In the disco days of the 1970s, even supercars were cocaine-thin. Meet
the Aston Martin Lagonda, a four-door exotic that lived on dinner mints
and hot water. Designed by AM penman William Towns — undoubtedly wearing
a very large cravat at the time — the Lagonda was as beautiful a car as
ever resembled a pencil box. Mechanically, it was a catastrophe, Aston
Martin's Dunkirk. The company decided to build the Lagonda with a brace
of cutting-edge, computer-driven electronics and cathode-ray displays,
which would have been very impressive if any of them ever worked. NASA
couldn't have built this car, much less the heirs to Joseph Lucas, the
British electronics' famous "Prince of Darkness." Still, I'd kill to
have one of these cars, and the O-scope and multi-meter to fix it.
What makes a car bad? Is it the car with the worst exterior styling? The most dreadful interior? The most uncomfortable ride? The least reliable/most poorly made? Or is it a dismal combination of all these factors? For our purposes, the worst car in the world is not only the vehicle that incorporates the most of these negative traits, but also more importantly, has no redeeming qualities of what makes a car great whatsoever.
Friday, December 11, 2015
1975 Trabant
This is the car that gave Communism a bad name. Powered by a two-stroke
pollution generator that maxed out at an ear-splitting 18 hp, the
Trabant was a hollow lie of a car constructed of recycled worthlessness
(actually, the body was made of a fiberglass-like Duroplast, reinforced
with recycled fibers like cotton and wood). A virtual antique when it
was designed in the 1950s, the Trabant was East Germany's answer to the
VW Beetle — a "people's car," as if the people didn't have enough to
worry about. Trabants smoked like an Iraqi oil fire, when they ran at
all, and often lacked even the most basic of amenities, like brake
lights or turn signals. But history has been kind to the Trabi.
Thousands of East Germans drove their Trabants over the border when the
Wall fell, which made it a kind of automotive liberator. Once across the
border, the none-too-sentimental Ostdeutschlanders immediately
abandoned their cars. Ich bin Junk!
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