Everyone knows the importance of making a first impression. My first impression of the show was a '28 Maserati T-26B/M grand prix car. The official writeup for this car indicates it was a Grand Prix winner in 1930 and raced until WWII when it was hidden in an Algerian cave until the end of hostilities. The Afrikakorps burned, but this car still runs. See? Justice prevails.

I may be a "Who dat?" writer on this site, but anyone who knows me knows I can't resist Cords and Packards. Check out the 812 and the shot of the '29 Packard "Super 8" 320 ci straight eight. Of special note is the Pack's hood ornament, which looked like a girl on a water slide. You'll also see a '42 Packard 110 convertible elsewhere in the gallery.

There is a great story told by a favorite sports writer of mine about a time he found himself in a room with Anna Kournikova. He watched her walk in, but immediately averted his gaze and put on a "so what" attitude when she caught him. "Enough people fawn over her," he thought. "I don't need to be another one." Shortly later he looked up to see her defiantly making eye contact with him, and he melted on the spot. The point is: old Bentley cars will do this to me every time. Look at the '36 4 1/2 Liter Sports Coupe with the body by Vanden Plas and the '49 Shooting Brake and tell me it doesn't happen to you.

Almost everything at the show was worth a pause. Here was a '61 Maserati Sebring Vignale made to commemorate the marque's victory in the '57 race. You'll see a '60 Eldo in the background. Turn left and there is a van Goertz-designed '57 BMW 503 with a 3.2L V-8 and a '60 Ferrari California Spyder, a car that should be near and dear to the heart of anyone who has ever presented themselves as Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago.

Sometimes you have to go out and get lost just to see what's out there. Sometimes you get out beyond the boundaries of what you know and choke on dust, and sometimes you see a '58 Dual-Ghia concept with wings as high as your hip. This product of Dual Motors of Michigan was built on a '57 Chrysler 300 chassis and features a 400hp motor, a Ghia body, and an in-dash record player. Ronald Reagan purportedly owned one and lost it to one Lyndon Baines Johnson in a poker game.

Take a few steps with me and we'll see two vastly different cars with the same will to get sideways. In the foreground you'll see one '68 911 T/R homologation special. These came with either 160 or 200hp motors and this one has fender flares from a '72 added to qualify for later group racing. Behind it you can make out a Road Runner with an original 440 Six-Pack. A few generations of owners have made the world a better place by not spinning either of these cars into an immovable object. Bravo.

Under the Pebble Beach tent the cars were gem-like. Feast your eyes on the lines of a '38 Alfa Romeo 8C 2900. This one is a Superleggera with a body to die for... er, by Carrozzeria Touring. This car has a 2.9L eight cylinder (8C, get it?) with two Roots blowers and two Webers and put out about 180hp.

The Isotta Fraschini stood almost as tall as I am. The hood was shoulder-high and the glass hood ornament, a Rene Lalique original placed there when the Queen of Yugoslavia owned the car, was almost at eye-level. Isotta Fraschini makes marine engines now, but this Tipo 8A S features a Duesenberg I8 displacing 427 cubic inches.

Let's just take things back down to Earth, shall we? Wine, cheese and Franz Liszt are great, but you'll suffocate from your own smug if you don't get some malted hops in your system, and quick. An '84 Lamorghini Jalpa sitting outside the tent was my moment of re-entry. We do like the Jalpa.

Enough fussing with cars who shiver in the rain, look how becoming one can be when it's made to have mud, oil and bug guts splashed all over it - like this dirt track racer. In the early days cars that were raced on tracks raced on dirt ovals where horse races were usually held. Many communities had their own horse tracks, and the fairgrounds in Danbury, Connecticut were no different. This is a '35 Ford Danbury Fair special, and I wish it wasn't so clean.

You can only be star-struck when you're in the presence of this '61 Ferrari 250 TR1/61. This is the ex-Phill Hill '61 LeMans winner, ex-NART Stirling Moss, Innes Ireland, et. al. car. You see those velocity stacks under a clear dome, the way the body looks blown back by the wind and the number makes sense: this is a perfect ten.

Heavy clouds rolled in as I was taking a photo of a '70 Porsche 908. It was only the camera car used in the filming of the movie LeMans, not like you'd want decent lighting to shoot it or anything.
You'll see an orange dragster in the gallery, a '57 made by Chassis Research design with a flathead and a ScoT supercharger. How would you like to have all the moving parts in front of your face and the differential between your legs?

Louvers are another detail guaranteed to flip my switch, and a '53 Studebaker hot rod had a stated 400 of them. This one sported a 472 ci Cadillac motor, making it a "Studillac."

The best pair of cars at the show was an Alfa Romeo 6C 2500 parked next to a Bugatti 57C Cabriolet. These two represent some of the purest distillation of automotive come-hither ever to take to the open road.

The sun's rays came back out just in time to roar back at me off the perfect orange paint of a McLaren F1 and a nearby '65 AC Cobra - an FIA car bearing numbers which make it the very last example to run off the original tooling in Surrey, England.

What a show. – James Gribbon

I walked across the bridge to the paddock and it was like I crossed over into a sculpture garden for gearheads. Open wheel racers lined up on either side, but a Bugatti T-35B in that blue pulled me toward it like gravity. The eight wide spokes on its wheels gleamed, and the grease that lubricated its leaf springs was so clean it could have been olive oil. My eyes raked an Alfa Romeo Volpi Special and fell on the drivers' names painted on the body: "J. Fangio." Oh. Right, then.

Depression-era sprint cars squatted under tents on my right, and the hoods of two Lotus Elevens stood up to my left. Every ten steps there was another million-dollar car, and this wasn't the concours day. These were here to be driven. I thought about what it'd be like to drive Fangio's car until it made my head hurt. I rested my searing eyes on a pair of Maseratis, a '55 300S and a '60 Tipo 61, which is one of the most beautiful cars ever made, racing or not. Go to the gallery and check out the "Birdcage" frame, made of hundreds of narrow tubes.

You can't help but wonder at details like that as you walk around the paddock: How many arms were burned on chest-high exhaust pipes which sat inches drivers' bodies? How did they keep an Lotus Eleven's differential from overheating as it was sandwiched in between the two inboard disc brakes? Has there ever been a sexier shape than a Jaguar C-Type? (Answers: many, magic, and no.)

The open wheel cars took to the track in their Pre-1941 Sports and Racing Cars class (Group 1) and the ex-Fangio car won in a rout. There's something about seeing a three-wheeled Morgan running in this crowd with a rainbow colored spinner trailing off its teardrop tail that has to bring a smile to your face. This just in: old cars cure hangovers.

The drivers really went at it in Group 2, a '52 Allard K2 with a Caddy motor sounds remarkably like a stock car roaring down the front straight, being chased by a herd of XK-120s who weren't afraid to mix it up, loop it, take it into the dirt, and jump back out into the action. The organizers played it equally fast and loose with the rules - there's no way a six-plus liter Allard is in the same class as an MG TD. But it's about seeing them on the track, about showing the life that's in these antique machines. Stanguellinis, Brabhams and a Lancia-Pagrada duked it out next in a Formula car race. My money was on a BT-2, but a Cooper ended up taking the checkered flag.

It was a ton of fun watching a Fiat Abarth give hell to the Group 5 cars, but it was a Porsche 356 that crossed the line first.

