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| Déesse Ex Machina: The Remarkable Citroën DS |
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| Written by Aaron Severson |
| Sunday, 31 August 2008 00:04 |
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The word "new" is much abused in the automotive business. If you believe the ad writers and press releases, cars are all-new almost every fall, but the reality is that most cars are the product of a gradual evolution stretching back decades. Well into the 1960s, there was little on the average car that would seriously puzzle a mechanic from before World War One. Every so often, though, an automaker takes the plunge on a design that really breaks the mold, a car like the Mini, the Corvair, or this one: Citroën's startling DS. VOLTURE À GRANDE DIFFUSIONAs we saw in our history of the Traction Avant, André Citroën was a gambler, and his reckless appetite for risk-taking eventually proved to be his undoing. In 1934, his company fell under the control of its largest creditor, the tire manufacturer Michelin. One might have expected that Citroën's new management would be more conservative and circumspect than its devil-may-care founder, but, remarkably, André Citroën's successors proved to be no less daring than he was. Almost from the beginning, they demonstrated a willingness to take chances that few other automakers in the world would have countenanced.
When Michelin took control of the struggling automaker in December 1934, Pierre Michelin became the new chairman, with Pierre-Jules Boulanger as his assistant and the vice president of engineering and design. Michelin and Boulanger initially focused on the many teething problems of the Traction Avant, which had just gone on sale. By 1936, they had it well enough in hand to start considering new models. After Pierre Michelin was killed in an accident in 1937, Boulanger took over as the new chairman, launching two programs: a small, inexpensive people's car, the Toute Petite Voiture (TPV, "very small car"), and the Voiture à Grande Diffusion (VGD, "mass-production car"), which was intended as the successor for the Traction. The engineering of the Traction was already highly advanced for its era. Its semi-unitary construction, front-wheel drive, and rack-and-pinion steering were cutting-edge technology for the middle thirties, and topping that was a tall order. Boulanger wanted the VGD to be roomier, faster, and prettier than the Traction, for the same price and weight.  No one, including Citroën's marketing staff, could not resist the obvious "Déesse" pun; by the mid-1960s, the top trim level of the DS was called "Pallas," after Pallas Athene, Greek goddess of technology and invention. The principal architect of the VGD was André Lefèbvre, who had been the chief engineer of the Traction. Given a clean sheet of paper, Lefèbvre laid out the basics for the new car. Like the Traction, it would have front-wheel drive and an integral body and frame. Unlike the Traction, it would have significantly different front and rear track widths (the distance between the left and right wheels), in the interests of reducing its turning radius -- a major weakness of the Traction. It would be highly aerodynamic, and it would be powered by a smooth, six-cylinder engine. C'EST LA GUERRECitroën's work on the new cars was badly disrupted by the outbreak of World War Two. During the Nazi occupation, which began in May 1940, the Citroën factory was forced to build cars and trucks for the German forces. Boulanger ordered his engineers to hide their notes on the TPV and VGD projects, and work on them only in secret. He was concerned that the Nazis not try to exploit the designs for military purposes, but he was already looking ahead to the postwar world, a vision that would further shape both projects. Boulanger knew that after the conflict, France would be in bad shape. Roads and infrastructure were likely to be in poor condition for years to come, and fuel would be scarce. (Indeed, fuel rationing would continue until well after the end of the war.) Fuel economy and the ability to handle rough roads took on a new importance for both the TPV and VGD.
Lefèbvre originally intended the VGD to use either a torsion-bar suspension, like the Traction, or rubber springs. In 1942, however, Boulanger came upon the designs of Paul Magès, one of the company's junior engineers. Magès proposed a unique, self-adjusting suspension operated by a central, high-pressure hydraulic system. Many of the other engineers were skeptical, considering it too daunting a technical proposition, but Boulanger was intrigued. He moved Magès to the development department, and set him to work refining his concept for the VGD. Civilian production resumed in 1946, and prototypes of the VGD were on the road by the end of the year. A working prototype of Magès' suspension was installed on a Traction by 1949. Money and resources were extremely tight, resulting in protracted delays. Nevertheless, Boulanger was undaunted in his determination that the VGD should be the world's most sophisticated car, a dramatic statement of what French industry could do.  The unusual, streamlined styling of the Déesse is sometimes attributed -- incorrectly -- to the Italian styling house Bertone. It was styled by an Italian, true, but it was the work of Citroën's gifted in-house designer, Flaminio Bertoni. Bertoni led the styling of Traction and the 2CV, as well as the Déesse. Ill health forced him to retire in 1957, but he was named a Master of Arts and Letters by the French ministry of culture in 1961. He died in 1964. BERCOT EPOQUECitroën suffered a blow when Boulanger was killed in a car accident in November 1950. His successor, Robert Puisseux, appointed Pierre Bercot as the company's new managing director. Amazingly, Bercot was even more forward thinking than Boulanger was. His concern was not that the VGD (now known as "Projet D") was too radical, but that it wasn't radical enough. He told Lefèbvre that he wanted Projet D to be the most advanced car in the world, even if it meant further delaying its launch.
