Alfa Romeo 2600 Spider: $4,886
Austin-Healey 3000: $3,565
BMW 2000CS: $4,985
Chevrolet Corvette Stingray Coupe: $5,249*
Jaguar XK-E Coupe: $5,580
Lotus Elite Coupe: $4,995
Mercedes-Benz 230SL Coupe: $6,343
Shelby Cobra 289: $5,995**
Sunbeam Tiger: $3,425

Or you could go crazy and buy two Datsun Fairlady Sports 1600s ($2,546 each), or two Chevy Corvair Corsas ($2,519 each). You could go really crazy and get two new MGB-GTs at $3,095 apiece. Or you could buy a stripper ’66 Chevelle for $2,271 and spend $4,219 on engine, brake, and suspension modifications; it would be less sporty-looking than the 911, but who cares? So, what’s it going to be?

*The base ’66 Corvette would probably get eaten up by the 911 at any non-dragstrip venue, so this price includes the 425-horsepower L72 engine, close-ratio 4-speed transmission, limited-slip differential, heavy-duty brakes and suspension, and “off-road” exhaust, with enough money left over for an eyeball-melting paint job.

**Based on this reference.

The first car I owned wasn’t very exciting – it was a 1988 Ford Aerostar that I bought from the guy down the street for $250. The paint was peeling, it was missing a seat, the air conditioning had to be re-charged every 6 months and the transmission overheated four times on my way from California to Texas. When I completed my educational sentence, I treated myself to a lightly used 1997 Eagle Vision TSi. In 2000, I was probably the youngest person to ever lease a Chrysler LHS. A few years down the road, I married into a GMC Envoy (that’s my excuse and I’m stickin’ to it.) In 2006, flush with cash from investments and a perfectly timed real estate sale, I decided it was time for a “grown-up car”.

Being the anal retentive over-analyzer I am, the process of what car to buy had to begin with charts and figures. Sure, the options on-board varied widely and included the Honda Civic Hybrid, Lexis IS350, VW Passat 3.6 4Motion sedan and wagon, BMW 330, Mercedes-Benz C350, Audi S4 Avant, Acura TL, Chrysler 300c and Volvo S60R and V70R. All pertinent information from EuroNCAP crash test results to transmission options, legroom, 0-60 times, and anti-whiplash data was entered into my mile-long spreadsheet, clearly highlighting the top contenders: the IS350, Audi A4, Acura TL, Passat and Vovlo’s R models. The Civic was a nod to the practical solo-carpool stickers in California at the time, but as it turned out, my better half would rather have been attacked by cannibals.

My first stop was the Audi dealer. Unable to get the time of day from a sales person, let alone a test drive, the luscious S4 was crossed off the list early. The Acura TL failed the “luxury doo-dads test” when we discovered the passenger seat, while powered, had an extremely limited range of motion. Of course, it also lacked AWD which was a feature we really wanted, and I didn’t like the clutch feel.

My financially frugal side demanded the “budget” Volkswagen Passat get higher billing than the IS350 or the Volvo R, but there was just one problem keeping me from owning the people’s mid-size wagon – Volkswagen dealers. Because I was motivated by the Passat’s lower price tag, I lugged my spouse to every VW dealer in the San Francisco Bay area. Sadly, as can often happen in the business world, the best products fail to sell because of crappy sales people. The first dealer didn’t think we were serious about buying a VW because we pulled up in a 4 year old Volvo. The second dealer didn’t have any sales people available because they were all having a BBQ in the back and couldn’t be bothered. The third VW dealer drove us around in the Passat rather than let us behind the wheel. The fourth VW dealer kindly let us drive the car but slapped my wrists when I floored it from a stop (on a quiet country road, with zero traffic and just after he told us how fast the Passat 3.6 was.) The fifth dealer put the hard sell on as soon as we walked in the door. Needless to say I was in the dog house for even mentioning a sixth dealer.

The IS350 was a longshot. It was the only RWD vehicle to make it on the list (the AWD version was not available at the time) and by far the smallest. The IS was on the list for two reasons: acres of wood trim and a reputation for bullet-proof reliability. Indeed, the IS350 was fast, smooth and miles ahead of the 2006 Mercedes and BMW products in terms of interior refinement. There was just one problem: you’d have to literally be legless to sit in the back seat. With the driver’s seat adjusted for my 6-foot frame, there was literally half an inch between the seat back and the rear seat cushion. Despite the attentive and low pressure sales, we had to cross the IS off our list. In contrast to the VW dealers, we received a nice thank you card in the mail from the Lexus dealer. Nice touch.

This left only two vehicles on the list: the S60R and the V70R. This was a make-or-break moment for our local Volvo dealer and fortunately they came out a winner. In my mind there was no question. A 300HP AWD wagon with a 6-speed manual gearbox was the ultimate dad wagon. OK, so I still don’t have kids, but the formula still applies. Who could ask for more? It was love at first sight, from the vertical rear window to the quirky exhaust note of the 5-cylinder turbocharged engine. Again, my better half was far from amused. The clincher on the mommy-mobile sale? Overseas delivery.

On June 25 , 2006 we hopped on a plane bound for Gothenburg, Sweden to pick up our V70R. For those not familiar with the process, here’s how it works. You buy the car through a local dealer, you sign the contract and pick some preliminary dates. When Volvo has accepted the order, they schedule the production window and you can then book your flights. (Volvo pays for two round-trip tickets on SAS from anywhere in the US.) About one month from your pickup date, you’re expected to either pay cash for the car or start your financing payments (loan or lease). Eventually you hop on a plane, fly to Sweden and are picked up at the airport by a Volvo limo which takes you to the hotel where Volvo has paid for one night’s stay. The next day you get a factory tour and the ability to spend yet more money on Volvo accessories which the factory will install for you. Eventually, you’re out on your own (unless you purchased a package holiday from Volvo) free to make a bee-line straight to Germany to play on the Autobahn. Our search was over.

It is important to remember that Volvo’s R models hit 300 turbocharged horses and 300lb-ft of flat torque curve in 2004, years before BMW and Audi’s new 3.0L twin turbos came on the scene. Once back in America, the V70R was as unreliable as any European vehicle needing to visit the dealer for a warrantied repair every few months. Still, there’s something about a fast wagon that continued to enchant me. Perhaps it was blowing the doors off a stock Mustang GT, or beating that E46 M3 at the stoplight races every time. In a station wagon. Of course, driving your European souvenir around town wasn’t half bad either.The reality of course is that the dealer continued to be the best brand advocate possible, always apologizing for any issues we had and going out of their way to get the car in for immediate service and provide the courtesy car of my choice whenever it was in for service.

After 90,000 miles and four years it was time to part with my Swedish babe for the same reason Derek and Brendan parted with theirs: a house. Four years later, we sold our pride and joy to a happy man from Minnesota for $19,500. I’d like to say that our “Fast Brick” lives on inside our new home, but I’d be lying. I loved my V70R dearly, but at the end of the day, the house was more important and I have this feeling I’ll love my next European delivery just as much. Will my next Euro crush hail from the land of ABBA? I can’t be sure. What I am sure of however, is that my dealership experiences have colored my shopping future.

Derek Kreindler is pondering selling his lovely BRG Miata and using the funds as “a down payment on a home of my own.” *Sigh.* Here on the West Coast of Canada, I’d have had to sell my (imaginary) Aventador to pull off the same trick. Spend half-a-million bucks: get half-a-bunkbed in some split-level commune. Pot to piss in, not included.

