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" J. Mays, vice-president of design at Ford, is a creative kind of car builder. And not just some artiste type--even though, in his last job, for Volkswagen, he dreamed up the brilliant, Swatch-like, everyone&amp;#039;s-gotta-have-one New Beetle--but clever, crafty even. That&amp;#039;s because when he likes something he&amp;#039;s created, he lets the world see it, even if the suits don&amp;#039;t want him to, which is what he did with the New Beetle. And the public loved it. And the suits caved. And VW built it.  Now from Mays&amp;#039;s new studio at Ford comes the Lincoln Blackwood, a four-wheeled animal with the head of a sport-ute and the back of a pickup. A curious organism created in a laboratory of modern tools, but with DNA traceable back to the beginning of the automotive age, when wood was more common on wheels than sheet metal. The Blackwood&amp;#039;s flanks, of African wenge wood, conjure memories of Chrysler woodies. And of Ford Rancheros and Chevy El Caminos and a whole Hollywood-made Wild West. Indeed, wood-sided wheels are all about a uniquely &amp;quot;American romance,&amp;quot; says Mays. &amp;quot;When you look at the Blackwood,&amp;quot; he says, &amp;quot;it&amp;#039;s very elegant, very confident, but most of all, the instant you see it, you know it must be an American car.&amp;quot; Very American under the hood as well. As in a muscle car. As in three hundred horses. It&amp;#039;s also uniquely red-white-and-blue in terms of comfort: Inside, there are wenge accents aplenty and four can-coddling Connolly-leather bucket seats--not to mention two rear doors that open suicide-style. It&amp;#039;s also got a body slung lower than the Navigator&amp;#039;s (not unlike a vintage El Camino) for easy in and out, and fat, easy-riding street tires.  All of which isn&amp;#039;t to say this hybrid beast doesn&amp;#039;t have some sense built into it. With a twist of the key fob, the rear hood lifts hydraulically, like a missile being deployed for launch. With full aluminum cladding and inset fluorescent tube lighting, the bed seems spaceship clean--spanking enough for tailgating, though much too neat to be mussed by the rubbish of chores. And its twenty square feet of richly lacquered laser-cut flanks, unlike the wormholed and warped woodies of yore, are impermeable to the most vicious of termites and also unbent by even the Amazonian humidity of, say, Houston. Indeed, no special care or feeding is needed--though with its rare (half) breeding, you will be tempted to wash it by hand. That is, you would be tempted. If only they would build it. If only Mr. Mays could convince the suits. If only you let Ford know you love it. Gentlemen, start your e-mails. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/lifestyle/cars/a1667/esq0299-feb-mahb-4/>