You know Peter Egan. You’ve been reading him for years. The man was always fiddling with a TR-3 or a Lotus Elan or a Morgan 4/4, and writing with a gallows-hued wit about fiddling with said tiny, fussy things. He’d drag home the stray, sad British thing and make it right, even if it did fall apart three times on the way home and three times on the way to meet the next buyer. If you were wise, Egan’s words would make you laugh, but also remind you to put the fire extinguisher back into the 914, just to be safe.
Also, he loved gargantuan, fuel-guzzling, Barcalounger-stuffed American cars, even though he didn’t have to.
“In fact,” Egan confided to us, the readers, “I was in some ways a closet aficionado of the big sled (closet is perhaps the wrong word; you can’t hide a 1962 Lincoln Continental in most closets).” You can read Egan’s second-ever Side Glances column over at Road & Track.