But that’s not his point, it’s whether or not to let the First One go. The first car you paid for with your own money. That first taste of wheeled freedom. Be it ever so humble, you’ll never walk away from your first without a twinge of regret and many backwards glances.

I remember when I did it.

Funnily enough, my first was also a Mazda product: an ’88 Mazda MX-6 GT. It couldn’t have been more different than the Miata though: wrong-wheel drive, muscle-car weight distribution, styling by Sir Arthur Doorstop. Kissing cousin to one of the worst-named cars ever, the Ford Probe, the MX-6 was a touring coupe in the manner of the Integra or the Celica, but floppier than either. Most were automatic: think Toyota Solara designed by someone who only had a ruler.

I too withdrew what was – to me – a large sum of money in a non-descript envelope and nervously got on public transit. The trip took me far from the ivory towers of my University campus, deep into the East Side of Vancouver. Those days, it was a place of fringe-thinkers and alternative living, public parks full of discarded hypodermics and the air redolent with mary-jane.

Nowadays, condos starting at $865,000. 50% sold. DON’T MISS OUT.

And there she was. Red. Stick-shift. No damn sunrooof. A enormous bright pink “PRINCESS” sticker on the back window like a tramp-stamp, which was the style at the time. Love at first sight? Nope, love at first drive.

The ’6′s front tires were balder than Billy Corgan; some mass-market generic brand that has since collapsed into obscurity. When I shifted into second and walked on it, used to the heavy-footedness required to get the family Land Rover up to speed, the MX stuck its nose in the air and said, “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!”, laying a patch for half a block. SOLD.

When I think back on it, perhaps not my best negotiation. Had it ever been in any accidents? “Uh, not sure.” Well, it clearly had. The spoiler had a giant dent in it and there was some bondo’ing under the rear passenger-side tail-light that looked like 3rd-grader papier-mache. I think I offered $100 less than ask and the seller grasped for my hand like I was throwing him a life-ring (the Princess thing: it was his girlfriend’s car). Oh well, done deal.

Whatever condition it might have been in, the MX was tougher than nails. JDM and EUDM models got a lovely 16-valve 2.0L engine called the FE3 or FE-DOHC that is even now quite desirable as a swap. If you’re interested Derek, you can make it fit into a Miata with an FC RX-7 transmission.

In North America, we got a truck motor: the iron-block 2.2L 12v engine out of the B2200. As the late-80s/early-90s were the era of GT-means-turbo, the engineers hung a teeny-tiny snail off the exhaust manifold and called it a day. It made about 6.5lbs of boost and gave you about 145hp. It also might just be the torque-steerin’-est car ever made, as the restrictive head meant you had 190lb/ft of surgetastic torque on tap any time you tried to pass. A ‘Speed3 is an absolute pussycat by comparison.

Around about this time, the increasing prevalence of automotive forums meant that you could get advice – mostly bad – on how to modify your car. Unfortunately, the MX-6 had all the aftermarket support of a Goggomobil. I bought the very last short-throw shifter in Western Canada: it had been sitting on a shelf so long that the box was partially decomposed. Maybe Jesus built your hot rod; I bought most of my parts from Methusela.

Luckily, the lack of readily available go-fast goodies meant that the few MX-6 loving lunatics out there were oracles of barn-door ingenuity and do-it-yourself low-budgetry. I had access to my Dad’s tools, and a Ph.D in automotive cursing. LET’S DO THIS.

And boom goes the dynamite.

Taking this picture was a monumentally bad idea. Guesstimating from the dyno results of similarly-modified cars, the ’6 was making about 280 lb/ft of torque at 3500 rpm, with no limited-slip diff, nor equal-length half-shafts, or electronic trickery, nor even particularly accurate steering. I absolutely loved it.

There was nothing like the 1-2 shift in this quick-spooling front-driver to put a grin on your face. Every time you’d get bark and scrabble, wrestle with the steering and then a surge as everything around you went backwards. It was red. I was twenty-something. I believe the local constabulary were able to open a library wing with my, um, donations.

14.2 in the quarter, but it wasn’t just that it was quick, it was mine. I broke it, then I fixed it. I installed the rocker arms upside-down (don’t ask), drove it a couple hundred miles, and then figured out my mistake. No problem. Stripped second gear and blew a headgasket: bought a parts car for $200, took what I needed and sold the leftovers for $300. Some lady backed across three lanes of traffic and whacked into the quarter-panel. Settled privately and spend the money on an mandrel-bent turboback instead.

The MX-6 was like a faithful retriever, soaking up all the abuse as I pulled at its ears and poked its snout. It’d let me down from time to time, but not unless I’d done something stupid like forget to re-clamp the intercooler hoses.

But then it was time. I knew. I’d met this girl and things were – happening. At the 1/8th mile drags a buddy had simply smoked me with his WRX wagon and I’d always wanted one of those. Maybe in a little while…

She went to Australia for an elective, me to follow in three weeks. I put the MX-6 up for sale and only one guy showed. I took him around the car pointing out the dents and dings, the drip from the tranny, the tick that meant one of the hydraulic lashers was going. He looked non-plussed. “Well, maybe take me for a spin. You drive.” I hit second hard. He didn’t ask for a single dollar off.

I took the cash, pretty much what I’d paid, rode my bike down to a Jeweller’s and paid for the engagement ring I’d picked out weeks ago. Obviously it took a bit more than an old Mazda to cover things, but it was a symbolic gesture. My most prized possession, now in another form, to be given away as a promise.

I miss this car a lot. I wonder if she’s still out there somewhere, though I doubt it. But I don’t have a single regret about letting her go. Sometimes, you just need to know when to hold them, and when to walk away.

Goddam Kenny Rogers.

Both cars are still in faithful-if-intermittent service, the Landie as a sort of farm tractor, the MG as the tinkerer’s delight. However, if you’ve the patience, I’d like to tell you about my dad’s real car.

These days, the oul grey fellah pilots one hell of a boulevard-strafer: a six-speed-manual E60 550i M-Sport. It’s his sechste Funfer, and marks a quarter-century of 5-series ownership. To my mind though, he only ever had one.

I don’t know if it’s possible to overstate the impact the 535i made when it showed up in our quiet little cul-de-sac in small town BC. Yes, that’s an honest-to-Christ Gremlin in the neighbour’s driveway, and some sort of abysmal Chrysler product off to the left.

Surrounded by this sort of automotive dreck, the bronzitbeige E28 made an entrance about as subtle as a Panzerkampfwagen popping out between two Dutch hay-ricks circa operation Market Garden. Always assuming you knew what it actually was.

If you didn’t, you might just think that this mid-sized, silverish four-door was a sensible, if shark-nosed, family sedan. While the twin-kidney grille and quad-headlamp front end are iconic BMW (and now Chevy Sonic), this was an age when Bavarian styling was a bit more reserved. What’s more, they’d spent the early part of the decade putting out some pretty limp Bratwurst. I should know: we owned them too.

My dad’s first 5-series was an E12 which I have only the vaguest memories of: it was kind of okay, I think. That car was shortly replaced by a 533i (we never had an eta car, thank you very much), which had an automatic transmission and a burgundy velour interior that looked like a microscopic photograph of someone’s intestinal villi.

