My first ever dream car was the Batmobile, and yes, I'm talking about George Barris' Lincoln Futura riff. Looking back, it's funny how I totally missed the TV show's camp humor. Like the cut from the flames jetting out the back of the Batmobile to a Dynamic Duo crotch shot (celebrated by safety campaigners for showing Batman and Robin buckling-up their bulges). Well, not totally. I remember an episode where Catwoman (Julie Newmar? Eartha Kitt? Dianna Rigg? Tera Patrick?) trapped The Caped Crusader in the proverbial room with the concertina-ing walls. Via a video link, Catwoman asks Batman if he'd like to rule Gotham City or, um, die. His response? "What about Robin?" WTF? Even a pre-pubescent boy knew that Robin was OK, but Catwoman was rrrrrrr. Anyway, I like movie cars. They sound better and go faster than their real world counterparts. I look forward to seeing what Quentin Tarantino can do with the killer car thing, but a new Viper would've been a more logical choice than an old Camaro for his new flick. If ever there was a death car– from either the driver or pedestrian's POV– the Viper is it. It's hotter 'n Hell too. Yeah, the Viper deserves a super violent movie. How about Snakes on a High Plains Drifter?

It’s been a while since my description of the Subaru B9 Tribeca’s front end as a “flying vagina” got TTAC banned from… BMW’s press fleet. At the time, the German company’s PR flack promised/threatened to monitor the site and “get back in touch;” you know, when he’d decided that we’d been good little boys. Yeah right. There’s a higher likelihood that Godot will hang with Vladimir and Estragon than a Bimmer flackling calling TTAC to welcome us back into the fold. Still, we’ve managed to end run the embargo. And we’ve shown no animus or (Godot forbid) favoritism in our reviews of their products (e.g. Jay Shoemaker recently declared the 335i one of the millennia’s best motors). So I can once again state without fear or favor that BMW’s SMG gearbox is the worst gearbox on planet earth, by a large margin. Now, thanks to a generous reader, we’ve learned that BMW has bought Borg Warner’s dual clutch transmission (DCT) technology. The world’s best gearbox (known as DSG in Volkswagen/Audi world) will appear in BMW products as early as next year. So who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Speak, Rover BMW, speak!  

When I moved back to the US from the UK, I was delighted to discover right wing media commentators. After living in a country with a media dominated by anti-American, government intervention in all things left wingers, it was a relief to see that another perspective still existed. Fifteen minutes later, I realized that Bill, Rush, Savage and Sean are such egomaniacal asses that their politics don't really matter. GM's decision to hire Sean Hannity to host a flag-waving national radio promotion doesn't really matter either– except to the people for whom it does. Surfing the left-leaning blogs, it's clear they are one whole Hell of a lot less than happy about GM's choice. Hiring such a contentious commentator certainly seems like a bone-headed idea. The General needs all the friends it can get– from either side of the political divide. Still, it's bound to please the red state "heartland," who could well be GM's last redoubt. Has it really come to this, then, or am I just being overly politically sensitive? Listen and discuss. 

I like to drive fast. I don't think I'm breaking new rhetorical ground to suggest that anyone who likes to drive fast violates the speed limit from time to time. In fact, depending on your predilection for automotive velocity, "from time to time" easily becomes "all the time." There are plenty of ways to justify chronic speeding: posted speed limits are unrealistic (set low to reflect average vehicles' and drivers' capabilities), they're a guideline rather than an absolute indication of safe speed (which don't reflect variable conditions such as weather, road surface, traffic, etc.), they're relatively unimportant (compared to inattentive, reckless or drunk driving) and the vast majority of motorists exceed them anyway. Strangely, the last excuse is the most potent.

It's a bizarre concept for a democratic government: enact and enforce a law which the majority of people don't obey. It gets even stranger when you consider the fact that the majority of citizens support the law that they know they don't obey (hence its creation and continuation). Of course, the speed limit is not the first or best example of this hypocritical happenstance. From 1920 to 1933, America lived under the strictures of the Eighteenth Amendment to the US Constitution. Despite popular support for the "prohibition" against the sale and distribution of alcohol, Americans kept on drinking. In the same sense, American motorists kept driving above 55mph when Richard Nixon's administration used federal highway funds to force the states to adopt a “national” speed limit.

In both cases, arguments for the legislation were logical and coherent. There's no question that alcohol was/is America's most destructive drug, blighting the lives of millions, disrupting our economic efficiency and causing thousands of fatalities. There's also no question that driving 55mph was/is an excellent way to save billions of gallons of imported oil. (I might even spot you the national speed limit's positive effect on highway fatalities– if it were actually true.) But no matter how you slice it, neither law significantly curtailed the proscribed behavior. This made enforcement a horrendously expensive, Sisyphusian task.

