Full Story: T1707006_God Creation Never Fails To Amaze

The Ghost of the Highway: Reliving Steve McQueen’s Midnight Legend in the 1957 Jaguar XKSS The name Steve McQueen still echoes through the canyons of Hollywood, a phantom conjured by blue-eyed intensity and the primal scream of a V8. Nearly half a century after his passing, the legend endures, a complex tapestry of Hollywood glamour and raw, untamed spirit. He was a man of contradictions: kindhearted one moment, fiercely temperamental the next; a dyslexic youth who found his voice on the stage and screen, only to retreat into the roaring solitude of his garage. Even now, 46 years after his death at age 50, McQueen remains the archetype of the cool, dangerous movie star. His contemporaries—Newman, Brando, Garner—may have defined the era, but McQueen transcended it. There was a magnetism to him, a magnetic pull that drew people in and held them captive, whether through the shimmering haze of the silver screen or the intimate reality of his presence. Faye Dunaway once famously described him as “the misunderstood bad boy you’re sure you can cure with a little warmth and some home cooking,” a sentiment that captured the allure of his enigmatic persona. But beyond the carefully crafted image, there was a truth that burned hotter than any studio spotlight: McQueen’s soul belonged to the machine. Cars and motorcycles were not mere props in his films; they were extensions of his being, partners in his rebellion against a world that tried to tame him. From the near-human bond he forged with the steam engine in The Sand Pebbles to the iconic dune buggy he piloted in The Thomas Crown Affair, his passion was undeniable. And then there were the films that cemented his legacy—Bullitt and Le Mans—movies that weren’t just watched, but felt, their engines thrumming with the same intensity as McQueen’s own heartbeat. As he navigated the tumultuous currents of his personal life, so too did he navigate the winding roads of his cinematic career. He pursued perfection with the same ferocity he brought to the race track, a relentless drive that fueled both his triumphs and his demons. And in the quiet hours, long after the studios had shuttered and the crowds had dispersed, he would slip behind the wheel, seeking solace in the growl of an engine and the promise of the open road. It was on those midnight runs, those stolen moments of freedom, that Steve McQueen truly lived. ADVERTISEMENT – CONTINUE READING BELOW The Cult of Cool: McQueen’s Automotive Obsession To understand Steve McQueen is to understand his machines. His affinity for all things mechanical was not a manufactured persona but a visceral, lifelong passion. It manifested early, in the raw, visceral energy of his roles—the motorcycle escape in The Great Escape, the intimate connection with a steam engine in The Sand Pebbles, the rebellious spirit of the dune buggy in The Thomas Crown Affair. These were not just cinematic moments; they were reflections of a man who found more comfort in the precision of a camshaft than in the complexities of human relationships. Yet, it was in Bullitt and Le Mans that his automotive obsession truly erupted onto the world stage. In Bullitt, released in 1968, McQueen transformed the mundane act of driving into a ballet of controlled aggression. The iconic San Francisco chase sequence, a symphony of screeching tires and rumbling V8s, became the stuff of legend. Fans have dissected every frame, every gear change, every near-miss, but the true magic lies in the authenticity of McQueen’s performance. He drove the Mustang himself, pushing the 390 GT to its absolute limits, his knuckles white on the wheel, his eyes locked on the target. It wasn’t just acting; it was McQueen being McQueen, channeling his own restless energy into the chase. Le Mans, released in 1971, was a far more personal endeavor. It was McQueen’s attempt to capture the visceral reality of endurance racing, to strip away the glamour and expose the raw passion, the pain, and the peril of the 24-hour race. He spent months on location, living and breathing the race, his own body aching from the physical toll of pushing high-performance machinery to its breaking point. He drove the Gulf-liveried Porsche 917 himself, threading the needle through the legendary Mulsanne straight, his focus absolute, his mind a whirlwind of G-forces and apexes. The production was a notorious disaster—years over budget, directors coming and going, his marriage to first wife Neile crumbling under the strain. Yet, the film