buff book, consumer guides and tire rag evaluations (i.e. sacred writ) are compromised by the same temptations that afflict their car reviews: pressure from big advertisers and addiction to the press junket gravy train.

That narrows reconnaissance options to word-of-mouth and Internet reviews (i.e. testimonials), both of which are also fraught with risk. When your neighbor (i.e. the zealot) tells you about his favorite tire, you have to wonder, “What the Hell does HE know about it?” Has he compared his favorite doughnut to each competitor so he can draw comparisons? More importantly, his automobile and driving style are unlikely to match your own. 

Internet user reviews might be the most suspect of all. You can never fully know the background and biases of the reviewers. A bitter critic stung by bad service or stuck with a lemon could be on an e-jihad to ensure that the world hears of his pain. Furthermore, I find that familiarity breeds contempt among the most popular models. Somehow human nature makes us want to despise the successful and root for underdogs.

On the other hand, the review you are reading might be the handiwork of a marketing firm looking to stack the net with glowing reviews of their client’s product. Shopcartusa.com (i.e. Beelzebub) is an obvious example of this nefarious practice.

[Last year, as I searched for the best deal on a new camera body I stumbled across their site. Their “customers” unwaveringly gave thousands of five-star ratings and rave reviews of known suspect merchants, some of whom fell under indictment by the New Jersey State Attorney General.]

If you manufactured tires, wouldn’t you make sure that there were as many positive reviews about your product posted on TireRack.com as possible?  If an electronic warrior is smarter than the guys at Shopcartusa.com, they can make favorable reviews look quite natural and convincing.

Most tire buyers become so confused by the chorus (i.e. legion) of unreliable messages that they immerse themselves in the only thing they know for sure– their own experience (i.e. tradition). But this fear of getting something bad blinds us from discovering anything better.

In my most recent tire search, my cynical self (i.e. the tire agnostic) was left to sort through the mass of information, sniffing each data and casting aside anything smelling of spin, reeking of bile or spritzed with eau de incompétence. I looked for threads of consensus from the many differing sources that remain. Balancing these conclusions against my needs and budget led me to my final selection. And then I prayed that I’d made the best choice.

[Cooper tires provided Mr. Montgomery with lunch, track time and insurance.] 

For me, driving bliss is all about the setting. Give me an empty road, spectacular scenery, good company and the freedom to explore without an itinerary or time constraints, and I’m in Heaven. Sure, a nice set of wheels enhances the pleasure. But if it came down to it, I’d take an inexpensive reliable car and an endless open road over a garage full of under-used toys that never really get off their leash. I knew the basic formula intuitively in my youth. Read More >

In 1968, a book called The Peter Principle argued that large organizations promote employees past their proven abilities, until they reach their natural “level of incompetence.” As a remedy, Dr. Laurence J. Peter suggested a rigid corporate caste system. For example, a talented accountant could rise within his field to become the company’s The Chief Financial Officer (CFO). And that’s it. Promoting the successful beancounter to the head of the company risks evoking The Peter Principle, and threatens disaster. Or, in the case, of GM, creates it.

It’s ironic. As a Harvard-trained MBA, Rick Wagoner possesses the exact forensic accounting skills needed to prove that he's been a lousy Chief Executive Officer. While we can debate whether or not GM's former CFO has “set the stage” for GM’s “turnaround,” any halfway decent pencil pusher will tell you that General Motors’ financial health has deteriorated rapidly during Wagoner’s administration.

When Rick Wagoner became GM’s CEO in June 2000, the automaker’s market capitalization was $36b. The previous year, it banked a $6b profit. Today, GM’s market capitalization is $19.21b. Last year, the company lost $38.7b. Yes, the majority of the ‘07 red ink spray was a “paper” loss involving deferred tax credits (which will never be taken). So call it a $1.6b hit. And don’t forget that GM has lost billions of dollars over the last three years while selling off billions of dollars worth of assets and adding tens of billions of dollars in debt. GM’s currently paying more than $2.6b per year in interest. 

When Wagoner took the helm of what was then the world’s largest automaker, the company’s North American market share stood at 28.2 percent. GM’s freshly-minted CEO promised a return to a 30 percent U.S. market share. In the last eight years, GM’s piece of the American pie has shrunk to 22.7 percent. If you remove sales to rental fleets, government agencies and customers within the GM “family,” GM’s American market share may well be in the teens.

And speaking of shares, yesterday afternoon, GM was trading at $22.35 per share. That’s down 48 percent from the $43.20 per share peak set after the “landmark” United Auto Workers’ agreement. Taking a longer term perspective, in May 2000, GM was trading at over $90 a share. At the turn of the last century, GM paid stockholders dividends worth .50 a share. Since 2006, GM has paid its stockholders .25 a share.

This series has chronicled the myriad of missteps during Wagoner’s tenure at the top. Lackluster products. Incoherent branding. Mistimed, muddled marketing. Production problems. Catastrophic supplier relations. Abject capitulation to union demands (including a VEBA worth more than GM's market cap). Suffice it to say, Wagoner has never publicly declared a hard target for GM’s return to profitability. He is the unaccountable accountant.

