I told Vincent that I didn’t really care much for cars. It was my sister, I explained, that wanted to look. Vincent agreed quickly and said it was rock climbing that excited him most. Cars, it turned out, were just a family thing he had to play along with.
Still, he told me about the Lotus‘ under 2000 pound dead weight, noted the tiny engine that gets nearly 30 miles a gallon yet delivers 0 to 60 in better than five seconds, then opened the door and suggested I shoehorn myself inside.
There I discovered a spartan, yet strangely comfortable interior (perhaps it was just swaddling), a removable hard top, and a cockpit built for piloting around sharp turns at high speed. A scooter this wasn’t. A box this wasn’t.
I’ve never been so prepared to drop 50 grand as I was at that moment. I feel dirty.