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Yes, please.

Left Lane reports Chevy may be considering a production version of their well-received Toyota FR-S/ Subaru BRZ-fighter, the Code 130R concept car:

GM hasn’t officially green lighted the 130R, but the Detroit-based automaker is at least considering ways to make the car a reality. …

[A] production version of the 130R would be loosely based on a version of the rear-wheel drive Alpha platform that underpins the Cadillac ATS.

Considering the Alpha platform is arguably the most successful piece of the ATS package—most reviews gush over its handling poise, steering feel and overall balance—a dealership-ready Code 130R built on that chassis would likely stand a good chance of being Chevy’s first real driver’s car since, well, ever.

Granted, to secure my fandom, Chevy would have to cleave to the concept’s formula and develop a FR-S/BRZ alternative. In practice, this means they would have to keep the weight low (sub-3,000 lbs), keep the car low-priced and basic, emphasize the fun-to-drive factor and above all, keep it RWD. If Chevy does all that, they’ve got a least one banner-waver in the enthusiast community right here.

The sticking point in the whole idea is the fact that Chevy’s own V6-engined Camaro occupies roughly the same low-$20K price point as the Code 130R presumably would, packs a good deal more punch under the hood and has massive name recognition to boot. Is the market for small, back-to-basics RWD sports cars strong enough to support both the FR-S/BRZ twins and the Code 130R? Given the choice, would enough buyers opt for a slower but more fun-to-drive 130R over a V6 Camaro if both are similarly priced? Open questions, but ones I’d love to see explored.

Image credits: cars.about.com, otoplush.com

While I have a broad “base” of interest in cars in general, the spotlight of my attention is usually only focused on one car at a time—a focus that frequently wanders. During the years when my automotive taste was more malleable than at present, there were many cars I was into for a short period of time, which interest I look back on, now that I know better, with a degree of regret.

One of those is the car featured in this post, the 1993-1998 Lincoln Mark VIII. A large “personal coupe” intended to compete with the likes of the Cadillac Eldorado and Lexus SC400, it featured swoopy, futuristic styling draped over a RWD chassis powered by a 280 hp, 4.6l V8.

My interest in the Mark VIII was piqued by one thumbnail-sized photograph in one of my grandmother’s Consumer Reports annual “Car Reviews” issues. The slight blurriness and angle of the picture combined to distort the Lincoln’s proportions just enough that it appeared to have a sportier long-nose/short-deck visual layout. To me, at the time, in that image, it looked purposeful, powerful, desirable… And given the fact that it was new and rather expensive, I never really saw enough of them on the road to right the ship, as it were, and convince me that maybe the photo my fascination was based on hadn’t been the most accurately descriptive of the car’s looks.

In reality, the Mark VIII really wasn’t such a bad car, but it was the last of a dying breed, an obsolescent, overstyled dinosaur and a example of how American luxury automakers in general were (and to a degree, still are) flailing about in the marketplace, trying to sell a distinctively American approach to a buying public rapidly becoming disenchanted with the traditional luxury car = land yacht equation. Its modern engine notwithstanding, the Mark VIII’s blobby design and overwrought interior were signs that Lincoln didn’t “get it,” and it disappeared from the automaker’s lineup within 5 years, to date the last of their personal coupes.

During the period of contact between my car interest and the Mark VIII, in my mid-teens, I probably knew better, but as mentioned, that one photograph, combined with my enthusiasm for GTs and big coupes in general, provided the tinder for a brief spark of desire.

Image credits: motortrend.com, ls1tech.com, lincolnvscadillac.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series discussing cars we used to be fans of, but have since reconsidered our enthusiasm. Read the other installments here:

• Geo Storm

I love boxy cars from the ’80s, but I just can’t warm up to the 1982-1986 (Mark 2) Supra.

On paper, it checks all my boxes (pun intended): RWD, 5-speed, cruiserweight of 3,000 lbs, rack-and-pinion steering, all-independent suspension, straight-6 engine up front and imbued with just the right mix of sportiness and luxury. It’s a classic GT, the car type I’m most drawn to.

Contemporary auto reviews back up my regard for the Mark 2 Supra’s objective virtues. Car and Driver, in awarding it a close second in a 1985 comparison test, wrote about it:

The big reason we love this car is that it does everything elegantly and never seems to breathe hard. Around the burbs and out on the freeway it coddles you with a ride that’s cushy but never wobbly. Its straight-line stability is laser-keen. Lane changes are sharp. The twin-cam six is pure velvet. There is some wind, road, and rear-axle noise, but it’s less than disturbing.

When you want to boogie, the Supra is right there to be your partner. The engine howls as if it believed it’s in a BMW. Come to think of it, the whole driving experience is what you’d expect from a big Bimmer coupe. The difference is that we mere mor­tals can afford the Supra.

