Remember that song that gripped your innards and would not let go? There was a line in A Sort Of Homecoming – from The Unforgettable Fire by U2 – that did exactly that to me: “See faces ploughed like fields that once gave no resistance”.
Despite a limited understanding of the Irish conflict I knew this was lyrical artistry of the highest order. I would play that song to anyone who would care to listen, hoping they would concur. Usually though, I would end up having to convince them it had **nada** to do with farming and wrinkle cream.
Often, I felt like a hacker who would just hit a hole-in-one with no one around to witness it. Funny thing, I experience similar emotions while carspotting. Yes, that is a real thing. Most people have a hobby of some sort. Whether it is playing Candy Crush, running marathons, or collecting pictures of plump people in bowler hats, we all have something that keeps us ‘occupied’. For me, it is spotting cars.
Admittedly, carspotting is a generally useless exercise, but it is also a highly emotional one. You can be cruising down the highway having a one-sided conversation with the one you love about the complexities of life facing the Swedish elk when you spot a Jensen Interceptor FF.
In a heartbeat, talk of antsy antlers and an A-Class on its roof becomes four-wheel drive and anti-lock braking as you swerve across three lanes of traffic just to get a closer look. “Honey, look at the lines on that thing.”
As a child, this ‘illness’ consumed me. I am 45 now and just about over it … What the …? Did you see that? That is an Ariel Atom on the N1! Okay, so maybe it still consumes me. I am often straining to catch a glimpse of unusual metal in the oncoming traffic over the barrier down the middle of my local freeway. It is obsessive compulsive stuff and I seldom get the chance to share that joy, so here goes …
It is 1986, a vintage year for sightings: a V8 Ferrari-engined Lancia Thema 8.32; a couple of Beta Monte Carlos; a Countach replica, and a genuine Testarossa. Oh, the unbridled joy of seeing that redhead for the first time. The posters plastered across my bedroom wall did not do it justice – seriously low, impossibly wide, and with those signature side strakes that could only ever be tolerated on Italian royalty. I could speak of nothing else for hours, irritating all and sundry.
Other notable first sightings included the original Dodge Viper with its concept car body panels and 8.0-litre, V10; that great American production hotrod experiment better known as the Plymouth Prowler, complete with perfectly lickable pearlescent purple paintwork; and the BMW Z1 with its tight styling and trick drop-down doors. Has there been a more intriguing Beemer since?
My subsequent job as a privileged automotive journalist attending the full spectrum of global motoring events resulted in a much-reduced yet-to-spot list. DeLorean DMC-12, Andy Warhol BMW M1 art car, Mercedes-Benz C111, Alfa Romeo C52 Disco Volante, and countless others all scratched off.
Thankfully there are a few that have eluded me. So, in the meantime I will perfect a disinterested look for when I spot an Isdera Commendatore 112i while touring Hildesheim in Germany with the missus, because I know if I do not, I will smile like a hyena on happy gas and be asked to sleep on the couch … again.
(This is a thoroughly reworked version of a column I wrote for the July 2007 issue of now-defunct Topcar magazine)
– Wayne Batty
