In a time when many consider walking an inconvenience, it’s still the best way to catch sight of discarded treasures.
Or at least, another man’s trash.
On an overcast evening walk through San Francisco’s Dogpatch neighborhood, I passed one of the area’s many crowded lots. Initially I only saw a couple of beat pickups, a faded Series-3 Alfa Romeo Spider, and some of the late model trash that makes up the usual tow-yard lost and found.
But as I reached the end of the lot, an unusual backside caught my attention. Unfamiliar as the body was, the unmistakable spread of ‘L O T U S’ across the tailgate warranted a closer look.
I’m a big fan of Lotus cars. From the Elan that stylistically influenced the Mazda Miata, to the Elise whose only frill is the unremitting thrill of driving, a Lotus of some sort has always been on my bucket list. With a focus on light weight, punchy power-plants, and form that followed function in a near-sensual manner, I’ve always looked at Lotus cars with equal parts love and lust.
Almost always, at least.
That near sensual form found on many Lotus cars is somewhat absent here. I could sugar-coat it with the “eye of the beholder” talk but honestly, this thing is ghastly compared to the Elan +2 that the Elite replaced. It looks as though some giant sat upon an AMC Gremlin, flattening it out as its headlights popped up through the hood in surprise.
One might accuse me of being cruel, but we’re talking about the same company that put out the Esprit just two years later, a car of such striking presence that James Bond was assigned one for two films. I dare you to Google more pictures of the Elite or its line-mate, the Eclat. Could you picture Her Majesty’s Secret Agent wheeling either one?
Didn’t think so.
Relative to themselves, these things actually clean up okay as exemplified in this Bring a Trailer post from years back. But you always wonder what the owner of the disused examples above (yes, check the plates, there were two) had in mind for them. Were they just odd fascinations? Was the owner investing in what they thought was the next blue-chip classic? Or is it just a coincidence that two of these forgotten Loti found themselves in a city lot straddling a similarly dilapidated Jaguar XJ6?
Whatever the tale, I’m sure it’s worth a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.