The delay was just as well, because there were still many problems to be ironed out. The engine was proving to be a major roadblock. The VGD was originally planned around a water-cooled, six-cylinder engine, but after the occupation, the water-cooled engine was dropped in favor of a new air-cooled, horizontally opposed six. Designed by Walter Becchia, it was essentially a marriage of three of the flat-twin engines from the TPV (now called "2CV"), with a total displacement of 1.8 L (about 110 cu. in.). Unfortunately, despite Becchia's best efforts, it wasn't any more powerful than the big 1.9 L four from the Traction 11, but it was thirstier and heavier, despite the extensive use of aluminum. The six was finally abandoned in 1954. The existing inline six from the Traction was rejected as being too big and heavy for the new car, and Citroën didn't have the capital to develop another new engine. Projet D would have to use an updated version of the Traction's big four. It would be the only major compromise in an car that was otherwise astonishingly free of compromise. The styling of Projet D, like the 2CV, was by Citroën styling chief Flaminio Bertoni (no relation to the Bertone styling house). It was designed with an eye toward aerodynamics, still something of a black art in the automotive world even after the war. Although it was not a hardtop in the American fashion, Projet D had extremely slender roof pillars, enhanced further by the lack of side window frames. The result was panoramic visibility, although it made the car's sloping fenders invisible to the driver. The exterior design was not finalized until only a few weeks before the car's launch, largely because Pierre Bercot was worried that some of it looked too conventional or too familiar. Bercot wanted the car to look as innovative as its engineering.  The Déesse was a remarkably aerodynamic car for its era. Its drag coefficient (Cd) was 0.36, lower even than the slippery Porsche 356; later European models with covered headlamps had a Cd of only 0.34. The low drag gave most D-series cars a top speed of over 100 mph (160 kph), despite the fact that 1.9 L versions had well under 100 horsepower (75 kW). Bercot was also very concerned about secrecy. He was so infuriated when a French automotive magazine published spy photos of Projet D, along with accurate technical information, that he went to court in a failed effort to force the magazine to reveal its sources. After that incident, the project continued with a level of secrecy more befitting a military program. THE GODDESS DESCENDSWhen the production car, now named DS19, was unveiled at the Paris Salon d'Automobiles on the night of October 5, 1955, it was as if it had just arrived from Mars. Compared to the dated, upright styling of most of its European contemporaries, it was low-slung and almost impossibly sleek. The "Déesse" ("Goddess," a pun on the French pronunciation of "DS") was the most aerodynamic production car of its era. It was not necessarily beautiful, but it was striking, avant garde, and unmistakable. Of course, American designers of this period were turning out futuristic-looking cars, as well, but the Déesse was just as advanced under the skin. Like the Traction Avant, it had front-wheel drive, with the transmission mounted ahead of the engine. The inner structure was a steel unibody (initially with an aluminum decklid and hood), but the outer panels were unstressed, and could be unbolted easily for repairs or maintenance. At Lefèbvre's insistence, it made extensive use of plastics and synthetic materials inside and out: the dashboard was ABS and nylon, the carpet was nylon, and the roof was lightweight fiberglass, to reduce the center of gravity. It was a big car by European standards, 191.7 in (4,869 mm) inches long on a massive, 123-inch (3,124-mm) wheelbase, but it was relatively light for its size, around 2,760 lb (1,250 kg). Its interior was roomy and comfortable in the best French tradition, well trimmed, with luxuriously soft seats.
