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Driving the Legend: Steve McQueen’s 1957 Jaguar XKSS on the Mulholland Curves By Alex Hayes, Senior Automotive Correspondent The canyon air hangs thick and golden over the Santa Monica Mountains, the setting sun igniting the smoggy haze that stretches across the Los Angeles basin. From this perch high above the sprawling metropolis, the city unfurls like a glittering tapestry—a concrete jungle of ambition, dreams, and relentless motion. But up here, on the winding ribbon of Mulholland Drive, the noise of the city recedes, replaced by the primal snarl of an engine that has echoed through these canyons for decades. I’m behind the wheel of a legend, a car synonymous with the very essence of cool: a 1957 Jaguar XKSS, the very machine that carried the King of Cool himself, Steve McQueen. McQueen, the mercurial, iconoclastic force who redefined cinematic masculinity, was a man of profound contradictions. Dyslexic and often adrift in his youth, he transformed himself into a global phenomenon through sheer will and raw talent. His on-screen persona—the laconic outlaw, the reluctant hero, the man who could out-drive, out-fight, and out-swagger anyone—was no mere act. It was an extension of the man himself, a complex soul wrestling with demons while simultaneously captivating the world. Even now, nearly 45 years after his untimely passing, the McQueen mystique endures, amplified by the artifacts he left behind—cars, motorcycles, and a legacy etched in chrome and gasoline. To understand the man, one must understand his machines. From the defiant roar of the Mustang in Bullitt to the harrowing ballet of the Porsche 917 in Le Mans, McQueen’s films were a testament to his automotive passion. He didn’t just drive cars; he inhabited them, using them as extensions of his own restless spirit. He was a genuine racer, a man who understood the delicate balance between exhilaration and peril, a trait that ultimately cost him his life at the age of 50. But before the fame, before the myth, there was the hunt. On nights like these, when the city slept and the roads were empty save for the coyotes and the ghosts of Hollywood past, McQueen would prowl these very curves in his XKSS. It was his preferred weapon of choice, a raw, unfiltered instrument of speed that mirrored his own untamed nature. And tonight, I’m seeking that same intoxicating blend of danger and beauty, searching for the phantom thrill of a night drive with the King himself. The Machine: A Study in Aggressive Elegance The Jaguar XKSS isn’t merely a car; it’s a rolling sculpture, a masterpiece of mid-century automotive design that wears its racing pedigree like a badge of honor. Born from the legendary D-Type racer that dominated Le Mans in the mid-1950s, the XKSS represents a fascinating experiment in automotive alchemy—the transformation of a purebred competition machine into a street-legal marvel. Jaguar’s D-Type, a technical tour de force penned by the visionary aerodynamicist Malcolm Sayer, was a marvel of its time. Its innovative monocoque chassis, a construction method that merged the body and frame into a single rigid unit, provided exceptional strength and lightness. Powered by Jaguar’s sublime XK inline-six engine, a 3.4-liter DOHC marvel delivering around 250 horsepower, the D-Type was a formidable force on the world’s racetracks. Its distinctive finned tail and aerodynamic curves became instantly recognizable symbols of speed and sophistication. But by 1957, the D-Type, despite its success, was beginning to show its age. Stricter racing regulations and the emergence of newer, more potent machinery from Ferrari and Aston Martin left Jaguar with a surplus of these incredible machines—cars too beautiful and capable to be mothballed. The solution, masterminded by Jaguar’s founder Sir William Lyons, was audacious yet brilliant: convert the race cars for the street. The result was the XKSS, a car that captured the essence of the D-Type while making concessions to road legality. The most striking modification was the addition of a full-width windscreen, replacing the D-Type’s minimalist aero-screen. This transformed the car’s profile, softening its aggressive snout and adding a touch of civilized elegance. Removable side screens provided rudimentary weather protection, while a functional, albeit somewhat awkward, luggage rack was grafted onto the rear deck, supplanting the iconic dorsal fin. The mechanicals remained largely race-spec. The same snarling XK engine, often fitted with three Weber carburetors, delivered its power through a robust four-speed manual transmission. The suspension, a sophisticated setup of wishbones and coil springs up front, paired with a live axle and trailing links at the rear, provided a sublime blend of