These days, everybody’s auto-box can be slotted into some sort of manual mode if you’d still like to row your own from time to time. In those days, you couldn’t, which of course didn’t stop Dad. When he brought the 533i in for a routine service, the awed technicians returned with a sample of transmission fluid as black as a pint of Guinness.

What had he being doing to the car? “Using it.” Auf wiedersen automatic 5-series, guten tag Herr 5-speed 535i.

And as with many things, third time’s the charm, and this E28 535i would be with us for more than two decades – but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Firstly, a few numbers. Back in the day, before years and mileage meant a few horses escaped the barn, the 535i was putting out 182hp and 214lb/ft of torque. With about 3200lbs of teutonic heft to lug around, one needn’t have expected any particularly jaw-dropping performance numbers: 0-60 times in the high-sevens, quarter mile in 16-point-something.

Slow by today’s standards, but quick back in the day, and the stats don’t tell the tale. Not by half.

Shortly after this picture was taken, we left the little cul-de-sac and moved West, out of the Fraser Valley flood-plain and up into the hills that sit South, close to the U.S. Border. It was a home-coming of sorts; my folks had been renting out this place for years while they traipsed around the province for my Dad’s work.

It was a wild place then, a wee house nestled amongst the trees on a gravel road that twisted for three or four miles, and that after ten miles of heaved and rumpled, serpentine pavement climbing up from the valley floor. The 5-series took to the terrain like it was coming back to the Black Forest.

Neither my brother nor I are prone to car-sickness. This is an excellent thing as the old man was not one to muck about. What’s the point of owning an Ultimate Driving Machine if you’re not going to drive it?

Then, when his boys grew up, they cut their teeth behind the wheel of one of Munich’s finest. Even now I remember what it was like to drive this car in its prime, that lusty low-end torque giving way to the thrilling song of a big straight-six. The future may be turbocharged, but the blue-and-white roundel was always at their best when they lined the cylinders up in a row and ran the results through a centre-mounted exhaust.

Back when its bushings still had the firmness of youth and the recirculating-ball steering had yet to start feeling somewhat slack, it was a true joy to run the 535i home after a late-night session cramming for provincial exams. I’d beg for the keys every time, and you never had to take it easy with Dad riding shotgun: on the contrary, once while merging on the on-ramp, the instruction was, “Speed up! You’re entering the freeway, not a bloody convent!”

Half-a-million klicks on the odo, and the Bimmer’s cluster quit counting. Who knows how many more we put on the car in the following years, but you can be assured they were hard miles. The best example I can think of is my brother clipping a cement block on some late-night drive and puncturing the oil-pan. Not knowing what else to do, this being in the days before cel-phones, he drove the 5-er back to his place, the sump nearly bone dry.

Total damage to car? One oilpan, one gasket. Try pulling that sort of shenanigan with any one of today’s brittle smartphones-on-wheels.

And then, one day, the ignominious end. I’d bought myself a MX-6 GT and done some backyard tuning to it: it was bright red and ran 14s, what did I care for some long-in-the tooth German car?

My dad now had himself an E34 540i. My brother had inherited the 535i, but was finding the arthritic rattles somewhat alarming, not to mention the gaping cancer in the rockers and the awful fuel-economy of the big six. For a couple hundred bucks, we traded it in on a sensible base ’91 Mazda MX-6 at some corner lot.
We called back later, something to do with documentation on that stuck-speedometer, but the car was gone. Some kid? A wrecker? Who knows.

At the time, we were glad to be shot of it: a machine that had served its purpose well, but was beyond pouring money into. Now though, I feel we could have done better for such a faithful steed.

It was the car I took my driving test in and, when the time came, the car I helped my younger brother learn to drive in. It’s the car I got my first speeding ticket in, and the car in which I first talked my way out of a speeding ticket. It’s the car I took to prom, the car in which I learned I don’t really know anything about women (still don’t).

I look at these two little boys and think of how their lives once completely overlapped. How now our family is now three circles in a Venn diagram, pulled apart by three new centres: myself and my wife, he and his fiancee, my father and mother.

We each live our own lives now, spread out and different, coming together at holidays and keeping in touch by phone. But looking at a photograph like this, I remember.

I remember sitting passenger side in the rear, remember the sideways pressure of the last curve before the single straight you could pass on, remember flashing past an old pickup truck, remember hearing the revs climb.

I can see my father now, in profile, a man in his prime, hewn by hours at spadework and the axe, sure of himself, with sons and wife and a piece of land in a country that let him choose the life he has. Not an easy life by any means; a life of labour, struggle, toil and burden.

But worth it, for times such as these. Worth it to feel the tires grip, to feel the chassis pivot, and hear your boys laugh, to feel the back-end squat as you find third, and the car lifts like a horse raising its head as it smells its stable and quickens its pace, heading for home.

Even when on vacation, I can’t help tripping over interesting stuff. In this case, quite literally. Ouch. My toe’s still bleeding.

We’re on the windward side of Oahu, a low-key family-style vacation where I normally eschew the madding crowds of people who are better looking than me, embracing instead a backyard chaise-longue and a local IPA. It is in no way, shape or form a hard-knock life.

This is one face of the real Hawai’i and the folks here are as relaxed and bronzed as well you might expect. They’re also used to a quiet life, and many are retirees from various places on the mainland. As a member of the informal network that arises out of the bridge, bunko and bbq circuit, my wife’s aunt asks me if I want to take a look at couple of old cars belonging to a friend’s recently deceased husband. What kind? “Oh an old Bentley and I think a Mercedes.”

Well, here’s the “Mercedes”. Turns out it’s a 1937 Rolls-Royce which predeceased its previous owner only very slightly. The car used to be daily driven: you could see its graceful carriage wafting among the palms, along the Pali or the Likelike highway into Honolulu.

Same story with this one. Another pre-war artistocrat, this pre-war Bentley was driven by the gentleman’s son for many years, until it too became a Garage Countessa. Being so close to the water, the salt air pits the chrome mercilessly.

Aside from the two gargantuan Britannic majesties, this place is stuffed to the rafters with all manner of cast-iron goodness. Some of which, as mentioned, wreaks its bloody havoc on my be-flip-flopped foot. I blame Jonny Lieberman.

Here, for instance, is the engine out of a pre-WWI plane. Don’t ask me to be more specific than that: no doubt the man who added it to his Aladdin’s Cave could have given you chapter and verse, but its current caretaker doesn’t have the specifics. It’s off to a museum, not a collector.

Transfer cases, gear boxes, a cider-press from the early part of the century. Some would call this hoarding behaviour, but to me it’s evidence of the gravity well that exists inside even the best-kept garage.

More than that though, it’s the legacy of a man who kept taking things on right up to the end. Doubtless he felt that all these spares would be organized, all these tools sharpened, all these machines made to run again.

But in the end, entropy rules. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, rubber to rot, chassis to rust.

These beasts will roar again. They’re special enough to be reborn, although this level of necromancy is surely going to require that they leave their tropical island home to be shipped to some team of mainland craftsman. To return? Not likely.

The folks across the street have a Nissan Leaf, and photovoltaic panels on their roof. Sensible, but forgive me if I’d rather have this garage full of whimsy.

So let this be spurs to your own desire. Even in paradise, there’s no time to waste!

One of the most famous cars in the world is one of the most despised cars on my very short list of despised cars.

Hell – who am I kidding? I love all old cars more than most people.