My second favorite race of the day went to a battle in Group 6 between a '58 Allard GT with Chrysler Hemi power and a '59 Aston Martin DB4/GT. It was like watching an AWD car in the wet, the way that Allard pulled away from the pack once the green flag dropped. The Allard was quickly dogged by the DB4 and both were caught, lost and caught again by a '64 MG B with a hell of a driver. Three Ferrari 250s didn't even have a chance. The nimbleness of the Aston Martin was to prevail in the end, but the MG driver may have gotten the loudest applause from the crowd.

A team of two beautiful XKEs abused a field of Mustangs and Corvettes while a Se7en (much to the delight of Jalop super-commenter Al Navarro, I'm sure) diced through the V8 beasts and took home third place behind the Jags.

Now, ladies and sunburned gentlemen, it was Can-Am and IMSA GT time. I could hear them fire up from my seat on a hill across the track and I just started giggling. I'd seen the rows of Chevrons, the GT40, T-70, the two Monzas, and all the rest earlier in the day. Their owners may have been playing with grandkids in the shade, but these cars were all ready for battle - all wedges and jagged ranges of intake trumpets. God, I couldn't wait to see them thrash around the course.

The #20 '76 Dekon Monza was on the pole and leapt off the line, its enormous rear wing seemed to be waving bye bye to the rest of the final group. The sports racers were going to have something to say about that. The Chevrons and a Royale crept up over the course of the race. Spectators on the inside of the track got a show as a 914-6 lost the back end coming down the diving turn before the front straight, executed a full 360, and hammered back on the gas to continue racing. A Chevron B19 was nothing but bare, dull metal with a single, black "3" on either side. It was just a grey doorstop flying around the course and it looked like a cheap toy. It also went on to win the biggest race of the weekend. In true racer fashion, that car had nothing on it that didn't serve a purpose.

I streamed out with the crowds, trying to replay the sound of the Allards in my head. I almost missed it when my Dad looked at me and said, "That was a good day." — James Gribbon

I've been going to races at Lime Rock Park since around 1990 and I don't think I've ever seen this many people at an event. BMW Formula cars and IMSA Lites were both on the under card before the main event. Fans alternately checked out the races and wandered through the paddock watching the ALMS crews make last minute tweaks after the morning's practice session.

After a break for lunch during which I found out Lime Rock plans to open its own members-only motorsports club, it was show time. The prototypes and GT cars fired up their engines and rolled slowly through the crowds and onto the grid on the front straight. Cars and teams got situated and then the crowd was invited onto the track to meet the cars and drivers with no velvet ropes and no barriers besides a crewmember who might punch you in the mouth if you screw up a wing's angle. Considering the Bahamian heat, and in a truly humanitarian manner, the race officials took pity on the poor flag-bearers who stood by the teams, and allowed them to wear as little clothing as they felt necessary to beat the heat. Evidence of this truly magnanimous gesture can be found in the gallery.

The Race
The number seven Penske Porsche leapt across the line at the start of the race and immediately starting prying a sizeable gap between it and the rest of the 25-car field. All four classes dove into the braking zone of turn one at the same time — engines roared, whistled and popped, while clouds of vaporized rubber from locked brakes wafted like it was the Battle of Verdun. The Audis had already gained ground and the Corvettes were running in formation by the end of the first lap. The Porsche and Acura prototypes harried each other at the front of the pack and sliced through the slower GT traffic with the usually dominant R10s and other P1 cars well behind. At Lime Rock, the R10s were mere mortals; their fuel economy advantage all but nullified by the brevity of the race.

The number two car suffered a suspension failure at the worst possible time, sending Marco Werner spinning through the extremely fast downhill turn and into the wall before the front straight. The worst place to have a shunt at Lime Rock is better than the best place at a lot of tracks, however, and the Audi would be reassembled to finish the race. Allan McNish had problems of his own in the number one car. He spun twice, once after locking up the R10's brakes and punting the Intersport Creation Judd into the runoff area outside of Big Bend. The number one car would just barely come back to place fifth overall and first in the P1 class, followed by the two Creations and the other R10.

The unopposed Corvettes had no issues despite some jostling from other cars on the narrow track, and were hardly ever separated by more than 15 feet over the course of the two-hour forty-five minute race. They would finish eighth and ninth overall, ahead of no less than six prototypes. The GT2 class was once again home to some exciting racing as the top three Ferraris wrecked, leaving the door open for the Flying Lizard team to take home Porsche's first win this season and the first ever ALMS win for a Type 997. The RLR Porsche would place second in class ahead of a third place Ferrari. The final top five went as follows: Porsche, Porsche, Acura, Porsche, Audi, with the local Highcroft Racing Acura out placing Andretti Green's car by four positions. This is a great era in which to take in a sports car race. I can only recommend you jump on the opportunity before highlights like public access to the pre-race grid are a thing of the past. – James Gribbon

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Race Day Preview: The 2007 American Le Mans Northeast Grand Prix [internal]

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You Are There: Forza Showdown, Epilogue [internal]

So, as you may have already seen, I got my shot.
Shawn quit after one day, but I didn't know until I walked into the garage as they were about to film him making the announcement. I walked in to see what the commotion was about and almost immediately heard the news. I'm pretty sure I set a personal best in the vertical leap at that moment. They even tried to get me to do it again for the cameras, but I'd made a pact with myself before I flew down to keep the hamming it up to a minimum, so I declined. I hoped I'd learned a few things from watching reality shows in the past.

Lee called me over and I was introduced as the Godfather teams' third driver. Do you realize I've had to keep my mouth shut about that since October? I even had to be coy about it here, which made me feel like a fake. But that's all over now, baby blue. Here's how it went down...

After I shook hands with Hal, Rick and Jeff from Godfather and Freddie, their first driver, I talked to Shawn.
"It's some personal stuff, man," was how he answered the question. I thought it must be some pretty serious personal stuff for him to walk away from a shot like this, so I didn't ask him to elaborate. I still can't honestly say I know exactly why he made that decision, but I sure wasn't going to press it at the time.

I took over on the night after the race at Lanier with two days and three races to go and one hell of a deficit in points. The Godfather team had become a little skeptical of drivers by this point, but their attitude tended toward the "we want to win, but we know it's just a show, so let's have fun," side of things. This was clearly a team with their priorities in order; they were the ones who, within hours of finding out they'd have to spend another night in the trailer, had hooked it up with a hot tub, brought in a friend with a large grill to cook them steaks, and adorned the Chateau Le Dump with Christmas lights and a sign saying "Godfather Bed & Breakfast." I liked their style.

I got up the next day and went to the set feeling pretty much the same way I imagine Lyle Lovett did when he first got Julia Roberts's number. This was the final modification day, and it was about time for me to get in the car I'd be racing tomorrow for the first time. My crew chief, Rick, came back from a test run and was asked how the car was doing.

"I think it runs like a scalded dawg for what it is," he answered. "You want to take it out for a spin, Xbox?" He and I jumped into the Z for my first test run.