endures, a raw, unfiltered glimpse into the soul of motorsport. It contains one of McQueen’s most profound pronouncements, a line that has become a mantra for petrolheads worldwide: “Racing is life. Anything that happens before or after is just waiting.” It was a sentiment that resonated deeply with a man who felt most alive when the throttle was pinned and the world outside dissolved into a blur of color and sound. McQueen possessed considerable driving talent, a raw, intuitive gift that transcended mere enthusiasm. He wasn’t a natural-born champion, perhaps, but he possessed the tenacity and the nerve to compete at a serious level. His participation in the 1970 Sebring 12-hour enduro, teamed with Peter Revson in a Porsche 908/2, remains legendary. While the newer, more powerful Porsches and Ferraris faltered with mechanical issues, McQueen’s aging 908 purred along, quietly climbing the leader board. It took a flying Mario Andretti in a Ferrari 512 to finally catch and overtake them in the closing hours, but McQueen and Revson secured a hard-earned second overall. The most remarkable detail? McQueen ran the race with one foot in a cast, the result of a recent motorcycle accident. It was a testament to his indomitable will, a refusal to let pain dictate his passion. ADVERTISEMENT – CONTINUE READING BELOW From Race Track to Street Legend: The Genesis of the XKSS McQueen’s automotive journey began humbly enough, with early MGs that hinted at the performance addiction to come. But as his star ascended, so too did his garage. A Lotus 11, a 289 Cobra, Ferraris, Porsches, Packards—a dizzying array of machinery that would make most collectors weep with envy. By the time of his death, he owned dozens of cars, more than 100 motorcycles, and even a few airplanes. Yet, amidst this mechanical menagerie, one car held a special place in his heart: the 1957 Jaguar XKSS, chassis number XK.SS.713. To understand the significance of the XKSS, one must first look to its origins. The 1950s were the golden age of sports car racing, and Jaguar was a dominant force. The sleek, aerodynamic lines of the D-Type, born from the crucible of Le Mans, were the stuff of legend. With its innovative monocoque chassis, derived from aircraft construction, and the legendary XK DOHC inline-six engine, the D-Type was a masterpiece of engineering. It was beautiful, it was fast, and it won races—often. Jaguar claimed victory at Le Mans five times in that decade, including an unprecedented hat-trick in 1955, 1956, and 1957, albeit with privateer teams claiming the latter two checkered flags. But by the late 1950s, the D-Type was showing its age. The 1958 season mandated 3.0-liter engines, a restriction that hampered the D-Type’s potent 3.4-liter powerplant. Ferrari’s Testa Rossa was faster, Aston Martin’s machines were quicker, and the writing was on the wall. Jaguar, facing a surplus of 25 customer D-Types and dwindling demand, faced a dilemma. It was in this crucible of circumstance that the XKSS was born. The idea was ingenious in its simplicity: convert these potent race cars into street-legal GT machines, offering a taste of Le Mans to discerning clientele. A full-width windscreen was added, replacing the precarious aero-screens of the D-Type. A vestigial luggage rack was bolted onto the tail, and side curtains provided a modicum of weather protection. The harsh, exposed exhaust pipes were shielded, though not enough to prevent the occasional singed calf. Street lighting was fitted, two upholstered seats replaced the single racing bucket, and a passenger-side door was added—a concession to civility that the D-Type never knew. In essence, Jaguar had taken a world-beating race car and transformed it into a street car that was still, in its heart, a racer. Only 16 XKSS models were built, a staggeringly small production run that ensures their rarity and desirability today. A few were later reconverted back to D-Type specifications, while others, originally built as racers, were later modified to XKSS standards. Yet, the essence remained: a road-legal D-Type, a race car with a license plate. ADVERTISEMENT – CONTINUE READING BELOW The Legend of XKSS 713: A Ghost on Mulholland Drive XKSS 713, the car that would become synonymous with Steve McQueen, began its life not as a legend, but as a product of industrial happenstance. According to Jaguar historian Phil Porter, this particular chassis, originally D-Type 569, was completed in 1957. It arrived in North America in April of that year, a left-hand-drive destination despite