But I don’t love the General Lee.

I love 1969 Chargers- maybe not as much as ’68 Chargers – but I hate the General Lee. I have never even watched ten minutes of ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’, but I also hate this old TV show – probably more than the General Lee.

Sadly, I have seen the commercials and ‘highlights’ from ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’ and the horrible carnage of too many ’69 Chargers sailing through the air toward a very uncertain future. I am no expert on physics, but I do know that large cars will fold like a cheap suitcase every time they get launched into a low orbit and return to earth.

The TV show was a rip-off from the Burt Reynolds “Bandit” movies that starred a Firebird Trans Am. The herd of ‘TA Birds were not thinned as drastically because movies are not filmed on a weekly basis, unlike ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’.

As a result, many 1969 Chargers were harmed during the filming of this highly forgettable TV show. This ridiculous excuse for a TV show wiped out a big chunk of 1969 Chargers and infringed on ’68 and ‘70 models during the process.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not a sophisticated comedy guy. In fact I love the Three Stooges almost as much as I love old vehicles, but Moe and the boys were smart enough to inflict most of their damage on themselves and other people in the successful pursuit of comedy. The idjits behind ‘The Dukes of Hazard’ simply wiped out vintage Chargers every episode, and that is a very serious eye-poke-worthy offense.

Excuse me if I feel nothing but contempt for the General Lee. It is the ugly bastard child of a brutally bad TV show that only serves as a sad reminder of the extermination of a fine car model from the Mopar boys.

In a perfect utopian world, the next General Lee that goes over a cliff would have every one of the bozos who created this TV monster strapped inside and screaming like girls.

For more of Jim Sutherland’s work go to mystarcollectorcar.com

Of course, it isn’t, it’s British. It stranded me six times, the lights don’t work and it usually requires help to start. That is life with an MG Midget.

But I was right. It is different.

You learn things with an MG, and not just “Never have an MG for a daily.”

You learn that most pickups are just too big. Not just Excursions and Escalades. In the Midwest, there is a preponderance of quad cabs heavy-duty pickups. You stare right at their lugs in the little car. Sure, it’s amusing at stop lights, but unsettling on the highway. I have developed a newfound dislike of 20-inch wheels.

You learn that a frown is impossible while driving, unless it is raining. In that case, the top is up and no one can see you.  Even then, you are probably laughing like a mad hatter.  At least that is what I did during record rainfall, flash-flooding and road closures last spring. That morning, I took the only vehicle at my disposal on my 33-mile journey to work.

Two of the highways were under water and impassable, resulting in a commute in an ill suited vehicle for twice my normal drive.

You learn that old British cars are terrible in the rain. You knew this, but you cannot embrace it until you have lived it.

The top is merely a suggestion, electrics are useless and it hydroplanes on any body of water bigger than a sponge.

Approaching a road underneath 2 feet of flowing water, I remembered this. I may be crazy, but I ain’t quite that stupid. As I waited for the traffic in the opposing lane to pass before I would execute my U turn, the aforementioned oversized truck rolled up behind me, unable to grasp my reluctance to pilot 49 inch-tall car into newly formed urban rapids. So the laughing may actually be a result of a mental condition, brought upon by some form of Chinese water torture while driving, or a pre-existing condition that led to the purchase to begin with.

You learn that MGs require commitment, and a Midget requires dedication just to enter the car. As a 40 year-old, 6-foot male, it does require some warm-up stretching to enter the vehicle, especially if the top is up.

You learn not to leave the top up because the charging system sucks.  The top prevents you from bump starting it.  The best hope is to push, leap in it Jackie Chan-style and pop the clutch. Ideally, this fires the motor and you race into the sunset in a plume of oil smoke, almost overcoming the embarrassment of the ordeal. This procedure doesn’t apply if you have friends, but they will soon abandon you.

Not because the car is heavy at 1600 pounds, but because they will be known as the guys or gals, (yes, it happened) who always push that dorky little car. Unless it is an extreme case, you are better off just pushing the thing yourself.

You learn to talk to strangers. There will be plenty of them. You have to be nuts, but you cannot be an introvert. At barely longer than a Suburban’s wheelbase, the height of a computer desk, and the width of a college cheerleader, an MG gets attention. You cannot fill it, wash it, or leave a restaurant without a comment. Miata owners wave, strapped-in children point excitedly and retirees nod knowingly.  If I wasn’t happily married I could parlay this little devil into several dinner dates. Cheap dinners at that, because an MG at a drive-in s much more fun than a minivan. Except when you don’t have a room and need a Minivan.

You learn that while this car makes you young, explaining it can make you old. Two twenty something’s stopped to compliment the car as I folded into it. “Cool car, what is it?” I smiled, “It’s a Midget.” They stared as blankly as they would at a typewriter. “An MG Midget.” I furthered. Nothing. I ended with “It’s an old British car.” They smiled and drove off. It was disappointing. Both were of drinking age. Also, I really could have used the help pushing. So if you hate feeling old, don’t buy an obscure little car that was born when you started walking.

Finally, you learn that aside from getting a daily driving lesson, none of this changes your perspective; it’s just where you take it and how much extra to build into the itinerary. With a more reliable vehicle in the stable, it has seen reduced usage, and as the leaves turn and the sun sets earlier, it will be spending more time in the garage. But maybe by spring, I can chase down that short in the headlight circuit.

It seems unlikely that anyone in 2037 will be inclined to keep a 2012 BMW 650ci in such excellent condition as the 1987 635CSi pictured above -and even if such a thing happens, will said 650i make it that far into the future without a catastrophic electronics failure rendering it a two-ton paperweight? Although Jack and Steve have offered their own context on older cars, mine will be different. I’m still not yet legally able to rent a car on my own. This 635CSi was built before I was even born, so driving it gives me a glimpse into the past, but without the benefit (or handicap) of contemporaneous context.

Ari, the owner of the gorgeous example in the title picture, was the first of our group to have a car, a navy blue Dodge Intrepid that was used as a detective’s car. At the age of 18, telling girls that “I have my own car” was considered the height of comedy, with all the associated dissonance of knowing that it was bound to deliver poor returns.

The Intrepid died sometime in the winter of 2008 only to be replaced by something far more interesting – a 1987 E24 BMW 635CSi. Ari’s Dad had always wanted a BMW, but could never justify the cost of one – the fleet of trucks needed for his contracting business was a priority, and he had a fully loaded Sierra 2500 Duramax for himself, which probably cost as much as a nicely equipped 5-Series. It’s easy to see how Ari’s dad finally justified this purchase: it was in incredible shape, with only 64,000 miles on the clock and a set of authentic AC Schnitzer rims. Ari’s mom promptly managed to destroy one of them after hitting a median at speeds near 50 mph, and a replacement couldn’t be found. For the rest of its life, the car wore E39 M5 wheels – and Ari became its sole driver, with his mom getting a Volvo wagon for the daily grind.

I was lucky enough to drive the CSi on a couple occasions over the years, and those moments are responsible for informing me on how cars, particularly BMWs, used to behave. It wasn’t muted and comfortable like the E39 or any post-Bangle BMW. Rather, it felt a bit rougher around the edges, in the same way that my Miata feels crude compared to a modern MX-5. The big I6 was only rated for 182 horsepower but felt much zestier than its output figure would suggest. The one flaw in the package was the slow, ponderous-feeling recirculating-ball steering which felt dated to someone used to more precise rack-and-pinion systems.