A note on that: You may have noticed people calling me "Xbox" on the show. I probably had the fewest hours on-track out of all the drivers on the show. I'm barely a weekend warrior with some experience at track days and autocrosses over the past four years. When I was 17 I received as a present a trip to the Skip Barber School of Advanced Driving up at Lime Rock, but that was ten years ago by the time I filmed the show. I'd found out about Forza Motorsport Showdown on the website the game developers created for Forza 2, the game the show was meant to hype. I entered a form and was chosen, cast as the "gamer" on the show. I like the game a lot, but I'd never even played in online, so "gamer" might have been too strong a term. But if that's what got me in, so be it. Tony, the crew chief of the Challenger, started calling me Xbox and the nickname stuck. He's also the one who christened the trailer out back the Chateau Le Dump, so I guess he had a flair for that sort of thing.

I got in the Godfather Z with Rick, who sat on the floorpan and hung onto the roll cage as I drove. The car took off well and really slapped your head back when the single T3/T4 turbo spooled up. We ripped through the north Georgia countryside for a while (the upgraded brakes were fantastic) until the motor started to choke high in the rev range. It would pull like crazy up until about 2,000 rpm shy of redline and suddenly run out of steam, managing only another 200 rpm before it would go no further. I had no idea what made it misbehave. ("Tuner" is another word that wouldn't apply to me.) We took the car back to the shop and the crew took a look at it... and the 100-shot nitrous kit they'd picked up after the last race knowing there would be one last drag event. They decided the bottle would do less damage as a paperweight and left it off the car. The cameras would catch me later on that day as I talked with Ken, Jace and Angela, who were doing some smack talking to hide their fear of racing against me the next day. Um... or something.

By the time I got back to the hotel Shawn was gone. I thought about the morning and visualized laps of Road Atlanta in my head. We had all lapped the course in the Panoz cars, but tomorrow was to be my first day firing up the Z in anger. I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, but when I did it was with a big smile.

The next morning I jumped out of my team's Suburban and back into the Z for some test launches. The team had gotten some drag radials with their points, and they helped. But I was having trouble getting a decent launch. The engine glitch seemed to be fixed, though. Thankfully, I had some experience with this kind of thing. I'd done my share of stoplight drags in front-wheel-drive Japanese cars, long before "The Fast and the Furious." Thus, the risk to my safety was just below that of spending spring break in an South African whorehouse. My racetracks had turns in them now. I'd never seen a pro tree before, and damned if I knew how to do a standing burnout in the rear-drive Z. My first two runs were disappointing, running low 13's and spinning the tires all the way through the first two gears. I lined up for my third run next to Clay in the 427 Camaro clone, listened to Rick tell me to launch at 4,000 rpm over my helmet radio, and concentrated on not missing the tree.

Bam! The lights went green and I bogged slightly on the launch, but found all the traction I could. I ran through the gears as Clay's car fuel starved and I whipped past him.

"Twelve-nine! Twelve-nine!" hollered Rick in my ears. I clapped my hands and returned to the car transporter. Ken had been able to wring a 12.1 out of a similar setup, but that was the fastest quarter mile I'd ever driven. The team came over and slapped my back. I was happy to have been able to put some points on the board for them. Time to get to the road course where I actually knew what I was doing.
The time trials from two days before had been canceled due to the rain. Now they would serve as qualifying for the final event to decide which team walked away $100,000 richer — a 15-lap sprint at Road Atlanta. My turn came and the gremlins made their way back into the Nissan's motor. I could not run the damn thing to redline. I estimated it was costing me 25 to 30 mph in top-end speed on the back straight and maybe 20 mph everywhere else. I hit my apexes and gave it all it could take, finishing with a 1:53 and change in last place. But there's more to sports car racing than miles per hour, isn't there?
Ken and Jace's cars were malfunctioning, Ken's with a bad seal around his master cylinder (somehow caused by heat from the turbo), and Jace's with a blown thermostat that had given up the ghost in the 90-plus-degree heat. The producers called the teams together to discuss. Wwould we allow the teams half an hour to fix their cars so they could run the race, worth double or triple points, which would determine the winner?

One of the YearOne crewmembers immediately pointed at Lou Gigliotti and spoke up:
"He wouldn't give us shit if that was us. I say no." There was a general consensus among the teams. Another idea was put forward though: did anyone want to win that way?

Shit... no.

So Ken's team got to work on his car as a local Corvette owner stepped forward and offered up the thermostat from his C6 to save Jace's ride — a bit of drama that escaped the show's final cut. My team sat there and worried over the Z. The motor trouble was a phantom; we didn't know where it was or what to do to correct it.

The announcement came that we would be inverting the field, making me the leader for the rolling start. It seems the underdogs had been thrown a bone. The decree was met with howls from the LG team. We all took to our cars for pace laps behind a Panoz School instructor in a GT-RA. This was it.

The pace car peeled off into the pits to the right of turn twelve, the diving right-hander before the start/finish line, and we maintained our speed and positions as we'd been taught.

"Green! Green! Green!" came the call through my helmet as the flag waved and I slammed on the throttle. I ran it as hard as the erratic motor would allow, but was passed in the first turn by the Camaro. Angela's Mustang filled my mirrors as we charged down the short straight into turns six and seven, the two 90-degree right-handers that lead to the long back straight. I was in second place.
I took turn six with all the speed I could, and set myself up for a good line through turn seven. I apexed and rolled into the throttle a little too quickly as I tracked out, fishtailing wildly as cars blew past me. I saved the car and hauled after them.

(Another side note: I had believed that the oversteer was due to too much throttle applied at the exact rpm at which the turbo spooled up, making me break loose, but it seems there's more to it than that. I spoke to Rick last week and this is what he told me: "I didn't want to scare you at the time, but the motor was boiling off a little coolant, and it was running down the body and splashing onto the rear tires." Six months later, this was news to me.)

I hit terminal velocity at about 138 mph two thirds of the way down the back straight. I crested the hill before it dove down to the turn 10 A/B complex, left at A, uphill right at B. Omigod! Ken and Angela slammed into one another and had nearly come to rest under the bridge at turn eleven as I knifed past to their left. I believe Jace in the Corvette was disappearing around turn one when I again made the front straight. Uphill on one, a little left at turn two, and sunlight sizzled off the yellow Vette, motionless in a run off area before the sweeping turn three and the esses. I was the only car I could see on the track as I completed a much better turn seven and took to the back straight again, this time flying by Clay Dale as his formerly race-leading Camaro sat dead in the grass, the victim of a shattered carbon-fiber driveshaft. I had passed four cars out of six to retake second place, and Clarence was in my sights.

I managed to use the better agility of the Z to catch up to Clarence, but I could do nothing to prevent him from burning me once we got to the back straight. I set myself up to the inside of the track before 10A/B and late-braked Clarence without excessive difficulty in A, with a car or two lead by the time we exited B, flung ourselves under the bridge on the blind turn eleven, and skittered across the track on the diving, off-camber turn twelve. The editors chose to skip that pass, however, but it's ok. I'm sure Clarence's 17th joke about women drivers was more worthy of the viewers' time than a pass for the lead anyway. At least I'm not bitter about it.

That Challenger's 440 was asking questions my wheezing turbo Z couldn't answer, and once again I was passed before turn one. I dogged Clarence through the turns but didn't pass him again. I knew the lighter Z could out brake the heavy muscle car every time on the turn 10 complex, and I knew I could hold him off until after the finish line once I'd done it. I almost a lap ahead of everyone but Clarence, and I would bide my time. I waved to Clay as we tore by him on the straight and he waved back. This was fun.
My eyes were down track on turn five at the end of the esses when God hit the slow-mo button on his remote. My rpms fell smoothly away and my car slowed to a halt off line before the turn before the motor died. I radioed it back to the pits: the car had overheated and killed itself. I couldn't get it started. Clarence swung all the way around the track and passed me again before I got the engine to turn over in limp home mode and I stuttered around three-quarters of the track on what felt like two cylinders before I was able to coast downhill into the pits. The pace car came by with Clarence, Ken and Angela rumbling behind.

