Portland, Oregon is a quaint town. Bicyclists swarm in their own lanes, groups of runners go clomping by like gazelles or hippos—depending on their body mass—and there always seem to be a few happy people in line at the medicinal marijuana dispensaries.
Given its tree-hugging reputation, it comes as a surprise to some that the car culture, and especially the old-car culture, runs strong and deep through this city, the world headquarters of SCM, on the Willamette Read More
By now the Scottsdale numbers are familiar: $160m in total sales, very close to the record $167m set in 2007. 2,221 cars sold. Attendance up at every event, and strong individual prices across the board.
But the biggest news to come from Scottsdale could be found in a press release issued on February 14, 2011—23 days after the last car crossed the block at WestWorld.
Barrett-Jackson announced a partial reversal of its “All No Reserve” policy, Read More
Saved searches and RSS feeds are now the Pandora’s Box of my collecting life. Years ago, I would get giddy and feel the onset of the red mist once a month when Hemmings arrived (by first-class mail, of course). And when I went to an auction or swap meet, I would be temporarily overcome by my need to buy something, anything, that day.
But there were days—and sometimes weeks—when I wasn’t thinking about buying another car. That’s changed. Not only Read More
My first car was a 1959 Bug Eye Sprite that I bought in 1966, on the day I turned 16 and got my license. The Bug Eye was just seven years old at the time. Today, we think nothing of buying a seven-year-old car—doesn’t 2004 sound like new?
But back then, a seven-year-old sports car was very likely to be on the last of its original legs. My little Sprite had dents on every quarter, a piece of the lower Read More
I felt like I had entered a tinkerer’s medieval blacksmith shop. Vintage Gran Prix Bugattis from the 1920s and ’30s were strewn haphazardly about the courtyard of the tony Chaminade Resort and Spa in Santa Cruz, CA, and seemingly half of them were being taken apart and put back together.
The tap, tap, tap of a hammer came from one car as a front suspension was taken apart. Another Bug had its engine out and dismantled, and a new Read More
When I was growing up in San Francisco, my grandparents and I watched the ’49ers play in Kezar Stadium. Or, more correctly, we drove to our weekend farm in nearby Novato, which was just outside the 30-mile blackout range of the broadcasts, to watch the games on television.
I remember the sometimes-heated discussions that occurred when the picture would dissolve into a snowy mess at a critical time in the game, and the frantic fiddling with the rabbit ears, accompanied Read More