The DS's engine was its least sophisticated element, and perhaps its greatest disappointment. Georges Sainturat, who had designed the big four back in the thirties, was assigned to update the familiar engine. He gave it a new aluminum cylinder head with hemispherical combustion chambers, bringing its output up to a still-meager 75 horsepower (56 kW). The big four was linked to a four-speed transmission with an unsynchronized first gear. Citroën had wanted an automatic transmission since the 1930s, but a true automatic was still beyond the company's resources, and the prospect of buying one from an outside vendor was apparently considered beyond the pale. Instead, the Déesse had "Citromatic," a semi-automatic gearbox with an automatic clutch.  The Déesse has a "crab-toed" stance -- the rear track (distance between the right and left wheel) is considerably narrower than the front, in the interests of aerodynamics. It also allows the turning radius to be much smaller than the Traction, which had been cumbersome in tight spaces. The DS's fuel tank is located beneath the rear seat, so the trunk is deep and quite capacious. The hydropneumatic suspension automatically adjusts the ride height to compensate for load, so the tail doesn't sag when the trunk is full of baggage. Its self-leveling function (and front steering geometry, optimized to minimize bump steer) allows it to run surprisingly well on three wells, as French president Charles de Gaulle discovered in August 1962). Despite its modest weight and power, the Déesse had formidable brakes. The rears were conventional drums, but after seeing Jaguar's success at Le Mans in 1953 with Dunlop disc brakes, Bercot and Lefèbvre decided to equip the DS with front discs. They were big -- 11.5 inches (292 mm) in diameter -- and mounted inboard to reduce unsprung weight. To keep them cool, a pair of scoops was incorporated below the front bumper, channeling air over the calipers. The DS was the first mass-production sedan in the world with disc brakes, and they gave the Goddess excellent stopping power, despite its narrow tires. HIGH PRESSUREAs remarkable as the Déesse looked, the real showstopper was Paul Magès' hydraulic system. Power steering and power brakes were becoming increasingly common in the U.S., but the Citroën approach was far more ambitious. Like a jet airplane, it used a single, engine-driven pump to provide a central 165-bar (2,400-psi) hydraulic supply, which provided power for the steering, brakes, automatic clutch, gearbox, and the self-adjusting, hydropneumatic suspension.
Most cars, then or now, use metal springs (coils, torsion bars, or semi-elliptical leaf springs), controlled by shock absorbers. Any conventional suspension is inherently a compromise. Stiff springs and shocks can support heavy loads and give assured, flat cornering, but they produce a harsh, bouncy ride, especially when the car is lightly loaded. Soft springs and shocks give a comfortable ride on smooth pavement, but they bottom easily when loaded, and allow the car to lose its composure over broken pavement or uneven surfaces. Most cars settle for something in the middle, but that wasn't good enough for Citroën. Boulanger had demanded a suspension that could adjust itself automatically to suit varying conditions. Magès' suspension used neither metal springs nor shock absorbers. Instead, each independently suspended wheel was linked to a short hydraulic strut, filled with pressurized oil, and a rubber sphere, filled with nitrogen gas. The gas and the oil were separated by a flexible rubber membrane. Since nitrogen is compressible, but oil is not, the gas in the sphere acted like a spring whose ride height and effective spring rate could be changed by increasing or decreasing the amount of oil in the strut. The struts were linked to leveling bars that automatically varied their oil pressure in response to suspension loads or uneven surfaces. In essence, the suspension was soft when it was lightly loaded and moving over smooth, flat roads. If you added a heavy load of baggage or passengers, or if you were driving over rough surfaces, the suspension would automatically stiffen to keep the car flat and level. The suspension also had a manual control to allow the driver to raise or lower the ride height, for traversing uneven roads, or to change a tire. Citroën had offered a simplified version of this system on Traction 15 models starting in 1954, but that version acted only on the rear wheels, mostly for load leveling. The DS's suspension worked on all four wheels, whenever the engine was running. The hydropneumatic suspension gave the Déesse otherworldly ride and handling. If it wasn't quite the magic carpet that some enthusiastic fans claimed, the DS did have an uncanny ability to smooth out broken pavement. The Déesse was almost as plush as a contemporary Cadillac, but with far greater control. It still rolled in cornering, although less than the soft ride would suggest, but it hung on tenaciously, and it was remarkably composed in big, sweeping turns. Sharp vertical bumps like frost heaves and railroad tracks could catch it off guard, sending the limber Goddess bounding skyward before the suspension had had time to react, but overall, its ride quality on broken pavement was exceptionally good. The suspension also gave the Déesse a character unlike any other car on the road. With the engine off, it would slowly slump down on its wheels like a drowsy cat. It picked itself up lazily when the engine started, one