Each week I bring you the top stories in the auto industry along with my commentary or sometimes amusing thoughts about the craziness that goes on in the world of cars. Here is this week’s edition:
Stories you’ll find today:
- Not a very happy Valentines story
- You gotta love this 79-year old tire-smoking Granny
- Fellow Car Guru Jay Leno loves Porsche, but Ferrari-not so much
- Pope Francis’ last ride was in a Ram pickup
Not a very happy Valentine story.
In what might be the plot of the next great automotive sitcom, a UK man named Ewan Valentine lived every gearhead’s worst nightmare — and somehow turned it into the kind of cosmic joke you just have to laugh at while questioning every decision you’ve ever made. Back in late February, Valentine’s 2016 Honda Civic Type R, a car he lovingly referred to as his “mid-life crisis machine,” vanished from his home like a high-revving ghost in the night. Heartbroken but determined to move on, Valentine spent the next several weeks scouring listings for a replacement and eventually stumbled across what seemed like the perfect rebound: a Civic Type R for sale at a dealership about 70 miles away that looked uncannily like his lost love, right down to the color, trim, and a custom exhaust system so distinctive it might as well have had his name engraved on it. Not thinking lightning could possibly strike twice, Valentine shelled out $26,600 U.S. and drove off feeling like the universe had finally thrown him a bone — only for that bone to start looking suspiciously familiar once he got it home. The car was dirty, for starters, still filled with candy wrappers and what Valentine identified as very specific pine needles — the kind of forensic detail only a true car nerd could recognize — and if that wasn’t enough to trigger full-scale paranoia, he discovered that both his address and his parents’ address were still saved in the navigation system, like some kind of breadcrumb trail left by a thief with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Realizing he might have just bought back his own stolen car, Valentine immediately contacted the police, who at first treated his claim with all the enthusiasm and belief normally reserved for people who say they’ve seen Bigfoot driving a Miata, but after a Honda garage inspected the car and found tampered VIN plates and suspicious mileage discrepancies, it became clear that Valentine wasn’t crazy — he was just incredibly, hilariously unlucky. Investigators are still sorting out the legal mess, but the dealership that sold the car is believed to have been duped too, meaning Valentine’s case may end up being studied in future criminology classes under "Grand Theft Auto: Comedy of Errors Edition." For now, though, Valentine can take solace in knowing that sometimes, when you love something, you set it free, and if it comes back with missing paperwork, mismatched VIN numbers, and suspicious stains on the seats, it’s probably yours — or at the very least, it’s fate’s way of telling you to invest in a steering wheel lock next time.
You gotta love this 79-year old tire-smoking Granny.
In a world where the screech of tires and the thunder of engines usually belong to the young and reckless, along comes a 79-year-old grandmother who absolutely obliterates every stereotype. She hops behind the wheel of a smoke-belching burnout machine, throws on a helmet like a seasoned racing pro, and proves to every doubter that age is just a number — and rubber was made to be shredded, not preserved. Firing up her monstrous car — a fire-breathing beast that would make even the boldest muscle car enthusiasts a little nervous — she rolls to the starting line. With the audience already cheering just at the sight of her, she unleashes a ferocious burnout that covers the entire arena in a glorious cloud of white smoke thicker than a bad magician's disappearing act. Spectators, armed with smartphones and dropped jaws, record every second of her rubber-destroying performance. Their screams of excitement are barely audible over the mechanical roar. She confidently holds the car in place, feathering the throttle like a true master, turning the burnout pad into her personal smoky kingdom. All the while, she's grinning under her helmet because this isn’t her first rodeo and certainly won’t be her last. She’s affectionately known online as the "Burnout Granny," a name she wears with pride like a championship belt. Between burnouts, she laughs with reporters and wide-eyed fans, telling them she got into this chaos simply because she wanted to have fun — and maybe show the young whippersnappers a thing or two about real car control. She drops hints that maybe she’s always had a bit of a lead foot. Her video racks up views faster than her tires lose tread. Thousands of fans across the internet applaud her fearless attitude and the way she shatters society’s expectations of what a "proper" 79-year-old woman should be doing. Commenters declare her their new hero, with some even admitting they aspire to have half her energy and spirit when they hit retirement — if they even make it that far without needing a nap. As the thick smoke finally dissipates and the air clears, there she is, waving to the roaring crowd, triumphant and beaming. She proves that if you love something enough — be it smoking tires, fast cars, or simply embarrassing young people with your driving prowess — you should chase it down at full throttle, no matter what your birth certificate says. Burnout Granny has gloriously demonstrated that life is too short to drive boring cars, and even shorter if you don't occasionally bury the gas pedal and make some smoke. Here’s to her, the undisputed queen of burnout contests and the latest viral reminder that it's never, ever too late to roast some tires and roast a few egos while you’re at it.