My thermostat had clanged shut, and the whole team raided every cooler the crew had in order to pour bottle after bottle of water into the radiator. The first bottle instantly vaporized, scalding an extra mechanic we had somehow picked up with a jet of steam. Meanwhile, the race began again with the three cars grouped tightly together. Many long minutes had passed and there was no longer any chance of my winning. I just wanted to finish. I didn't want this one to end in a DNF. We got some water back in the car, got it started up, and I got back on the track. I completed several more modest laps before I got my own checkered flag. I pulled into the pits just in time to see Angela spinning the Mustang in crazed donuts on the other side of the fence. Holy shit, she'd done it. That girl driver could drive.

The show closed with the presentation of the check while Lou stormed back and forth contesting the outcome. The cars had all been fitted with transponders and had been clocked by Road Atlanta officials, however, so his dispute was for naught.

The Godfather team crowded together for the ceremony and they told me how proud they were of me and I apologized for not keeping a better eye on the temp gauge. Clarence and Angela, the best of friends in the real world despite their portrayal on television, were inseparable. Everyone agreed that the past two weeks had been fantastic.

I returned to the set and Rick told me to go take a look at my banner in the garage. A paper sign had been taped to my banner right where the "Help Wanted" sign had been when Shawn quit. Yeah, yeah, Xbox gamer boy, I'd heard it all. That wasn't it, though. As I got closer I could read the sign. And I got a lump in my throat. It was in black marker with an arrow pointing up toward my face, and there were only three words: "Race Car Driver." I don't know why, but I think it was the underline that got me. I couldn't thank they guys enough for that.

Everyone cleaned up and met at a bar outside town for the wrap party. The smiles were just that much brighter with the addition of booze to the equation for everyone but Jace who, at 17, was stuck with soda for another couple years. We struck the set the next day and cleaned up. I got on a plane and thought about the nature of luck. – James Gribbon

[James Gribbon was there the whole time Speed TV was filming its new series, "Forza Motorsport Showdown." Teams of supposedly amateur drivers compete in multiple challenges — from road course and autocross driving, to oval, drag, and drifting — for a shot at $100,000. Each week James will be conveying what it was like to ditch his office job to get sunburned, shit on and generally treated like the Gimp for an outside shot to drive someone else's car really, really fast. So check out the show, or spoil it for yourselves each week.]

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You Are There: SpeedTV's Forza Motorsport Showdown, Episode 3 [internal]

The morning of the second mod day rolled around, and I woke up in a good mood despite the insistent nagging of a low-grade hangover. Bourbon's all fun and games until you arise with a steel band around your skull and Technicolor breath. I grabbed a few cereal bars and an energy drink at the set and looked around for ways to make myself useful. The fog was burning off, both literally and figuratively, when I walked outside the main garage to look for some missing gear in one of our vans and spotted Freddie heading towards the set from the Chateau Le Dump.

"Hey," I started, but something was very wrong. Freddie was walking like he was a hundred years old, barely shuffling up the incline to the set. His arms didn't swing as he moved, but jerked at angles like a barefoot person walking over sharp rocks. How hard had he hit that wall?

A former football and baseball player, Freddie's back wasn't in tip-top shape to begin with, and the close encounter with the wall while drifting hadn't helped. He figured he'd know by that night what was what. Wow. Just when I felt like I was being accepted as part of the production staff and was feeling comfortable in my role, it looked like Shawn or I might get a shot. That woke me up. My mind spun as I found tasks to occupy my time and make the daylight hours pass more quickly.

The teams were once again busy changing suspension components, boosting power, adding downforce, and trying not to think about what a long day and night of wrenching they had ahead of them. The Camaro and Challenger got air dams and spoilers, which made them look a little like the cars campaigned by Mark Donohue and Sam Posey in early 70's Trans-Am competition. I tried to imagine Clarence in a lime-green E-body and laughed. The Corvette was more intimidating than ever, with a new front splitter, a three-section spoiler, a vented hood and wheels wide enough to sit proud of the rear panels. The C6 made the other team owners stop and frown when they looked at it.

Shadows grew longer in the afternoon light and there was a buzz on the set. Meetings were being held behind closed doors. Word went out that all the drivers and crews should assemble in the garage. Hot lights burned overhead and the cooling fans were shut off. The teams gathered, and Lee made the announcement: Freddie couldn't continue. I stood under the long arm of a jib camera and applauded while Shawn walked into the light and into the cameras' eyes. I was envious, obviously, but I was also his biggest fan at that moment. Shawn and I were like our own little sub-group among the producers, directors, cameramen, grips and drivers. We were outside all the groups looking in, and now one of us had made it. I knew the producers had made the only choice they could have, Shawn did have a tenth of a second advantage on me in the timed laps, maybe more. I didn't know which laps they had caught.

An executive from the Speed Channel had come down to Georgia to check out our progress and meet with Bud Brutsman, the executive producer. I saw the two of them leave in Bud's car, a brand-new '69 Mustang clone with a supercharged motor from a late model SVT Cobra and done in pure black with a matte hood. (You may have seen it at the drag track in the first episode.) I was sitting outside in the cool evening air with a group of other production assistants when the line producer, Lynda, approached us and asked who wanted to drive the Speed exec's rental car out to the Chateau Elan for him. I looked past the keys held in her outstretched hand to see a red 2006 Mustang GT and was making "vroom, vroom" noises in the driver's seat before I even got the key in the ignition. I made the most of the surface roads while trying not to topple the tall stack of folders in the passenger seat. I eventually just put a seatbelt on them while at a red light. The light turned green and I launched myself onto an on-ramp ... and into voluminous traffic.

Curses! I kept to the right two lanes for the two exits I had to drive and entertained myself by rowing through the gears, grinning hugely with each blip of the throttle as I downshifted.

Weeks earlier, each of us was asked to send in a photograph of ourselves wearing a racing suit so our name and likeness could be put on 12 foot tall banners which were hung on the wall of the garage. This was a simple task for the other drivers. I had to contact a family friend with a vintage racing shop, borrow a suit, take a few snaps, and give it back. I returned from my ride in the Mustang and was handed my banner. "I guess we can just give you this now," said the young woman who handled wardrobe and props. I unfurled it back at the hotel and took a look. I pictured how it would have looked hanging next to the others. I got in bed and shut off the lights.

You know the drill by now, dear readers: load truck, unload truck, hang banners. This time it was at the Lanier Speedway. I'd never driven a banked oval before, but Shawn had a smile on his face a mile wide; this was his element. I was sent to the inside of a turn with a pickup truck and a cameraman. My job was to roll slowly forward as the cars flew by and he filmed while standing on the bed. Clarence and Ken, the only two non-circle track drivers, both put on huge smoke shows: Clarence as his fender rubbed a rear tire and Ken as he chose to drift a few turns during the timed laps. Clay Dale, more than once a track champion at Lanier, just couldn't get the Camaro to stick in the turns. Jace once again set the fastest lap in the Vette, garnering praise from Lou and a few more points towards the overall championship.
Clouds had slowly been rolling in during the time trials at Lanier, and we packed up and headed back. I was riding in the back of the truck with four other people and nearly every piece of sound and camera gear used in the production when the floor smoothly took on an alarming pitch. Gravity tried to dump all the cargo, including us, out the back as the truck traversed the steep banking to exit the track. We each grabbed a handhold and some gear - too easy, drill sergeant.

