Photography by Daniel Nikodem
They call him ‘The Boss,’ or Le Patron for a good reason. Sébastien Loeb has dominated one of the most challenging forms of Motorsport, rally driving. It is a sport that requires extreme concentration, memorization, and endurance. It is like a triathlon combined with the SATs.
It would be easy to talk about his nine victories in a row and his status as the most successful driver in World Rally Championship history.
On a recent trip to Argentina I found one of the coolest tuner cars money could buy there in the early 1970s: the Lutteral Comahue, a GT car based on the IKA Torino coupe.
To give you some context, the beginning of the Lutteral Comahue story is set in 1967, when the IKA Torino was a newly successful Argentinian-built car.
A lapse of moderation, a largess of gorgeousness. It’s hard to describe the Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este without being hyperbolic, as there really is nothing like this “car show.” Pebble Beach is bigger, but car count is no great metric in this case. Scan the world and I doubt you’ll find many places sporting cobblestoned helipads with lakeside views,
This is how you take two paths to the same five-speed five-door 300-plus-horsepower result. It just so happens that this pair of BMWs were once garaged not five houses apart from each other, but the red Touring was decidedly more mellow back then. The M5 unfortunately belongs to my father instead of to me, but well before that car came over from Germany I remember growing up admiring our neighbor down the way’s bright red BMW station wagon.
An unexpected phone call often kindles the first flame of an adventure, and such a call reached me just after the new year. It was my good buddy Alex, head honcho at DRIVE Coffee.
“Dude, can you make it to Austria in a few weeks? Want to roll the dice again with the 037 at the Ice Race GP in Zell am See?” The question cleared the fog away from the remains of my hangover and sparked a flutter of excitement in my stomach that I prayed would stay there.
On a windswept clifftop along the most westerly ridge of the UK, I find myself surveying a a plot of 80 or so automobiles, arranged in a quasi-organized formation on the far from even terrain of the gravely car park. In the summer months, this space serves the many tourists flocking to Land’s End to take in the view from the point that the ancient Greeks called “Belerion,” the place of the sun.