It was the summer of 1967, the Summer of Love. Sergeant Pepper had just been released and I was walking down The Strand in London—the grooviest place on the planet, man. There were middle-aged tourists wearing bells because they were, you know, symbolic, and they carried bags with Carnaby Street labels. I wish I could have seen the looks they got the only time they wore the gear back home in Idaho.
As I approached Trafalgar Square, an unmarked van drove by towing a trailer and under a cover was the Chaparral 2F. The van was unmarked and the car was covered, but there was this high-mounted wing and the only cars in the world that had wings at the time were Chaparrals.
Become a Member & Get Ad-Free Access To This Article (& About 6,000+ More)
Access to the full article is limited to paid subscribers only. Our membership removes most ads, lets you enjoy unlimited access to all our premium content, and offers you awesome discounts on partner products. Enjoy our premium content.
Become a member today!
Already a Member?