A quick rain shower hit Road Atlanta and quickly left when the production rolled in. The track was soaked, and they had a decision to make. The cars sat in a line along the pit wall as the producers talked it over with the track officials. The teams sat in their shiny new Suburbans and Yukons in the parking lot and ... wait a minute!

Before long, all six of the massive SUVs, along with another pickup and the flat bed wrecker which belonged to the track, were grunting and chugging out laps in an attempt to dry out the racing line. The kid-haulers ran in a tight group, big bodies roaring down the front straight like B-17s in formation. Lou Gigliotti, scornful of the pace as could only be expected, ran to the inside of the group on the diving turn 12 before the front straight and passed several other teams before the finish line. I could hear his team cackling over the radios. The asphalt was just beginning to look good when the rains came again and washed away any chance of driving that day.

Back at the garage, everyone was looking forward to an early night. The crews joked with one another as they dried off the cars. I was thinking of getting myself a snack when Bud blew past me, anger all over his face. The teams were called back into the garage. Somebody's going to get a talking-to, I thought. I found my way back into the garage, hoping to rubberneck at the scene that was about to take place. Many pairs of eyes settled on me as I walked in. Shawn had quit. – James Gribbon

[James Gribbon was there the whole time Speed TV was filming its new series, "Forza Motorsport Showdown." Teams of supposedly amateur drivers compete in multiple challenges — from road course and autocross driving, to oval, drag, and drifting — for a shot at $100,000. Each week James will be conveying what it was like to ditch his office job to get sunburned, shit on and generally treated like the Gimp for an outside shot to drive someone else's car really, really fast. So check out the show tonight, or spoil it for yourselves each week.]

Related:
You Are There: SpeedTV's Forza Motorsport Showdown, Episode 3

I stood in the shower the day after the first set of races and tried to loosen up painfully stiff muscles in the hot water. Today was to be a modification day before the autocross and drifting events. What that meant for me so far was that I'd gotten to wake up a little later than usual, which along with a cereal bar I'd grabbed the night before did wonders for my outlook on life. I'd seen the shiny new go-fast parts hanging on the walls of the "Speed Shop" the crew had constructed in the garage area set aside for us on the grounds of Road Atlanta, and I wondered which teams would take what. I counted off the months in my mind until I could see the production on television and catch Ken's reckless pass of Jace, which had been the talk of the crew the night before. The sun was warm and I could already hear air guns as I walked onto the set.

The 350Z teams were mechanically overmatched and needed power; they could have used better brakes too, but for Ken Gushi's team they would be a necessity — upon removal his rotors looked like wide-whale corduroy, they were anodized blue all the way around, and white ash would wipe off with a touch. It was safe to say he'd given that car all it could take. Both his team and Freddie's decided to take upgrades in both braking and forza, selecting to bolt on T3/T4 turbos with front mount intercoolers to the already potent, albeit overmatched, Nissan mills. Brake upgrades were popular that day, as were trips to the YearOne side of the garage to see just how big a hole was blown in the floor of the Challenger. The driveshaft itself lay in state on a table near the car, and it looked like half chewed pasta.

Clarence ran back and forth helping where he could and jabbering at a decibel level similar to the power tools, never at a loss for words. I moved equipment around, helped with organizing the tape stock, kept the coolers full of ice and soft drinks and carried batteries for the cameramen. I sneaked in a few minutes playing Forza on the 360s that were kept on set when I could before I was grabbed and taken to the Chateau Elan to film the LG Motorsports team having their day of beauty at the spa: three guys standing around in white robes making macho jokes, not entirely comfortable with words like "pedicure" and "exfoliation." Their discomfort level was nothing compared to the groups of horror-stricken women at the spa who would round a corner sipping cucumber infused water to face a camera crew.

Mod day ended for the production staff, but the mechanics would continue to work well into the early morning, wrenching and welding and grinding on their cars. Tomorrow it was race day.
Another day saw us loading trucks again, hustling to stay on schedule and warm in the early-morning chill. We only had to move the gear from the set to the autocross track, which is tucked into the space between, turns six and seven leading to the long back straight. No one qualified was around, so I volunteered to drive the largest truck down to the track — why not? It was only 40 feet long and who knows how many tons with five people and half a million dollars worth of gear in the back. After a few minutes I figured out how to take the parking brake off and slowly, slowly made it to my destination giggling so hard I was probably making people nervous. At least I was driving something.

Sponsors had paid to have their names displayed on the cars and tracks, and my first job was to hang banners all around the autocross course. A local grip and I grabbed bags of zip ties and set to work. I was asking him what working production in Atlanta was like when I felt a sting on my ankle. I looked down to see very organized, almost military looking regiments of red ants streaming up my shoes out of the ant mound on which I had been squatting as I hung a Speed Channel banner. The Corvette didn't do zero to sixty as fast I did.

The Corvette was also getting a little too much credit, according to Jace, who felt like he wasn't getting his due for the driving he was doing. He drove first and set the standard at the autocross course, a beautifully set up little track with a variable route depending on the placement or orange cones. It even a little bit of elevation and camber change. The competitors' times were shown on a large display hanging under a shady gazebo at trackside — a few steps above the parking lot half filled with slag where I was used to autocrossing. No one would best Jace's autocross time; one more win for Gigliotti's team.
No one had any delusions about taking the following event away from Ken either: the other teams were talking about it like a movie — let's see what this "drifting" thing is all about. Down came the banners in the kingdom of the ants, back up they went on the fences surrounding the drifting course, conveniently located inside the 10A/B turn complex where Ken had jumped the curbs in the road race.

It should be noted that you can't even do what Ken accomplished in real life in the video game, there being a giant field of sand in the game where the drifting course lives at the real track.

An official from Formula D came to judge the event and brought a fully set-up drift car to demonstrate. No one but Ken had ever purposely drifted before, and he was a pro. The cameramen found their positions, the teams lined up near the end of the straight, and the crews said thing like "Sheeit, I've been sideways on dirt since I was kid, but we never made a competition out of it." Jace, Angela, and Clarence took their turns and looped their cars to our mild amusement; Clay Dale channeled his high school days, gunned his Camaro, and rocketed down towards the first turn, sideways well before he got there. He orchestrated not only the most graceful and stylish run so far, but the most beautiful sounding, as his 427 roared and spun those rear tires into a smoky haze that drifted over the course to the accompaniment of cheers from the gallery. Ken was next, the boosted Z snaking its way into the course and pouring smoke like Spicoli's van on a school day. He pinged the motor off its rev limiter while perpendicular to the track and waving to the crowd. It was like watching Michael Jordan drop in for a game of pick-up in an over-40 league.