GM apologists maintain that Wagoner’s made the best of a bad situation not of his creation– forgetting that his minions missed the switch from SUVs to CUVs and cars. Instead, they point to the CEO’s relentless cost-cutting, a handful of “proper” cars (e.g. Cadillac CTS, Chevrolet Malibu) and forthcoming Hail Mary (e.g. the Chevrolet Volt). The fact that Wagoner’s radical downsizing hasn’t realized any savings and the new products haven’t stemmed GM’s market share slide is, supposedly, a short term issue.

Without a target for profit, who can argue the point? Is it even worth arguing? Ultimately, a company’s culture– not numbers on a balance sheet– determines its long term success or failure. 

Rick Wagoner began his career as an analyst for GM in the New York Treasurer's Office in 1977. He has hasn’t worked a single day outside of General Motors. So it’s no wonder that Wagoner hasn’t had any impact on GM’s corporate culture. The automaker is still a nest of vipers. Well, dozens of nests of vipers; all competing with each other for resources. The company lacks teamwork, coordination, esprit de corps and, I would suggest, a strong moral foundation.

That’s the GM Rick knows. That’s what he protects. After all, it’s protected and rewarded him. Just yesterday, GM’s Board of Bystanders re-raised Wagoner’s annual salary to $2.2m. He will also receive 165,563 shares from GM’s “long-term incentive plan,” 500k stock options and 75k restricted stock units. The board also agreed to pay Wagoner an addition $3.52m under GM's Annual Incentive Plan– if the company achieves an unspecified performance target. And then there’s Wagoner’s bankruptcy-proof pension, health care, cars for life, etc.

By any reasonable metric, Rick Wagoner has been a disaster for General Motors. By appointing ANOTHER Harvard trained GM lifer and former CFO to replace him, Wagoner has assured a legacy of upwards-failing executive incompetence. But it would be completely unfair to say that Rick Wagoner has been a failure as GM’s CEO. He’s the single best example of The Peter Principle of our time.

If you’ve ever stood at a Swiss platform and watched a train pull in within seconds of its ETA, you’ll know that this small country knows how to get shit done. The Geneva auto show is no exception. Its precise schedule and small scale make it the crown jewel of car confabs. This year, there was enough greenwashing to scrub the Amazon clean. Where once style, performance and a beautiful babe made show cars sexy, halo cars must now wear a badge proclaiming “Saving the planet one car at a time.” As if.

Of course, a hypocritical herd instinct does not an exciting auto show make. How many plug-in diesel-electric belt-assisted hydrogen-fuel-cell regenerative-braking lithium-ion dual-fuel unrealistically aerodynamic hybrid alibimobiles planned for 2011 were there? Lots. Suffice it to say, GM introduced its fifth hybrid powerplant at the Geneva show, a marginal improvement that’s testimony to the intensity of the PR war waged in the name your home planet.

And let's not talk about non-news such as the Audi A4 Avant. Or the Toyota Urban Cruiser (wasn't there an Al Pacino movie by that name?) which leaps to the top of the ten most boring Toyotas ever made in the history of the world, ever.

Meanwhile, the Tiny-Yet-Sexy niche continues to, uh, grow. We’re talking (comparatively) expensive little things that intend to make you feel good about yourself, the environment and parking (not necessarily in that order). As Paul Niedermeyer pointed out, this is the small car future that the MINI started. Toyota's iQ could take it mainstream. Priced higher than the larger Aygo, it looks great and sips fuel.

Another important trend: the Almost-Disposably-Cheap-Yet-Quite-Crap car. Mr. Tata brought the Nano to Geveva in his hand luggage. It’s an attractive appliance, a sympathetic amoeba on roller skates. Yes it has 12" wheels, but the original Mini had ten-inchers. The €9k-ish Dacia Sandero is of the same ilk. Taking purchasing power parity into account, that’s about $8k net, list. The Nissan Pivo is a bit more expensive and a lot more sci-fi, but if this is the future, include me in.

If you need another sign that Renault-Nissan is bursting with self-confidence, how about the Euro-Zone launch of their American (shhh) Infiniti brand? The FX50 is quite the looker. It’s not the segment buster they need, perhaps, but the FX is a lot more distinctive that the G-cars that’ll battle Bimmer’s best.

The stubby/cheeky Audi A3 Cabrio lives somewhere between laughable and laudable. The Cadillac CTS Coupe may not be the brand builder traditionalists seek (V16?), but it gets nothing but props here. It’s Caddy’s best chance abroad. 

I liked the suicide doors on the future Opel Meriva– it's a good sign when a company devotes itself to a topic as prosaic as entry and egress. Surprisingly, the Passat CC is a fantastic improvement on the conventional, frumpy Passat. Honda displayed its handsome, competent Euro-Accords on a blood-red floor. The setting was dramatic, but unnecessary– unless you’re a big fan of The Shining.

