Maybe the young men exposed to the powerful machines of World War 2 were infected somehow. A chronic disease borne on oil and exhaust fumes spread through the forests of Europe, the deserts of Africa, or the islands of the Pacific and wormed viral fingers of obsession into the brains of young soldiers.
Automotive enthusiasm inevitably skews towards opacity. The machines themselves are complex but their appeal is often similarly nuanced. A shapeless torpoedo with a leather helmet peaking out atop spindly bicycle tires might not impress the uninitiated despite creating ripples of influence, significance, and value for generations of collectors.
