What Ferrari left out of the F40 made clear what kind of car it was. There was barely any sound insulation, and no radio. There weren’t even interior door handles; you reached into a recess in the door to pull a cable. Early cars had sliding Lexan side widows; later versions had hand-cranked roll-up windows.
This weekend, a cavalcade of over 150 pre-1974 classic cars will assemble in Beverly Hills to be judged on their originality, beauty, and historical import. Held at the private estate of the eponymous Greystone Mansion, the Concours d’Elegance boasts entrants from all around the world, with equally diverse vehicles from marques as exotic as their coachwork.
A move back to Connecticut preceded my furthest relocation at the time, 2,824 miles to Southern California where I currently hang my hat when not bouncing around the world for work. That work most recently led me to establish a part-time residence in Northern Italy, and had me reflecting on the cars I’ve owned and how my place of residence may have influenced my choices.