I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I think many of us in this absurd profession of automotive journalism tend to look up to Hunter S. Thompson as a sort of, I don’t know, spirit guide, or something. I mean, I know I do, at least. This is in part because the actual job Thompson was assigned to do in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was the job of a motor journalist: covering the Mint 400 off-road race. Of course, everything went off the rails in a pretty spectacular manner, which is what makes the book so fantastic.
It’s Hunter S. Thompson that I think about when I’m at some press event, remembering his reminder that you’re there to cover the story; sometimes that story is not why the car company or whomever flew you out there to cover, but that’s just how it goes. Sometimes it’s worth following in his Gonzo Journalism footsteps, having a voice, taking those pills you found on the hotel carpet, doing some ether, whatever. He also was the writer that made me appreciate the use of italics, which I now adore.
I’m telling you all of this because a Christie’s auction has started for one of Hunter S. Thompson’s own personal cars, and that same car was used in the 1998 movie adaptation of Fear and Loathing. It’s the 1973 Chevy Caprice Classic convertible known as the Great Red Shark. You can see it here in all its glory, barreling through Bat Country:
Hell of a machine, that Great Red Shark. In the book it’s a rental car, memorably described as being “the only fire-apple-red shark convertible between Butte and Tijuana” and the protagonists are described as
“Two good old boys in a fire-apple red convertible. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted. Good people.”
There’s one really good detailed scene of driving the Shark and Thompson getting pulled over by CHP that I’d like to share with you here; it’s pretty good-sized passage, but I think it’s worth it, if you’ll indulge me:
“About five miles back I had a brush with the CHP. Not stopped or pulled over: nothing routine. I always drive properly. A bit fast, perhaps, but always with consummate skill and a natural feel for the road that even cops recognize. No cop was ever born who isn’t a sucker for a finely-executed hi-speed Controlled Drift all the way around one of those cloverleaf freeway interchanges.
Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. Your normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side when he sees the big red light behind him … and then he will start apologizing, begging for mercy.
This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop-heart. The thing to do – when you’re running along about 100 or so and you suddenly find a red-flashing CHP-tracker on your tail – what you want to do then is accelerate. Never pull over with the first siren-howl. Mash it down and make the bastard chase you at speeds up to 120 all the way to the next exit. He will follow. But he won’t know what to make of your blinker-signal that says you’re about to turn right.
This is to let him know you’re looking for a proper place to pull off and talk … keep signaling and hope for an off-ramp, one of those uphill side-loops with a sign saying “Max Speed 25” … and the trick, at this point, is to suddenly leave the freeway and take him into the chute at no less than 100 miles an hour.
He will lock his brakes about the same time you lock yours, but it will take him a moment to realize that he’s about to make a 180-degree turn at this speed … but you will be ready for it, braced for the Gs and the fast heel-toe work, and with any luck at all you will have come to a complete stop off the road at the top of the turn and be standing beside your automobile by the time he catches up.
He will not be reasonable at first … but no matter. Let him calm down. He will want the first word. Let him have it. His brain will be in a turmoil: he may begin jabbering, or even pull his gun. Let him unwind; keep smiling. The idea is to show him that you were always in total control of yourself and your vehicle – while he lost control of everything.”
This is, of course, terrible advice, and I sort of suspect that any of it actually happened, at least not quite like that, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fantastic to read.
Okay, back to the auction: this 1973 Caprice convertible was given to Hunter S. back in 1990 by Jim and Artie Mitchell, a pair of brothers who ran the San Francisco strip club and pornography business from 1969 to 1991, the year after they gifted the car to Thompson, and the year that Jim shot his brother, killing him.
The Shark has a white top and interior upholstery, and looks to be in pretty good shape, considering all of the things this car must have seen. It’s not a perfect, concurs-restored car, but looks like a good-condition machine that one could actually use and enjoy. Thompson had it until his death in 2005, and, as I mentioned, it was used in the 1998 movie, so it likely has some Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro sweat soaked into those vinyl seats.
The auction description also notes the presence of a “black box” with:
“… ‘Gonzo Fist’ containing Jacques Marie Mage Los Angeles Aviator Sunglasses, two Jimmy Buffett cassette tapes, one Allman Brothers cassette tape, various documents concerning Holley Carburetor Model 4011, and user manual for Sony EXR-10⁄14 FM/AM Cassette Car Stereo…”
Jimmy Buffet tapes? Really? Somehow I never pegged Thompson for a Parrothead.
Christie’s estimates the car will sell for between $100-$150,000. Considering the pedigree of the car, the lingering knowledge of the fantastically depraved things that must have happened in it, and the likely considerable drug residues embedded into the carpets and trunk liner, I think that sounds like a pretty fair price.
I never understood the adulation or even the appreciation of Hunter S. Thompson or any of his writings. I thought they were terribly cliche’d and the ravings of a drunk/doped out meth head. Just my opinion…..and I know I run against the grain.
I like red convertibles with white tops, this car is pretty sweet even without the history.
I’m feeling a bit lightheaded… maybe you should drive.
A car with an interesting story even if I’m not one for overpaying so much because of a famous association.
For me, Thompson was one of those writers too in love with themselves to pull me in as a reader (there’s a lot of them, often celebrated by people who also fashion themselves as very clever). While usually funny and smart, it’s tempered by only being able to hear the writer chucking in self-satisfaction at how ingenious their lines are, though I most often find it to be overly verbose. If there are characters, they tend to read as slightly different versions of the author’s preaching voice rather than individual characters and I prefer immersion. I also hate drug stuff, so the drug stuff in his case is as much a turnoff as a shit orgy.