OVERVIEW

We asked our Driving experts to tell us about their ultimate dream vintage car purchase. Here’s what they told us:

A 1936 Hudson Terraplane coupe convertible with a rumble seat.

I have always loved the swoopy classic lines of cars from the 1930s. When I was growing up in North Toronto delivering the newspaper that I would later report for, Miss Northcott had a car stored in the garage at her beautiful stone house overlooking the Don Valley. She called it her cottage car.

Almost every day after dropping off her newspaper, I would peek through the crack between the wooden garage doors to make sure the Terraplane was still there. It had this amazing heart-shaped grille topped with an ornament on top with a what looked like a red spear pointing forward. The windshield was really low, giving the car a rakish custom look.

Several times a year, her nephew would drive the old car out of the garage to warm it up and wash it. He would let me sit in the rumble seat and I would pretend I was driving. The car always had the top down because it was only used in summer. He showed me how it had warning lights instead of conventional gauges and a short electrically operated gear shift along with other novelties for its time. I was mesmerized and dreamed that I would own it one day.

That car was my first love. I was only 12 years old. Then one day, it was gone. I was too shy to ask what happened to it. I thought it was just away for the summer, but it never came back. I never forgot that car and have been looking for one ever since. That’s my ultimate classic car purchase.

Roundup: The best cars our Driving experts have ever owned

No brainer. 1962-64 Ferrari 250 GTO. If I were to narrow that down from the 39 produced during that three-year span, and of course had the winning power ball lottery ticket in my sweating little palm, it would be one of the three 1964 Series II models with the larger engine. To say these cars were good investments is a little like saying Fernando Alonso is a decent car driver. New, they sold for around US$18,500; in 2013, #5111GT fetched US$52-million. But it’s not for their value I covet one; it’s for the fact, to my mind, that they represent the high-water mark in car design in all facets: styling, engineering, performance and that visceral emotion any sports car worth its two seats must elicit.

I don’t actually have a vintage car, so I’m acquiring one the old-fashioned way, through wear and tear. See that dent right there? That’s patina, pal. Can’t buy that in no store.

However, given free reign at a classic auction (and always assuming they didn’t simply have an F40 just lying around), my ultimate vintage car purchase would be an Aston Martin V8 Vantage. Not the new one, but The Living Daylights car. X-Pack and 6.3L V8 for choice, please, in a lovely supermarine blue.

There are so many; where do I start? OK, I’m a sucker for post-war sports cars and GTs, essentially anything built between 1946 and 1964, so I should just say the 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO — the most expensive car ever to be sold at auction — and be done with it. After all, if I could afford that, I’d truly be living the dream instead of just, well, dreaming it.

But, if the question also means actually being comfortable enough to drive the car on special occasions without experiencing raging paranoia, BMW’s gorgeous and rare 507 roadster, built between 1956 and 1959, would be welcome in my garage any day. Elvis owned one of the 252 examples manufactured during a four-year run — and I spent two extraordinary days driving a black version through the Italian Alps 10 years ago. Not supremely powerful, its 150-hp 3.2-litre V8 nonetheless has a soul-stirring sound to it thanks to its twin straight pipes. These days, one like the museum-quality example I had (it was one of BMW’s Mobile Tradition cars) will sell at auction for more than $2-million.

My favourite cars of all time were made in the 1960s, so right away, I know the era I’d like to buy from. The “realistic” classic I’d like to buy would be a 1969 Chevrolet Corvette with a 390-horsepower 427 and a beefy Muncie four-speed. These are priced very reasonably and can be found in OK condition from the low $20,000 range. Sure, a base Porsche Boxster will run away from it on the straights (and the corners) but a Boxster will never sound like seven angry litres of V8 shouting through side pipes.

But if my bank account were to gain a few zeros on the end of my current balance, I’d immediately start scouring the classifieds for a 1968 Lamborghini Miura. I think it’s nothing other than the most beautiful car ever made and it features the velvet snarl of a Bizzarini-designed V12. The high-strung quad-cam V12 works in conjunction with straight-cut gears to provide a spine-tingling sound.

I spend all my money on motorcycles and my next purchase will be a 1982 Laverda RGS1000 just like the one I used to own. I should never have sold it. It had the perfect combination of Italian brio and almost Japanese reliability (mine had 97,000 kilometres on it when I sold it and was still going strong). Oh, I suppose, if you put a gun to my head, I could admit to a hankering for Lincoln’s ‘64 Continental, the one with the suicide doors. But not the convertible; that would be a little too hipsterish for me. Nope, give me a plain, old black sedan version: I’ll supply the 20-inch dubs.