Do you remember when Yoda looks at Luke and says, "You must unlearn what you have learned"? That's what it's like for drivers who have always focused on preserving traction while behind the wheel to be told they have to pitch it sideways and step on it. Freddie struggled like the rest of them to unlearn, but he figured it out at the end: he put his foot to the floor on the final turn of his last run... and then forgot to take it off. I watched as the car rotated one way, fishtailed, and turned a 540 that ended at the thick concrete barrier with a bang audible from the grandstands 300 yards away. Freddie got out of the crash without a visible bruise, but his ego was as dented as the Z's rear bumper. He had humble words for his Godfather Customs crew, who told him he'd get 'em next time and looked over their shoulders towards the Chateau Le Dump where they'd all spend the night. Crew, cameras, tapes, sound gear and sand bags went in the vehicles and back to the set; everyone and everything except for a grip everybody called T and myself who were chopping zip ties off chain link as the sun made its way down.

That night some of the producers invited the other production assistant/alternate driver, Shawn, and I out to have a few drinks with them at a place on the grounds of the gated community on a golf course where most of them were staying. I came to find out Lee, the host, not only played football for Cornell and the Miami Dolphins, but that he had the letters MBA and Ph.D. after his name. Mostly the two of us drank beer out of a stocked mini fridge and talked about how fun it was to pelt contestants with that tennis ball gun on American Gladiators. Shawn and I got back to our hotel that night buzzed and with renewed respect for the long days and hard work these TV people had chosen for themselves.

We were excited to watch the rest of the racing; Shawn was particularly stoked about the next race at Lanier Speedway, a 3/8-mile asphalt oval track similar to those on which he raced late model stock cars back home in North Carolina. He, Jace and Angela were all circle track drivers, but Clay was a local — and the track champion.

Three more races, and two shows to go. No one knew it then, but everything was about to change, and the next day would be the tipping point. See you all after episode three. – James Gribbon

[James Gribbon was there the whole time Speed TV was filming its new series, "Forza Motorsport Showdown." Teams of supposedly amateur drivers compete in multiple challenges — from road course and autocross driving, to oval, drag, and drifting — for a shot at $100,000. Each week James will be conveying what it was like to ditch his office job to get sunburned, shit on and generally treated like the Gimp for an outside shot to drive someone else's car really, really fast. So check out the show, or spoil it for yourselves each week.]

Related:
You Are There: SpeedTV's Forza Motorsport Showdown [internal]

It's official. Any idiot in America can to be on reality TV. I'm proof. I was there the whole time Speed TV was filming the new series, "Forza Motorsport Showdown," which premiered last Thursday (11:00 pm EST). And that's why I'm going to be your guy behind the scenes of the show. Here's how it works. Teams of supposedly amateur drivers compete in multiple challenges — from road course and autocross driving, to oval, drag, and drifting — for a shot at $100,000. Each week I'll be conveying what it was like to ditch my office job to get sunburned, shit on and generally treated like the Gimp for an outside shot to drive someone else's car really, really fast. So check out the show, or spoil it for yourselves each week. First episode, after the jump.

Watching something you made actually appear on television is like what I imagine it must be like to show a dog. You train it and groom it, but when its big moment arrives you're still worried i'll it'll take a dump on the runway. As I was watching the first episode of "Forza Showdown" with some friends, I was starting to worry if someone had fed it Beef-a-Reeno in post production. Then, thank god, the racing happened.

The show is its own little race series, leading up to a prize of $100,000. There are six teams with one car and one driver each. The teams brought their own cars and the producers picked who drove them. Teams upgraded their cars, just like in the video game, after the day's events were through. The racers compete in two drag events, three road course races at Road Atlanta, one drifting, one oval track and one autocross event. The team with the most points at the end wins the cash.

I'd found out I was selected a week before filming was set to commence, and was prepared to quit my day job. But I ended up taking what amounted to an emergency vacation and jumped on a plane. I was cast as an alternate driver; my job was to wait and be a scrub Production Assistant unless something went Very Wrong. I made it to the mediocre, North Georgia motel where we were to stay for the next two weeks and tried to get some sleep. All the talent was to take a compressed version of the Panoz Racing School at Road Atlanta first thing the next day so the producers could be sure we wouldn't reenact a driver's ed. class Tales Of Terror video once we got behind the wheel.

That morning I found myself in a classroom at the track with seven strangers, the other "amateur" drivers, and Hawk from American Gladiators (a legitimately great guy named Lee Reherman who was to be the host of the show). The instructors gave us some basic info and sent us to the skid pad for some hoonery in late model Audi TTs. This was about the time when I found out Ken Gushi (he's the one in the Z in the first episode giving that C6 Vette a hard time) was a professional drifter with SCCA Pro Rally experience. The instructor actually got out of the TT giggling and shaking his head after his ride around wet asphalt with Ken. Angela Cope (who races with her twin sister Amber in the ARCA series), Clay Dale (a local late model stock car champion, which put him in the same company as the other alternate driver, Shawn), and Jace Meier (a champion kart/midget driver) all had professional driving experience, which was confusing since the producers had specified amateur drivers. But what the hell? They'd also asked for showroom-stock cars, and the AirRide team showed up with Vortex supercharged Mustang built for SEMA.

That left Freddie Lewis, a MINI salesman and sometime stunt driver; Clarence "Hollywood" Barnes, an L.A. DJ and talented autocrosser, and me, a track day enthusiast, as the rookies. We grabbed some coveralls and jumped into a row of gleaming Panoz Esperante GT-RAs and hit the track. The GT-RA is a 2,550-pound tube frame racer with a 5.0 Mustang mill, single seat, and not much else besides wheels and a digital tach. We could hit speeds in the high 140 mph range on the long back straight at Road Atlanta. We learned the line of the course and practiced NASCAR-style rolling starts. They turned us loose on the track after that and we managed not to maim each other, so they figured we were ready for race day. Lou Gigliotti, whom you may recognize from Trans-Am and Speed World Challenge competition and team Principle of the yellow LG Motorsports C6 Corvette in the show, discreetly timed us.

The official word was that the other alternate, Shawn, had edged me out by a tenth of a second around the track with a 1:51.0, putting us upper-mid pack among the contestants. So much for glory, the first day of filming rolled around and Shawn and I became PA's.

"You will not be doing bitch work." Those words from a producer rang in my head as sweat cascaded of my forehead: it was 100 degrees in Georgia with humidity at similar triple-digit levels and I was unloading and reloading a truck for the third time that day, I'd spent my morning picking up trash around the garage and had to duck a spider as big as my hand at the hotel that morning. I'd gone from "driver" to "stevedore" overnight, and I hadn't signed up for this shit. I was the only man ever to be lied to by a Hollywood producer. If I thought about it, I'd get pissed, so threw myself into the lifting and looked at it like the gym work my sorry desk-jockey ass sorely needed.

Most of the production crew had gotten hopelessly lost in the fog on the way to Atlanta Dragway at Commerce. You may have noticed the fog in the show as they took the cars from their transporters, I arrived, unloaded that truck, and was promptly sent out for coffee for the entire crew. Myself and another PA purchased $700 worth of Starbucks, enough to fill the new Pontiac minivan the General gave us. Twenty-seven years old with a steady job and I was fetching coffee and handing out iced water to the other drivers as they waited for the drags races to begin. It's safe to say I was not taking this well, despite the fact they'd just given me two days in a Panoz for free, but I never claimed to be a well-adjusted member of society.