wheel at a time, accompanied by plaintive moans from the central hydraulic pump. If a particularly rotund passenger climbed aboard, the suspension would grunt as if in annoyance, sighing with relief when that occupant alighted. In motion, the suspension's constant adjustments were accompanied by a series of distant moaning sounds, as the pump cycled itself on and off. The power steering, brakes, and semiautomatic transmission compounded these unearthly sensations. The Goddess's controls were so sui generis that dealers had to give new customers a tutorial in the basics of driving the car. The steering was rack and pinion, like the later Tractions, with a fast ratio and much greater precision than most contemporary rivals. With hydraulic assist, though, there was no mechanical connection between the steering wheel and the road, and the steering was as finger-light as a big Chrysler. The DS also eschewed a conventional brake pedal, replacing it with a mushroom-shaped rubber button. Even André Lefèbvre was dubious about the brake button, and had to be talked into it. It was effective once mastered, but it required practice; many a Déesse owner was rear-ended after stopping more abruptly than intended. Meanwhile, the Citromatic automatically controlled the clutch and the actual gear changes, but the driver was still obliged to make gear selections manually with a lever on the steering column. It was simple enough to use, but obtaining smooth shifts demanded finesse.  High-mounted tail lights were intended as a safety feature, as well as a styling element, making them more visible to following drivers. The unusual lights and the shape of the rear clip were conceived at the last minute -- only about a month before the DS19 made its debut -- because Citroën boss Pierre Bercot decided the existing tail looked too much like a Volkswagen. André Citroën had never had any interest in fast cars, and speed was not among the lofty goals for the Goddess -- it was intended as a family sedan, not a sports car. The aging engine struggled a bit with the Déesse's weight, with 0-62 mph (0-100 kph) taking more than 18 seconds. Early DS19s had a top speed of over 90 mph (145 kph), though, and after attaining that speed, their aerodynamics would allow them to sustain it as long as the road remained level. Unfortunately, any overtaking maneuver or noticeable grade required frequent negotiations with the Citromatic gearbox, whose cumbersome operation did not encourage haste. To add insult to injury, the big four was lumpy and clattery when pressed, hardly in keeping with the Déesse's general refinement. In compensation, the engine was all but bulletproof, and it was reasonably economical. Consumption of 9 L/100 km (26 mpg) was common, with closer to 30 mpg (8 L/100 km) possible in gentle cruising. LE IDÉEThe Déesse's impact was startling. Citroën took more than 80,000 orders in the first week after the launch. That was particularly remarkable given its price (some $3,295 p.o.e. in the U.S.), which was significantly higher than the Traction. Both buyers and critics were divided about the DS's styling, but it was hard not to be dazzled by its suspension, brakes, and sheer technological chutzpah. If the Déesse's specifications no longer seem quite as outré as they once did, it must be remembered that when the DS bowed, most of its contemporaries were rather rustic devices. The average automotive designer probably couldn't have defined "coefficient of drag," much less cared about it, and even radial tires were very rare.
Of course, many early DS customers found out that there's a reason that most automakers prefer tried-and-true hardware to daring innovations. Citroën hadn't just gone out on a limb with the technology of the Déesse; it had jumped off a cliff. Despite its protracted development, the Goddess had many early teething problems, exacerbated by Bercot's obsession with secrecy. In his desire to maximize the Déesse's impact, he had withheld its technical specifications even from Citroën dealers. The DS was a terrifyingly complicated car, but dealer technicians did not receive proper training or access to parts until well after its introduction. Once the early difficulties were resolved, the complex hydraulics were reasonably dependable, although the piping was leak-prone and fragile. It also could not be removed without damaging it, complicating other repairs. Bowing to these concerns -- and complaints from dealers about the price -- in 1957 Citroën introduced the ID (Idée, "idea"). The Idée was a cheaper version of the DS, sharing the Déesse's suspension, but with conventional steering, brakes, and four-speed gearbox, as well as a detuned (66 hp/49 kW) engine and more Spartan trim. From 1958, the sedans were joined by a wagon (a "Break," also called Safari), which the hydropneumatic suspension made a versatile load-hauler. The Déesse made little impact in the U.S. beyond a narrow class of cognoscenti, but it soon became as much of an icon in France as the Traction had been. By the sixties, it was the unofficial French state car, favored by most high officials, including General Charles de Gaulle. De Gaulle credited the Déesse's suspension with saving his life following a 1962 assassination attempt; he was able to drive to safety because his DS19's suspension kept the car level and drivable even after gunfire destroyed one wheel. (The coachbuilder Henri Chapron later built De Gaulle a special stretched Déesse known as the Presidentielle.) The cheaper