A 1974 Porsche 911 RS 3.0. If that seemed like too quick a response, let me consider for a minute: Yep, still a 1974 911 RS 3.0. A year prior, the 1973 911 Carrera RS was very much a gorgeous car for its time, today considered by many to be the ultimate in Porsche design, selling for about US$14,000 at the time. It came with a 2.7-litre flat-six that produced about 210 horsepower, but wasn’t much more than a better 911 S. In 1974, however, a bigger 3.0-litre was put into the RS, bumping horsepower closer to 230 and offering a racing suspension from the RSR race car, plus better brakes from the almighty 917. The RS 3.0 was also stripped down, weighing only 900 kilograms. New, it cost about $25,000. Today, it can fetch over $1-million. Somewhere there’s a barn in this world hiding mine.

Forget all the romance and exotic stuff just give me back my 1972 Ford Escort Mark I Mexico. It was a brilliant little car back then and, being lucky enough to score a drive in one at the British Car Show hosted at Bronte Provincial Park a couple of years ago, it proved to be every bit as brilliant 50+-years later. It was nothing special to look at and the performance was decidedly mediocre by today’s standards, but my little Mexico stuck to the road and romped through a corner with a delightful tenacity. It also had just the right amount of power (a cam and Weber carb lifted the output from 86 to 106 hp!) to drift it through a corner. In the case of my Mexico, the latter was a must. As I occasionally rallied it I welded the rear differential to lock it solid — no limited slip here! As a result, it disliked turning intensely, which made roundabouts an interesting proposition. The only way around was a full-on drift, which earned me more than a few nasty looks and far more “V” signs that I care to remember. As if you can’t tell, that Mark I Mexico still holds a very special place in my heart.

My dream vintage car changes all the time. It has been anything from a 1950s Chevrolet Bel-Air to a 1960s Lamborghini Miura to an Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale to old Aston Martins. Right now, though, it’s a 1970s BMW 2002 Ti Alpina. My dad used to drive a few different BMW 2002s, and I’ve always wanted to follow in his footsteps because he speaks very fondly about his old Bimmers. New BMWs don’t really do it for me (quite frankly, I find them boring), but the 2002 with its little sharknose, for me, is the epitome of everything a BMW should be: Light, quick and smile-inducing.

This guy right here needs to be mine:

How about the racecar that took Germany’s Porsche to its first ever overall win at the iconic 24 Hours of LeMans in 1970. And then, for good measure, again the next year? Yes, I’m referencing the legendary Porsche 917. Specifically, the Holy Grail of 917s: the Gulf-liveried Chassis No. 024 that actor/racer Steve McQueen piloted while shooting the film LeMans.

Beyond its McQueen provenance, Porsche 917-24 was the first 917 to competitively take to the track, at the 1969 1,000 km of Spa. It then set the fastest practice time at LeMans with racer Brain Redman behind the wheel in 1970.

Of course, I may need a Kickstarter fund to buy my “ultimate vintage car purchase.” The 917-24 went up for auction last year, rumoured to be worth around US$20-million.

There’s just something about a Mustang Fastback that has always set my pulse racing. Not the brutish, King Cobra model with its sledge-hammer profile, nor the equally aggressive Mach I – though I confess to being utterly gob-smacked when my big brother dragged home a rather bedraggled example for a makeover.

No – my affection’s reserved for the classic 1965-67 2+2 with the traditional pony grille and side scoops. But most of all, I love the way the gently sloping roofline ends mid-deck, to create a pert and saucy rear end.

It’s an unrequited love affair that goes back to the fifth grade – when posters of it adorned my bedroom walls and inspired pages of doodling that should have been homework.

And yet, despite years of wistful longing, I’ve never owned, nor even driven the object of my foolish desire – unless you count the 1:43 anchoring the base of my iMac as I write this.

Back in 1986, I was stopped dead in my tracks one fine summer evening, by a forlorn yet familiar grille at the back of a rather shady looking car lot. Hands trembling, I wiped away the grime on the windshield to read the $3,500 price tag.

Unfortunately – practicality (and an empty bank account) prevailed. As the new owner of a decrepit century home, there’s no way I could justify another high-maintenance expenditure.

Shortly afterward, classic Mustang prices skyrocketed and with them went my dreams of ever owning one.

I’ve hung out around some amazing cars throughout my life, but it took a trek to the famous Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in 2012 to finally nail down what I most love in a car: when it’s been left alone. For all the shine and restoration, it was a 1928 Packard 443 Eight Roadster I fell in love with. The category is Prewar Preservation, rather than restoration, and that Packard and the winner, a 1932 Stutz DV-32 LeBaron Sedan were best in show, if you ask me. They didn’t ask me, though.

1928 Packard 443 Eight Roadster Lorraine Sommerfeld , Driving

1932 Stutz DV-32 LeBaron Sedan Lorraine Sommerfeld , Driving

I’ve been enamoured with James Bond movies since the beginning, so the clear winner here is a 1963 Aston Martin DB5. From slicing up a Ford Mustang’s tires in Goldfinger to seeing the white-hot rage in Bond’s eyes as it’s blown up in Skyfall – thank goodness it was a replica – the DB5 wearing the BMT 216A license plate is an icon. Sure, it’s an obvious choice, but the DB5 is a timeless design in the same way that a Rolex Submariner will never go out of style, even if the Apple iWatch becomes the norm.