AS I TOLD “MAXIMUM” ROBERT A. “BOB” LUTZ BETWEEN SIPS OF A BLACK COFFEE AFTER THE OTHERS LEFT, I grew up in a non-domestic family. Save for the two Ford Aerowindystar minivans my mom needed to haul us kids around in. I watched Formula One intently from the age of naught — Alain Prost, then Michael Schumacher were my favourites — while laughing at the American, Michael Andretti.
I could list for you, at age five, all manner of European sports cars. At 10, I was on to things like the Isdera, Alpine, Ruf Porsches, and a few odd Japanese cars — like that “V6 supercar,” the Honda/Acura NSX. I attended the Detroit Auto Show every single year with my father, and while I can guarantee I was blown away by the Ford Indigo, GT90, and Dodge Copperhead, I would make a complete circuit of the show and purposely cut through the domestic wares to get to the next–closest Euro or Japanese show stand. Read the rest of this entry »