The Concours d’Elegance in Monterey, California, has seen more unveilings than the dressing room of a bridal shop, and as the 2023 Monterey Car Week recedes in the rearview, we thought we’d look even further back at a notable launch of the past. In 2007, Callaway Cars revealed the C16 Speedster, a uniquely styled, 700-hp variation on a C6 Corvette. The Speedster’s $350,000 list price when new (over $515,000 in today’s money), not to mention its roofless, fair-weather mission, go some way toward explaining its unintended rarity: only one sold, ever. The coupe and roadster versions went on to sell in the predicted double-digit volumes. But their creator, Ely Reeves Callaway III—speaking only weeks before his recent death—described the Speedster to its new owner as a certified money loser for the company. Still, it nevertheless remained, in his estimation, “the coolest car” his crackerjack outfit ever built.

Based in Old Lyme, Connecticut, Callaway first caught the public’s eye in the late 1970s by selling atypically well-engineered turbocharger kits for the E21 BMW 3-series, followed in 1983 by a batch of twin-turbo Alfa Romeo GTV6s authorized by the factory. His fledgling firm most famously grew its business by amping up Corvettes and other GM hardware. It made headlines in 1987 with twin-turbo Corvettes, including a Sledgehammer model that could—in 1988, mind you—top 250 mph. Astounding performance figures aside, the firm’s enduring commitment to quality and attention to detail was so great that, for a time, General Motors authorized the sale of Callaways at selected Chevy dealers, honoring in full the factory warranty on the modified cars. By 1994, Callaway-constructed SuperNatural Corvette race cars were achieving podium finishes at LeMans, while GT3 racing versions of the C7 Corvette raced competitively into the 2020s.

Named after his trailblazing father, Ely Reeves Callaway Jr.—a successful textile executive and vintner who, late in life, launched the world’s best-selling line of golf clubs—Callaway III would become one of America’s most successful aftermarket tuners, though he’d never cotton to the term. “We don’t call ourselves a tuner,” he told Road & Track. “A tuner takes an aggregate of parts that already exist, bolts them on the automobile, and calls it a customization. Everything we make is made specifically for the car. And we manufacture it ourselves.”

The C16 is perhaps one of the greatest proofs of this self-assessment, for it is far removed from any regular production Corvette. When it was purchased new by Ken Lingenfelter, a wealthy collector who that same year acquired his distant cousin John’s Lingenfelter Performance Engineering (another sophisticated and well-regarded not-a-tuner of GM iron), the C16 had seen but 600 miles pass beneath its bespoke carbon-fiber/magnesium wheels, carbon ceramic brakes, and adjustable coil-over Eibach suspension when it was put up for auction on Bring a Trailer in 2022. Failing to sell at a high bid of $252,000, it returned to Lingenfelter’s collection. The following year, a well-heeled collector who chooses to remain anonymous but whose Euro-centric garage residents tend to wear Porsche and Ferrari badges, found himself strangely beguiled by the Speedster. This despite his wryly noting that “It’s as practical as a chocolate teacup.” A deal was struck, details of which he preferred not to disclose. The car went to Connecticut’s Miller Motorcars for a light reconditioning, and two weeks before Callaway’s unfortunate passing, the Speedster’s current owner dined with the maestro, where he learned of the affection its creator still held for the car.

Designed by Callaway’s de facto in-house designer, Montreal-based and U.K.-trained Paul Deutschman, every one of the Speedster’s fiberglass body panels was new. Still in mint condition—finished in azure blue, with a contrasting silver hood bulge and seats covered in high-grade dark blue German leather with contrasting Alcantara inserts—the vehicle reads as elegant and tasteful despite an inherent extrovert swagger highlighted by its conspicuous lack of side glass and a proper windshield.

The Corvette origins of its dash and switchgear are at once obvious yet easily forgotten, with every interior panel flawlessly trimmed in matching leather and reassembled for minimum squeaking and creaking, which it’s fair to say marks a change from most Corvettes of that era. The view under the hood is similarly clean, neatly plumbed, and professional.

In place of a windshield, low Lexan “wind deflectors”—sourced from a period BMW motorcycle—provide the faintest modicum of protection from passing stones and birds, while fairings behind driver and passenger house a pair of custom carbon-fiber helmets. Though the wind deflectors are acceptable at low speed, Callaway recommended helmets “for more spirited motoring.”

Sitting motionless in the C16, which now sports a hair over 800 miles on its odometer, we are enchanted. It’s exceedingly pleasant, open yet somehow cosseting, and as we pause before taking off, one can’t help admiring again the fit and finish. At 40 mph down a country lane, such thoughts recede as the intoxicating whine of the supercharger begins to make itself known, along with the massive supply of torque (660 pound-feet at 4750 rpm) and, again surprising us, the complete absence of rattles and squeaks. Coupled with a ride quality of supreme suppleness, this is a speedster that does not seem to want to beat up its occupants. However, this perception doesn’t last long.

Picking up the tempo, we experiment further with the well-weighted, six-speed manual gearbox (with this much torque and 700 supercharged and intercooled horsepower from its 378-cubic-inch V-8, any gear will do), though the wind is quickly becoming a factor. Pleasant at low speeds and not unbearable at modest ones, it gets steadily more punishing. And as we approach highway speeds, it becomes way more brutalizing than you’re likely used to. At 60 mph, we want to reach for a helmet, but as the new owner hadn’t yet figured out how to open the rear clamshell to release the noggin protectors from their semi-exposed cubbies, we find ourselves forced to obey the local speed limit. Not exactly what one has in mind with a car that ran 212 mph from the factory, but not unwise given its rarity and value.

We conclude that the Callaway C16 Speedster is a machine whose appeal was, like its essence, simultaneously great and minimal, with a promise both finite and unlimited. We reckon that these are paradoxes that, had a worldwide economic meltdown not occurred at the time of its launch, surely more than one person would have liked to ponder. Preferably while wearing a full-face helmet.