Fellow car guru Jay Leno loves Porsche, but not Ferrari.
Leno, the denim-clad high priest of horsepower, has a garage that looks like a museum crashed into a time machine and exploded in Southern California. It is packed to the rafters with everything from steam cars to supercars. Yet among the hundreds of wheeled treasures, there is one glaring omission: a Ferrari. It is not because Leno hates Italian engineering or has a grudge against prancing horses, but because buying one feels less like car shopping and more like being hazed into a particularly expensive fraternity. Dealerships play the part of the sneering upperclassmen, daring you to prove you’re worthy of their overpriced toy. The process often involves buying a few unwanted models just to earn the right to purchase the one you actually want. It is like being told you have to buy a used Pontiac Aztek before you’re allowed to get a Corvette. Leno, who values his dignity almost as much as his garage space, has no patience for that kind of ritualized wallet-emptying. He once likened the Ferrari-buying experience to "rich guys going to a dominatrix," where you pay to be humiliated but at least leave with a cool story and maybe some regrets. Buying a Ferrari, by comparison, often leaves you lighter in the bank account and heavier in the soul. While he absolutely respects the engineering, beauty, and historical significance of Ferraris, even occasionally featuring them on his show, he draws the line at begging for the privilege to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a car. Ferrari often demands another few thousand for a certificate stating the car is real, a bit like buying a diamond ring and then being told the receipt costs extra. Instead, Leno flocks to brands that treat him, and more importantly every customer, like a valued human being. He happily recounts how McLaren once upgraded the horsepower on his MP4-12C for free and even warned him not to waste money on unnecessary options. Porsche, in another example, delivered his Carrera GT on a flatbed and sent actual human beings to walk him through the car’s quirks instead of emailing a PDF and wishing him luck. Experiences like that clearly left him feeling more like a partner and less like a mark. Despite his fame, which could probably get him waved through a few velvet ropes at Maranello, Leno remains steadfast in his belief that if you have to debase yourself just to be allowed to give someone your money, something’s gone very wrong with the relationship. His Big Dog Garage remains proudly Ferrari-free, a shiny, noisy testament to the idea that cars should be loved because they’re amazing, not because some guy in a suit at a dealership said you were special enough to deserve one. If the world is just, somewhere in a parallel universe there is a Ferrari dealership still waiting for Jay Leno to call them back, checking their voicemail and wondering if maybe, just maybe, they should have thrown in a free t-shirt.
Pope Francis last ride was in a Ram pickup.
In a final gesture that reflected his life of humility and service, Pope Francis made his last journey aboard a modified Ram 1500 pickup truck, chosen to serve as his final Popemobile. True to the values he carried throughout his papacy, the selection of a simple, working vehicle over a lavish or heavily armored alternative was a testament to the life he lived and the example he set. The Ram 1500 was carefully adapted for this solemn occasion, with a raised platform and a protective overhead shield, yet it remained largely open to the air, just as Pope Francis had preferred during his lifetime. Unlike previous Popemobiles designed to shield their passengers behind bulletproof glass, Francis consistently resisted the idea of being separated from the people he served, believing that true pastoral care meant being physically and spiritually close to the faithful. He once likened enclosed Popemobiles to “sardine cans,” and despite the risks, chose openness over isolation time and again. His final procession followed a quiet and moving route from St. Peter’s Basilica to the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, with over 150,000 mourners lining the streets to pay their respects and another 250,000 gathered for the Mass. The sight of a simple Ram pickup carrying the late Pontiff through the heart of Rome was powerful and deeply symbolic, an image that captured the essence of his papacy better than any grand monument ever could. Throughout his time as Pope, Francis had distinguished himself by choosing modesty over extravagance, opting for small, unpretentious cars like the Fiat 500L, declining residence in the ornate papal apartments, and focusing his leadership on mercy, justice, and care for the marginalized. His insistence on simplicity was never for show but was deeply rooted in his belief that a true servant of God must walk humbly with His people. The decision to use a Ram 1500 was fully consistent with that philosophy — a vehicle known for its strength and reliability, emblematic of those who work with their hands and live without luxury. Even as luxury automakers offered him bespoke, state-of-the-art vehicles over the years, Francis remained steadfast in his choice for simple transportation that allowed human connection rather than distance. The modified Ram, with its elevated rear bed and transparent cover, honored tradition while making a statement of its own: greatness is not measured in material splendor but in service, sacrifice, and love. As the Ram 1500 rolled slowly through the Roman streets, carrying Francis toward his final resting place, it became more than just a means of transportation; it became a moving symbol of the legacy he leaves behind — one of humility, compassion, and profound solidarity with the people. In the silence of that solemn procession, among the prayers and bowed heads, the final Popemobile served as a quiet but enduring sermon, echoing the life of a man who, until his very last journey, chose to walk — and ride — humbly with his flock.
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