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    Diving deep / Running Reports

    CAR #1971-Lamborghini-Espada / #1971 / #Lamborghini-Espada / #Lamborghini

    Harry Metcalfe

    It seems 2019 is my year to do engine rebuilds. First it was the Alfa Duetto that needed open-heart surgery just before its trip to this year’s Mille Miglia ; then my boat’s engine blew up (an 800bhp, 14.9-litre MAN twin-turbo V8 – don’t ask about the bill); and this month it’s the turn of my Espada engine to be stripped.

    An engine rebuild has been on the to-do list for the Espada ever since it developed a serious addiction to coolant on last year’s Espada 50th Anniversary Tour, but then the budget I’d set aside got inadvertently spent on a Lancia Fulvia Sport 1600 – easily done, as I’m sure you’ll understand – so I put the rebuild off until more funds became available.
    But as the months ticked by, I became increasingly concerned that the wait might be causing more internal damage to the engine, as I didn’t really know why it was consuming so much coolant in the first place. There was no give-away steaming exhaust, or emulsion inside the filler cap to indicate that oil and water were mixing. I needed to know more, so decided to get the Espada up to Iain Tyrrell’s amazing workshop on the outskirts of Chester, which is where I bought the Espada from originally, back in 2012.

    Once it arrived, Iain turned detective and performed both a compression and leak-down test on each cylinder, plus a pressure test on the coolant system. The good news was that the pressure test showed the coolant wasn’t leaking anywhere it shouldn’t, but both the compression test and the leak-down test (where each cylinder is pressurised via the spark-plug hole) showed several pots were below par and losing pressure under test quite quickly.

    The diagnosis was possible headgasket failure and maybe worn piston rings as well. There was nothing for it but to remove the engine for a full strip to find out. This generation of Lamborghini engine is magnificent to behold, with its quad cam-covers, tubular manifolds, all-alloy construction and delicately finned aluminium sump. It’s also a bitch to extract from the engine bay because a) the front oil pump housing hits the front chassis member, and b) the gearbox needs to stay attached, and that includes the chromed gear-lever that constantly gets fouled on the transmission tunnel. Fortunately, Iain has been doing this for over 35 years and makes it look relatively easy. About three hours later he had the engine out, on the bench and ready to strip. Next month, I’ll let you know what we found.

    From top Harry’s Espada rests up during the 50th Anniversary tour in 2018; at speed, in between top-ups with coolant; engine out for stripdown at Iain Tyrrell’s workshop.
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    Jay Leno
    Something I don’t understand, yet I see quite often, is supercars - some fairly new and some over a decade old - with almost no miles on them at all. Recent ones I've seen for sale are a 2005 Ford GT, white, with 105 miles. And a 2003 Ferrari Enzo, red, with 165 miles. Are these real car people? Why do they buy these automobiles? Is there any real pleasure in owning something that you never use? As much as I hate the investment aspect of it, I understand it. Still, do these cars bring the owners any actual joy or pleasure?

    To me the real fun of owning supercars is learning more about them every time I take them out, knowing I will never be good enough to drive them to their limit.

    I’m now in my fifth year of #McLaren-P1 ownership, and I love the car even more now than when I first got it. I’m rather proud of all the nicks and chips picked up in the last half-decade, and can tell anyone where I was and what I was doing when each one happened. Like the time I slid across the track, touched the wall and shaved a hundredth of an inch off the side of the front splitter.

    I took it back to my shop, got some 2000-grit sandpaper, rubbed it down and touched it up. From that moment on, I loved the car even more because it took away all the mystique. I repaired it as I would a Ford or a Chevy or any other vehicle I might own.

    It might be the ultimate hypercar, but its still a car. It was the same thing when it needed new tyres. Rather than go to the dealer, I ordered the tyres and we mounted them in my garage. I was astounded at how hard it was to get those massive tyres stretched on the rim. It took about a gallon of tyre lube to get them on and then took all night before they finally, under pressure, beaded themselves to the rim with a bang that sounded like a .44 Magnum.

    The technicians that work on these supercars are like surgeons. They are specialists. They travel from dealership to dealership around the globe and know every aspect of the engineering. And the one thing they will tell you, whether it s Porsche, #Ferrari , #Lamborghini or #McLaren , is that you have to drive them.

