Classic Sports Cars Archives - CARS // MOTORBIKES

AMC AMX

To all intents and purposes, the AMX was a stripped-down AMC Javelin. It was a foot shorter – and weighed a lot less. On its release – in February ’68 – it was the sole US 2-seater sports car. It stayed in production until ’74. If AMC stood for American Motors Corporation, AMX did the same for American Motors eXperimental.

When a car sets 106 speed records, you know you are onto something. When it does so in a month, you know you have hit pay dirt! So it was when Craig Breedlove got behind the wheel of an AMX, shortly after its launch. Unsurprisingly, AMC saw fit to mark his success – with 50 red, white and blue AMX Breedlove specials. Rewind to the real world, and top speed for the AMX roadster was 120mph. The SS version – complete with a 390ci V8 – made at least 340bhp, and probably a whole lot more. Muscle car stats at the time tended to be understated. Built with one eye on the drag strip, just 50 SSs were sold. Partly, that was because its price was supercharged, as well as its power! If you needed more muscle from a standard AMX, way to go was a Go Pack. It included a bigger 401ci V8 motor. Output duly climbed to 330bhp. The Go Pack also provided uprated brakes, suspension and wheels/tyres.

By ’71, though, the AMX’s hot shot days were numbered. At that point, the top-of-the-range Javelin ruled AMC’s roost. Come ’74 – and the end of its run – its superstar status was substantially reduced. In its day, though, the AMX was more muscular than most. And certainly more modish. Saying that, the Mustang gave it a run for its money in the stylishness stakes!

Fiat 508S Balilla Sport

In commercial terms, at least, the Fiat 508S Balilla Sport had much in common with the VW Beetle. As with the Volkswagen – or, people’s car – the Balilla was designed to be transport for the masses. Saying that, it was coachbuilt in Turin, Italy – at Fiat HQ. So, it went without saying that it was pleasing on the eye.

Gianni Agnelli was head of Fiat. Unsurprisingly, his core objective for the Balilla range was that it sell well. Agnelli was, after all, one of the wealthiest Italians who has ever lived. In line with his strategy, the Balilla was competitively-priced. 10,800 lire, to be precise. The first model’s unique selling point was that it had three gears. And – with hydraulic braking also part of the package – it did indeed fly out of the showrooms. In its five-year run, 114,000 Balillas were sold. That smashed Italian automotive sales records. And it was not just Italy that caught the Balilla bug. Other parts of Europe also succumbed. Production lines started in the UK, France and Poland. Indeed, the French firm Simca was founded to flog the new Fiat.

The style-laden Balilla 508 was released in ’34. And the 508S Sport had speed, too, on its side. Its four-cylinder engine made 36bhp – at 4,400rpm. Top speed from the 995cc side-valve set-up was 110km/h. More than enough to sweep a young lady off her feet! So long as you did not forget your petrol money. The Balilla Sport drank around 9.5 litres/100km. For Fiat, then – and Gianni Agnelli – it was mission accomplished. The 508 series did more than make its mark – it became the stuff of legend. In the Thirties, the 508S Balilla Sport was mass marketing big business. Like the team behind the VW Beetle, Fiat got its sales sums spot-on!

Ferrari 250 GT Berlinetta SWB

The Ferrari 250 GT was the base model for the most expensive car ever made. That was the Ferrari 250 GTO which sold at a Sotheby’s auction for silly money. Actually, $48.4m – in California, in 2018. It is easy to see where the GTO got its chops from. In the case of the Berlinetta, bodywork was by Scaglietti. He styled the 250 GT-based competition cars – and their sports siblings. The ‘short wheelbase’ SWB, for instance, fell within his remit. Pininfarina helped sort less race-oriented versions of the 250 GT – like the ‘long wheelbase’ LWB. Felice Boano – celebrated Italian coachbuilder – likewise contributed to the GT’s design.

The Berlinetta was launched in ’61. It was not just its looks that came out of the top drawer. Its 3.0-litre V12 motor was also hand-crafted. The man responsible for it – Gioacchino Colombo – was an industrial designer at 14. When most young men his age were gluing pictures of cars to bedroom walls, Colombo was engineering them. Suffice it to say, then, he was a child prodigy. At one point, he drafted a supercharger for homework – as you do. Subsequently, it was shown to Alfa Romeo. Alfa must have graded it A+, since he was offered a job on the strength of it. Several engines later, Colombo was approached by one Enzo Ferrari. The maestro was managing Alfa’s race department, at the time. By then, Colombo was aged 34.