One of the key differences between Prohibition and unobserved speed limits is that the latter is self-financing. One wonders if Prohibition might have lasted longer if the government agencies in charge of its enforcement had received the financial fruits of current RICO statutes, which provide for confiscation of criminal assets. In contrast, police who write speeding tickets can use the money to pay for police who write speeding tickets. This being America, it’s not quite that straight forward. Speeding tickets fall under local and state jurisdiction; the revenues generated are often subject to “land grabs” by money hungry local legislators.

In England, it is that simple. The national government has “ring fenced” the money generated by speeding tickets: mandating that local “safety camera partnerships” must spend the revenue from speed enforcement on speed enforcement. This supposedly virtuous circle has led to an explosion of speed cameras, a huge increase in speeding tickets and a very nasty unintended consequence. Just as Prohibition eroded the American public’s respect for law and law enforcement, the United Kingdom’s extremely effective anti-speeding jihad has undermined the public’s respect for the police.

At the risk of alienating road safety-minded readers, many of whom have suffered personal losses from traffic fatalities, the issue of the public’s faith in its police force is far more important than speed-related road safety. When a law criminalizes a behavior practiced by the majority of its citizens, it criminalizes its citizens. When the police rigorously enforce this law, hypocritically enough, the public comes to resent the police. Keep in mind that most people never encounter their police force; speeding tickets written “when I wasn’t really doing anything wrong” do nothing to engender a relationship of mutual respect.

Unlike Prohibition, there is no obvious answer to this state of affairs; you can’t simply “repeal” (i.e. abandon) speed limits. Or can you? If you ask the average Joe if they think police should write speeding tickets only in those situations where a motorist was driving “faster than was safe for the prevailing conditions” you’d have little to no disagreement. That kind of policy would require judicious human enforcement by officers prioritizing road safety, rather than revenue collection. It would be far more expensive that a passive device snapping off tickets to anyone and everyone violating an inflexible, predetermined speed limit.

In the US, the aggressiveness of speed enforcement varies widely. Certain states are now experimenting with speed cameras, blundering straight into the old axiom that those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it. Meanwhile, the situation in the UK seems to be reaching some sort of breaking point, with anti-speed camera campaigners gaining public sympathy and support. The country is learning that public policy based on moral posturing, rather than common sense and real world behavior, is doomed to failure.

[podcast is with Paul Smith, founder of the UK's Safe Speed ] 

It’s funny how some things stick in your head. I’ll never forget Hispanic actor Ricardo Montalban’s satisfaction with the 1976 Chrysler Cordoba: “I like what they’ve done to my car!” My mind also reserves a mental YouTube for the actor’s penchant for “soft Corinthian leather.” Of course, the fact that the term was invented by copy writers at Young & Rubicam, and that the hides in question were equestrian in origin, helped write the ROM. It’s not clear if the Cordoba campaign was the first time a car hooked into a post-modern ironic vibe, but it certainly set the tone for the company for years to follow. In fact, you could say that the 300 is the logical inheritor of this self-referential pomposity. Well, at least that’s what I thought this morning when I watched a beige 300 with arc eyes chrome wheels, a mesh front grill and a dark tan fake Landau roof (complete with matching trunk lid and, wait for it, gas door cover) roll into the local Amazing! porno store parking lot. Does that mean that Chrysler products aren’t just badge engineered, but somehow deeply forever faux? I know: let’s ask Jonny! 

Aside from the early, dainty-looking Mustangs and their Shelby siblings, I never really "got" the whole 'Stang cult. During my formative years, the mucho macho models cruising the mean streets of Providence were bloated Pony Car parodies; great honking beasts with about as much cornering prowess as a breeze block. The late '70's and '80's Mustangs were small, slow and stupid looking. In the '90's, the design started to come right and SVO made the model into a defensible choice for power mad pistonheads. But I still couldn't understand why anyone would lionize a car whose heyday lay almost forty years in the past. And then the "new" Mustang arrived. Now that I get: a Disney-style re-imagining of an idealized Mustang pulled from our collective unconscious. But the interior! And what's with the solid rear axle? Still, the GT sounds nice, goes OK and looks great. According to Jonny Lieberman, the Shelby GT-H sounds better, goes faster and looks like it sounds and goes. Listen to him preach the gospel to a former Mustang atheist turned agnostic.  

