For racing fans who worship at the shrine of NASCAR, this country’s all-American and largely circular contribution to motorsport, the traditional museum pilgrimage has been east toward Charlotte, N.C. There, the NASCAR Hall of Fame spins tales of racing legends and the moonshiners who got the whole deal roaring many decades ago.

But now those same fans have reason to caravan west to the suburbs of Seattle.

No band has ever merged marketing and music quite so deftly as Kiss, which has lent its name and face paint to hundreds of geegaws over the years, from condoms to cremation urns for your pets. All of which pales in comparison to this inspired work of fandom, a Volkswagen Beetle transformed into a rolling tribute to Gene Simmons' bovine-quality tongue — which can rock your driveway all night for the right price.

Back in the early 19^th century, a hack science called "phrenology" tried to measure a person’s mental capabilities by scrutinizing dimensions of the skull. The fad died after a couple of decades, and only appears today as pop-culture references in flicks like "Django Unchained." Midsize sedans experienced a similar dark age recently, with automakers obsessing over figures like hip room or shoulder space to gauge the worth of the car — and ignoring whether it’s even enjoyable to drive the thing.

Thankfully, increased competition in the segment forced the number-crunchers to think beyond how many grocery bags fit in the trunk. And the latest automaker to embrace a less empirical approach is Mazda and its 2014 Mazda6.

Few high-school dropouts go on to become royalty, but Berna Eli "Barney" Oldfield used his talents to become the first Speed King. From his first race for then-struggling car builder Henry Ford — which he won after learning how to drive Ford's car the morning before — Oldfield became the country's most famous racing daredevil, running in dozens of barnstorming races across the country. From the Indianapolis 500 to state fair exhibitions against airplanes, Oldfield always wanted to go faster, and survived long enough to retire and enjoy cigars in peace. Here's a silent film of Oldfield racing his Golden Submarine, a car he designed to protect racers in crashes:

The Brooklands race track in England was the world's first purpose-built motor race track when it opened in 1907; concerns over the British car industry falling behind France if it couldn't test its vehicles at speed pushed its development (and spurred the building of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.). Brooklands closed in 1939 ahead of World War II; war damage and the use of the site for aviation meant racing never returned. Yet photographer Gorder Calder was able to envision how one of the Brookland's most famous racers — Lord Howe and his Bugatti Type T59 — would look on the remnants of the track today.

The Isle of Man TT remains more than an army of gladiators, donning their armor, heading to battle aboard 200 mph, two-wheeled missiles. It’s more than an exercise of extreme manliness, or bravery or whatever else possesses one to risk life and limb on a damp country road. The Isle of Man TT is the last of its kind – a race in which safety trails spectacle, and where speed-hungry warriors risk everything for that glorious, momentary taste of absolute freedom.

There was nothing specifically wrong with the 2013 Chevy Malibu, but in the same breath, there was nothing particularly right. It played to the midsize sedan stereotype of being harmless and forgettable, like a bowl of overcooked bow-tie pasta. Toyota has long proved with its Camry that bland can still yield significant sales, but just because it can, doesn't mean that it should — and with sharper competitors in the Ford Fusion and Honda Accord, the Malibu seemed lost upon arrival.

With the 2014 Malibu, Chevy vows to add a little spice from its decidedly attractive and non-too-bland Impala, and when you look at its more chiseled nose, the efforts pay off. But adding a pinch of pepper doesn't reinvent the bowl.

Someone once famously described Formula 1 as “a symphony of violence,” and nowhere does the orchestra play louder than in Monaco. For one weekend a year, the Monaco Grand Prix offers a James Bond movie come to life, a tax haven the size of a state fairground dominated by shady linen-suited greasers idly exiting their supercars in front of the casino, and billionaire yacht parties featuring overly friendly “models” imported from Asia. The occasional carbon-fiber shredding is just part of the 450 Euro race-day admission.

No sport celebrates money more thoroughly than F1, and right now, no one has more money than Infiniti Red Bull Racing, which won everything the last three seasons. Its frightening dynasty has become synonymous with the sport, and has allowed the world's foremost racing series to reinvent itself for modern times. Albert II may be Monaco’s prince, his face towering over the city on building-size photos like a benevolent deity, but on race weekend, Red Bull is its king.

Red Bull Racing’s roots go back to 1996, when F1 legend Jackie Stewart and his son Paul formed Stewart Grand Prix as an ill-conceived ego project. The team muddled along in the middle of the F1 pack for three seasons until Stewart sold the team to Ford, which