In the beginning was the word.
And the word was the AC Ace.
Back in the fifties and early sixties
it skittered across the English countryside like a frisky lamb.
Born of a wooden cradle …
… around which were hammered thin sheets of aluminium …
… it was indeed a thing of beauty.
And then, in 1962, our old and dearly missed friend Carroll Shelby flew in from the Colonies and said "Woah! I wanna put a V8 in one of those things!"
And he made it so.
And a classic English sports car a tenth of the weight of an American saloon became the uncontrollable and truly deranged AC Cobra.
And race fans looked upon it and saw that it was good.
And it is STILL good.
This is the AC Roadster. It's marketed as 'the ultimate Cobra' and I must confess that when a candy apple red one sped past me just the other day I ached with longing.
This, however, is the real ultimate Cobra: the racing beast of the sixties.
At the Goodwood Revival Meeting this September there will be a special celebration of Carroll and the Cobra. I can't wait.
In the meantime, drool over these beauties.
13 comments:
I would love to tool around in #12.
And I swear to baby hey zeus that my word identification says:
butcrak
Hahahahahaha …
Ah, thank you, Maria. That set me up nicely for the weekend.
Well put! Great photos! (And they all said, "Amen.")
Wow! That silver car looks so much like my own automobile that I did a double-take!
Amen indeed, Ms.M.
Petrea, I'd LOVE to know what you drive! I'm jealous already (not that a soft-top is any use in England unless you want it to double as a cold jacuzzi).
I'll send you a note on FB. Something tells me not to broadcast it on the web (don't know why). I chose a car with an unusual shape because all cars look alike to me these days. Everyone seems to be imitating the Prius which may have a noble ideal but is undriveable, in my opinion, because rear visibility is nonexistent.
I just love the cars, I don't care what the color or finish. I would like to be able to race one, to feel the tires on the pavement - or not, as the case may be - to hear them squeal, and feel the force pushing and pulling in the turns. I imagine it and I definitely do not care to imagine it on the street. That's boring.
Petrea, it's good to know you drive a totally cool and original car. Thanks for letting me know. I didn't think you could get any cooler but suddenly you have. Hee hee.
Speedway, I thought (rather sexist of me, I realise) that only men equated driving with sex, but you manage to write about it with an erotica charge that makes me blush!
Yeah, you may be right about that, but I still don't care any squealing, pushing, and pulling in the streets! (Afterwards, I actually laugh with happy, too!)
When I was learning to drive, the instructor actually had a course mapped out. I always asked to do it again, not because I wanted to do it faster, but because I seen places where I could have done it better. A little closer here, a better entry there - you know that equates with faster, of course - but that wasn't my aim, because t the time I didn't know any different.
Oh, good grief - "because I had seen," dammit!
Hee hee, Speedway.
And yes, apart from writing erotica about driving, you do just what racing drivers do. I've got a great DVD of Nick from Lotus learning the Goodwood race circuit by driving round it over and over again, each time getting faster, testing the car and the grip to the limit and … inevitably, and we could see it coming … losing it at St.Mary's where the track drops away and the grip goes with it and ending up roaring expensively all over the grass infield in his once pristine vintage racing car.
Well, now that erotica has reared its lovely head, I'm reminded of a story. A friend of mine and I had been assigned to photos at the NHRA National Championships. I hated and it was bored out of my mind. My friend, who loved it, asked why. I told him that the whole routine smacked of wasted power, braggadocio, with premature ejaculation at the end. The cars had all that show of burning out at the start line that resembled the most flagrant of breeding males presenting themselves to the female, lots of noise to show their strength and power, only to end up in a 3 second "race" that could just as easily end up with the car bursting into flames. Ya gotta see it to believe it, but the most puffed up pigeon, bull, or tomcat has nothing on these guys. Any wonder I like road racing?
Hahahahaha! That pretty much sums up most men, Speedway.
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