When Enzo set up his own car company, Colombo was one of his first hires. The motor man arrived in Modena in ’45. Whereupon, he set about adding his own input to the 250 GT project. With such a wealth of design talent dedicated to it, it is little wonder the GT soared to the heights it did. In short, Ferrari’s 250 GT Berlinetta SWB was as iconic as a sports car gets. Apart from the Ferrari 250 GTO, of course. Sorry, Sotheby’s!

Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale

The driving force behind the Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale was Franco Scaglione. He was an engineering whizz-kid from an early age. He was also blessed with precocious design sensibilities. A mechanical marvel of one sort or another, then, was always on the cards. It was just a question of what. Thankfully for car buffs, automobiles were amongst the subjects Scaglione found himself drawn to.

Engineering, then, was a walk in the park for the young Scaglione. Even as a student, he was a natural. He duly graduated to more advanced learning. That is, until the Second World War threw a spanner in the works. Scaglione’s studies – started so swimmingly – were decimated. Back in Civvy Street – in ’46 – he was 29 years old. Training to be an engineer was in tatters. Time to look for alternative employment. Maybe the motor trade held something for him?

The Fiat Abarth was Scaglione’s first full-on design gig. Not a bad way to cut your styling teeth! Launched in ’52, he was on Bertone’s books at the time. Surprised by the scale of the Abarth’s success, Scaglione opted to go solo. In ’59, he opened his own studio. The jewel in its crown would be the Stradale. Using Alfa’s Type 33 racer as a template, Scaglione fashioned a suitably muscle-bound sports car. Aluminium bodywork was draped over a tubular steel frame. Alfa’s 2-litre V8 was installed in the back. Scaglione drew the engine in plain view – in all its mechanised majesty. Once fired up, it made 230 bhp. And full use could be made of the power. For a start, the throttle was ultra-responsive. The gearbox was a flexible 6-speed affair. The Stradale’s dimensions were hang-it-out compact. Plus, it weighed in at just 700kg. In its short production run – from ’67 to ’69 – just 18 Stradales were built. Oddly – given the built-in exclusivity – the price tag was relatively low. That did not detract from the Stradale’s prestige one iota. Carrozzeria Marrazzi made a magnificent job of the coachbuilding. Franco Scaglione, of course, drafted a car design tour de force. In short, the Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale radiated excellence. Scaglione, then – World War Two interruptions notwithstanding – got there in the end!

Delahaye 145

The Delahaye 145 was launched in 1946. The mastermind behind it was Henri Chapron. Born in 1886, he had been on the steel-crafting scene since he was a kid. Come the close of the First World War, he started his own company – in Neuilly, France. Its core business was importing Ford T ambulances from America – and refactoring them into saloon cars! The custom bodies Chapron created were impressive. So impressive, in fact, that he was recruited by Delage.

Chapron’s entrée to motoring greatness, though, came by way of Delahaye. In the mid-’40s, streamlining was all the rage. Which was tickety-boo – until the end of the Second World War. By then, even some upper-crust belts were starting to tighten. Streamlining – and automotive haute couture in general – came at a price. If the hooray Henrys could not afford it, sure as heckers like no one else could!

The 145 comprised Chapron bodywork on a Delahaye chassis. Plus, A V12 engine. The resulting coupé was bespoke to its core. Its luscious exterior was matched only by its luxurious interior. It went without saying that leather and walnut abounded. Of course, that fell foul of the current commercial climate. Chapron, though, was tossed a lifeline. This time, Citroën came calling – with the offer of design work. Chapron’s first brief was a cabriolet – the DS 19. Subsequently, he turned his hand to developing the Citroën SM … always a good career move in France. Indeed, at one point, Chapron was made coachbuilder to the President. Along the way, he helped turn some of Phillipe Charbonneaux’s dream-laden drafts into roadgoing reality. Chapron’s last legacy to Citroën’s oeuvre was the DS 23 Prestige. Always classy, then – never outré – Henri Chapron nailed it as a designer. From young apprentice – to superstar stylist – he was never less than a credit to his profession. The Delahaye 145 was proof of that – alongside many others!

