A Pilgrimage to Weird Car Mecca: My First Trip to Lane Motor Museum

Nashville, much like the rest of the American south, is a place chock full of curiosities. It's home to the Grand Ole Opry, a radio-cast country music show that established most of the big names in country music history, and later funded the existing Gaylord Opryland Hotel and Resort, a 172-acre indoor tropical oasis. Music has given Nashville a strong sense of its identity--something I wish we had in my native Atlanta. The streets of downtown and east Nashville--it's own artistic haven--starkly contrast the Grand Ole Opry, but share the same maverick attitude towards music and creativity.

My guess is that Jeff Lane, founder of the Lane Motor Museum in Nashville, shares that same spirit. Only his is directed towards cars.

The Lane Motor Museum is a place I've heard plenty about. Despite living fairly close to Nashville, I've never visited. For me, car museums run the gamut between spectacular and spectacularly-disappointing. You could easily have a room full of common cars, a swamp cooler, and musty carpets accompanying your $20 admission. So I went in with reasonable expectations. All of them went out of the window before I even left the parking garage.

Lane Motor Museum is on the south side of Nashville, off of the Murfreesboro Pike. The area has long been an industrial corridor, experiencing its peak in the mid-20th century. When the Sunbeam Bread factory shut its doors in the mid-80s, along with many other factories on the road, the area went into decline. Not until several decades later--when Jeff Lane purchased the building in 2000--was the area injected with an entirely new energy. One centered not around bread, but around quirky vintage cars.

Tall windows up top let in the right amount of light, and the unfinished walls and exposed roof structure mesh well with the collection of automobiles--a display of industrial engineering at its finest.

You'll find several contemporary vehicles splashed throughout the vast, one-room complex. But mostly, this collection showcases cars from the heyday of automotive ingenuity. France is well-represented here, with selections as exotic as a rotary-powered Citroen and a Dutch rally-outfitted Citroen DM.

Not to be outdone, the Japanese also show well and diversely. Everything from Daihatsu micro-trucks, to the Honda Beat, to a street-legal Honda ATV of sorts is on display in one corner. Many of these were cars I'd only ever seen in early Gran Turismo games. Never ones I thought I'd see in the deep south of all places.

Most impressive are the handful of early Japanese roadsters from Honda and Toyota. A Toyota Sports 800 sits in one corner, while a Honda S800 sits in the other. In addition to the S800, there's also an early-90s Honda Beat, and even a contemporary S660 roadster; all in the appropriate "rising sun" red. 

The collection is housed in a deceptive space--you can see all of it in one 360-degree rotation, so you initially think it's small. But the thing about it is, everything in the room is interesting, it's all packed pretty closely together, and there's a lot of it. Not to mention there are no ropes holding you back. Only good faith keeps patrons from fiddling with the inside and outside of cars on display. When you think about the level the museum staff bestows on the patrons, it really speaks volumes. I respect it tremendously.

As I mentioned earlier, French cars are very well represented here. The first cars to greet you when you walk in are several D-series Citroen sedans. These stylish cars defined what it meant for a car to be "French:" zany steering wheels, narrow rear track, that teardrop shape. This handful of cars shows nicely the development of that style through the 60s and 70s. There's even a rotary-powered Citroen M-35 prototype, which was actually sold to a Citroen customer as a "test vehicle" in the early 70s. The manufacturer was toying with the idea of rotary power, and slated 500 of these prototypes to be built and offered with a lifetime warranty. Due to production issues, though, only 267 were built, and in 1974 Citroen cancelled warranties on all M-35s.

Lane's French collection continues with a Renault 5 Turbo 2 hatchback, and a 1974 DS24 rally car, "La Belle Orange," decked out in the signature Dutch racing color. Possibly the most interesting Citroen on display, though, is the ex-Cogolin Fire Department "two-headed" 2CV. This unique creation, built by coachbuilders Ansart & Teissere, was born from necessity. Firefighters needed a vehicle that could fit down the narrow roads in the area, and valuable time could be wasted having to turn around on such a road. This resulted in the dual-engined, all-front-end car you see today; it actually remained in service for several decades.

Adding to this already unique collection is a display of 14 microcars, arranged from smallest to largest. A plaque written by Lane explains that these cars rose to popularity thanks to inexpensive production cost and ease-of-operation. Additionally, many only required a motorcycle license to operate, and cars like the 1975 Mini-Comtesse on display didn't require a license at all.

Other Notable microcars on display include the Peel P50, which still holds the record for world's smallest passenger car. Peel Engineering, originally a manufacturer of fiberglass boat hulls, built 508 P50s, each powered by a 49cc engine. Bill Minor, a fabricator and Tennessee native, built a working 3/4 scale American Austin. The project took almost 20 years to complete, and is powered by a 10-horsepower, single-cylinder engine.

