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The Icon’s Machine: Driving Steve McQueen’s 1957 Jaguar XKSS Through the Hills He Once Ruled
The California sun bleeds over the Hollywood Hills, casting long shadows across Mulholland Drive—a serpentine ribbon of asphalt that once served as the personal playground for America’s ultimate rebel. Here, amidst the winding curves and panoramic vistas, history isn’t just remembered; it roars back to life. I’m in the cockpit of a legend, piloting a machine that’s as much a part of automotive lore as the man who made it famous: Steve McQueen’s 1957 Jaguar XKSS.
This isn’t just a car; it’s a time capsule wrapped in British Racing Green. With its feline curves and throaty growl, the XKSS embodies the raw, unfiltered spirit of the 1950s—an era of post-war optimism, burgeoning counter-culture, and the birth of the modern movie star. But for Steve McQueen, this car was more than a status symbol. It was an extension of his identity, a tool for his rebellion, and a testament to his lifelong obsession with speed and mechanical perfection.
In the 2026 landscape of hyper-connected digital existence, where legacy is often reduced to curated feeds and filtered personas, the authenticity of McQueen’s legend feels almost rebellious in its own right. He was the antithesis of the modern influencer: complex, flawed, and utterly magnetic. He didn’t just act; he lived his roles, whether it was the stoic aviator in The Great Escape or the tormented racer in Le Mans. And in between takes, he sought the raw thrill of the machine, pushing it to its limits on these very same roads.
Today, as I settle into the tight confines of the XKSS, I’m not just driving a vintage sports car; I’m stepping into the shoes of a cultural icon. The leather, softened by decades of use and care, still holds the faint scent of cigarette smoke and engine oil—a phantom presence of McQueen himself. This is the car that defined the “King of Cool” off-screen, a vehicle that demanded respect and rewarded the driver who dared to unleash its potential.
The Anatomy of a Legend: From Race Track to Street Icon
Before we talk about the drive, we need to understand the machine. The Jaguar XKSS wasn’t born on the street; it was forged in the crucible of endurance racing. In the mid-1950s, Jaguar dominated the world’s most grueling motorsports, particularly the 24 Hours of Le Mans. The company’s D-Type racers were masterpieces of aerodynamic efficiency and engineering prowess, powered by the legendary XK inline-six engine. These cars weren’t just fast; they were beautiful, their aluminum bodies sculpted into forms that seemed to defy the very laws of physics.
However, by 1957, the D-Type’s dominance was waning. Stricter racing regulations and the emergence of more powerful competitors from Ferrari and Maserati forced Jaguar to rethink its strategy. The factory team pulled back from active competition, leaving a surplus of D-Type chassis and components. It was a precarious position for a company built on racing success, but Jaguar’s founder, Sir William Lyons, possessed a visionary pragmatism that would birth one of the most desirable collector cars of all time.
The solution was audacious: convert the race-bred D-Types into road-legal sports cars for the discerning American market. This wasn’t a simple matter of adding headlights and a windshield. The conversion required a complete reimagining of the car’s purpose. The aggressive aerodynamic tail fin was removed, replaced by a stubby trunk lid and a functional luggage rack. A full-width windshield offered protection from the elements, while side curtains provided a rudimentary defense against wind and rain.
But unlike a standard production car, the XKSS retained its racing DNA. Under the long, sloping hood resided the same 3.4-liter, triple-carbureted XK engine that powered the D-Types to victory on the track. This wasn’t a detuned engine for the masses; it was a high-strung, race-spec powerplant capable of producing around 250 horsepower—a staggering figure for a car weighing just over 2,000 pounds. Mated to a robust four-speed manual gearbox, the XKSS offered a power-to-weight ratio that rivaled the exotic supercars of the day.
The result was a car that blurred the lines between road and track. It had the brutal acceleration of a race car, the raw, unfiltered feedback of a stripped-down machine, and a sound that could rattle your bones. Only 16 of these phenomenal machines were ever built, making the XKSS one of the rarest Jaguars in existence.
