One thing that has always surprised me about this blog is how little I actually write about my own cars and bikes and scooters. Indeed, since I started this blog about two (2) years ago, I've owned quite a number of semi-interesting vehicles that I have barely written a word about.
Only slightly more surprising (to me, anyway) is the almost total lack of Lancia related posts on this blog.
See, when I was growing up in Miami, there was a 1975 Lancia Beta slowly disintegrating in our driveway. Every now and then, my aunt Cecey or uncle Luis would come out and get it running - for a while. And while it ran ... wow.
The noises that 1800 cc DOHC Fiat/Lancia made through its ANSA mufflers imprinted me forever. I have, in the years since, experienced the many varied howls and screams and growls and barks of Ferraris, McLarens, Lamborghinis - more than any gearhead kid could possibly beg or hope or deserve to; yet none of those crippled my sensibilities the way that Lancia did.
When I was 14, my aunt signed the Lancia's title over to me. I was never able to get it running "right". When I was a few years older, I bought another one - a 2.0L 1981 coupe. Red.
I got to drive that one, however briefly, and I learned a valuable lesson about all things Italian: they are fickle, crazy things that break your heart, shred your savings, and toy with your emotions - but they can be Perfect, too. It is that perfection that binds our emotions to these things, as if they were friends or children or lovers.
When you're talking about Italian women or Italian industrial design, you are talking about a real, physical perfection that is always just out of reach. Just out there, beyond your grasp. It teases you. It taunts you.
Just then ... the box from Bayless arrives. Huzzah!
You fix the car. You go for a drive. You take in the sights and sounds and smells, and it is GLORIOUS!
Then it breaks down.
Again.
You call your buddy Roy with the hot wife to come get you.
Again.
You call Bayless.
Again.
You tear the car apart and into a thousand pieces and swear on your life and on your heart and on your mother's grave - and you swear to Jesus and to Ganesh and to ancient Gods you can't name and to your wife that you will never Never NEVER put yourself through this again.
Again.
Just then ... the box from Bayless arrives. Huzzah!
You see what I'm getting at?
These stupid cars are in my blood. They are in the veins of all the masochists and mental patients at FLU, and firmly entrenched in the heart, mind, and (dare I say it!?) soul of anyone who's ever heard a Group B rally car steer sideways at wide full-tilt-boogey open throttle.
Not a day goes by that I don't type "Lancia" into eBay's search engine and not a day goes by that I don't quietly hope Fiat will see fit to build a new HF or Stratos. In short: I take my Lancias seriously.
It is with that in mind, that you must forgive me for thinking that there is something ... a little wrong about this product.
The bottled blasphemy above just stinks of unmitigated EVIL and badge-engineering such that, if you actually bought this wine, you are made of suck and fail.
Everyone knows, of course, that Lancias are best served with Martini.
F**k, yeah!
NOTE:
vehicles owned since beginning this blog listed, below, in order of acquisition.
1998 Dodge Neon 2.0 DOHC
2006 Yamaha Vino 125
2006 Pontiac Solstice Z0K
2009 Chevy Malibu Hybrid
2009 Honda Ruckus
2009 Volkswagen Routan SES
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