Martin Baker runs Schumacher Cargo Lines out of the third unmarked warehouse on the left down an anonymous back street in gritty Paramount, California, where drivers parking curbside might as well leave the keys on the hood. Martin is a sort of freelance postman, the guy who delivers what UPS and FedEx won't touch. Need to send two tons of rusting steel, flaking chrome, and dripping oil to Norway? Call Martin. Need a stretch Hummer limo dropped off in Kuala Lumpur? Martin's the guy.

An import himself from Dublin, Ireland, Martin says his company is likely the biggest shipper of specialty cars into and out of Long Beach harbor. Who am I to argue? Right now I need Martin.

In my mind, I see myself driving onto a field full of vintage Mopars—Challengers, Satellites, and Hemi 'Cudas lined up in military ranks with their hood pins pulled and their engines glinting. I see all eyes turning my way as I cruise ever so slowly to a parking spot. I see a crowd scurrying to greet me, to ask me who I am, where I come from, and what the hell is this thing? My fantasy gives me pleasure.

Martin can make it real, for a price. I have already paid a fellow in Sydney, Australia, for his 1972 Chrysler VH Valiant Charger 770. If you don't know it, you are in company with most of North America. It's a muscle car that was built by Chrysler in Australia on Australian tooling. It doesn't look like any Charger you've ever seen. Now I need to get it home. I have called around, and Martin's price is the best by far. He's also a nice guy.

That last bit is vital. Mailing a motor vehicle to the United States means staring down the barrels of the U.S. Customs and Border Protection agency, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, the Environmental Protection Agency, and, in my case, the California Department of Motor Vehicles, the California Air Resources Board, and the South Coast Air Quality Management District. Every one of these forms-issuing, checklist-checking, help-line-ignoring bureaucracies has its own set of computers with its own set of tiny boxes that must all be filled in with the right answers before you can get your car (see www.nhtsa.dot.gov/cars/rules/import for a rundown of the Federal Imported Vehicle Safety Compliance Act of 1988 and its subsequent zillion amendments).

Here's the summary of the synopsis of the brief: Cars newer than 25 years must meet all federal safety and emissions standards for their year of manufacture or they endo into a bureaucratic brick wall. There are very tightly controlled exceptions that likely don't apply to you. Got your eyes on, say, the 2004 European Car of the Year? The feds have one response to anyone asking if he or she can import the cheerful little 50-mpg Fiat Panda: Fuhgedaboudit!

The 25-year exemption strikes me as arbitrary. True, New Zealand has a 20-year rule, and Canada turns a blind eye at 15 years. But why does our government welcome an old safety-free smog belcher like the Aussie Charger while treating the fully catalyzed, crashable, and economical Panda like radioactive waste?

Congress figures old cars are mostly "worn out and can be used minimally," explains NHTSA spokeswoman Karen Aldana. The 25-year exemption is a gesture to enthusiasts who want to import "a vintage novelty car." Great, but what if I want to import a clean, safe, modern novelty car?

Go right ahead, says NHTSA spokesman Rae Tyson, who called back after I befuddled poor Aldana with my cross-examination. The government publishes a list of 110 "registered importers" where you can get any needed modifications done to any vehicle (www.nhtsa.dot.gov/cars/rules/import/web_RI_list06202005.html). "It happens thousands of times every year," says Tyson, and he has backup statistics. In addition to regular car-factory shipments, there were 581,669 vehicles imported to the U.S. in 2004. Seems like a lot, except that the government doesn't break out cars, lumping in, among other things, motorcycles, firetrucks, and trailers. Of that figure, 8829 "vintage novelty" vehicles fell under the 25-year exemption.

"It's a lot more common than you realize," says Tyson. Apparently so.

With Pandas now dancing in my head, I started calling registered importers on the government's list. Many don't answer their phones. Some won't talk to you unless you're a car dealer or a personal friend. One that does is Tim Day, owner of Mesa Auto Wholesalers in Chandler, Arizona.

Day quickly euthanized my Panda dreams. Items that would have to be changed or reengineered include the airbags (U.S.-spec bags explode faster), glass, bumpers, taillights, fuel system, engine computer, and catalytic converter. In addition, I would then have to prove that the Panda meets federal crash regulations by crash-testing up to 10 vehicles. The price tag: "Millions," says Day, adding that my money would at least put the Panda on a government roster of approved vehicles, meaning that the next one would cost its owner just "thousands" to import. Day recently billed a customer $18,000 just to convert a Euro-delivery Mercedes-Benz SL to make it identical to the SLs sold in the U.S.

So where are NHTSA's thousands of documented imports coming from? Mostly Canada, where the cars are virtually identical to ours, says Day. Even then, to pick all the regulatory nits, owners face a minimum $2000 bill, money wasted in the name of hairsplitting.

Let's scrap the 25-year rule. The differences between U.S. vehicle regulations and the rest of the car-producing world are shrinking all the time. Okay, they may still be too great for Beltway regulators, so I'm willing to compromise. Let's reset the import exemption at eight years, the period after which automakers are released from their emissions-equipment warranties. Most eight-year-old cars coming from Canada, Europe, or Japan won't be significantly dirtier than the eight-year-old cars already here. They're usually more frugal gas sippers, and certainly cleaner than any 25-year-old car. I'm all for states' rights, so residents of smog-check states such as California should still have to pass their local tests. What of safety? Adults can ride motorcycles without helmets in 30 states. Hands up, those who think a Japanese-market Nissan Skyline is a greater health hazard more deserving of a nationwide ban.

After five months of waiting, Martin finally delivered my Chrysler. I don't mind waiting another eight years for a Panda or Skyline, but not 25.

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