    I know a few guys with Porsche 918s who have had battery problems, because they don t drive them enough or they forget to put them on the battery charger. You can’t let lithium-ion batteries go dead. You’d think they would remember that, with batteries about $80,000 each.

    I remember once, as kids, we found an abandoned engine and we thought we’d take it apart so we could learn about it. It had been left outside for a number of years but the sump was still filled with oil. When we took it off, everything below the sump level still looked good. Everything above it was rusty and corroded. That’s what I think of every time I see any kind of vehicle sitting in a museum where the cars are just outside. The parts not lubricated are more likely to fail than the ones that are.

    Something I use on some aero engines I own is a pre-oiler. These were popular during the war years. I have a 1915 #Hispano-Suiza aero engine on a 1915 Hispano chassis which uses a rubber bladder under pressure to flood the engine with oil before you hit the starter. The Merlin-engined Rolls has an electric pump that you run for a minute until you see 60-70lb of pressure on the gauge. More damage is done in that millisecond of running cold than in hundreds of miles of driving. I often wonder why pre-oilers are no longer fitted. They would surely prolong engine life.

    That said, the old days when supercars were troublesome and finicky are pretty much over. Even Ferraris, considered pernickety for years, now come with a three-year unlimited mileage warranty and a seven-year service plan.

    My PI has never spent more time in the shop than what’s been needed to perform routine oil changes. With the exception of the initial price (oh my God!) and the insurance (oh wow, wow!) it’s not bad at all. If I had bought my P1 five years ago, parked it and put a cover over it for the same time period, I guess the hybrid battery would have to be replaced, every seal would be dried out and beginning to leak, and the oil sitting in the sump would be starting to break down. And whatever petrol that had been in the tank would have begun to separate. Modern blended fuels really only stay viable for a few months before the ethanol and the water go their separate ways and the fuel loses all hope of volatility.

    I don’t know what s worse, high mileage or no mileage. The answer is somewhere in the middle. Most modern cars are just broken in at 20,000 miles. Its a myth that a car is worn out at 60,000 or 70,000 miles. I’ve got a 1968 Mercedes-Benz 6.3 with 326,000 miles on it and, with the exception of the clock, everything works fine.
    Why don’t I fix the clock? Because I have a wristwatch.
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    CAR LAMBORGHINI ISLERO

    SAFETY FIRST FOR RAGING BULL

    RUN BY Dougal Macdonald
    OWNED SINCE October 2004
    PREVIOUS REPORT April

    / #Lamborghini-Islero / #Lamborghini / #Lamborghini-V12

    Since my previous update, I have managed to sort a few problems with the car. I took it back to Colin Clarke Engineering to try to find out why the headlights wouldn’t raise or work beyond high beam. I had removed the centre console panel, where the window and headlight switches kept disappearing because their mounting brackets had broken. Some new ones are on order, but a consequence of their repeatedly being pushed into the dash was that I had inadvertently knocked the earth cable off the back of the switch. Not very clever.

    The headlights’ refusal to rise caused the motor to overheat, so we have now bypassed it and I can slowly raise them manually. The early Islero has only one motor, putting it under huge pressure because it also has to lift a cross-bar for the offside light. So do I add a second, as per the Islero S, or does that make the car non-original?

    On the recommendations of several members of the team, I took the car to Quickfit SBS in Stanmore to have the seatbelts in the front changed to inertia reels, and to have belts put in the rear for my children. Stuart Quick and his team did an amazing job: I love the neat chrome slits in the parcel shelf, and the front reels are hidden behind the B-pillar trim panels. I can now release the handbrake on a hill start without having to slip the belt off my shoulder, and can have the seat further forward and more upright to give a better driving position. Unfortunately, it wasn’t ready in time for the Festival of Speed, but it meant I took the train for once and saw the Red Arrows flying to Goodwood over Arundel Castle. On collecting the Islero from Quickfit, I drove to Biggin Hill to see Larini Systems. Now I love my car, and I love driving it, despite the fact that the engine produces enough footwell heat to remind me of driving my Land-Rover 90 in east Africa. However, the M25 on a Friday afternoon is frankly scary: I’m endlessly being cut up by thoughtless moderns, and the brakes pull sharply to the right under heavy braking. I think I need to have them looked at during my next visit to Colin Clarke.