This car’s footwork is nearly flawless. It’s absolutely at home clawing along the jag­ged coastal highways at go-to-jail veloci­ties. Its steering accuracy and feel rival the big-name brands’. And when you make a mistake, the Supra covers for you.

Add to that glowing review the fact the Mark 2 Supra is about 500 lbs lighter than its successor, the ‘86.5-’92 Mark 3 Supra, and nearly as upgradeable—either the Mark 3’s single-turbo 7M-GTE or twin-turbo 1JZ-GTE engine will nestle perfectly into the Mark 2’s bay—and a dismissal of it as a platform becomes even more difficult. A 3,000 lb car with a converted single-turbo 1JZ pushing 500+ reliable hp is a recipe for serious speed, and the kind of formula that makes my pulse quicken.

So what’s up? Why am I not on this car like white on rice? The looks. As much a fan as I am of angular, wedge-y ’80s styling, the Mark 2 Supra just crosses the line, in particular with its Borg-like nose treatment that looks for all the world like a docking proboscis for some kind of interstellar battleship. In light of its sub-sheetmetal qualities, I’ve tried mightily to like its design, stared at images of it for some time trying to get used to the styling details, but…if I’m honest with myself, I simply can’t do it. In fairness, there are certain color combinations in which the fascia rises to the level of acceptability, if not outright attractiveness—usually when color-keyed to the body—but the design still never rises to the point where I’d seriously consider it as a potential purchase. The angularity is simply too much.

Image credits: caranddriver.com, toyotanation.com

Much like our earlier installment of the Technical Curiosities series discussing the Laycock de Normanville overdrive, I couldn’t not talk about desmodromic valves for the awesomeness of the name alone.

In essence, what we have here is a valve not only opened using positive mechanical pressure from a camshaft lobe (as in nearly every conventional reciprocating piston engine), but also closed by a camshaft lobe and follower, doing away with the valve spring. With precise timing, one lobe clicks the valve open; the other slams it closed.

By eliminating the valve spring, all possibility of valve float is removed. Valve float occurs in a conventionally-sprung valvetrain arrangement at high rpm when a valve spring is unable to pull the valve shut quickly enough, disrupting timing and in extreme cases allowing the valve to contact the piston, leading to their mutual destruction. Engines with desmodromic actuation can thus rev higher without the threat of internal damage, and the multiple camshaft arrangement allows for slightly more sophisticated valve opening and closing profiles.

The downsides of the a desmodromic valvetrain include added complexity, twice as much mechanical noise (clicking and tapping and such) as a conventional setup, and more required maintenance in the way of valve adjustments. Also, if maintenance is neglected and the clearance between the closing cam lobe and follower is allowed to become too large, the valves might not held fully closed, leading to a whole host of running problems.

In spite of its advantages, the configuration has only been adopted by a few manufacturers, most prominently Italian motorcycle firm Ducati, who use desmodromic valves in their bikes to this day. On the automotive side, only Mercedes, back in the 1950s, designed a handful of racing engines (fitted to their W196 and 300 SLR racers) around the unique valvetrain. Eventually, as with the sleeve valve, more sophisticated engineering and metallurgy all but eliminated the disadvantages of a conventional engine arrangement, and the alternative solution fell into obscurity (with the noted exception).

Image credits: oocities.org

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series spotlighting obscure automotive engineering solutions. Read the other installments here:

• Opel’s Cam-In-Head Engine
• Nivomat Dampers
• Front-Engined AWD Systems
• Mercedes’ Monoblade Wiper
• Twincharging
• The Turbine Car
• The Sleeve Valve
• The Variable-Geometry Turbo
• The Hydraulic Cooling Fan
• The Laycock de Normanville Overdrive
• Audi’s UFO Brakes

This unfortunate trend seems to be especially virulent among Japanese firms, notably Infiniti, Mazda, Lexus and Honda.

It’s hard to grasp how large these logos really are except by viewing them in person. They’re honestly close to saucer-sized.

There are a couple of theories as to the cause of the trend. One is a recognition of the fact that many Japanese cars share very similar and bland styling and their automakers want to distinguish them from their peers by way of branding instead of rest-of-car design. Also, it could be that there’s a trend toward larger grilles in general, and thus logos must grow in size proportionately.

Lexus has indisputably been the worst offender lately, having seemingly fallen completely into the “make the logo bigger” upper-management mindset that drives designers, like myself, nuts. Not only that, in contrast to the other automakers’ good sense in reserving the larger logo for, oh, their larger cars, Lexus seems to take great pleasure in slapping the massive emblem on even their entry-level models, like the CT200h shown above. Furthermore, the automaker’s logo isn’t the most attractive, smacking of a corporate focus-group development process; more detailing within the logo itself (think Porsche or Cadillac) might make it work better.

