Last night during my nightly tv-surf, I chanced upon Bullitt. The late 60s Steve McQueen cop movie. Which contains, arguably, ‘the finest car chase ever filmed’. Better than the one in the French Connection, better than the Blues Brothers (279 police cars smashed up en route), better than Vanishing Point even, which was an entire movie-as-car-chase, better than James Bond. Because really, who needs voices when a supercharged V8 says so much more? The words of the finest of bards fail completely to match the sheer elegance and poetry of that ‘glug-glug-glug-VROOOOOOOM!!!!’ that is produced when such an engine is given to the wind. The sound of angels. On horses. Lots and lots of horses. In the case of McQueen’s Mustang about 400 horses, whereas for the Dodge, about 500.

It was, in reality, a bit of a mismatch. The Mustang was a great and fairly dangerous car. In that they stuffed a 6 litre engine in a body designed for half that, added a few tweaks, nothing that would arrest that power surge, so nothing like better breaking or suspension, and off ya went. As long as you drove it in a straight line not too much could go wrong.

But the Dodge Charger was really something else. Same concept; basic body, stuff the biggest engine that can be crammed in, in this case over 7 litres. And just in case that’s not sufficient (is it ever??) why not stick a supercharger on it as well? No brainer. Extra 40 horse power at least for the blower. That was what Dodge called the R/T version. As in ‘road/track’. The engine used in that model, known as the ‘Hemi’, didn’t just redefine high power output from car engines, but is still the engine they use in all the top drag racing cars today, 55 years later.

I grew up in the 60s. The 1960s, in case you wondered what it meant. And we watched the new genre coming to (just 2-channel) tv, American Cop Shows. The English ones were ok too. But we noticed that in Dixon of Dock Green the police rode push-bikes or if they were sufficiently senior, had Morris 1000s as their ‘rides’. Whereas on the American shows they drove these fuck-off monster-powered Chevys and Dodges and Cadillacs that roared and groaned and throbbed and burnt rubber. Britain was a petrolhead underclass. Our ‘sports cars’ were tuned up 1600 engines. Their ‘family cars’ were V8 gas-guzzling supercars. Disguised as Ford Cortinas. And I wanted one. In fact I wanted 6. But my dad went and bought a Triumph Herald instead.

So that’s my excuse. Why I laugh at a Toyota Prius. Why I have nothing but contempt for anything electric that won’t make toast (ok, Tesla excepted) and why I love gas guzzlers, but only the one I’m driving. All the others will destroy the planet.

Happy Friday

A xxxx