    Haroon Ali and David Clark at Larini Systems were the first people I went to after I bought the car, although nowadays they focus on more modern cars such as Aston DB7-9s, Ferraris 550s and the like. Back then they were just doing classics, and they handmade me the most beautiful exhaust with a straight-through back box. If I had the choice today I’d probably have a quieter system, but at 6000rpm the V12 does sound amazing. I always promised that once the car was finished I’d bring it back for some photos. It might be 12 years on, but better late than never!

    It was 4pm by the time we were finished and I took the back-road from Biggin Hill to the motorway – well worth a blast if you find yourself with the choice. I think by the time I reached my brother’s home in Hampshire, where the car is kept, I had covered about three-quarters of the M25 in one day.

    I was delighted to get an email from Iain Macfarlane (Letters, September), who owns the Islero featured in the 2001 C&SC article I mentioned in my previous report. That story was the reason I bought a Lambo, and my hope is that we can get the two cars together soon.

    From top: Islero pauses with the aircraft at Biggin Hill after a hair-raising M25 run; superbly neat seatbelt installation, with new rear belts; front reels are concealed; interior looks unaltered.
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    / #Lamborghini-Islero / #Lamborghini

    In March I to the car up to Colin Clarke Engineering for the guys to have a look at a problem with the headlights. It turned out to be the wiring to the switch, and this led to the discovery that the headlight motor was overheating; early Isleros only have one motor, later cars two.
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    RUN BY Dougal Macdonald
    OWNED SINCE October 2004

    CAR: #Lamborghini-Islero / #Lamborghini / #Lamborghini-V12

    TURNING A DREAM INTO REALITY

    I blame the September 2001 issue of C&SC. Aged 26 and working in Hong Kong, I was living a life of long hours, little sleep and no cars. Then a story by Richard Heseltine on the Lamborghini Islero started a dream that took 17 years to bring to fruition, and life has now come full circle with a role on the magazine. Four years and multiple re-reads of the article later, that dog-eared issue of C&SC and I returned to the UK. I had always fancied a classic, but why an Islero? I wanted a fast four-seater with a boot, good for drives to the Highlands or southern Europe – in other words, a proper GT. And this restrained express has always been overlooked. Which was exactly why I wanted one. Insurance was the main barrier.

    At 29, with no insurance history for five years, that barrier was firmly down: I remember getting a £5200 quote for cover on a BMW 520i. In a moment of madness, I asked one insurer for an Islero quote. After liaising with the classic department, she said: “How does £600 sound?” I almost fell off my chair.

    The chase was on, but how was I going to find and finance my unicorn? The latter was answered when my grandmother passed away and left me some money, but the former proved trickier. Just 255 of this lesser-known Italian were built: 125 first-generation cars, then 100 of the ‘S’, uprated from 320bhp to 350bhp and easily identified by its bonnet scoop and flared arches. I prefer the earlier model and they were a little cheaper – about the price of new Ford Mondeo – but engine fires and crashes took their toll on survival rates. Then, in February 2004, I saw an advert in C&SC for a 1968 car with Joop Stolze Classic Cars. I struck out for The Netherlands to find the car at the back of a barn, covered in dust and looking unloved. I had planned to drive home so was disappointed, but bought it nonetheless.

    A friend gave me the number of a Putney garage, and the car arrived on a dark and rainy night. I can’t explain the thrill as I got in, turned the key and it fired, but after a few seconds of chattering chains the garage owner told me to turn it off.

    I didn’t know then, but that was the last time it would run for 14 years. The engine block was sound, but the rest of the car was knackered. Eventually, a deal was done: I would do the laborious and non-technical work; they would train me and do specialist work when they had time. And so began the next four years. My first job was removing nearly four decades of dirt and underseal over three weeks of hell. The more I took off the Islero, the more problems I found. One rear quarter was full of rust, which had been filled over and took five days to remove, and the passenger footwell was so rotten that I put my foot through.

