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We need these.

By “we” I mean car enthusiasts, and by “these” I mean Top Gear segments wherein the trio of Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May buy classic cars and subject them to a series of challenges, in the process often completely ruining their vehicles.

Watching bits like the Cheap Porsche Challenge (S5:E6, shown above), the Alfa Challenge (S11:E3) or my favorite, the Budget Supercars Challenge (S7:E4), I alternately double over with laughter at the hosts’ antics and cringe as they invariably subject the cars to gaudy paint jobs, cobbled-together modifications and thrash them around the track and on the street. Sure, the cars themselves aren’t expensive—the initial rules of each challenge specify the car must cost a pittance—but many of them turn out to be real diamonds in the rough, the kinds of cars enthusiasts would love to get their hands on and restore. It can be difficult to watch them “go to waste,” and it would be nearly unbearable except that the challenges are so amusing.

All that said, I think the challenges are good for car buffs to watch for another reason besides mere entertainment: As much as we revere our cars and the automakers that produced them, it’s good to be reminded, from time to time, that at the end of the day, they’re just cars. A Porsche, Alfa or Maserati can be dinged, scratched, abused and beat on the same as any other car; there’s nothing about a classic’s pedigree or reputation that gives it the kind of untouchable aura we risk bestowing on it if our only point of contact is through glossy car magazines or concours events. The TGUK challenges bring matters back into needed perspective even as their humor takes the edge off what would otherwise amount to a cringe-worthy desecration of our beloved classics.

Well, my new (to me) car got its pound of flesh. Eerily similar to an injury I had to my pinkie about ten years ago when working on my Supra’s driveshaft (you’d think I would have learned), the BMW’s left front wheel hub backing plate made a nice incision in my middle finger while undergoing a damper replacement, requiring five stitches. I was buttoning up a Koni Sport install, tightening the sway bar end link on the strut bracket and…the wrench slipped. As much as I’ll miss the tactile nature of car work with bare hands, I think it’s time to invest in a good pair of work gloves.

So, faithful readers, everything will be just a little slower for a few days while my finger heals, including updates. I’ll do my best to have some original content up in the next few days. In the meantime, check out our archives, featured series or one of the excellent blogs on the sidebar. Cheers!

In his latest column, a comprehensive rating of automotive brand image “hotness,” Peter De Lorenzo takes particular aim at Acura’s persistent inability to focus their brand:

Acura design is an oxymoron. These cars blend into the woodwork like a gray flannel suit on an overcast day. This is supposed to be the best of Honda? It sure doesn’t look or feel like it. Instead, Acura still exists as a perennial symbol of the confusion that reigns at Honda. What are they doing? I’m not sure they know.

I couldn’t agree more. Take the somnolent nose of the 2014 RL shown above, for example. Acura big selling point is the fact that the headlights feature LEDs. That’s all fine and good, but there are two fatal flaws in that line of advertising:

1. Audi’s been putting LEDs in their headlights for years, maybe not as the primary source of illumination, but it’s profoundly old news, and
2. The last luxury car to use its headlight design as a selling point was the ghastly ’01-’06 Infiniti Q45, and then only because the car’s design had absolutely no other redeeming qualities. Touting such a tiny detail is hardly what I’d call putting your best foot forward, design-wise.

If the latest RL and especially the mercifully defunct ZDX are examples of Acura’s worse design examples, what’s one of the better ones, and a possible clue as to what Acura’s design direction should be? The ’04′-08 TL (shown above). I see these on my commute all the time and they never fail to catch my eye. The styling is crisp, tailored, aggressive and cohesive. The whole car has an arrow-like flow from nose to tail, and the flanks are adorned with unique channels tying together the side markers and door handles. With the contemporary TSX, it exemplified a high period in Acura’s styling history; before and after the mid-2000s their designs were and are mind-numbingly bland.

For better or worse, the attractiveness of the automaker’s vehicles seems to have a direct correlation with their quality as drivers’ cars; more than that, the more focused the design effort, the sharper Acura’s marketing outlook seems to be as well. Honda’s luxury marque has so much to offer; here’s hoping their reflect on their own history and draw lessons from the times when their cars were better received.

Image credits: autoblog.com, netcarshow.com

Temporarily occupying the two-door niche in Jaguar’s product lineup after the merciful demise of the Series III E-Type, the XJ-C is the stopgap that should have stayed.

More attractive than its successor the XJ-S, which for its part experienced a mixed reception, the XJ-C took the basic XJ6 sedan shape and, by removing the rear doors and B-pillar, subtly polished the natural attractiveness of the already-comely sedan.

It was offered from 1975 until XJ-S production was in full swing in 1978, and could be had with either of the two engine options offered to its four-door stablemate: The classic XK6 4.2l inline-6 or the big 5.3l V12. In spite of the removal of the door and associated bits, the XJ-C still weighed around 4,000 lbs, so performance was stately rather than sparkling.

Furthermore, as an interim measure, the car exhibited production problems that Jaguar never resolved. Rather than investing in bespoke tooling, the automaker manufactured the car by taking standard XJ6 sedan body panels and modifying them in a kind of factory-sanctioned chop-top operation. The doors, for example, were simply two sedan doors grafted together, and the roof was an assembly-line modification of the original as well. It’s for this reason that all XJ-Cs left the factory with vinyl roofs, to cover the weld seams underneath.