ID, meanwhile, became a ubiquitous French taxicab. Even the sourest British critics admitted that the Goddess was uniquely suited to French roads, gliding with imperturbable calm over the battered autoroutes of the Fifth Republic. (The highest British compliment on the hydropneumatic suspension's cloud-like ride was paid in the mid-1960s, when Rolls-Royce licensed the system for use on the 1965 Silver Shadow.) That impervious immunity to rough roads also carried the Goddess to many competition victories. The DS and ID were too slow for many forms of racing, but they proved themselves superb rally cars, more than once winning the grueling Monte Carlo rally. Like the Mini, which became the Goddess's arch-rival in the 1960s rally scene, the Citroën was not fast, but it could easily maintain high speeds, with little need to slow down.  Although the D-series cars underwent very few styling changes, the quad headlamps mark this as a post-1967 model. On European cars, these were covered by aerodynamic plastic fairings, but covered headlamps became illegal in the U.S. the same year, so American-market cars had exposed headlights. The D-series' front compartment is very crowded, containing not only engine and drivetrain, but also the central hydraulic reservoir, the tool kit, and the spare tire, which Citroën claimed would act as a shock absorber in collisions. THE ETERNAL GODDESSPierre Boulanger and Pierre Bercot had wanted the DS, like the Traction before it, to be so advanced in styling and features that it would still seem fresh for years. Unlike the Traction, whose 1934-vintage styling looked rather quaint by the time the last models were sold in 1957, the Goddess looked as flamboyant and as futuristic when production ended in 1975 as it had back in 1955.
The Déesse underwent only minor, evolutionary changes during its 19-year history. The inadequate 6V electrical system gave way to a 12V setup in 1960, the poor sealing of the frameless side windows was improved, and more power was coaxed from the elderly engine. In 1965, the engine was finally replaced by a new, short-stroke four with five main bearings, a 1,985 cc (121.5 cu. in.) version for the ID, a 2,175 cc (133 cu. in.) version for the DS, now renamed DS21. The latter, with 109 hp (81 kW) could run 0-62 mph (0-100 kph) in under 16 seconds, a more reasonable figure, and could reach more than 105 mph (170 kph), given enough room. (Citroën claimed a top speed of 115 mph (185 kph), but to our knowledge, no independent tester achieved anything close to that speed.) Fuel economy was nearly as good as before, although the new engine was still rough and noisy. Although rumors continued to abound of a six-cylinder model, the most powerful engine ever fitted by the factory was the later 2.3 L (140 cu. in.) four with optional electronic fuel injection, making 130 net horsepower (97 kW). It was enough for 0-62 mph (0-100 kph) in less than 11 seconds, with a top speed approaching 120 mph (195 kph). Meanwhile, Citroën eventually offered the Déesse with a conventional manual transmission, as well as Citromatic, and a fully synchronized five-speed became optional in 1970. A Borg-Warner automatic transmission was added to the option list in 1971; national chauvinism aside, it probably should have been offered from the beginning. The only major change to the Déesse's styling came in 1967, with a new "shark-nosed" front clip and recessed dual headlamps. The lights had clear plastic covers, which further reduced the already impressive coefficient of drag. The covered headlights were not legal in the U.S., nor was the Déesse's last great party trick, driving lights that swiveled with the front wheels to provide better illumination on curving roads. It made little difference, since U.S. sales were minimal. The Déesse was finally withdrawn from the American market in 1972, because it would have cost too much to modify it for the 1973 federal bumper standards.  On top-spec, post-1967 Déesses, the central headlamps swivel with the front wheels, steering into the direction of a turn. Contemporary reviewers were ecstatic about the results, especially when driving on dark country lanes, but U.S. law prohibited moving headlights, so the system wasn't offered in America. Note the small side-marker lights, added to meet 1968 U.S. safety regulations. Even in its twilight, the Déesse had few rivals in sophistication or innovation; only the big Mercedes sedans matched its complexity. Total production of the D-series was 1,455,746, which was less than two years' Impala production for Chevrolet, but reasonable for an expensive, eccentric sedan brimming with untried technology. During its lifetime, though, the Goddess's less-advanced rivals had improved to the point where they offered most of the DS's tangible benefits, without its cost or idiosyncrasies. LEGACYEven Citroën itself could never really top the Déesse. The SM was in many respects a modernized DS, with the six-cylinder engine the Goddess never had. The CX that followed the Déesse was not nearly as much of a conceptual leap as the DS had been. Even now, the DS remains a high water mark for Citroën's adventurous engineering. Sadly, that appetite for adventure nearly brought the company to ruin in the early seventies. Citroën had never been long on capital, and the costs of developing the SM and compact GS put them too far into the red. Michelin could no longer justify the financial burden, and in 1975, the French government ordered Citroën to merge with rival Peugeot.