For most people our age, the 635CSi was just a cool looking BMW from a bygone era. For those who knew better, it was a portal to another era of the automobile, before iDrive, Bluetooth and “aspirational brands”, a driving experience that was distinctly analogue and imperfect, but with a fidelity unmatched by modern methods.  Driven back to back with any current BMW, you’d hardly know that the E24 shares a common lineage with the current crop of cars. A quarter century of “progress” has led to the 6-Series gaining two extra cylinders, two turbochargers, 3 extra forward gears and a suite of electronics that would be inconceivable in 1987. Unfortunately, Ari lost his job right around the time that the radiator, brakes and exhaust system all needed replacing, and he decided to quickly sell the car rather than wait it out and try and repair the car at a later date. Had he possessed some extra money and inclination, the 635csi could have easily ran another 25 years.

I remember looking at the then brand new Ford Five Hundred and thinking to myself, “This would make one heck of a Volvo.”

Like the Volvos of yore this Ford offered a squarish conservative appearance. A high seating position which Volvo’s ‘safety oriented’ customers would have appreciated. Toss in a cavernous interior that had all the potential for a near-luxury family car, or even a wagon, and this car looked more ‘Volvo’ than ‘Ford’ to me with each passing day.

Something had to be done…

Hmmm… why not subtract ‘twenty’ from the Five Hundred name. Call it a 480, and put in a nice classic Volvo styled fascia on the front end. Throw in an interior inspired by the best of Swedish design and, Voila! Ford would have offered a Volvo that would have hit the square peg of the brand’s main customers… and maybe even a few others who were considering an upscale Camry or a Lexus ES.

Sadly Ford never made a Volvo version of the Five Hundred, or the Flex for that matter. Instead they mis-balanced the diverging priorities of competing simultaneously with BMW (S40′s, C30′s, S60′s) and conservative middle-aged Americans who valued luxury transport over driving dynamics (Xc90, XC60, C70).  The brand became a disaster.

I am starting to see the same ingredients mixed into other brands these days. Take for instance Scion.

Yes this brand will get a nice pop and halo in the form of the upcoming FR-S. Then again, halo sports cars that are shared with other brands tend to be short-lived. Just ask Pontiac and Saturn about the Solstice and the Sky.

So what would be the perfect car to put into Scion’s kinship?

Two years ago I would have strongly argued for making the CT200h a Scion. It didn’t have the luxury trappings of a Lexus. However it offered tons of sporting character and attracted the type of youthful and educated audience that Scion sorely needed at that point.

You know. The type of people that quickly walked away from Scion after they started marketing bloated SUV-like compacts that should have been marketed as… Toyotas… or Volvos. Who knows.

Wait a second. YOU know!

A lot of potentially great cars over the years have been marketed to the wrong brands for the wrong reasons.  So I ask the B&B, “What cars were given the wrong brand, and where should they have gone?”.

Like most marketing classes in modern day MBA-land there are no right answers. Just SWAG’s and opinions. Feel free to demote a Cadillac to a Chevy if you must. So long as you can defend it, let’s hear it.

Last fall, the first tests of the new Chevy Caprice PPV, Dodge Charger Pursuit and Ford Taurus Interceptor generated quite a bit of interest here at TTAC and beyond, as three all-new contestants battled to replace the outgoing Crown Victoria as America’s cop car. At the time, the Caprice seemed like the clear performance favorite, but as Sajeev Mehta has pointed out, there’s more to the cop-car equation than pure speed. Although good luck trying to tell the Detroit Three that, as all three are cherry-picking performance stats in the wake of the latest round of Michigan State Police testing.

• Chrysler arguably has the biggest performance win to brag about, noting that the “fastest-ever lap time at Grattan Raceway [1:33.70] highlights Dodge Charger Pursuit V-8 as the police sedan with the best combination of acceleration, braking, handling and dynamics.” The V8 Dodge also recorded the fastest 0-60 and 0-100 times of the trio, thanks to an optional acceleration-biased 3.06 rear axle ratio and a revised engine management system that allows top speeds of up to 151 MPH (all new for 2012, along with upgraded brakes). For the record, that 1:33:70 time is exactly three seconds faster than the Charger’s best lap time last year.
• After “creaming” the competition last fall, it seems GM was caught a bit flat-footed by Mopars upgrades, and its press release makes no mention of its lap time (its best lap time last year was a 1:35:80). Instead The General brags about the Caprice’s leading top speed (154 MPH) and 60-0 braking (125.8 ft). And despite last year’s “LS-X FTW” talk, the Caprice V6 turns out to be the most impressive model, beating both the Charger V6 and the Taurus non-Turbo V6 in 60-0 mph braking, top speed and acceleration.
• As predicted last year by Sajeev, Ford’s Taurus appears to be something of a performance back-marker. Ford’s presser doesn’t mention a single performance statistic, instead seeming to coast on the Panther-Interceptor’s coattails with bullet points like “Now police departments and other law enforcement agencies can get an all-new, American-made vehicle with the expected durability and price of the popular Crown Victoria.” Ford’s only performance argument is that the Taurus Ecoboost outperforms the Crown Vic… a stunningly low bar to set (even the Impala 3.6 hits a higher top speed than the EcoBoost Interceptor).

But, as we’ve pointed out, efficiency and reliability are for more important for police fleet buyers than outright performance. If Ford can make good on the promise that it will match the Crown Vic’s durability, and can prove that its Ecoboost engine will reliably offer better efficiency than the Dodge and Chevy V8s, it might make an argument for itself. But in a world where police departments are actually hoarding Crown Vics, there’s always going to be resistance to ditching the rear-drive V8 model for the perceived complexity of AWD and a turbocharged V6.

But because the performance differences between the Chevy and the Dodge are relatively small and because performance isn’t the overriding concern for police fleet buyers, Dodge’s lap record at MSP testing may be the most significant achievement in this year’s MSP testing, for reasons that have nothing to do with prospective police sales. With the Crown Vic gone and the competition for the definitive police vehicle thrown wide open, these annual Michigan State Police tests are beginning to take on the feel of a classic Detroit proxy war, not unlike the illegal drag racing that took place on Woodward Avenue at the height of the muscle car era. And because Dodge offers high-performance versions of its Charger to the general public, its ability to beat back the Australian-built, unobtainable-to-civilians Caprice could give it something of a halo to enthusiasts. Even Ford, which sells a Taurus SHO that’s not entirely unlike the new Interceptor, can leverage police performance testing results into a brand halo. Only GM, which stubbornly refuses to offer the Caprice as a civilian model, seems to be oblivious to the civilian-market implications of what is rapidly becoming an annual Detroit showdown.

With racing becoming increasingly detached from the vehicles available for sale to the general public, police performance testing is one of the last factory-backed competitions between cars that are available for sale to the general public. In short, it’s the kind of spectacle that drove the muscle car era… and have since disappeared. As the brand that’s most dependent on continued sales of V8-powered, large  rear-drive sedans, it’s no wonder Dodge upgraded its Charger in order to come away with a narrow win this year. Maybe next year Chevy should hit back… and then capitalize on the rivalry by making a Caprice available to civilians.

The Michigan State Police have not yet released full test results for 2012 model-year vehicles. TTAC will post these results as soon as they become available. Past test results can be found here. 