Here’s hoping this tacky trend peters out rapidly.

Image credits: netcarshow.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series highlighting automotive styling missteps. Read the other installments here:

• Chrome noses
• Overly anthropomorphic design

The problem here is context.

The details of the next generation Lexus entry-level sports sedan, the IS, are certainly generating a buzz. Next to the C7 Corvette, it’s been arguably the most aesthetically dissected car to emerge from the recent 2013 Detroit Auto Show.

The reviews haven’t been overwhelmingly positive. The consensus seems to be that although observers appreciate the fact that Lexus is taking chances, design-wise, the new IS’s shape leaves them unsatisfied. Personally, I want to like the new “spindle grille” motif the Japanese luxury automaker has cooked up, but somehow it just doesn’t sit right; I respect aesthetic risk-taking, but between the grille and the new taillights (the new IS’s two most prominent features), I’m left feeling…uneasy as I contemplate the new car’s lines.

The nose. Evident in the picture at top, the nose is far and away the most prominent feature of the new car. An attempt to create “visual tension” by giving the impression the bodywork is stretched tightly over some muscular internal structure, the feature falls flat simply because none of the rest of the car matches its design drama. Put your hand over the new Lexus’s fascia and the car becomes another run-of-the-mill sports sedan. It’s the aesthetic equivalent of a stage actor turning in a powerhouse performance…while his castmates phone in their lines. There’s just no visual support from the rest of the car.

The tail. Slightly more successful is the 2014 IS’s other “showcase” styling element, its downward-sloping taillights. By visually connecting the taillights and the rocker panels, the rear wheels and thus the car’s RWD configuration are emphasized. So far, so good. But there remain two major problems: The styling effect employed makes it look like the bodywork is tearing or breaking so that the taillights can push through, giving them a sort of half-finished look, and their taper around the side of the car leads the observer’s eye forward back onto the car’s flanks, when the tail should be a smooth resolution and neat conclusion of the car’s look. As it is, our eyes are constantly thrown back toward the IS’s profile, kept in a kind of awkward visual limbo.

The proportions. The new Lexus’s context problems are on full display here. There’s nothing in the car’s proportions that even comes close to the impact of the car’s extremities. Really the only update over the previous generation is a lower decklid, reintroducing a traditional bit of “three box” styling into the new IS’s profile, but otherwise… Ho hum.

The interior. For its part, the interior is serious and tasteful with a strong sense of structure. Taken in isolation, it’s quite well done…but then you remember what the outside, and particularly the nose of the car, looks like, and scratch your head that there could be such a marked difference in feel between the two areas.

I wonder how isolated the design teams working on different parts of the car were from each other? From the looks of it, they must’ve had minimal, if any, contact with each other prior to applying their efforts to the new Lexus’s basic shape. There are lots of good ideas here, just no cohesion. Maybe next time.

Image credits: netcarshow.com

Increasingly, companies try to create a positive buzz around their upcoming Super Bowl commercials by releasing them early on the internet via YouTube or another social media outlet. Regardless of its effectiveness as a business decision versus capitalizing on the element of surprise by withholding an ad until the actual game, the week-before unveiling allows us to take an early peek at what automakers’ marketing departments have cooked up, and gives us a glimpse into their self-image and priorities.

My favorite, naturally, is the Audi spot featured at top. It’s fun, it showcases the actual car rather than projecting an amorphous emotion and hoping we associate it with the brand, and it really does communicate Audi’s bravery (some would say irrational stubbornness) in persisting with a mechanical configuration—quattro—inherently dynamically disadvantaged compared to those of its rivals. Well done.

For their part, Mercedes released a mildly racy teaser spot for their upcoming CLA, a baby CLS attempting to mimic its big brother’s swoopy lines and curb appeal in 2/3 scale. There really is little here besides the age-old (and admittedly effective) “sex sells” tactic.

The Kia ad is a teaser as well, and it certainly takes the “most potential to be truly bizarre” prize.

The cheeseball award this year has to go to VW‘s somewhat cringe-inducing faux-Jamaican accent office guy ad, a commercial that, as mentioned above, attempts to channel what the automaker hopes is the feeling drivers experience when behind the wheel of a VW, but somehow comes up short.

And then there’s Lincoln. Hapless, floundering Lincoln’s marketing department couldn’t even come up with a fresh idea of their own, so they called in air support and enlisted the “help” of social media so owners could supply them with a premise for their spot. In general (pun intended), I like Ford the best of the Big Three, and so I have every hope in the world that Lincoln finds its footing in the midst of the cloud of global luxury marques, but after witnessing their initial attempt at crafting an original commercial, I’m somewhat less optimistic about their chances of survival, to say nothing of actually thriving.