ride comfort and handling prowess. Disc brakes, a rarity on road cars of the era, offered stopping power that was leagues ahead of the competition. Only 16 XKSS models were ever produced, making them exceptionally rare. Two were later reconverted to full race specification, and a few race-spec D-Types were converted to XKSS standards, adding to the mystique. Each car had a story, a unique history that added to its allure. The particular machine I’m driving, chassis number XK.SS.713, boasts a provenance that could fill a movie script. Originally finished in white with a red interior, it was imported to the United States in April 1957 for James Peterson, a building contractor involved in the construction of Riverside International Raceway. From there, it found its way into the hands of Bill Leyden, a local radio and television personality who frequently parked the car on a Sunset Boulevard studio lot. It was there, amidst the glitz and glamour of early 1960s Hollywood, that a young, ambitious actor first laid eyes on the Jag. Steve McQueen. Accounts vary on the exact timing, but it’s widely believed that McQueen purchased the XKSS in 1958 for a reported $4,000. He immediately left his mark on the car, repainting it a deep, lustrous British Racing Green—a color that would become synonymous with his automotive identity. The interior was reupholstered in rich black leather by Tony Nancy, a legendary SoCal drag racer and upholsterer, adding a touch of personalized luxury. Perhaps the most iconic modification, however, came from the hand of Von Dutch, the infamous pinstriper and counter-culture icon. He fabricated a metal glovebox door to prevent McQueen’s sunglasses from flying out during spirited drives, adding a functional, quirky touch that perfectly encapsulated the car’s spirit. McQueen affectionately nicknamed the car the “Green Rat,” and for good reason. He wasn’t a collector who kept his treasures hidden away; he was a driver who pushed his machines to their limits. Photos exist of him tinkering with the engine, adjusting the carbs, his hands stained with grease, his focus absolute. This was not a museum piece; it was a working tool, an extension of his own restless energy. Over the years, the Green Rat exchanged hands, most notably ending up in the collection of automotive magnate William F. Harrah. A decade later, McQueen, ever the sentimentalist, repurchased the car, keeping it until the day he died. In 1984, following the liquidation of his estate, the XKSS was sold at auction to avid enthusiast Richard Freshman, who recognized the car’s significance and commissioned a high-quality restoration by the renowned Lynx in England. Freshman insisted that McQueen’s modifications remain intact, preserving the car’s authentic character while ensuring it was mechanically sorted for road use. Now, decades later, the Green Rat finds itself in the capable hands of the Petersen Automotive Museum, its custodians entrusted with preserving and sharing its extraordinary story. As I settle into the driver’s seat, I can feel the weight of that history pressing in, a tangible connection to the man who once ruled these canyons in this very machine. The Experience: A Primal Symphony of Speed Slipping into the XKSS is an exercise in commitment. The cockpit is surprisingly compact, the transmission tunnel swelling to accommodate the driveline, leaving precious little room for lateral movement. My large frame feels a tad cramped, the seat positioned close to the steering wheel, but there’s a certain intimacy in the confinement, a sense of being enveloped by the machine. The interior, a testament to Tony Nancy’s craftsmanship, wears its age with grace. The black leather has developed a rich, burnished patina, softening over the years while maintaining its structural integrity. Minor wear on the bolsters and steering wheel speaks to countless hours of use, of hands gripping tightly as the car carved through corners. It feels lived-in, authentic, a far cry from the sterile perfection of modern luxury cars. The dashboard is a study in minimalist functionality. A large, wood-rimmed steering wheel sits directly in front of me, its polished surface warm to the touch. To its left, the Smiths instrumentation presents a clean, uncluttered array of dials. The massive tachometer, marked in classic red-and-white graphics, dominates the view, its needle poised to sweep across the arc. The speedometer, while large, seems almost secondary in a car that demands to be driven by the feel of the engine rather than the number on the dial. There are no extraneous comforts here, no climate control systems, no infotainment screens, no electronic nannies to coddle the driver. The XKSS is a purist’s machine, demanding full engagement from those who dare to pilot it. And that,