Bertel’s provocative piece on SaabUnited’s complex relationship with Saab and Vladimir Antonov has drawn a predictable response from the Saab faithful, who have rushed to defend their beloved but troubled  brand as well as its mysterious Russian “savior.” The outburst of anger at TTAC, though harsh to the point of almost blaming TTAC for Saab’s sorry state, is nothing new around these parts: TTAC has long angered the die-hard fans of many auto brands by calling for (or simply covering) the demise of brands that have outlived their usefulness to the market. Even the most basic understanding of TTAC’s history explains away the now-popular (in certain corners) theory that this site has a personal vendetta for Saab. On the other hand, perhaps we’ve been too focused on day-to-day developments to properly make the case for why Saab, sadly, needs to die. Luckily the reasons for Saab’s inevitable demise are not difficult to understand…

Perhaps the first issue to cover in an overview of Saab’s troubled state is the “GM era,” a 20-year period which Saab fans and detractors alike can agree was not the brand’s best. But, while GM is cast as the villain in most accounts of Saab’s recent history, the numbers actually prove that GM’s stewardship was able to turn around some troubling downward momentum in Saab’s global sales volume. As this extended global sales chart for Saab’s entire history (through 2007) proves, GM actually returned Saab to within spitting distance of its all-time sales volume record of 123,112 units, set back in 1987 after arresting its 1987-1993 sales free-fall.

Even more damning are the global sales numbers from 2009 and 2010, when Saab was going through its traumatic divorce from GM and troubled rescue attempt, which included a flirtation with the supercar maker Koenigsegg, as well as the sale of old IP to China’s BAIC and the ultimate sale to Spyker. In 2009, Saab sold 39,827 retail units. Last year Saab produced 32,048 units and sold 31,696, a full 100k units off of its GM-era plateau, when the brand was losing $5,000 per car.

Of course, volume doesn’t tell the whole story. Though GM arguably saved Saab by purchasing 50 percent of its equity back in 1989, Saab’s sojourn in the GM family was not a happy one, in ways that can’t be explained with a sales chart. Though Saab maintained ostensibly independent operations while a GM subsidiary, the transition to shared platforms and mechanicals spelled an end to Saab’s identity as a truly independent manufacturer (a process that had begun pre-GM, with the joint development with Fiat of the “Type Four” platform). I’ll leave a discussion of Saab’s loss of identity under GM for another moment, but needless to say that Saab’s inability to break through its 130k annual unit sales plateau speaks to GM’s willingness to dump the brand. And the fact that this occurred with “nary a tear” from that infamous lover of doomed brands and cool cars, Bob Lutz (who was saddened by the demise of Saturn and Pontiac), says plenty about the kinds of cars Saab was making under GM.

But the problem with Saab, ultimately, is not that it “makes bad cars.” That a vocal number of fans are deeply passionate about Saab vehicles, whether built under Spyker, GM or an independent Saab, indicates that Saab’s are not inherently unlovable or fundamentally flawed vehicles. Unfortunately, automotive history is only too well-stocked with defunct brands and manufacturers who went out of business despite selling cars that could capture the love and loyalty of a vocal minority. The reality, however, is that (though exerting a deeply emotional pull) cars are a business. That GM lost over $5k per Saab built between 2001 and 2009 indicates how flawed a business proposition Saab has been for so long (especially considering that GM brought volume back to the brand’s all-time high while using shared platforms).

Thanks to the deeply emotional connection Saab buyers feel towards the brand, one might even make the argument that Saab is worth investing in and overhauling, despite its long record of losing money and failing to achieve a sustainable business model. Though some might argue that Saab lost enough brand identity in the GM era to make such a proposition laughable on its face, it’s worth looking at the possibility (it certainly is to Messrs. Muller and Antonov).

And luckily we have a worthwhile comparison in Jaguar/Land Rover, another marginal European luxury brand that was sold at nearly the same time by Ford. Though Jaguar is a lower-volume luxury brand than Saab, its turnaround will cost its new owners no less than $8.2b, according to the Financial Times. Without even getting too caught up in the differences between JLR and Saab’s business models, what’s clear is that seriously turning around even a low-volume brand requires the backing of a large parent company and a huge amount of investment. If TTAC has been dismissive of Saab’s recent strategy of securing $30 million here, $30 million there, and a few hundred million in government debt, it’s because of precisely this fact. If a turnaround doesn’t begin with serious funding and a committed backer, it’s doomed to fail.

There’s a (possibly apocryphal) story about Henry Kaiser’s post-WWII announcement that he would spend $100 million ($1.25 billion in inflation-adjusted 2011 dollars) to build a car company to challenge the Detroit titans. At the time (1945), GM’s CEO Alfred P. Sloan supposedly quipped “give the gentleman one chip.” One shudders to think what Mr Sloan would think of Saab’s recent adventures in cash-scrounging (not to mention its odds of survival) were he still alive today.

Of course the Saabelievers will probably protest at this juncture that, as a luxury brand, Jaguar/Land Rover would necessarily need more investment than Saab. But not only does this not mean Saab’s relatively tiny resources are up to the task of a major turnaround, and the re-acquisition of 100k units of lost sales, it also points out yet another reason Saab is doomed to fail, namely its position in the market. Clearly not a volume brand any longer (and, with an all-time annual sales record of fewer than 140k units, it’s never properly been one), Saab is also emphatically not a luxury brand. It’s never been aspirational to anyone who aspires to more than being “different,” and thanks to its GM legacy products, neither does it offer any uniquely aspirational vehicles.

The “entry-luxury” market where Saab plays has been a brutal place to do business in recent years, under pressure from Hyundai’s budget-luxury offensive as well as GM’s huge re-investment in its Buick brand. One has only to look at Acura’s recent woes (its US sales fell in half between 2005 and 2009), for a sense of how tough that segment can be for even a well-established brand. And at the point that Saab’s flagship, the 9-5 Aero with 300 HP and AWD costs thousands more than well-established luxury cars with similar performance, like the Audi S4, clearly the brand’s positioning is problematic.

But the problem doesn’t end there: with a Cadillac XTS coming, based on similar Epsilon II mechanicals, the 9-5 will face even more competition from its erstwhile corporate cousins. Other than being slightly heavier and offering blander styling, the 9-4X is largely indistinguishable from a Cadillac SRX. And with Buick importing lithe, understated Opel Insignias to the US as the Regal, you can now buy subtly-distinctive, European-tuned versions of the Epsilon II chassis for nearly $10,000 less than Saab can offer its cheapest 9-3 at. And with Subaru on a roll in the US, Saab’s recent emphasis on all-wheel-drive is likely to be lost in the shuffle as well.

Which brings us to the “what you can do about this” section. By all means, feel free to loudly support the Muller-Antonov attempt to revivify this dead brand walking, but be aware that Antonov’s motives are still largely unknown, while Muller is clearly profiting by stringing Saab along. In any case, if Muller and Antonov could find the backing they would need to seriously turn Saab around, a task that would conservatively cost at least $2-3b (and still not be assured of success), they would have by now. Hoping against hope is a noble pursuit, but one best understood for what it is.