Nevertheless, Citroën continued to refine the Déesse's hydropneumatic suspension. Renamed "Hydractive" and fitted with electronic controls, it was used on the XM and Xantia sedans in the late eighties and early nineties. The latest version, Hydractive 3, is used in Citroën's big C6 sedan. Air springs and hydropneumatic suspensions remain very rare on mass-market cars from other manufacturers, although they have gradually begun to reappear on high-end luxury models. The Déesse's engineering is no longer as astounding as it was fifty years ago, although its self-adjusting suspension is still something to see. So, too, is its styling, which, except for the sealed-beam headlights, skinny tires, and slender bumpers, looks as futuristic and iconoclastic as ever. The Goddess may have tarnished with age, but she still turns heads. What really distinguishes the DS, though, is its unapologetic single-mindedness. The designs of most modern cars are filtered through endless marketing research and focus groups that relentlessly strip of them of every controversial or challenging element. The Déesse was designed with no concession whatever to either engineering convention or public taste. Like the Mini, it was the product of engineers given carte blanche, driven by an implacable faith in their own judgment and a casually arrogant disdain for what anyone else might think. For better or worse, we will probably not see its like again. # # #
NOTES ON SOURCESMuch of the information for this story came from Julian Marsh's remarkable Citroënët website (date unknown, Citroënët, http://www.citroenet.org.uk/passenger-cars/michelin/ds/ds-index.html, accessed 24 August 2008), which has extensive information on all classic Citroëns. Additional details came from Wiljan Cats' Citroën page, (date unknown, Cats-Citroën, http://www.cats-citroen.net/home.html, accessed 30 July 2008), Niels Heilberg's "Citroën Faces" (date unknown, http://www.geocities.com/MadisonAvenue/4430/bluebook.html, accessed 1 August 2008), and Gavin Green, "Future Shock," Motor Trend Classic, January 2006 (Issue Two), pp. 98-104.
We also consulted the following period road tests: "Citroen DS19 Startles Paris," Autocar, 14 October 1955; "Road Test: Citroën: The DS-19 drives boldly off the beaten path -- and never feels the bumps," Road & Track, November 1956); "The Autocar Road Tests the Citroen DS19" (Autocar, 7 December 1956); "Citroen ID-19," Road & Track, June 1958; "Citroën DS 19," Car and Driver, February 1962; "Citroen DSM: THRUSH Agents Take Cover...It's Napoleon Solo on Wheels!" Car Life, July 1965; "Citroen (DS21) Pallas M" (Autocar, 3 December 1965); "Car and Driver Road Test: Citroën DS-21: Op-pop art noveau (whirr!) on a 123-inch wheelbase," Car and Driver; February 1966; "Mobile palace (Motor Road Test No. 6/68 - Citroen DS 21 Pallas)," The Motor, 10 February 1966; Citroen DS23 Pallas," The Motor, 10 February 1973; and Peter Nunn, "Profile: Citroën DS: The Goddess," Classic and Sports Car, July 1984, all of which are reprinted in R.M. Clarke, ed., Citroën Cars: DS and ID 1955-1975 (Brooklands Road Test Seris) (Cobham, Surrey: Brooklands Books, Ltd., 1988).
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The DS was an astonishing advance in design and technology that, unfortunately, Citroen didn't continue. They produce fine cars, but, now, rather ordinary ones. I drove a DS on a thousand-mile jaunt in 1969 and experienced the magic carpet ride, touchy brake "champignon," and semi-automatic transmission that caused the DS to bob elegantly during gear changes. It got the attention of locals in several small towns in Idaho, who swerved in my direction in their pickups to get a closer look. The adjustable suspension settings added to its otherworldly appearance, down low for a few blocks, then up on tiptoes to the end of Main Street. Gas stops gathered a crowd. Current aerodynamic designs make it look less strange, but we'll probably never see its equal.