In the microcar section, you'll begin to notice the artwork that accompanies the cars on display. Advertisements for the Gogomobile and NSU ads set in Brooklyn in the 70s are nearly as interesting as the cars themselves, if only for the common thread of obscurity. A detached gallery is dedicated to displaying these advertisements and artifacts--a fascinating and henceforth underrepresented category of American culture and advertising. It's good to see an illustrated history of MG mounted to a frame on the wall, next to a poster for a 2006 vintage track day at a local racetrack. They may not be spectacular now, but they will be in the future.

Lane Motor Museum motivates the future, even though its exhibits are so firmly rooted in the past. It shows us what innovation looked like; what even pedestrian automobiles can do for the path of the automotive world itself. It's in the details, in the Citroen's complex hydropneumatic suspension, and in the Tatra Aeroluge's complex answer to harsh, eastern European winters. We see what triumphed and what failed, and we can appreciate both.

It's a lot like Nashville itself. An old building, given new and entirely different life. Its cars tell a story, not only of America, but of the world and even of humanity. There are solutions to problems, the tangible, but also masterpieces of design; shapes and colors and lines that capture human emotion in a way that can't be easily explained, but easily appreciated.

For a more in depth look at what lies beneath the brick floor at Lane, check out this article I made on a second trip to the museum.

Model Cars: Rediscovering a Pastime in Appalachia

Today I took a trip to the north Georgia mountains. My only goal in this trip was to get some solid road time in on some fantastic roads, and that I did. 17, 19, and even a 35MPH connecting road provided plenty of thrills on my way to Dahlonega, a town famous for being one of the first gold rush towns in the United States.

A Jaguar XJS convertible parked on the street in Dahlonega.

The town square was choked with traffic, since street parking was free and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I decided to peruse a few of the antique shops, and found a few plates for my collection and a couple of National Geographic books. This only spurred my desire to find more hidden, reasonably-priced treasures in a part of the state whose stores I hadn't really browsed before.

At around 1:30, I decided to drive up to Hiawassee, a town that nearly shares a border with North Carolina. The store I chose was a quiet affair, silence broken by a woman's loud phone conversation about an expensive car repair bill for "mama's car." Civil war books crammed the corners and old men examined worryingly-sharp woodworking tools. It was a pretty standard showing; looked like I'd driven the extra hour for nothing.

But in one corner, I spotted some familiar looking boxes. Names like Revell, Tamiya, and Fujimi rang bells, but there were a couple of others I'd never seen before--smaller model companies like Aoshima, Gunze Sangyo, and ESCI.

A few months ago I decided to try my hand at building scale models again. After a few days of work, and a month of not doing anything on the car, I knuckled down and completed a Tamiya Fiat 695 Esse Esse. And after that, I bought a 911 Turbo model kit; it sits unfinished.

These models at the antique mall in Hiawassee got the wheels in my head turning again. By design, and with the help of a 50% off sale, I ended up buying six model kits.

Scale modeling has been an on and off hobby of mine since I was a kid. My biggest kicks were near the end of elementary school, when I'd go over to my friend Harrison's apartment and work on building plastic cars into the early hours of the morning. His dad was someone who I considered to be a professional modeler. (not to be confused with "model")

One day, Harrison showed me the stash. His parent's bedroom closet was full to the ceiling with little boxes full of model kits. This was in addition to the various kits scattered on the kitchen table, in Harrison's bedroom, and in his dad's office, where the serious work was done. That office was immaculate, which I had a hard time understanding, since our model car work almost always ended with spilled glue, paint, and trash.

I was extremely envious of Harrison back then. While I had to beg my parents to buy me new model kits, he always had a smattering of different cars and paints to choose from. It also upset me that he wasn't bit on details. Where I'd try to make my cars as close to real-life as possible, he'd use sharpies in place of paint on the body and interiors of his cars.

My projects back then did tend to be a bit ambitious, though. I wanted to replicate what I saw in the Scale Modeler magazine; intricate customization projects where people built roll cages from plastic styrene and cut out doors and hoods with custom hinges. Obviously, I soon discovered my skills still had a long way to go, and those over-ambitious projects usually ended in frustration and, ultimately, the trash bin.

My little Fiat kit did a lot to give me hope for my future (potentially) in scale modeling. (not real modeling. At a healthy 200 pounds, I'm too fat and at 23 years old, I'm too old) With some very-hard-fought patience, I was able to complete a car I was truly proud of. I was able to place all of the pesky metal transfers and decals, and lay down a decent paint job--something I'd always struggled with due to my lack of patience.

So my goal this week and for the following weeks is to finish the Porsche, and also to get started on the kits I just bought in Hiawassee. Funny how a long hiatus can still make the heart grow fond.

Caffeine and Octane Atlanta, January 2016

Gloves were a good idea. I had even brought gloves, but I left them in the car, certain they would interfere too much with the small buttons on my camera. Eric assured me his weren't making a difference anyways, to which I answered: "Imagine if we lived someplace where it actually got cold."