Here’s an excerpt from a blog post I wrote during my trip to Europe with a couple of buddies back in June of 2004:

Quick note on driving: They know how to here! It’s so wonderful. Highways are either two or three lanes; trucks stay mostly in the right lane, only venturing into the middle lane to pass, and cars occupy the left two. People pass only on the left, use their signals and get out of your way quickly if you’re coming up behind them. And on average, drive around 90-110 mph. Drivers stick to the speed limit when there actually is one (around construction and in hilly country) and aren’t boneheaded like most American drivers. I love it—except, of course, for the fact that our little rental Opel is hardly Autobahn-worthy (at least in my mind). Ah well. When I have my [BMW] 850CSi I’ll come back and have some fun.

Every time I’m caught in a back-up caused by an American driver’s failure to merge properly, or stuck behind some secretary trundling along obliviously in the left lane, I feel a pang of longing for my glimpse of that remarkably disciplined driving environment.

Of course, such a system comes at a price. Driver education is far more involving, strenuous and expensive in Europe than it is here, and more rigorous annual inspections mean the cars must be maintained to a higher standard in order to pass muster (and endure the stress of more demanding driving). Furthermore, the experience of being behind the wheel requires more focus than it does on this side of the pond; I remember asking my dad whether he enjoyed driving in France, and he replied that he didn’t. He later clarified that it was stressful for him in the sense that it required all of his attention; he didn’t feel free to just relax and make conversation with his passengers the way he did in the US. That said, I can attest personally that for fully-engaged drivers, the European system works, and can actually be less stressful and more satisfying in the sense that if you understand and obey the rules along with everyone else, traffic moves quite swiftly and smoothly.

Do you think some form or portion of the European system of traffic laws and driver education could work here in the States? I don’t know anyone who would seriously argue for fewer rules; driver’s ed and traffic laws are pretty lax, relatively speaking, but what about simple measures like forbidding passing on the right above 35 mph? Would drivers take to it? Would it work with the current highway code or would interchanges have to be redesigned? What about on a state-by-state basis? Or does Europe’s tighter geographic integration makes it better suited to more strenuous road rules than America’s more sprawling landscape?

Image credit: learn-german.language101.com

A few years before the development of the world-beating (and war-winning) Merlin in the late ’30s, Rolls-Royce released this turd of a powerplant.

The Goshawk was a 21-liter, 600-hp V12 engine developed to power the fighters bidding for the 1934 British F7/30 specification. As it turned out, all eight of the designs submitted turned out to be completely unsuitable for combat even before they left their respective drawing boards, their immediate obsolescence caused in no small part by the Goshawk’s inherent design flaws. In fairness, the British government’s specification was remarkably backward-thinking and short-sighted in many respects, but the fact that Rolls-Royce powerplant was totally inappropriate for a fighter should have been obvious to any casual observer.

Fitted to the Hawker P.V.3. shown above, among others, the engine’s basic design was decent; it was the inclusion of a trendy design feature that doomed its prospects: Evaporative, or steam cooling. Instead of a conventional pressurized water cooling system, where the coolant is kept in a liquid state past its boiling point, the Goshawk was built around the principle that letting the coolant actually boil would absorb more heat by virtue of the energy needed for the state change from liquid to gas. The upshot would be less coolant capacity required, and while the principle was sound, in practice the system suffered from at least two major flaws:

• Radiator size. The actual amount of coolant making the rounds in the pipes may have been less than that of a conventional setup, but the radiator (in this case, condenser) capacity needed to allow the gas to condense back into a liquid was much greater, posing insurmountable difficulties when it came to integrating them into the airframe with an acceptable amount of drag.
• Total unsuitability for combat maneuvers. The Goshawk, with its steam cooling system, was intended primarily for fighter aircraft, a type designed with a high level of agility, including negative-g maneuvers and inverted flight. It’s obvious what kind of problem this flight behavior would pose to a cooling system dependent on gas and liquid to occupy specific locations in order to operate properly—the mildest movement would cause the steam and liquid to trade places and completely ruin the effectiveness of the system.

Successful? Hardly. Interesting? Sure. Oftentimes engineers learn as much from what doesn’t work as what does, and viewed from an historical perspective, it’s perhaps fortunate they learned “the hard way” from the Goshawk’s difficulties before the more urgent days of the late ’30s arrived.

Image credits: flightglobal.com, historicaircraft.org

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series examining unique and significant powerplants. Read the other installments here:

• Saab Variable Compression Engine
• Mercedes-Ilmor 500I
• Napier Nomad
• Mazda R26B
• Pratt & Whitney R-4360