QOTD: What Gearhead Folly Has Befallen You?

Matthew Guy
by Matthew Guy

Gearheads like ourselves are particularly susceptible to the siren song a car, especially if our own Id deems it to be a ZOMG good deal. This is the deep and perilous financial rabbit hole into which most of us fall.

All of this was on prominent display this weekend at the annual Barrett Jackson classic car auction this past weekend in the Arizona desert. I stood across from a guy who, wild-eyed and armed with a bidder’s number, was bound and determined to win the 1964 Austin-Healey in front of us on the block. He was successful, and I wish him well, Lucas electrics and all.

I wager most of us reading TTAC have a story of getting waaaay too wrapped up in the auctioneer’s patter or throwing caution to the wind on a particularly sketchy Craigslist ad … including our esteemed Managing Ed.

When young Mr. Stevenson still lived in the land of blue tartan, he and I would drop by the ADESA auction from time to time. This was the Saturday morning public auction, you understand, featuring the cars that had gone through the wholesaling process at the original dealer, probably passed through the hands of several BHPH lots, before failing to garner any bids at the Tuesday morning dealers-only auction.

These were not, for the most part, what most sane human beings would consider good cars.

After chuckling at a duo of wet-behind-the-ears BHPH owners who inexplicably paid good money for a tattered, faded, gold Chevrolet Aveo hatchback with a stick and no A/C, a first-model year Focus rolled into view. I use the term “rolled” very loosely because its back wheels were sporting an alarming amount of camber and tilting at angles not recommended in any Ford service manual. I turned my attention to the B lane where a lumpy Econoline was groaning its way past the block.

With buyers shunning the Econoline like an especially virulent leper, I cast my eyes back to the Focus in time to see the auctioneer’s gavel swing down and take a sale … to the tune of $200. I turned to Mark, ready to laugh heartily with him at whatever loon spent three days’ work at minimum wage on a compact Ford as rusty as an anchor. I could not do this, however, because Mr. Stevenson was too busy signing paperwork being thrusted in front of him by a bidder’s assistant.

I think his original plan was to fix the thing and sell it for a profit, but a quick inspection of the swiss-cheese rear suspension linkages quickly scuppered any foray into amateur auto sales. He ended up entering it in the local demolition derby where, as a two-time winner myself, I can say he did a fine job and took second place in a field of a dozen or so cars. I can’t remember his prize. I think it was $300. It was probably nothing. (Second prize was a concussion. –Mark)

Anyway, my point is that just about all of us have foolishly bought a hopeless car at some point in our lives, whether it was kept and turned into a money pit or quickly disposed of is dependent on your own personal stories.

A few years ago, I purchased a 1982 Ford Crown Victoria station wagon, which turned out to be made entirely of rust. When I tried to hoist it, I positioned my hydraulic floor jack neatly under a jacking point on the frame, fully extended the jack … while all four wheels remained squarely on terra firma. I named it Big Ugly.

What is your gearhead folly?

Matthew Guy
Matthew Guy

Matthew buys, sells, fixes, & races cars. As a human index of auto & auction knowledge, he is fond of making money and offering loud opinions.

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  • WallMeerkat WallMeerkat on Jan 24, 2017

    Over in Europe, the original generation Ford Focus was something of a revelation, as it replaced the unloved and half hearted mk5/6 Ford Escort, a car developed by accountants and nearly ruined Ford Europe (they redeemed themselves with the 1993 Mondeo, sold poorly in the US as the Contour). My own folly was a replacement for a nice little Clio (nicely styled successor to the 5 aka LeCar) which was totalled. I took my $1000 insurance payout and went car shopping. Being young and (I thought at the time) a pocket full of cash, the seedy world of backstreet used cars was my oyster. I eyed up a Ford Orion - the sedan variant of the previously mentioned horrendous mk5 Escort. 80k miles, 1.8 Zetec engine (same as the XR3i!) and all for under my budget! Young and naive, the dealer needing to jump start it to get it running was probably the first bad sign. A quick spin round the block and a deal was done. The next bad sign was when it started coughing on the way back home. I thought it just needed a service. Checked the fuel gauge, it was broken. On an oil change, turned out the oil used in it was thick lumpy stuff, for good reason, as the 5w30 a Zetec needs was soon leaking out from somewhere. As was the fuel pump, which caused it to cut out until the temperature increased. Wishbones were dodgy, leading to pretend-torque-steer. Rear passengers felt carsick, not helped by the handles for the windy up windows being broken. The rust over the rear arches meant it would fail it's next inspection anyway. The only car I ever scrapped.

  • JustPassinThru JustPassinThru on Jan 25, 2017

    I've made many mistakes, but two were real doozies. First was, late 1980s...I had gone back to university at age 29, with the insane dream of finishing. Meantime I needed wheels...not primo wheels, just weekend and event wheels. Not far away, a hilljack was selling a Tennesee van - a 1969 Chevy Van, the old Chevy II-based flat-front van. Completely renovated interior as half-camper, half-sin-bin. Back doors were bolted shut, and then glassed over. Not good, but it was a smooth, professional job. Little rust. And that was what hooked me. The brakes were shot. The SOB drove it to my place, after my short test drive...I wouldn't do it. The condition was, he wouldn't get paid until he got it to my apartment compound. And he did, and took my money...and off to the races. The brakes were the least of it. Now, it was a pedal hinged under the floor, but that was the least of it. More pressing were that the front-axle kingpins were shot. And NOBODY had equipment to press them out! The Chevy dealer didn't even have the BOOKS. Garage after garage shined me on; and I even approached the Voc-Ed people. They didn't want it; their teachers were all about the new K-Cars. FWD, that's the future. Then I found that the Chevy six, improbably, had health issues. Cylinders three and four had little compression. At least, a head gasket; maybe more. There was NO ROOM to work on that engine in the van. The doghouse didn't unbolt from the floor...only the top open. GM recommended taking the engine out from UNDERNEATH. And that was it. Dreams of seeing the Grand Canyon from Ohio, in my vintage Chevy van, went by the wayside. I put it up for sale for half what I paid for it, using the student newspaper, and was delighted at the chance to be rid of my worries. Oh, but I wasn't done! Ten years later...I had a new job that involved off-road traversing. In winter. I wanted a Jeep and I wasn't overloaded with money. Well, what's tougher than an AMC CJ-7 with a Rambler six? I found one for sale cheap...and it had...a FIBERGLASS TUB on it! A neat conversion, too. Didn't have the canvas top fully mated to it...no side curtains. But...hey...no rust! Frame was in good shape, too. Again...sap that I am...had the seller drive it to my place. And that was the last time it ran under its own power. That engine was TOAST. Now, I justified that in saying there was no reason why I couldn't just hoist another AMC 6 in there, out of a boneyard - in the late 1990s, there were still plenty of wrecked Hornets around. But I couldn't even identify WHY the engine wasn't starting...part of the reason was, I didn't have time, working 70 hours a week on the new job. Nor a garage. And it was winter. The landlord didn't love it as much as I did, either. He let it sit for two months and then read me the riot act. I wound up giving it to one of those car-donation charities. Ohhh..that STILL hurts...

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