The drag races began that morning in a big way with Angela in the AirRide Mustang posting the only sub-13 second run of the day. The underpowered 350Z's didn't stand a chance. The brand-new 427 Camaro and 440 Challenger clones on the two YearOne teams, and Jace in the C6 had strong showings, but the closest any of them could get was 13.1. The girl had won. Lou Gigliotti was steaming, and could be seen having an animated discussion with 17 year-old Jace as we packed up for the road race.

Five cars screamed down the front straight as the green flag dropped at Road Atlanta, Angela would start from the pits due to a malfunction. Jace in the C6, Clay in the COPO clone, and Ken in the Z pulled away in first through third place as the race began. The muscle cars quickly crapped out, the Camaro with a fuel issue and the Challenger detonating spectacularly at over 100mph on the back straight as it twisted its drive shaft in half, shooting it through the floorpan and making a ten square inch hole four inches from Clarence's ass.

Angela joined the race and quickly blew by Freddie in the other Z, setting the fastest lap of the day, but she was too far behind to catch Jace and Ken. From my position on a camera tower on turn five, I could see Ken practically sodomizing the C6 with his Z through the esses, only to be left for dead every time he and Jace hit the long straight. Ken would finally make a clean break with his senses and make a spectacularly dangerous pass by vaulting the curbs of the twin 90 left-right turn 10A/B complex and take the lead.

Jace would later tell us that he lost sight of Ken until he looked over his left shoulder and saw Ken's glowing brake rotors at eye-level. But naturally that footage, clearly visible from Jace's onboard cameras was left out of the show. Jace would win both the race and the day, with the victor's spoils being a night spent in the Presidential Suite of Don Panoz's Chateau Elan on a nearby vineyard. Lou fumed and growled at Jace after the victory for putting the car in danger of being taken out by the reckless Gushi when second place would have also netted them a win for the day. The teenager set his jaw and quietly turned crimson while Gigliotti berated him off camera.

Freddie and the Godfather Customs 350Z team would spend the night at what would quickly come to be known as the "Chateau Le Dump" - a tiny trailer dragged down from Dawsonville, GA a few days before. All six teams would receive and install their upgrades the next day before their next challenges on the autocross and drifting courses at Road Atlanta. The drivers had given the cameras a hell of a race that day. At 12:00 midnight I was mopping oil spill in the garage and formulating sweeping theories about the value of an L.A. denizen's word. I was about to quit.

Keep watching, brush off the cloying idiocy of the parts of the show that aren't racing, and I'll see you all next Thursday. I promise this show gets good where the rubber meats the road. – James Gribbon

Our new buddy Ryan happened by a GM soir e in the Rocky Mountains, at which the company's new, turbocharged Ecotec direct-injection mill was the most honored of guests. Luckily, he brought along his digicam

I've seen a few mildly disguised Solstice GXPs over the last couple of days near Keystone Mountain in Colorado. Then yesterday, I ran into a whole slew of gm test vehicles in a hotel parking lot in Dillon, CO. There happened to be a mechanic working on one of the Solstices at the time, so I asked him a few questions. It sounded like it was actually a Bosch testing program for cold weather/high altitude performance of the direct injection ecotec turbo. Apparently they're already making 280bhp and shooting for 300bhp for next year. And GM is planning to stick the mill in a bunch of different performance models: They had two undisguised Cobalt SSs with the same motor, and an HHR as well.

In the same lot there were five fully disguised cars under covers. I couldn't tell in the slightest what they are.

(Side note: GM recently contributed $25,000 to "develop a strategy for a Center for Education at The Keystone Center," a Colorado-based non-profit organization that supports science education.)

Related:
You Are There: Saturn Sky s Dealership Arrival; Pontiac to Unveil 2007 Solstice GXP at Los Angeles Show [internal]

Automakers spend millions on qualitative market research, but few outside the industry really know what goes on inside one of their secretive new-model focus groups (sorry, automotive review sessions). Only those who've made it past the byzantine approval process know for sure. According to one reader, stories of marathon Ouija board sessions, cocktails spiked with brainwave-synchronization drugs and presentations by radical bodypart modification artists appear to be the fabrications of an overactive mind, but that doesn't mean the sessions are any less fun. (Well, maybe a little less fun.) You do see new car models before practically anyone else in the world, and even walk off with a few bucks. Read that reader's account of a recent, pre-market consumer review of the 2007 Ford Edge crossover in Los Angeles.

I was invited to an automotive review session at the Los Angeles Convention Center over the weekend. A month or so ago a letter came and cryptically let me know what might go on. I would be looking at models of a vehicle(s) that might at some point be for sale in the US and offering my opinions. The letter referenced my current wheels (an 03 4Runner) and said I would definitely NOT be getting sales-pitched whilst I was there, but I would get $125. Other than a note to bring my driver's license, dress in comfortable shoes and not bring my camera phone or children, that was it.

I was intrigued. The marketing of cars and brands is very interesting to me so I ran through all the possibilities in my mind. Would I get to drive the vehicles? What kind of vehicles would I get to look at? Maybe manly SUVs because they picked me out of the 4Runner pile. For a moment I hoped for a look at the new Toyota FJ, but that is not close enough to production, is it?

The day arrived and I headed downtown. Largely deserted Conv Center the place where the LA Auto Show will be held in just a few weeks. In the parking structure I saw several Nissans parked close to the entrance including an electric (plug-in style) wagon called the Nissan Altura. Hmm. Did this mean I would be looking at Nismo s finest?

Upstairs, I have never been in the Conv center so empty only two or three people inside the massive atrium. This space is often used on film shoots to double as an airport terminal or the interior of an auto show-room. I followed some signs to a much smaller side room where I signed in.

They did not search me for a camera phone, but I signed wavers to not take pictures. This was run by a research group called Gfk, all of whom were quite nice and professional. Nothing on the forms I signed said I couldn t write an email to my friends at Jalopnik. I went inside and ...

They gave me a tablet computer device - preloaded with the questions. There were fabric walls behind which were some cars. I was lead to one of two curtained off areas by one of the staff. They said to try and answer the questions with my first impression and NOT ponder and try to figure out what they were after - which is exactly what I did anyhow.

I was lead into a space with five crossover SUVS - all with their logos blacked out. They were Nissan Murano, Toyota Highlander, That Subaru thing with the vagina snout (tribea?), a fugly Pontiac Torrent and the mystery guest. It was clear that this fifth model was the main point of the exercise, but I was guided to start taking the survey so my attention was drawn elsewhere.

I started with the Murano and answered all these questions about the exterior: general impressions, no general impressions when standing at the rear, now from the side, the front, etc. I entered my 1-to-10 opinions onto the tablet and it took me to the next angle. It also asked for some specific views of the tail-pipes, or the fog lamps. Then back to the general opinions again- like maybe me looking at the rear spoiler in detail would lead me to grade the overall side view differently. Maybe it did, maybe it didn t. I am not sure if my scores changed I didn t think it through that much. I hope they don t put too much stock into those kind of things, because they would be reading WAY too much into it. I was answering as quickly as possible and then moving on.

I went around to all five of the vehicles, and there were other survey participants doing the same thing. The crowd seemed a good cross-section of LA - possibly skewed female. One person was either a taller version of Prince or a transvestite. That is great a sample right there - getting a tranny s views on cross-overs. Sweet.