On a more practical level, my suggestion to Saab’s fans who are struggling with the seven stages of grief as they mourn their dying brand is this: don’t get so hung up on brands. After all, Saab’s connection with its history (on the product level) has, after decades of turmoil and foreign ownership, hardly survived in any meaningful way. Instead of holding on to the emotional attachment of owning a vehicle built in Sweden, I’d suggest identifying the elements of Saab-ishness that you like in your automobiles and look for them elsewhere in a market that has no shortage of brands and vehicles. Want a super-quirky, fun-to-drive turbocharged hatch? Go test a Nissan Juke. Want a refined, subtle, European turbocharged front-driver? Look at the Buick Regal (which many journalists at the launch compared to recent turbo Saabs). Want to fit in with the liberal campus crowd? Get a Prius. Need to buy a brand that offers unique mechanicals, a distinctive engine note and an under-the-radar brand? Snag a Subaru.

My point is this: Saab, as a business proposition is not just dying, it’s been as good as dead for decades. No amount of passion or vocal enthusiasm from Saab’s remaining fans can possibly change that. But the good news is that Saab’s values are not lost to the world of new cars. So rather than “shooting the messenger” and attacking TTAC or any other outlet with the guts to write about Saab’s situation with honesty and clarity, perhaps it would be best if Saab fans worked a little bit harder at identifying what about Saabs it was that attracted them to the brand, and seeking those values among the many viable brands and manufacturers still left in the market.

We’ve all seen too many pictures and videos of the magnificent ruin that was once the Packard plant on Detroit’s east side. It turns out that there’s a Packard site in the Detroit area that’s not a ruin, the Packard Proving Grounds in Shelby Twp. about 15 miles north of Eight Mile Road. Like the Packard plant on East Grand Blvd, Albert Kahn designed all the original Packard buildings on the proving grounds site, including a tudorish looking lodge where the facility’s manager and his family lived. It may be the only place where Kahn designed both residential and industrial buildings. It was built in 1927 at a cost of over a million dollars. Packard used the facility to develop and test their cars, aviation engines (there was a small airfield inside the big oval track – Charles Lindbergh visited the site), and also for publicity and marketing. The proving grounds even had a role in the Arsenal of Democracy. Chrysler used the facility during WWII to test Sherman tanks, erecting a building used to service the tanks that were tested inside the paved oval.

Additional video after the jump.


After Packard folded, the property passed into the hands of Ford. Packard had operated an engine and transmission factory on the north side of the facility, on 23 Mile Rd, where they developed and built the Ultramatic. That site became a Ford facility which now belongs to Visteon. Ford used the proving grounds buildings for storage. Eventually Ford Land started to develop the proving grounds site. There is a condo complex just south of the proving grounds buildings, that sits over part of the test track’s path but for the most part the site was unmolested, though slightly decaying.

A view from inside the restored timing shed at the remains of the test track.

Most of the 2.5 mile high speed oval was still intact until a few years ago when a trespassing hot rodder put his car off the track. Out of liability concerns, Ford Land tore up most of the track. Just the 458 feet immediately adjacent to the timing shed and Packard’s original tree lined driveways remains. That part of the track’s metal safety barrier also remains. The driveways lead from the entrance of the site past the lodge and other buildings out to the track.

The site’s original block and stone walls, stone gate posts, and ornamental iron gates and arches are intact, as is the proving ground’s period perfect water tower with its Packard script logo.

Fortunately for the marque, Packards have always been owned by wealthy folks. The Packard community got mobilized when they found out about Ford wanting to develop the site, kept up enough pressure and eventually the Packard Motor Car Foundation paid $7 million for the site. Ford Land then donated about the same amount of land for a total of about 14 acres. The foundation has started restoring the site, spending about $1 million on new slate roofs for the lodge & repair garage.

The trees have been replanted along the driveways and they have full time employees managing the site. The original timing shed has been mostly restored too. Essentially all the original buildings remain and are in restorable condition, including the “Lindbergh” airplane hanger which was moved to the foundation’s property from elsewhere on the site. The foundation also bought one of the Packard plant’s facades that the building’s owner had put up for auction and it will be on display when the foundation’s planned museum, to be constructed in the repair garage and engineering buildings, is completed. The lodge houses a nascent Packard research center and archive. The Packard Motor Car Foundation appears to be doing this right.

The facility has a few events every year, open houses in the spring and fall and a big car show in the summer. The spring open house was on Sunday, May 1, 2011 and I was able to hitch a ride out there in a ’48 Packard. There were about 3 dozen Packards including an absolutely spectacular red 1933 dual cowl phaeton. There were two postwar woody wagons, and a nice ’48 convertible owned by a Detroit area Chrysler-Fiat dealer. His store was one of the event sponsors so he also had a new Chrysler 300, 200 convertible (not a bad looking car with the top down but no Packard), and a Fiat 500 on display, away from the Packards.

Among the Packards that stood out.. wait, any Packard stands out, but the ones that most impressed me besides the ’33 were a beautiful blue prewar convertible coupe, a cream colored ’42 convertible and a black ’47 limo that was very long. There were also a couple of very clean woody wagons.

How long was the limo? Well, I shoot everything in 3D now and when you are doing stereo photography, there is one rule that you must obey if you don’t want people to complain about their eyes bleeding (just kidding, but it’s the most important rule). That’s the 1 to 30 rule. You can’t be closer to the subject that you are shooting than 30 times the distance between the two camera lenses. Put your arm out and hold up a finger. Now bring it towards you and touch your nose. At some point, you can’t cross your eyes enough to keep a single 3D image in your brain. Because current 3D camera rigs are not yet as adjustable as the human vision system it’s an important rule to follow. You can move the lenses in closer together, but that reduces the stereo quality. So when I’m framing a photo or video, I’m used to stepping back. One time while stepping back, at the Walter P. Chrysler Museum, I ended up (or down) falling into an exhibit holding a 1915 Dodge Brothers’ touring car. Shooting the 1947 Packard limousine in one of the proving grounds buildings I first stepped back. Then when I saw that it wasn’t in the frame of both cameras, I went back another step or two. Still not enough. The ’47 limo, with a body made by Henney on one of Packard’s professional car (ambulance, hearse) chassis, has a 148″ wheelbase.

The Johnny Trudell big band played jazz in the repair garage and in addition to the cars outside there were cars and displays inside the garage and engineering building, and the Chrysler building. The lodge’s garage houses the facility’s gift shop and there were also other vendors and displays located there and elsewhere on the site. You could take a self guided tour through the lodge.

Some of the Packards were in show condition, others original. As a writer, I could get an article out of just the hood ornaments. I don’t know how big the crowd was, but the event was well attended.

One cool thing loaned to the site is a Packard chassis & drivetrain used as a showroom display in 1956. Also there is the original “towing dynamometer” that Packard built into a sedan so they could measure power out on the road. Allegedly General Motors once borrowed it, and it’s an important piece of automotive history. It’s in rough shape but a sign said that it’s “ready for restoration”.

Oh, and there was a boat. A big and fast boat. Gar Wood’s famous racer, the Miss America X, with four supercharged Packard V12s.

Photo:Packard Motor Car Foundation – 2009 Spring Open House

There were Packard engines on display, including marine and military applications.

In addition to the Packard stuff there were 100-200 other special interest cars most of which were pretty nice. Someone brought a Mercury Comet GT – a Maverick clone in Grabber Blue with a 302 V8. It was sitting next to a Dodge SRT10 pickup.

What the Packard foundation is doing is a great thing. People should know about it. When I got access to the GM Heritage Center back in February to shoot 3D for Cars In Depth, since I was already not far from the facility, I drove up to the proving grounds to get some pictures of the site in the snow.

