🏁 Mel’s Motor Club – Issue No. 2

Hi everyone,

This week I was struck by how car culture constantly reinvents—and so do we. In the Hamptons, luxury EVs like Rivian’s R1T and R1S have overtaken Tesla as the new status symbols. With R2 waitlists topping 100,000, we're seeing a new kind of collector’s mindset—one driven by brand values as much as performance. Even with reliability questions, Rivian feels fresh, intentional, and—dare I say—cooler than the crowd.

Meanwhile, Peugeot is reaching into its vault with the newly unveiled E‑208 GTi, a nod to its iconic 205 GTi from the '80s. With over 275 horsepower, a sub-six-second 0–60 time, and a design that balances nostalgia with modernity, it’s clear: heritage and innovation are no longer opposites.

It got me thinking: the way we express ourselves through cars has always been about more than speed or price. It’s about personality, identity—even philosophy. My grandfather's Gullwing said one thing. Today, a Rivian or a retro-inspired EV might say another.

Next week, I want to explore what happens when those worlds collide—when classic charm meets modern conscience. Think vintage EV conversions and the re-emergence of the “gentleman driver” ethos, but with lithium-ion batteries and smartphone apps.

Stay tuned—it’s going to be a fun ride.

— Brennan

My grandfather owned many cars over the decades—Porsches, Mercedes, even the occasional oddball. But none, he’d say with a grin, meant more to him than the 1967 Ferrari 275 GTB/4.

He used to joke that we’d have to bury him in it, because he’d never let it go. For 11 years, that GTB sat in his garage like a shrine—polished more often than the dining room table, and treated with the kind of reverence usually reserved for saints or silverware. He maintained it with precision, protected it with fury, and wouldn’t hesitate to bark if my brothers or I wandered a little too close.

To this day, I’m not sure what made him finally sell it. I never got the chance to ask. But something in me wants to believe it wasn’t about the money. Maybe he just knew the time was right. Or maybe letting go of the car meant holding tighter to the memories it gave him.

The 275 GTB/4 was the final—and arguably finest—iteration of Ferrari’s front-engine grand tourers from the 1960s. With a four-cam 3.3L V12, a 5-speed transaxle, and bodywork by Scaglietti, it was as much a sculpture as a machine. Only 330 examples of the GTB/4 were built, and today, they remain among the most sought-after Ferraris ever made.

It wasn’t the loudest car in his collection. It wasn’t the most exotic. But it was the one that felt the most him.

And maybe that’s what makes a car truly great.

Long before “GT” badges were slapped on crossovers and base models, the grand touring car was a sacred idea. The concept came from Europe—Ferrari, Aston Martin, Maserati—machines designed not for the track, but for covering long distances in speed and comfort. Think Monaco to Marseille. Or Florence to Lake Como. A GT wasn’t about getting there, but getting there well.

The 275 GTB/4 was the embodiment of this philosophy: fast, elegant, and unbothered by the need to prove itself.

Today, the GT idea still lives—just in different forms. Maybe it’s a Rivian R1S gliding up the coast with kids in the back. Maybe it’s an old 911 on Route 100 in Vermont. It’s not about chasing lap times. It’s about chasing moments.

In a world full of distraction, the grand tourer reminds us to keep driving forward—but to enjoy the ride.

The Omega Speedmaster ’57 is a nod to the first Speedmaster ever made—a clean, no-frills chronograph born the same decade as the Ferrari 275 GTB/4. Before the Speedy went to the moon, it was built for racing, with a tachymeter bezel and legibility as its calling card. It’s less space-age and more garage-born. A perfect wrist companion for a morning drive in something carbureted.

Start your morning the right way at Sunday Motor Co. in Madison, New Jersey—a café where the flat whites are as clean as the lines on a ’60s GT. The space feels like a love letter to classic motorsport culture: vintage rally posters, minimalist decor, and a crowd that appreciates a good car and a better espresso.

Once you’ve fueled up, head north toward Skyline Drive. It’s not the Amalfi Coast—but the twisties, tree tunnels, and tight switchbacks give just enough drama for a Sunday morning behind the wheel.

And if you're in something with carbs and no screens? Even better.

This week’s picks for the curious, the caffeinated, and the carbureted:

What’s the first car you ever loved?

Write me back. Whether it was a real one or just a poster on your wall, I want to hear your story—and maybe share it in an upcoming issue.