After a general view of all of the rides I had a better look at the mystery vehicle. It was actually very well designed from the outside. It was smooth and flowing like a shrunk down Porsche Cayenne. I do not think the Cayenne is as horrific as some do and this was a great-looking cross-over. The grille was a three bar deal like the new Fusion, so I knew this must be a Ford and not the plain-Jane Freestyle. (After I got home I found this article that references the vehicle I saw).

I had a chance to chat with some of the other people taking the survey and none of them knew what make the vehicles were - other than the woman who owns a Murano. Another woman was a Honda Pilot driver. We all seemed to agree that the mystery guest (Ford) looked great.

Now we went back around the five vehicles and sat inside. A study worker asked us questions and typed the answers into our tablet computer thingies. The Subaru dash is very pretty, but is sucked up lots of interior room. The Nissan was sleek and clean like a mid-century house. The Pontiac was a pile of junk. The Toyota was fine, but the wood-grain stuff was hideous. The plastics were so cheap, they had molding flashings were the seams were. Yuk. The interiors were all maxed out - leather, DVD, third row when available. The power was off so we gave our opinions on the way the seats move and the look of the seats and headroom. No chance to examine the nav systems or listen to the stereos. The Ford was last.

After sitting inside both the drivers and rear seat we loaded a small suitcase into the hatchbacks and commented on the cargo interior while the survey people diligently entered our 1-to-10 scores. The vehicles with a third row seat had the vestigal row folded away - but that still left the back area cluttered and visually messy. Both the Subaru and the Pontiac had particularly over-wrought cargo areas with crevices and crannies and a variety of hooks and platforms. Maybe that stuff is useful, but much of it looked flimsy and likely to be in the way.

Inside the Ford, it was all clearly a mock-up. The buttons on the HVAC and wheel stereo controls were stolen from other vehicles and the glove box actually had dust inside. Probably from sanding on foam to make the mocked up interior. The other vehicles were all brand new and clean. The Ford exterior looked 100% completed but the interior was just not finished. The seats were leather, but the surfaces were wrinkled and uneven - pure prototype. The ford we saw did not have a third row option but it did have a large moonroof over the front seat and a smaller, fixed pane of glass over the rear. The interior was so-so but I would wait to see the final product. The Ford s deep metallic grey (pewter?) exterior was really nice. The surveys on all the vehicles asked us what we though about the flexibility of the center console and the moon-roof. Clearly Ford sees these as selling points on this vehicle.

Then I was sat down to go over the vehicles and which one I would buy. First we ranked them, then they showed us a chart that had the specs and manufacturers and asked us to rank them in our order of preference. I put the Murano first, Then the Toyota and then the Ford. I am NOT into American vehicles - largely due to reliability issues. The Ford looked good, but I would still not put it ahead of the other models (which is prejudiced, I know). The spec sheet said the Ford had a 3.6L V6, AWD and a 6-speed auto (which compared favorably to all the other vehicles. Then they showed us another spec sheet that had prices and we were asked to rank them again. My opinion did not change. I am not sure, but it seemed to me that the prices on the Nissan and Toyota were low - they might have been from a non-loaded, non-leather and nav Murano and Highlander, or I could be mistaken. The Ford compared favorably in all accounts, except my own anti-Detroit bias. BTW the survey people never let on that this was Ford sponsored survey.

After this, I was sent to the other curtained room where I saw five more de-logoed SUV/cross-overs. This time they were all luxury models. Acura MDX, Infiniti FX, Cadillac, Lexus RX and the same Ford but now wigged out with (what I would assume was) Lincoln trim. This was NOT so nice. I was to look at just the Ford/Lincoln, and only in general at the exterior.

The Lincoln version had two tone paint - dark down low and that ugly yellowish-cream color that luxo makers like. I m guessing old people buy that color, because I never would. The clean, bold grill of the ford was replaced by a messy super-shiny mesh with flourishes and doo-dads. Perhaps this was the Who-ville option package. The simple and open rims of the Ford were now bright-chrome and fussy. The tail end had a plastic red bar that went all the way across the back making a mono-brow tail-light unit. The Ford version may be more thought out since they are not as far along with the Lincoln iteration. That had better be the case since the Ford was ten times better. The Ford (the color helped) looked like it was carved from a single block of steel, the Lincoln was a hodgepodge of wanna-be upscale design cues.

We then say down and looked at rim choices (which was odd). Then they asked us if we would want the rims more if they were some alloy/cladding combo that was corrosion resistant. That question must be for people that live where rust is an issue. We looked at photos of things like watches and cell phones and rated which of these matched our style. Lots of questions. I was ready to go. This was about 1.5 hours into the survey.

Then our computers showed us charts of the five manufacturers with prices and rebate amounts and we were asked to pick one. A 35k Subaru versus a 36k Nissan with $1000 back or a 34k Ford with $500 back. Then again with different prices and cashback amounts. No reference to what models or features - just manufacturer, price and rebate amount. Seriously, how was I to judge? Was this a loaded Ford versus a stripped down Toyota for the same price? Vice versa? Just click the answer so I can go and see King Kong. There must have been fifteen of these questions and I ended up just picking the Nissan or the Toyota without really thinking about it. They got some shady data from me on that one, let s hope they don t read too much into it.

It was an interesting experience overall. They seemed focused on a handful of things on the Ford. The storage bin in the center, the moon-roof and the cashback financing stuff. Does this mean Ford is planning on starting this vehicle out with rebates? That doesn t sound good.

The performance specs on the Ford looked good. Nice HP and AWD is good for me. A 6-speed auto also seems appropriately high tech. The interior is key, but that was not done yet. I got my $125, turned in my tablet computer and headed home.

Related:
Ford Releases Advance Image of 2007 Edge Crossover [internal]

Our buddy Chris stopped by the Arizona International Auto Show in Phoenix over the weekend. It was 145 degrees in the shade, the peyote was flowing, the Armadillos were trying not to give anyone leprosy, and the locals were shooting at polecats from the portholes of their Gulfstream trailers. Next year, we're going too, if only so we don't have to make up an entire opening scenario based on Jim Jarmusch movies.

Best interior award goes to the audi a6 avant — everything just right, excellent materials, and the seats were a Amaretto color. Just great. 2nd prize went to the s4 cabriolet. Drool.

Best exterior color was on the new Honda Si: dark, burnt orange metallic. Sounds gross but it worked. Honda kudos: they kept the batteries going sose y'all can play with the nav/mp3/radio etc.

Not a lot of folks at the Suzuki booth.

Lincoln Zephyr, which is a tarted up Mazda 6, is exactly that. But the execution of the tarting was quite poor. $35k for that?! How 'bout a 1 yr. old 330i or 3 yr. old s4 instead? Or a Mazda 6?

New passats are great, but just who are they competing with?

Biggest denial: Buick Lucerne is actually good looking. Also the Saturn Sky(?...its Solstace twin) is great as well.

Obvious rant award goes to me: $9 for this?! And only 5 "concept" cars, all of which already appeared in some magazine or another a year ago? Only 2 Jags?

Could more kids spill more sodas in more interiors? Could more jugheads barf out more incorrect information on more cars? Ex: "Yeah, those hybrids ... but you'd get electricuted. Where does it plug in?"

Oy.

Related:
You Are There: Audi A3 3.2 Quattros Hit Dealership [internal]