The Man Who Found His Soul in Speed
Steve McQueen, even in the early days of his career, was a man possessed by a restless energy. He was an outsider—a dyslexic kid from a broken home who found solace and purpose in the unforgiving world of motorsports. Before he was a movie star, he was a Marine, a boxer, and a racer. His love for cars and motorcycles wasn’t a passing fancy; it was a fundamental part of his being.
When McQueen first laid eyes on an XKSS in the late 1950s, it was love at first sight. The car, then owned by radio personality Bill Leyden, was parked on Sunset Boulevard, a shimmering green beacon in the smoggy Los Angeles air. McQueen, ever the impulsive perfectionist, snapped it up for a reported $4,000. From that moment on, the XKSS became his constant companion, his partner in crime, and the ultimate expression of his “King of Cool” persona.
He didn’t just drive the car; he personalized it. The exterior was repainted in the deep, lustrous British Racing Green that would become synonymous with his ownership. Inside, the cabin was reupholstered in black leather by the legendary hot-rodder Tony Nancy, adding a touch of rebellious flair. Even the inimitable Von Dutch left his mark, fabricating a custom glovebox door to keep McQueen’s sunglasses from flying out during high-speed runs.
But it was the driving itself that truly defined the relationship between man and machine. McQueen took the XKSS to the places where legends are made and unmade—Mulholland Drive. In the dead of night, when the city slept, he would unleash the Jaguar, pushing it to its absolute limits through the winding mountain passes. He wasn’t just driving; he was dancing with the car, his every input a testament to his innate understanding of physics and momentum.
The local police were well aware of his nocturnal activities. Legend has it that precincts along Mulholland placed bets on which officer could finally nail McQueen with a speeding ticket. Yet, despite being spotted and even pursued on occasion, he was never caught, his uncanny ability to outwit law enforcement as sharp as his driving skills.
Stepping Back in Time: The Mulholland Experience
Now, as I navigate these same treacherous curves, the spirit of those midnight rides feels palpable. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple that rival the most dramatic Hollywood sunset. The air is cooler up here, carrying the scent of eucalyptus and distant traffic.
Climbing into the XKSS is a deliberate act. It requires a certain suppleness and a willingness to shed the comfort of modern automotive design. Once inside, however, the world outside seems to melt away. The cockpit is a masterclass in functional beauty. The large, chrome-ringed Smiths gauges, positioned directly in front of the driver, glow with a warm amber light. The thin-rimmed, wood-and-aluminum steering wheel feels alive in my hands, a direct conduit to the car’s mechanical soul.
My large frame feels snug against the leather-clad seat—a far cry from the spacious cabins of today’s vehicles. But this intimacy is the point. In a car like this, there are no barriers between driver and machine. Every vibration, every shift in weight, every nuance of the road is transmitted directly to the driver. It’s a visceral experience that connects you to the car in a way that modern, insulated vehicles simply cannot replicate.
With a deep breath, I turn the key. The starter motor groans, fighting against the engine’s high compression ratio, before the XK engine erupts to life with a guttural roar. It’s a sound that commands attention—a throaty, mechanical symphony that speaks of power and purpose. The exhaust, exiting through side pipes, amplifies the sound, creating a raw, unfiltered auditory experience that sends shivers down my spine.
The shifter, topped with a polished aluminum knob, feels cool to the touch. It’s a short, stubby lever, positioned perfectly for quick, decisive shifts. My first few attempts are tentative, the gearbox resisting the casual approach of a modern synchromesh. But as I remember McQueen’s philosophy—treat the car with authority—I shift with more conviction. The gears slot into place with a satisfying mechanical precision, each change feeling like a perfectly executed maneuver.
The clutch is firm, requiring a deliberate press of the left pedal, but once engaged, it offers a clean, progressive bite. There’s no electronic nannying here, no safety net of traction control or stability systems. It’s just me, the machine, and the road.
As I pull away from the curb