Jaguar is one heck of a brand. The company took the automotive world by storm, not once, but twice. The first revelation arrived just after WWII. England entered the conflict with an Empire and emerged an impoverished island nation in the North Sea with a few colonies and an Indian subcontinent to its name. Straight into Britannia's shell-shocked and austere enconomy came the Jaguar XK120. Jag's suprisingly inexpensive supercar looked like sin (and a German BMW) and went like Hell (out-performing Aston). The company's– and the nation's– future suddenly had a spring in its step. And then, eh. Until the sixties swung, and out popped another gestalt-capturing blockbuster: the E-type. Yeah baby! For those of us looking for a four-wheeled Hail Mary pass to save Ford's damaged brand, it's worth noting that both of these machines were sexier-than-Jill-Wagner-in-lingerie sports cars powered by superb six cylinder engines. And they were both reasonably affordable. What I'm trying to say is that a new Jaguar sedan ain't gonna cut it, no matter how beautiful, fast or keenly priced it may be. The forthcoming S-Type sedan sure ain't no oil spill– I mean, oil painting. Jag might've made most of its money in "saloons," but it's heart has always been in honest-to-God sports cars. 

You may have noticed that I haven't posted a precast in a couple of days. Truth to tell, TTAC contributor and former Car and Driver editor Stephan Wilkinson knocked the wind out of my sails with an email that asked why in God's name anyone would want to listen to a couple of "car dorks." As someone who's never had trouble getting laid (current status: happily married), I've never really thought of myself as a dork. Strange, sure. Over-educated, definitely. But dorky? I don't think so. At least I didn't think so until Wilkinson sent his email. Now I'm left wondering if my single-minded dedication to all things automotive, and the thousands of hours spent tapping the plastic in my e-garret about same, has rendered me a car nerd. (Webster's on-line dictionary makes no distinction between dork and nerd.) For sure, I know too much about some pretty obscure car-related things. But I console myself that you gentle reader know equally as much, and, in most cases, far more than I in this field. And I celebrate your knowledge. I respect it, admire it and defer to it. So, if I love your passion, I guess I should love mine– no matter how juvenile or "dorky" it sounds. In that spirit, I resume this audio feature. If it grates, so be it. But if you're dorky and you know it, click right here.  

Limos blow. They're unsightly, often comical beasts that exchange comfort for size (well, length) and offer all the tactile pleasure of a mid-market motel (pleather chairs, paper napkins, five pound champagne glasses, etc.). I've yet to ride in a limo that didn't assault my olfactory organ with a whiff of amonia. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. In fact, I reckon more than a few of you took my opening sentence at face value (so to speak) and pornoed the second. That's limos for you. In fact, if rock stars had never snorted coke and screwed groupies in the back of their limo, you wouldn't have high school boys crowding into them on prom night wishing, hoping, dreaming of doing the same. Nor would observers crane their necks to see what's going on inside these bizarre vehicles or whether or not the person emerging will fall down. I'd rather ride in the back of a comfortable sedan with a fresh newspaper and an old cigar. Home James.  

The American automotive media is just as obsessed with the thrill of the new as the industry itself. Even though websites like this one (OK, not exactly like this one) have transformed two month lead times into two minute lead times, all the buff books still tout the latest hot machine. The industry colludes in this effort, withholding new vehicles from their US press fleets until the car mags hit the stands. Perhaps because we started at the bottom of the press car food chain (and worked our way downwards from there), TTAC isn't fixated on getting ahold of the latest and greatest. In fact, we consider the dearth of established models in the carmakers' press fleets (e.g. Nissan 350Z) a major disappointment that reflects the automakers' limited attention spans. There is a lot to be learned from well-established bread-and-butter vehicles. To wit: Jonny Lieberman is reviewing a Mazda B-Series pickup and Sajeev Mehta's Lincoln Town Car review just crossed the transom. These reviews will tell us more about why Ford is in such dire straits– missed opportunities– than any financial statement or ride in the new Em Kay Ex Lincoln. Of course, as the Brits put it, we wouldn't say no…   

Yes, yes, the next installment of the Ford Death Watch is coming. Who'd a thunk I'd write 90 episodes of the GM Death Watch only to watch Billy's Blue Oval Boys hit the buffers first, and in such spectacular fashion? Maybe I should combine the two DW's and call it Death Race 2006. But then if The General and FoMoCo manage to limp through the year I'd have to change the name, which would fan the flames of the flamers who believe that just because something hasn't happened yet means it won't happen at all. In fact, I have a message for those stalwart loyalists who snigger at my ongoing insistence that The Big Two Point Five's sky is falling. Their sky is falling. And just be grateful I didn't start blogging in 1973, when Detroit's fate was sealed. I'll be here chronicling this story to the bitter end, and beyond. And I won't say I told you so once. On a more positive note, this is a fine Rioja, with tremendous body and a clean finish. Which is what I wish for both GM and Ford. May they rise Phoenix-like from the ashes to make gotta have cars that TTAC can review with our usual candor, passion and sarcastic flippancy; without having to borrow one from a dealer.  