    By the end of the year I’d stripped and rebuilt the engine. By the end of the four years, though, the time had come to get back to work and I left for Africa. Over the next seven years the car was resprayed and the suspension reattached before, in 2013, the garage owner asked if I’d return to London to help sell his stock of exotic cars. I packed my bags and the following Monday I started my new job.

    Focus returned to my beloved Islero, and major jobs were done when money was available, including a handmade Larini exhaust. By 2015 it was time to move and I was unsure it would ever get finished. I was given the name of Lambo specialist Colin Clarke and we agreed a figure to complete the work. Finally, in May 2018, I picked up the car and my wife and I went away to the Cotswolds for my birthday… marred only slightly by a terrifying drive to the hotel in the dark with no headlights.

    Further scares have included a return trip from Goodwood with only full beam – so I had to hold the stalk all the way – and driving back from Bicester in 36ºC with the windows stuck up… explaining to my brother why I arrived with no trousers on took some explaining. But the Silverstone Classic gave me a tick on the bucket-list when I got a parade lap of the circuit for the Islero’s 50th anniversary. The V12 at 4000rpm in fourth still gives me goosebumps, and moments like that make it all worthwhile.

    Clockwise from top left: at Colin Clarke Engineering, with the engine about to go in; reassembly begins at last after the respray; finished interior; glorious V12 is now as good as new.

    Main: the Islero has been taken back to exactly as it left the factory. Above: as found in Holland. Below right: at Silverstone for the model’s 50th anniversary.
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    ESPADA AT ABBEY ROAD

    Lamborghini has celebrated the 50th anniversary of its Espada by taking a 1976 example on a tour to London. The Series III Espada visited the HQ of the RAC before travelling to Abbey-Road where, 50 years ago, the Beatles recorded Hey Jude at the famous Abbey Road Studios.

    / #Lamborghini-Espada-Series-III / #Lamborghini-Espada / #Lamborghini / #1976 / #1976-Lamborghini-Espada-Series-III / #Abbey-Road / #Abbey-Road-Studios
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    What I’m about to tell you is a good example of why you should never give up on a project. Back in the early ’80s a friend of mine had a sports car he wanted to get rid of. It was a #1967-Lamborghini-Miura . It had been pretty well thrashed and the engine needed a bit of work. Fortunately it had never been crashed, just used hard and put away wet. It was an extremely early car with wind-up windows and a wooden steering wheel.

    the car also had a fascinating provenance. It had been bought new by the famous singer Dean Martin, the story goes that Martin bought it for his teenage son to drive to school. To the boy’s credit he never hit anything, but apparently he went over some speed bumps way too enthusiastically, cracked the sump, the oil drained out and you can imagine the rest.

    My friend, a teacher at the time, picked up the car for next to nothing, hoping to repair it and put it back on the road. Reality set in when he realised it would cost more to fix than it was worth. In the early ’80s there was no internet and parts for a 15-year-old handmade Italian sports car were not easy to find.

    Crazy as it sounds today, there was talk of swapping the V12 engine for a Chevy small-block. Don’t laugh. It was actually done in at least one case. Years later I even bought the blown #V12 engine from the Miura that the V8 was put into.

    So the Miura sat in my friend’s garage, depression set in and he gave me the car. It was the first Miura I had seen in person. I’d seen them in Road & Track and read of #LJK-Setrights epic journeys across Europe in Car, but they just didn’t exist here. At least, not where I lived.

    When we got it to my house, I did something I don’t think anyone would contemplate doing to a Miura today: I started restoring it myself. Remember, this was before I had my workshop and we were doing this in my domestic garage. We got it running and did all the sanding and prep work before we gave it to a friend to paint. We chose Fly Yellow because of the way it looked on a Ferrari Daytona I had seen in a magazine.

    When the Miura was finished, I took it on its maiden voyage on #Mulholland-Drive above Los Angeles. I was looking in the rear-view mirror at the window above the engine compartment, disappointed that it was beginning to rain, then I looked through the windscreen and thought: it’s not raining at the front of the car, so why is it raining at the back? I realised the fuel line had popped off and was spraying the rear window with gasoline. I quickly pulled over, shut off the engine and raised the engine cover. And as I stood there at the ready with my ridiculous 12-year-old fire extinguisher, no bigger than a Coke can, I could hear gasoline dripping over the headers, making a hissing sound each time a drop landed. Luckily no fire started, so I fixed the fuel line and was on my way.