Jaguar never really figured out how to make the pillar-less windows seal properly either. In fairness, the car was introduced at the “height” of British Leyland’s infamous domination of its indigenous car industry, and quality control problems cropped up in auto plants across Britain during that period. Still—for as attractive a car as the XJ-C is, and for as much as Jaguar charged for it, it would have been nice to be able to drive through an afternoon shower without having to don a raincoat inside the car. If development capital hadn’t been siphoned off to work out the details of its replacement, perhaps Jaguar would’ve buckled down and really cured the XJ-C’s nagging issues. Then again, maybe not.

I like it a lot. As mentioned above, it’s prettier than the XJ-S and more representative of the classic Jaguar styling idiom, with more feline, resolved lines. Besides, the whole “beautiful but flawed” argument has never really turned me away. Would I drive one every day? No, but as a weekend cruiser it’d be hard to beat.

Image credits: carstainment.com, motorstown.com, jaguarclub.net

Carl’s resto-mod 1977 BMW 630CSi might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s hard to knock the thoroughness of his execution.

Originally the poster BMW E24 6-Series for the tuning outfit Hardy & Beck, Carl came across it in 2009 and fell in love with the car and its history. After completing one of the most comprehensive Z3 M Coupe turbo builds in the country, he trained his sights on the E24, determined to infuse the car with his unique vision.

The idea for the engine is to create the highest-output naturally-aspirated M30, retaining as much of its character while turning everything “up to 11,” so to speak (and hopefully still remaining somewhat streetable). Meticulously prepped, the engine features custom 10.8:1 compression Wiseco pistons and TWM Induction individual throttle bodies (ITBs). The M30′s 2-valve cylinder head has never been known as a paragon of breathing efficiency, but Carl’s build will definitely explore the upper limit of its capabilities.

The interior has been completely overhauled as well, with new seats, upholstery and freshened details. It’s not original, but it all fits together somehow, and it’s special, and that counts for something. Will be following the remainder of the built with interest.

This simultaneously amazes me with the audacity of its spectacle and fits right in with what we’ve come to expect from our flush-with-oil-wealth Middle Eastern friends.

The police department of Dubai, United Arab Emirates—a city well-known for its over-the-top construction projects like the Burj Khalifa (the world’s tallest structure), among others—has begun amassing a collection of supercars that would put that of many auto moguls to shame. Just to list a few, they’ve snapped up a Lamborghini Aventador, Ferrari FF, Mercedes SLS AMG, Bentley Continental GT, Chevrolet Camaro SS, BMW M6, Ford Mustang and top it all off, an über-rare Aston Martin One-77 and Bugatti Veyron. The Core77 article rightly points out that the majority of the acquisitions are two-seaters, making the detainment of a suspected malfeasant impossible, and that there are far more economical and effective ways to nab speeders in this day and age.

Like most everything else in Dubai, then, it’s done for the spectacle, the buzz, the attention. As much as I cringe at the idea of one of these exotic thoroughbreds on a police beat, it is kind of fun to imagine trundling along the highway, doing the speed limit while a teenager in a be-stickered Fast & Furious reject whizzes past and is subsequently nabbed by a highway patrolman in an Aventador. Visualize one of those in your rear-view mirror…

Did my first oil change of the new BMW 540i yesterday morning. It’s swimming in 8 fresh quarts of 15W-40 Shell Rotella T heavy-duty oil (love the stuff), pumped through a clean Mann filter element.

An oil change is always the first, or nearly the first service I perform on any new-to-me car. It amounts to a mechanical handshake of sorts, a chance for a new engine bay and its unique quirks and particularities to introduce itself to me. With the 540i, I can report than the process went very smoothly, the drain plug was a little tight in the initial going but loosened up, and the oil pour was quick considering how much of the liquid the engine drinks.

I love the activity. I love the rote mechanical nature of it and the fact that it’s a clearly delineated process of involvement with the lifeblood of the source of the car’s mobility. I even love its regularity. Changing oil isn’t infrequent enough to be relegated to the realm of the occasional repair, nor does it happen every week or even every month (depending on driving habits, of course), where it would become so regular as to be tedious and mundane. Fundamentally, it’s a ritual, and just like any ritual, it assumes a kind of ceremonial significance, as if it were some kind of regular “sacrifice” to the car gods, or a kind of communion, a regular reconnection with the mechanical side of what can so easily fade into the background in the midst of our daily commute. I maintain that even if regular repairs are being performed, and grease has taken up permanent residence under my fingernails—even then, the oil change performs a necessary function: It re-centers me with respect to my relationship with the reciprocating bits under the hood; it serves as a kind of reset button for my mechanical inclinations.

With that in mind, I was ever-so-slightly disappointed that an oil change on the 540i is marginally less complex than on the 525i. They both feature cartridge-style filters (instead of the standard spin-on type), which I love if only for the assortment of o-rings and crush-washers that come in the box with the filter element. The 540i’s canister lid, though, screws onto the filter housing body as a single piece, whereas the 525i’s employs a long through-bolt with extra sealing hardware to replace. I miss the extra complexity; the additional steps kept me involved in the activity that much longer—but never to the point of tedium.

In any event, whatever the car, no matter how inaccessible the filter or messy the process, an oil change remains an often-overlooked opportunity to find value in a simple, regular interaction with one’s car. I relish that.

Image credit: bmwblog.com