If there was ever a car that epitomized the greed-is-good extras of the Eighties, it was the Ferrari Testarossa. To purists, even its name symbolizes a sell-out.
The original 250 Testa Rossa road racer was not only shockingly beautiful, it functioned beautifully on the racetrack as well, winning three World Sports Car Championships between 1958 and 1961.
Proposed for good looks
In contrast, the Testarossa of the Eighties had no racing pedigree whatsoever. Impure and not-so-simple, it was a car designed and built to cash in on an image. And since cashing in was what the Eighties were all about, it was the best vehicle for its time. The saving grace was, it was also a damn good car.
From the beginning, the Testarossa was envisioned to Read more . . .
There was a time when Jaguars were driven by courageous young men who took them to the very edge of their very high limits. And there was a time when Jaguar was a force to be imagined in the most grueling road racing of all, the 24 Hours of Le Mans.
Though once honored by Italy’s president as a “Knight of Labor,” a label that brought with slightly more esteem than being named a “Kentucky Colonel,” his manufacturing plants were plagued by ruinous and long strikes. Communist agitation was everywhere, and the streets were often blotted by the chianti red of rioters’ blood.
The son of an Irish musician-turned-piano-repairman, Lyons was a motorcycle fanatic who was fond of racing his Harley-Davidson in local events during the gloomy years of the First World War. He wasn’t particularly enamored of working the piano shop, so his father helped him acquire an apprenticeship with Crossley Motors, a Manchester-based car builder. But at just 17, Lyons was not ready to settle into the drudgery of the machinists business.