Kia's Soul concepts, which intend to emulate Scion in being young & groovy, is interesting, but not quite convincing. The Soul Burner: I thought that was something you ordered at the Indian-food takeaway. The Soul Diva: a bit Paris-Hiltonny, no? The Soul Searcher: this one I liked. Rural and tough-looking, but not macho or in-your-face. Sorta kinda like the Cévennes Turbo-CNG: a futuristic eco-car which rips off the Porsche 356? And the Magna-Steyr Hybrid is the way I like off-road vehicles: less fat, more fun!

BMW showed its X6. It looks a lot less ugly in the metal than on paper, but it still makes about as much sense as broken cuckoo clock. The Skoda Superb is a lot more sensible, although BMW called and they want their Hoffmeister kink back. Volkswagen should consider taking back– and Americans should stop lusting after– the new Portuguese-built Scirocco. It’s a lumpen, fat, graceless, derivative car: an amalgam of Alfa Brera, VW Passat and whatnot.

BYD– isn't that how they pronounce "bird" in the Bronx? In this case, it stands for Build Your Dreams, Chinese style. Of course, Geneva was full of catchphrases. Maserati had "Excellence through Passion." Bentley left the caps lock on, promising "RELAXING EXILARATION," "DRIVEN BY YOUR DESIRES" and "THE SEDUCTION OF YOUR SENSES.”

VW officially unveiled their new global mantra: Engineered Like No Other Porsche in the World. No, wait. It was “Das Auto” or “the car.” This must piss-off Pontiac, who now insists that Pontiac is Car. (This reminds of Garp’s father in The World According to Garp, who lost letters as he lost his life.) No matter what you call it, the main message coming out of Geneva is that small is beautiful. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Click here to view Pixamo gallery of the Geneva Auto Show 

You’re fighting your speeding ticket in court. Take a lawyer. Yes, I know: a good local attorney will cost more than the fine. But the whole point of fighting is winning. As I explained in the last installment, the average citizen doesn’t have a hope in Hell of winning in traffic court without a lawyer. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present my case…

A lawyer knows the “system:” the rules AND the players. The defense counsel may be the “enemy,” but he’s the devil they know. The Clerk, Judge and cop can all relax; knowing the game will be played without rancor. For example, if you were a real jerk on the side of the road, the officer will tell me about it. But he won’t get mad at you again. He knows there won’t be any personal confrontation.

[Many states allow an attorney to appear for the client without the client present. So you can out-source the problem without lost time or wages.]

As Harold Hill pronounced in the Music Man, you gotta know the territory. And the Judge IS the territory. It may be a piercing glimpse into the obvious, but they are the one who will decide your fate.

Traffic court judges will vary from an ex-SCCA racer to the “little old lady with the crochet stuff on the back deck who blocks the left lane.” (True stories.) Most Judges are successful, goal-oriented people with substantial life experience. Respect is the currency of the courtroom. You can disagree without being disagreeable. Well, your lawyer can, ‘cause that’s what he does for a living.

A good local attorney will know many things you don’t– like which Judge or Prosecutor may be more sympathetic to your case. (And yes, a case can be “steered” towards a particular judge.) Or when the cop who wrote your ticket is off for their annual, month-long training. Most importantly, a lawyer knows what you are up against.

Most courts treat 70mph+ tickets as tax tickets, 80mph+ as “hey there boy,” and 90mph+ as “you are a road hazard, boy.” Triple digits earn you special treatment in every Court I attend. I have one Judge who will suspend your license for six months and impose a maximum fine.

A good traffic attorney will know what can be done with your offense. Most people hear from friends and relatives that your ticket will either “turn into a parking ticket” or “they will crucify you,” with little in between. When all the smoke settles, the short answer is that an attorney will get you the best deal in the House. It’s kind of like taking a big kid to a schoolyard fight– the fight will probably never happen and if it does, you won’t get hammered. Or hammered as badly.

If you retain an attorney specifically to go to trial, he or she will listen closely to your case. The attorney will know what a “direct case” sounds like. He will know if the officer missed something or lacks written proof. Technicalities R Us.

After the officer is done testifying, the attorney will cross examine the cop. If the attorney is prepared, experienced and knowledgeable, the process can take quite some time.

[If you think about it, five attorneys in a courtroom of 100 scheduled cases could take up an awful lot of time. In light of this fact, attorneys receive more consideration in ticket reductions. Courts are aware that retaining counsel costs money (and pretty much know who charges what in a given area). They respect that, though not officially.]

Your case depends almost entirely on this cross-examination. If the officer testifies perfectly, chances are the Judge (usually no jury) will sustain the charge. And you may be left wondering why you bothered hiring a lawyer in the first place. BUT…

Most cops do not enjoy this part of the job– for good reason. They know the stakes as much as you do. And they don’t like admitting (revealing?) their own incompetence. But police officers are not lawyers.

While they MAY know the exact legal requirements for a valid speeding ticket, they may not. No disrespect to the police, but given the huge number of tickets they write, they probably forgot something somewhere along the line. An experienced attorney has a far greater chance of making hay than a pro se litigant. An attorney will know what the police supposed to say, and when they miss it.

Again, this is where you win or lose. And if you’re going to fight, give yourself a fighting chance. Hire a lawyer. Fight the system yourself and you’ll be outmatched and outmaneuvered.

Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case.