    As the years passed there were other problems, things such as slave cylinders and the electric motors that raise the headlights, then, in 1988,1 had the chance to buy a #Lamborghini-Miura S for $80,000, a far sturdier, better-built car than the P400, so my P400 got parked and somewhat neglected, then my good friend Andrew Romanowski, from the #Lamborghini Club, stopped by. It’s a support group, much like Alcoholics Anonymous: the club sits with you until the urge to sell your Lamborghini passes.

    Noticing that the #Lamborghini-Miura-P400SV had not moved since the last time he was there, he said, ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Slave cylinder, I replied. He asked me, ‘Is that a big deal?’ No, I said, looking at the ground like a five-year-old who had failed to clean up his room. As soon as Andrew left we dragged the #Lamborghini-Miura-P400 over to the shop, replaced the slave cylinder, put a new set of Michelins on it, changed all the fluids, checked the magnesium wheels to make sure they were still structurally sound, then we waxed and polished the whole car. It was like that scene in Rocky where he takes off the girl’s glasses and suddenly she’s beautiful.

    These early #Lamborghini-Miura Miuras are different from the later cars, they’re not as structurally sound as the newer ones, but they’re also much lighter. And there’s a rawness to them that I find appealing.

    they’re much better as a classic car than they ever were as a new car. By that I mean they’re more fun to drive swiftly than they are to drive fast. You never power shift a Miura; double de-clutching and rev-matching is the way to go. It’s a car that captivates all your senses. Luckily Andrew helped me regain mine.

    'IT'S NOT RAINING IN FRONT, SO WHY IS IT RAINING AT THE BAGK? THE FUEL LINE WAS SPRAYING THE REAR WINDOW'
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    Lamborghini Murciélago With one Scandinavian trip cut short but another in the offing, the big Lambo is also gearing up for a close-up down under.

    Date acquired September 2004 Lamborghini Murciélago
    Total mileage 267,838
    Mileage this month 1331
    Costs this month £225 oil and filter mpg this month 14.5

    / #2004 / #Lamborghini-Murcielago / #Lamborghini / #Lamborghini-V12 / #V12 / #2004-Lamborghini-Murcielago /

    With the exceptionally hot weather this summer it’s been interesting to see the rear-mounted ‘bat wings’ on the Murciélago almost permanently in the raised position – something I’ve seen only very rarely in the UK. On past trips to warmer climes I’ve clocked that they usually rise up to aid cooling only when the outside temperature reaches about 29deg C. Travelling south during summer on the continent they invariably make an appearance when passing the French city of Lyon, staying raised from there on until reaching Lyon once again on the trip back.

    They certainly weren’t seen in action in beautiful but bitterly cold Norway, which is where I last reported on the Murciélago from. I actually called time on that trip a day prematurely because the heater called it quits. After catching the ferry back to Frederikshavn in northern Denmark I endured a rotten journey south late at night: sea mist hanging thick in the air and no street lighting or catseyes. It wasn’t fun and I was glad to cross the German border near Flensburg some 220 miles later, where I bunked up for what remained of the night. I promise I’ll never complain about UK motorways again…

    That stretch and the horrific road-works around Hamburg aside, I enjoyed my Scandinavian road-trip experience immensely – so much so that by the time you read this the big Lambo and I will be back there again. This time, however, the plan is to miss out Denmark (nothing personal – the Murcie and I just have a thing for car ferries) by planting the Lamborghini’s rubber on the boat that travels from the German port of Kiel directly to Oslo in Norway, before taking up where I left off last time. I’ll let you know how it goes soon.

    Talking of travel, another epic trip is looming courtesy of a US film production company. During October the Murciélago will be strapped inside a Maersk shipping container before docking a couple of months later in Nelson. That’s not Nelson in Lancashire, you understand, but Nelson, New Zealand. The movie company had been looking for a Murciélago SV to star in the first few minutes of the remake of an early 1980s classic – the original also having a certain V12 Lamborghini in it. I’m not actually privy to which movie it is yet, but I don’t think it’s that difficult to guess. Let’s just say that back then the Lamborghini in question sported a huge rear wing (and a dreadful front-mounted one, too) plus a set of carburettors and had two particularly attractive female occupants.