Hispano/Suiza H6B Dubonnet Xenia

André Dubonnet was a doyen of the drinks industry. Many a tippler has had him to thank. His finest hour, however – at least so far as Dubonnet was concerned – was the Hispano-Suiza H6B Xenia. From a wealthy background, Dubonnet was a car-crazed kid. It was a gimme, then, that he had plenty of toy automobiles to play with. The toy he craved most, though, was a one-of-a-kind supercar … a real one. Finally – in ’45 – he got it!

For all his wealth, Dubonnet was a worker … well, of sorts. After a lot of graft, he had made himself a respected fabricator. Hispano-Suiza was his marque of choice. Using their style-soaked creations as source material, Dubonnet fashioned several racing prototypes. They graced grand European events and circuits – Monza, the Targa Florio, Le Mans and Boulogne among them. Not only did Dubonnet build his cars – he drove them, too. And did so well enough to be asked to join the Bugatti race équipe – by boss Ettore, no less.

Over time, Dubonnet assembled an impressive portfolio of clients. Indeed, GM acquired some of his research work – into hydro-pneumatic suspension and pumpless oil delivery. Even Dubonnet, though, needed help. To that end, he recruited Jacques Saoutchik to the Xenia cause. The fabled Russian coachbuilder was tasked with sorting the aerodynamic aspects of the car. After all, Dubonnet had land speed record attempts in mind. So, Saoutchik’s sought-after streamlining skills would be vital. Saoutchik also knew how to design a stunning-looking motor car. Sadly, the Xenia never broke any speed records. It did, however, play a prominent rôle in the opening of the Saint-Cloud tunnel – situated near Paris. The publicity must have been some consolation to Dubonnet for the Xenia’s lack of sporting success. Not that the Xenia lacked all of the attributes of an LSR car. For starters, it was 5.7m in length – aiding straight-line stability. Partly as a result of that, it could clock up 200km/h. So, for all its shortcomings – at least in LSR attempt terms – Dubonnet’s Hispano-Suiza H6B Xenia was an innovative and spectacular autocar. Motoring had never been so à la mode. Cheers, André!

Honda NSX

For a car maker seeking feedback in the late Eighties, Ayrton Senna was probably first on your wish list! In ’89 – with the NSX in the pipeline – that was the enviable position in which Honda found itself. As luck would have it, Senna was in Japan, at the time. Honda wondered whether he would like to take the NSX prototype for a spin? What could the world’s finest F1 driver do, but accept! On returning the NSX to its technicians, Senna declared it impressive – but delicate. That could be remedied. In short order, Honda had made the car half as strong again.

A new NSX bagged you £5 change from £60K – which you, of course, used to tip Ayrton Senna! As supercars go, sixty grand was cheap. Assuming you considered the NSX a supercar, of course. Not everyone did – among them, some with pronounced European tastes. But – if you could stand a few withering looks from more ‘discerning’ drivers – the NSX gave you plenty of sports car bang for your bucks. Or indeed, yen. For a start, a top speed of 168mph was not to be sniffed at. It came courtesy of Honda’s VTEC V6. Said engine was fixed to the first all-aluminium chassis and suspension set-up installed in a production car. The result was fast acceleration – plus, firm but finely-tuned handling. Especially when Honda’s Servotronic steering system was added to the mix.

The design of the NSX was inspired by the F16 fighter plane. Good aerodynamics, then, were a gimme! With so much going for it, it is no surprise Honda held a special place in its heart for the NSX. Only their best engineers were allowed anywhere near it. Okay – so Honda did not have quite the cachet of supercars’ past masters. That said, the NSX still had plenty to offer less picky connoisseurs … particularly ones who liked a bargain!

TVR Sagaris

If you bought a TVR Sagaris new, you got a fiver change from £50K. It did not, though, come with any airs and graces attached. Built in Blackpool – on England’s NW coast – the Sagaris delivered no-frills performance – and plenty of it. No-frills, yes – but not no-thrills. A top speed of 175mph made sure of that.

A swift glance at the Sagaris spoke volumes. The transparent rear wing could not have been clearer … in terms of the car’s intent, that is. If you were still in doubt, an array of bonnet vents gave the game away. Does a road car really need to breathe so deeply, some might ask? Nikolai Smolenski – TVR’s new owner – obviously thought so. He was a young Russian oligarch – and not one for leaving things to chance. In the past, TVR had caught flak over build quality. To be fair, as a small manufacturer of exotic machinery, it was always a risk. Smolenski, then, opted to up the ante, reliability-wise. How much he succeeded is a moot point. Anyway, a sturdy roll-cage was duly installed – which took care of over-zealous pedal-prodders, at least!

