There was once a garage in the northern part of Stockholm. On the outside it looked just like a normal garage. Narrow, steep and a labyrinth of dusty pipes running along the ceiling. Walking down, you saw some cars standing quietly at their spaces. A Saab, a couple of Volvos and the occasional ford. In one corner, an old Pontiac stood and collected dust like an old relic. The tires was deflated and flat. I tried to have a peek through the window but the layer of dust was too thick. Leaving the car to its fate, I turned to the red twin door on the wall adjacent to it. The owner of the room behind the red doors came running with a key. He unlocked the doors and opened them with a flourish. I was a bit too young to understand what I just saw, but the pictures are burned in to my brain for the rest of my life. If I would have seen it today, I would most probably have fainted or started crying like a child.
The room was quite small with a low ceiling and a couple of flourescent lights along it. Every inch of the floor was taken up by cars. It was like a kid had thrown out a dozen cars on the floor. A beautiful chaos of littered cars. To the right there was four red cars. One had a boxy appearance and sharp edges, another had soft sweeping curves. The third had a huge bonnet with a coupe strapped to the back of it and the last looked like the third but without a roof. All of them had a Prancing black horse on a yellow background. They were Ferraris. It was a Ferrari F40, a Ferrari F50, a Ferrari 550 Maranello and the last was a Ferrari 550 Barchetta roadster. Amazed I approached them and as I looked to the left, to the car along the wall. It was a casually parked black-yellow Dauer-Porsche 962C, behind that, another red car stood with its hood open and a charging cable connected to the battery. It was a Porsche 911 GT1. Further in to the room, under a set of lights that just flickered in to life a surprisingly small blue car emerged from the darkness. It was a Bugatti EB 110 supersport. Next to it, with a cleaning rag on the roof, a Jaguar XJ220. In front of that, a silver legend with a star on the nose. It was a meticulously restored Mercedes 300SL Gullwing and it looked like it just left the factory. To the right of the Gullwing, there was another Mercedes. It was low with a pretty vulgar appearance. It was a Mercedes CLK-GTR. The onslaught of supercars were not over yet though as another group of lights flickered to life in the right corner. A green car stood in the way of two other cars, one orange and one white. It was not one, not two, but three Mclaren F1s. One green road car (chassis #51, one orange GTR (chassis #11R and one white Longtail GTR (chassis #23R). I spun around and scanned the small room when I bumped into another silver car. I thought it was one of the Mercedes cars, but as I looked second time, it was a Lamborghini Diablo GT. I wondered several times how I would react if I would walk in to that garage today when I’m older. Would I cry? Would I be able to speak? Probably not. My biggest regret of this day, except of course grasping the might of this collection, is bringing a camera.