The Rake Magazine

(Pictured above: A bulletin board in a ski racer's hut. The love of speed leads to a lack of problems. At least those with names.)

Last week I included a trenchant post from a skier. I hope to have more comments from this caliber of athlete--the most ballsy of breeds.

On that note, I mentioned the concept of "vertical speed." Ski racing and auto racing (hence the link to this blog, duh) have a great deal in common: speed, line, the laws of physics, psychotic pursuit.

As such, I feel both sports have much to recommend to the average couch potato on the eve of the Super Bowl. While its been fun watching football on snow this past month, a far greater feat on frozen ground was acheived by a Japanese skier with linebacker legs.

In 1970, Yuchio Miura (pictured at left) skied down Mount Everest. You can watch the spot below. Its better than a Super Bowl automobile ad by well over a mile--the length he skied before crashing 200 feet short of a cliff.

lhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piNRRg7WuG8

As I mentioned before, my 166 piece photo library from the national automotive museum in Alsace is unweildly for online use. I focused mainly on potrait shooting of the most amazing vehicles on the planet--like this very early racing Bugatti from the 1920s.

I'd show you some photos of the Royale (the rarest and most expensive car in the world) but the lighting was terrible--at least for my phone camera. But heck, I consider the "tank" shot above pretty good for a phone camera. And I've never minded titilation.

P.S. If your tastes run modern, here's clip of an M3 and an Veyron dragging it out (I have a pic of a Veyron but who cares.)

ERRATA!!!: In my previous post, I said that Ettore Bugatti's Dad was a celebrated sculptor--alas, it was his brother, Rembrandt. (Does AP suggest the use of stitled words like "alas"?. Anon.)

(e.d. This is a well-considered weigh-in on the beauty of boost. I experienced this in heavy doses last night. Kurt Nelson is a top-notch ski-racing coach who knows more than me about horizontal and vertical speed. Pictured: The terror of all turbos—the Porsche 935.)

“There is no replacement for displacement” — that hackneyed old saying that those who love the big Detroit iron like to chant when the subject of turbocharging comes into the conversation. Sure — as Chris spoke about a while back with regard to thrust — a tuned V8 will give you prodigious thrust, but what really gives you a kick in the ass is boost. Mash the throttle in the mid RPM range, wait just a second for the turbo to spool, and hold on. Now, that is driving. Power is not linear, like in a normally aspirated engine; it spikes with a kick that leaves most cars in the dust, wondering how that sedan just did what it did.

Above: Pike's Peak SAAB Turbo. K's ride shares the same genes.

With the dense cold air that has invaded us during the past couple of days, the turbo really shines. More air in means more air out, and that is what boost is all about: air flow. Cold air is much more dense than warm, which is why getting on the go peddle in the cold is so much more fun in winter — if only my snow tires would grip more. Open the air intake, increase the size of the exhaust, and you have an immediate increase in drivability. The turbo spools much more quickly, and the intercooler does not soak as much heat with repeated bursts of boost. Just today, for example, with the ambient temperature of about 0, I was able to get the tires to break loose in four gears, spinning madly in the first two, and chirping with three and four. Full boost in three and four is about 21 lbs, at 4000 rpm, tapering to a sustained 17 lbs up to redline, and that translates to about 120 mph. Try as I may, I just do not have the oomph to get them loose in fifth, but the Saab pulls hard until 150 mph, so that’s cool.

So, next time you are thinking that you need a bunch of cylinders to give you the power you think you need, guess again. My little 2.3l gives me 130hp per liter. Try to find a normally aspirated engine that gives that type of output. As Chris can attest, from a little test drive last night, turbo charging rocks.

I admit that after a lifelong obsession with automotive things, I never really got what the fuss was about Bugatti.

Until I actually saw one, then sat in it, then started it up at the national automotive museum in Alsace. Its all clear now. Ettore Bugatti was the son of a sculptor who is exhibited in the D'Orsay. His sculptures are macho things, the stuff that one might find in an upscale version of a Tony Montana boudoir--panthers, tigers, that kind of thing. All very emotive, which, in a nutshell defines the classic Bugatti.

I've been so hot and bothered by these cars I have yet to find time to think or write about anything else.

So how was JesusChristmas for you all here in the United States? I have been away over the holidays but I have not been wasting time.

Au contraire.

You see I have been busily working in France test driving cars that most people can only dream about. Cars even hotter than France's new President's bride to be (a former supermodel, shamelessly so). I've included a shot of the F40 I picked up in front of the Ritz on the Place Vendome'. This is the Ferrari that everyone wants due to its umitigated brutality (the last full car designed by the Holy Devil himself.)

My photos are taking too long to upload at present but a Veyron is in here as well as a Gullwing and some more classic Bugattis, Alfas and Porsches.

Who needs women, nez pas?

(That's what Nicholas has been known to say.)