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David E. Davis, Dean of Auto Journalists, died this week at age 80


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I only became acquainted with David Davis's writing in the last few years in Winding Road and more recently in Car & Driver. It seemed to me that he had met all the giants of the automotive world, drove all the great cars, seduced hundreds of Bond women, drank deep into the world's finest vintages ...... I thought his writing got better and better the closer he got to the death he knew awaited him (he had bladder cancer).

 

In any case, here are some quotes from a tribute to him from Winding Road.

 

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Sometimes, when I can’t sleep at night, I close my eyes and run movies of great cars on great roads on the insides of my eyelids. I can feel the lateral acceleration. I can sense the moment when they roll out of the brakes and re-establish their trajectory through the second half of the S-bend. I’d like to be as fast as my heroes, but I don’t mind the fact that I’m not. I’ll put my joy of driving up there against theirs any day.

 

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God does not charge us for hours spent driving before breakfast

 

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Every time I meet some new car that intrigues me, one of my first thoughts is, “What’ll it be like on the run from New York to Los Angeles?” And, just often enough to keep the mind alive, I get to find out.

 

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I say the daily press should confine its troubled musings to the eternal issues, like skin blemishes, erectile dysfunction, and world peace. They have my permission to discuss the automobile business, but when they start talking about the automobiles themselves, they quickly get beyond their depth.

 

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There is no such thing as a bad automobile show. From GM’s early-Fifties Motorama to the 1954 Herb Shriner Show at New York’s Grand Central Palace, to the major international shows of the twenty-first century, I defy you to step across the threshold into that vast hall full of shiny cars and excited people and not feel your pulse kick up and your step quicken. —

 

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Some experiences are hard to describe, but the experience of hurrying down a high-crowned country road—in some places little more than a country lane—driving just fast enough that you’re unwilling to look down at the speedometer; being able to see three distinct changes of direction coming up in the next half-mile; is sheer paradise.

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