Seeing one 1968 Dodge Charger in the Scottish countryside is unusual enough, so two of them together certainly gets our attention. Especially when they’re such different cars and different stories.
In the latest instalment of our series showcasing readers rides, we head to Hitchin and meet the owners of a 1968 912 and a 2007 997 Carrera S. Two very different Porsches they may be, but these black beauties share more in common than you might think...
Is it a restomod? Not really — some of its original kit is still in place. A backdate? Kind of. It’s been a forward-date in its lifetime, too. Essentially, you’re looking at a hot rod capturing the spirit of a narrow band of competition cars in the 911’s evolutionary progression…
Classic American meets one lucky chap and his bargain of a full-size American luxury Lincoln that proves you can get into Yanks on a budget, with a bit of luck, a bit of technical know-how… and a spirit of derring-do!
These two boxy-edged, superior-specced saloons were close rivals in the 1960s. Does Lancia Fulvia GTE or Alfa Giulia Super pull our heartstrings more today?
Engine noise: that is what gets you “in the feels” when you watch any form of motorsport at trackside. The sound does not just hit your eardrums. It goes right through you, buzzing your insides and firing off happy endorphins. Certain engine howls mean an involuntary dropping of the jaw or smile across the dial
‘It’s the solidity and elegance that define the Shadow’ The List Your dream drive made real. Robert Cohen grew up driving Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. Today we put him in his ultimate high-roller – the Mulliner Park Ward coupé.
“It was a very Arkansas design — the front bumper was off, it had Cragar wheels — fat in the back and skinny up front, and the back end was lifted really high via two long air shocks.”
Dodge Dreams Bought to create happy memories< this 1968 Charger did its best to spoil that plan with three years of breakdowns and frustrations. Was it worth it? You bet!
Forget supercar crash videos or the spectacle of a hideous aftermarket body kit bolted onto a modern classic, the one sight guaranteed to make the steeliest petrolhead recoil in horror has to be the yellow glow of a “check engine” light. Gut-churning it may be but the surface-level indicators of a complex diagnostic system are preferable to the potentially engine-crippling faults to which they’re pointing.
