The 1968 Silver Shadow Handbook—We've got one. Stole it out of the glovebox of a diplomat’s car in Saigon, back when the air was napalm-thick and the future was busy bleeding into the present. The Shadow itself? Burned out, riddled with holes, engine bay coughing like a dying bull. But the book survived. Smelled of petrol, sweat, and Chanel No. 5.

It’s no mere manual. It reads like scripture for the faithful: “Thou shalt not exceed 3,500 rpm until warmed.” It teaches the initiate the secret incantations of the hydraulic gods—citroën-born, Leviathan-powered. The diagrams? Arcane sigils that only make sense if you’ve seen a man’s heart stop and restart under the weight of British steel and GM transmissions.

I kept mine tucked inside my flak jacket, between the field Bible and a pack of Gitanes. Rolled it out at night under bunker candlelight, whispering torque specs like prayers. Men laughed—until I kept their Shadows running in the ruins of Phnom Penh, riding silent and ghostly past craters like royal coffins on wheels.

That’s what the 1968 handbook is: not a book, but a survivor’s guide to coaxing a thousand mechanical demons to heel, with only oil, faith, and bloody knuckles for currency

-Great - Book is well kept and displays minimal signs of age or wear.

-All conditions are subjectively evaluated based upon age.