    Apparently no SV owners were willing to have their pride and joy cross the Pacific in a metal box (not surprising really given SVs are now exceptionally serious money), so SG54 LAM will be transformed into an SV lookalike complete with an enormous rear wing, wider side skirts and a glass engine lid. However, rest assured it will be returned to standard afterwards, the wing possibly becoming a useful garden ornament.

    Unfortunately, I’m unlikely to be behind the wheel during filming (I look awful in a jumpsuit) but I hopefully won’t be far away either, since the plan is then to add another two or three thousand miles of Kiwi roads to the Murciélago’s long-suffering V12. It’ll soon be ready for clutch number eight at this rate… Simon George

    Above: the Lambo’s active air intakes have been called into action a lot this year; bodywork will soon be given an SV-like makeover – with good reason.
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    Everyday Espada / #1970-Lamborghini-Espada-Series-2 / #1970 / #Lamborghini-Espada-Series-2 / #1970 / #Lamborghini-Espada / #Lamborghini /

    I’ve spent the last few weeks having an affair. The mistress in question is an Italian model who’s a year older than me. To make matters worse, she normally lives with my father. Around three years ago, I was fortunate enough to acquire both a new BMW i8 and an early-1970 #Lamborghini-V12 Espada Series 2. The i8 has been my main car since then and the Espada, after a light restoration – when the car was pictured alongside Mark Dixon’s silver example in Octane Cars [above] – moved into my dad’s garage.

    His affection for the car was marginally greater than mine, since one had been at the top of his ‘wish list’ in the 1970s, and it therefore seemed fitting that she should move in with him.

    The i8 is a truly remarkable car and I honestly can’t think of what I’d replace it with for everyday use. However, the Espada has never been far from my thoughts. When my father announced that he would be spending five weeks out of the country, a thought entered my head: how would the Espada perform as an everyday car in the modern world?

    The first thing that struck me was just how similar the Espada and the i8 are in size. The Espada is only 4cm longer than the i8, but it is a full 10cm lower, and it’s this that gives the impression of length. They both weigh about the same, but it really doesn’t feel that way behind the wheel. The Espada, with unassisted steering, provides a real work-out at parking speeds and still feels very heavy up to around 25mph, after which everything lightens up considerably. The physical effort required to drive it is almost shocking if you’ve just stepped out of a modern car, but you quickly get used to it and it becomes an important part of the overall experience.

    It’s only when you live with a car on a daily basis that you really get to know all of its idiosyncrasies. The magnificent engine is exactly as I’d expected, but it’s the way the Espada covers ground at high speed that really stands out. Genuinely you can feel everything coming together; the car relaxes and that means you can relax too. It’s almost like an aircraft: clumsy on the ground, but entirely at home when it’s in the air.

    Also unexpected were the quality of the ride and the space inside the cabin. The Espada glides over the ground with a smoothness that exceeds that of any of the modern cars I drive – the very tall profile of the Espada’s tyres goes a long way towards explaining this. It also has more rear legroom than many modern saloons, let alone 2+2s, and a boot that will happily swallow a week’s shopping.

    It’s not all sweetness and light, though. The handbook tells you how to start the car when it’s cold and also how to start it when it’s hot. Get it wrong and it’s all too easy to sit there with starter whirring and absolutely nothing happening. When you do get it going, you have to feed-in the throttle carefully below 2500rpm to avoid spluttering progress and you need to rev the engine well beyond this point if you want spirited performance. This is no chore, but it does mean that mpg hovers somewhere in the low double digits. Combine this with an inaccurate fuel gauge and the complexity of filling the twin tanks to capacity and you end up with a real-world range of less than 200 miles – hardly ideal for a grand tourer.

    And yet… after living with it for a few weeks – it’s pictured [above] in my office car park – I’m happy to report that the Espada is entirely useable in the modern world. It can soothe or excite according to your mood and can turn heads like no other. I’m going to miss her a lot when she goes back to my dad’s house. Just don’t tell the #BMW-i8 .
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