It was around 8:00 when we arrived at Perimeter Mall, a now familiar meeting place of Atlanta's automotive-inclined (and often their somewhat reluctant spouses and other family members). I had expected turnout to be down from last month. December set a new attendance record for Caffeine and Octane, but temperatures were in the friendly 50s. This morning ran about twenty degrees cooler.

Quickly though, I realized a smaller turnout wasn't the case. It was the earliest I had arrived to the show in a long time, and probably the most energetic crowd I had ever seen at a car show that dies down by 10:30a.m.

Eric and I first walked past a scene that looked like it could have been plucked straight from the streets of Long Beach. Four lowriders--Chevys and Lincolns of different vintages--assumed the awkward but familiar stances afforded by their intricate suspension setups. Later I even caught a bit of that action. But for now, the crowds were just starting to roll in.

Rare cars are what have drawn me the most as of late, and it seems like more and more pop up every month here. A Toyota Celica GT-4 (roadgoing version of the early 90s rally car) was on display, as was a 12-horsepower micro car built in Ohio, and even a replica of a Ford Festiva SHOgun. (Jay Leno owns one of these subcompacts, a Ford bastard child given a mid-mounted, 24-valve V6 and comical rear fender flares for laughs)

The conversation always bounces back to car culture. What makes so many people come out early on a Sunday morning? And more importantly, where are all of these people hiding? People with fully-built Mopars and meticulously-restored 230SLs are hard to imagine when you're spending time in a sea of grey, white, and the occasional blue Ford Escape on Georgia 400.

The crowd is so varied too. There are the Stancenation holdouts, there are the micro-British roadster guys, there are enough people with Dodge Challengers to fill the United States Senate Chamber. (and God help us if they do) You have to marvel at the fact, every time you come here, that so many different niches are catered to.

Then we find it. Eric mentioned seeing the Roadkill El Camino on the way in. I'm not as familiar with the Hot Rod Magazine YouTube series, so I immediately wrote it off. There's no way, the guy lives in California, I said. What would he be doing here?

We're the only people looking at the truck when we walk over, but Eric still swears it belongs to Finnegan. I still disagree, and we agree to disagree.

A corner of the parking lot, shaded by trees, houses the most unique assortment of vehicles--and it's the most pleasing to me. A pristine 1995 Mercedes CL500 parks next to a Humvee. Across from it, a late 70s Lincoln Towncar, a similarly titanic Cadillac Fleetwood, and a 60 series Toyota Land Cruiser occupy another row. Against the island is a turquoise 1959 Cadillac parked behind a Dodge Coronet. You'd be hard pressed to find a cooler collection of cars anywhere else in the country at that given time.

After walking through the show area, our attention turned to the main road through the parking lot. We watched as high schoolers in a Trailblazer with no muffler competed with a flat black Mazda minivan and a Mclaren for attention. Then, a landmark moment.

A bright yellow doorstop, a Lamborghini Gallardo, the first modern Lamborghini after Audi took over the finances in the mid 2000s, decides adequate attention hasn't been directed its way. Prods at the V10 turn a few heads, but snap judgement of the kind of person who would buy a bright yellow Italian supercar doesn't turn out too well for that individual. True, Lamborghini's carry huge, shouty engines and are as sleek as the Concorde, but they've never been about performance. They're designed to grab attention in hopes some of that attention will reach the driver.

That glimpse of attention towards the Gallardo driver was short lived, though. Behind, a Chevrolet Corvair sporting some sort of ungodly V8 powerplant roared onto the scene like the Mad Max war rig. The grin on the Corvair driver's face as his creation ripped through the relative quiet of the crisp air was triumph defined. His car, probably built from scratch, from the ground up, probably with his own two hands during countless sleepless nights in the garage, beat out the man who could sign a bigger check.

Eric had to leave soon after, and I went for another lap around the show area. It was nearing 10:00, and already many of the drivers had dipped out, leaving wide open expanses of parking lot with the occasional Camaro or Porsche dotting the horizon. But a big crowd had formed around the El Camino, and I knew instantly that Eric was right.

The bright orange jacket immediately identified Rutledge Wood, a Georgia native who's appeared on the American version of Top Gear. He's standing in the wake of the truck's open hood, watching someone laying on the ground underneath. Sure enough, the guy who gets up sports a beard, a flannel, and a beanie. It's definitely Finnegan.

I decided to hang back as he was met by one person after another, taking selfies, answering questions, and talking to Rutledge about their lunch plans. Even though I haven't watched too many episodes of Roadkill, or even of American Top Gear, I couldn't help but feel a bit special for having seen these two guys, who've both managed to crack the ultimate code: living their car guy dreams out and getting paid to do so.

And so the morning ends a bit differently than it started. Some of the clouds burn away, the people have moved further out into the parking lot, and the traffic is a mix of Sunday errand-runners and American muscle cars. And everyone ends up going their separate ways, the automotive treasures of our town distributed more evenly, fading again into the background.

Enjoy some more photos of this month's show below.