As the son of a Holocaust survivor, the Maybach brand gives me the heebie-jeebies. Which is kind of strange. I've got no beef with Mercedes, a brand whose products provided Herr Hitler with his most photogenic platforms. Nor do I get any bad vibes from VW, a company that used Jewish slave labor during WWII. And my favorite brand is Porsche, whose namesake helped run VW when those slave laborers were busy starving to death on VW's behalf. Perhaps that's because so many Jewish people in my community adored Mercedes, BMW's and Volkswagens. If they were willing to let bygone begone… But there's a certain, I dunno, soullessness to Maybach products that creeps me out. While their cars are faultless in design, construction and materials, and the performance is just plain crazy, the Maybach's exterior and cabin possess all the charisma of a nuclear powerplant's containment dome. Which is why I LOVE the fully functional Maybach Exellero concept car. That bad boy is bonkers. And evil. If I owned one I'd have WWSD (What Would Satan Drive) tatooed on my shoulder. I reckon it's best to stay true to your roots, even if they're slightly poisonous. 

Whatever you can (or cannot) say about BMW, the company makes some damn fine engines. Jay Shoemaker's review of the 335i hailed their direct injected twin turbo six pot as one of the finest powerplants ever to grace an engine bay, while Bimmer's Euro diesels eliminate any and all possible objections to the technology (smoke, vibration, cold start-up, etc.). No wonder low volume manufacturers of low weight sports cars hanker after powerplants made by the propeller people. The Ascari KZ1 rips through the time – space continuum with the previous gen M5's 4.0-liter BMW V8, Morgan's Aero 8 blurs your vision the X5's 4.4-liter V8, and Wiesmann's products get along rather nicely with either a 3.0-liter inline six or 4.8-liter BMW V8 (fitted to the GT pictured here). But the thing that really makes these cars fly is… design. You could call the Weismann's pastiche of Jaguar C-Type, Austin Healey and God Knows What slightly ungainly, but then I'd have to kill you. Besides, what would you rather have: a Go Like Hell But Look Like Everyone Else CL63 AMG Mercedes tank for $160k-ish or a WTF is That BMW-powered German thingie for the same wedge? The Mercedes obviously, but there are enough patrons of quirk to justify  bringing the German roadster stateside. God bless capitalism.

As you will hear in today's precast, my first forray into Ferrari ownership brought me face-to-face with the studied indifference that is England's erstwhile service culture. Not only did the dealership treat me with all the contempt of a deranged six-year-old frying worms with a magnifying glass, but they charged me huge, towering heaps of money for the privilege. And gave me a FIAT Panda loaner car. Frequently. In fact, Maranello's mean machine was a constant source of mechanical malfunction and bodywork gone bad (including rust on the flying butresses)– to the point where I started calling myself a Ferrari "visitor" rather than a Ferrari "owner." The moral of the story? Be careful what you wish for. Or is that "the engine mapping program is not the territory"?  

I suppose I should get myself into a lather about the fact that GM has lured collegiate journalists to Las Vegas for some major junket action. As listeners to this podcast will discover, I just can't get it up, self-righteous indignation-wise. First, my main beef with junkets is non-disclosure (e.g. The Car Connection's report on the new Jeep Wrangler from Zambia arriving without a tip-of-the-hat to DCX PR). Second, there's no blanket ban on junketeering hereabouts. Third, who says college kids can be co-opted so easily? Biz class airline seats, a nice room on The Strip, free booze, a stake at the tables, a spin on Autotainment– Entourage-watching gen Zeta will take it all in their post-modern stride. Besides, when you don't have a job to protect or a family to support, why not bite the hand that feeds? In fact, if one of these college car hacks would like to describe their GM-sponsored Vegas vacation, I'd be delighted to provide the e-space, subject to the usual editing process and length restrictions. Which reminds me: I'm almost ready to announce the next TTAC writing contest. The last one was The Truth About Muscle Cars . The next one will be… watch this space (and no, that's not the title of the essay).