Certainly, the Sagaris’ straight-six engine called for care. The all-aluminium unit was deceptively pretty. On top of a 406bhp output, it turned over 349lb/ft of torque. As a result, the Sagaris rocketed from 0-60 in 3.7s. 0-100 took just 8.1s. Figures like that mean precision engineering. With a bit of Northern grit thrown in, of course. After all, sports car development is no bowl of cherries! But, while the TVR Sagaris did not stand on ceremony, it was bespoke – not basic!

Fiat 8V

Had the 8V – or, Otto Vu – been built in the US, it would have been dubbed the V8! But since it was, of course, built in Italy, the Fiat powers that be opted to call it the 8V. Then again, countries often do things different ways round – like letting people drive on the wrong side of the road, for instance! Anyway – the engine in question was a 2-litre 70° V8 … in American money, that is. Whatever the nomenclature, once put through its paces, Fiat declared itself well-pleased with the result.

The 8V was released in ’52. At the beginning of the Fifties, the upper echelons at Fiat were in disarray. Rumours spread that chicanery and sharp practice were rife. It was an ideal time, then, to climb Fiat’s corporate ladder. Young Dante Giacosa – head of testing – saw the new car as a chance to impress. Amidst all the chaos, his superiors made it clear the 8V needed to deliver.

The 8V was conceived as a luxury sedan. So impressive, though, was its V8 motor, that thoughts soon turned to the sports car market. Initially, the 8V served up 105bhp. That was later upped to 115. After still more development, it finally maxed out at 127bhp. Top speed was a handy 190km/h. The 8V’s price tag was 2,850,000 lire. Value was added by all-round independent suspension – a first for Fiat. Originally, the idea was to lengthen – and co-opt – the Fiat 1400 chassis. Then have Pininfarina work its stylistic magic on top. Excess weight, however, put the kibosh on that plan. Into the design breach stepped Fiat’s Fabio Rapi. It was his proprietary bodywork which bewitched visitors to ’52’s Geneva Motor Show. Just 114 8Vs, though, would subsequently be built. By ’54 – a mere two years after its launch – it was game over for the 8V coupé. A bit of a damp squib, then, all in all? In a way – but, during its brief lifespan, the 8V returned Fiat to the sports car fold. It got the illustrious Italian firm back on track – manufacturing classy, fast and agile automobiles!

Costin Amigo

Frank Costin – creator of the Amigo – was an automotive pioneer. That said, he learned a lot of what he knew from the aircraft industry. He had been a top aeronautical engineer in his time. In the Fifties, Costin shifted his skill-set to motor racing. Lotus and Vanwall benefitted directly. Indirectly, the ripples of his expertise spread far wider. When Frank Costin met Jem Marsh, they founded sports car maker MarCos. The marque had a unique take on English eccentricity. That was fully in keeping with Costin’s character. An out and out maverick, he did things his way. That certainly extended to his cars’ construction. Costin liked wood. The chassis in Marcos’ first sports cars were made from laminated marine plywood.

In time, Marcos moved to more orthodox chassis. That was probably partly as a result of Marsh’s input. Costin, though, was still a believer. He sought backing to build a car of his own. Enter the Costin Amigo! Its monocoque frame was forged from, yes, plywood – albeit with strengthening pine strips bonded on. The chassis’ light weight was echoed by a glassfibre body. The latter was sublimely smooth – both of shape and finish. Visually and aerodynamically, it cut straight to the chase.

The Amigo’s engine, drive-train and suspension were sourced from the Vauxhall VX4/90. Indeed, the Amigo was built close by Vauxhall’s Luton HQ. Fittingly – given Costin’s former employment – it was at an airfield. And the Amigo’s performance was jet-plane impressive. Top speed was 137mph. Handling was high-calibre. Design-wise, only the spartan interior let the side down a tad. It certainly contributed to the Amigo’s woefully low sales. A scant eight units were shifted. To be fair to the Amigo, had Frank Costin been more of a marketing man, it might have helped. To be fair to Frank Costin – engineering was all he knew. Anyway – the Costin Amigo story was richer than that of many cars that sold a thousand times more. Not that the bank manager would have seen it that way!