A few weeks ago, I was walking out of Durst Lumber in Berkley and there was a ’48 Packard in the lot. The guy who owns it is a retired guy, Art Kirsh, who lives a half mile from me. He asked me if I was a “landsman”, and we started to talk, resulting in the Look At What I Found! about his car. I asked if he was going to the spring open house at the proving grounds and he graciously offered me a lift to the event in his car. Art is active in the Packard community, driving to most events in the midwest. Most of the other Packards there were also driven to the event. Art said that only a couple of them were trailered in. In this case, though, the trailer queens were true automotive royalty. Art’s ’48 is a fairly nice riding vehicle for a 63 year old car. He was able to keep up with traffic on the freeways, though Art kept it in the right lane. He said that he’s gotten it up to 85 before with no problems. It had a very smooth ride, but then it weighs almost two and a half tons. Not as steady as a modern car for sure but smoother than most modern cars today that are not luxury models. There was a noise in the dash when the car braked, with Art said was new and jokingly said must be a mouse in the heater. He also might want to get something checked in the front right suspension, because there was also a noise when making left turns. Back then you had to lubricate the suspension and chassis on a regular basis or bad things would happen.

A couple of owners were giving folks rides out on the test track in their Packards. There was a sign that said “Packard Taxi Stand”. I don’t know how many Packards were used for taxis, but as mentioned above, they did sell professional cars. I think one car giving rides was a ’39, not that much different from Clemenza’s Super Eight where Rocco Lampone made his bones by clipping Paulie Gatto. The other Packard on the test track was late 20s. I had my 3D video rig and it would have been stupid for me to not get video of the old Packards returning to the test track.

The word return might be historically accurate. In addition to using the test track and the mostly unpaved “torture track” on the site’s southwest side to develop Packard products, the facility was also used for quality control, with production models being taken off the line at random and being subjected to 25,000 miles of testing at the proving grounds. Packard promoted that QC testing in a brochure you can see in the photo gallery. According to that brochure, every V12 powered production Packard was tested at the proving grounds. That means that it’s very possible that this wasn’t the first time these particular Packards were on the test track. In any case, I was fortunate to get video of both vintage Packards on the Packard Proving Grounds test track, or on what remains of it. The track is wide enough that both drivers were able to enter the track near the timing shed, drive to the far end of what remains, make a U-turn and come back and exit via the drive on the other side of the timing shed.

Leon Duray and Norm Batton on the banking getting ready to exit the fourth turn of the 2.5 mile oval track in 1928. The view is looking towards the east northeast. You can see the water tower in the distance behind the track’s banking. The water tower is still there but there’s a condominium complex where this part of the track stood.

The guy driving the ’39, named Marvin, knew I was there to shoot 3D. I guess Marvin’s a bit of a showman. To celebrate his Godfather looking car, there’s a fake human arm, caught in the trunk lid. For all I know it might be the car from the movie. After all, Clemenza told Rocco to take the canoli and leave the car. Marvin started to show off for the cameras, taking an extra loop around the timing shed and then returning to the track for a figure eight, finally accelerating as he turned past me off the track and up the driveway. It was nice of him to put on a show like that because after the processing, the 3D was as good as I’ve been able to get so far with video. If you don’t have 3D, don’t worry, the YouTube 3D player will display 2D with a few clicks, and that’s plenty cool, but it’s worth scrounging up even some cheap red/blue glasses to watch in 3D.

I took about 70 still shots of the Packards, the buildings and the assorted Packard memorabilia. You can see the full gallery in 2D or 3D at Cars In Depth. I would have been able to get more but when you’re shooting 3D, all the photographers come up and ask you questions about shooting in stereo. That’s how you know they’re photographers, regular folks say 3D. That and the fact that they have three different cameras hanging off their necks.

I’ve also uploaded a gallery of historic black and white photographs of the construction and use of the Packard Proving Grounds. The photos are from the collection at the National Automotive History Collection of the Detroit Public Library, the world’s largest public automotive archive. There are also a couple of shots of Gar Wood at the wheel of Miss America X and the aforementioned Packard brochure about the proving grounds. You can find them in the gallery below the second video.

The Packard foundation and club people are great car people. Friendly, willing to share whatever they know about their cars and justifiably proud of the marque and what they are accomplishing in preserving its history. If you’re in the Detroit area, pay the proving grounds a visit. Their next public event is Sunday, June 12, 2011, the Cars ‘R’ Stars Concours and swap meet.

Start the video, then pause. Click on the “3D” icon on the YouTube menu bar to select your choice of 3D formats or 2D. Video courtesy of Cars In Depth

I was four the first time I rode across the country, from Menlo Park to Cambridge, sharing the back of the 1950 Studebaker with my older brother, Tom, and Mab, the 75 pound Airedale. Mab sometimes stretched across the back seat, pushing us onto the floor, but I digress, partly because I want the reader to know that I actually remember that trip. I also remember the aneurism in the tire, in Utah, and my fear as we approached the Holland tunnel, which my father had explained went under water, and my amazement as we sped dry through that marvel.

Other automotive firsts…

The first car I drove was the ’57 Chevy 210 wagon, when I was seven; the first I drove legally, the 1965 Peugeot 404 station wagon. A year later, I drove cross-country, Cape Cod to Palo Alto, in my first car, an eight year old 1962 Falcon. But I’d long forgotten the make of the car in which I’d taken my first ride, from Mt. Auburn Hospital, in Cambridge, to 44 Westlund Road, in Belmont, three miles, according to Google Maps. Charlie Batterman, a family friend across the street, had chauffeured my mother and me. (My father, fearing the baby’s arrival might unsettle my older brother, had stayed home with him, but my brother nonetheless acquired a loud noise phobia on that Independence Day, 1953.)

I hadn’t seen the Battermans since the late Kennedy or early Johnson Administrations until last weekend, when Nora Batterman (now Campbell), my brother’s age mate, called out to me from the meat counter at the Whole Foods in Cambridge. As we began catching up, I was keeping my curiosity about the Battermans’ old car in check, but Nora launched into that story unbidden. “When you were nine or ten,” she said to me, her eyes aglow, “my father had said to you, ‘did you know I drove you and your mother home from the hospital?’” That news had prompted the obvious question from me: “What kind of a car was it?”

Now I was thrilled to be reminded so unexpectedly of the make, but back then I’d been a rabid partisan of the One True Car Company, and so when her father had told me I’d taken my first ride in a Ford, “you had looked absolutely crestfallen,” Nora said. “And then you had said, “I’d hoped it was a General Motors product.”

Then Nora informed me that I had occupied a special place in Batterman family lore for nearly half a century. Even Nora’s daughter, Amy, 17, smiled as she listened to that story for probably the umpteenth time. Charlie had been especially amused by the phrase, “General Motors product.”

After hearing the story, I pushed my luck. “Do you know what year the Ford was?” I asked. I didn’t expect to find out. Many people I know don’t even know the makes of their childhood cars. Most don’t know the year. But Nora remembered this, too. Let the record show that I took my first ride in a 1949 Ford.

Or, as the Beastie Boys say:
Got busy in Frisco, fooled around in Fresno
Got over on your girlie cause you know she never says no

Fresno Bee, thanks to Team BMW Douchebag Factory Drivers for the tip!

Certain misguided members of the not-so-mainstream media perpetuate the myth that American cars are unsalable in Japan, that nobody wants them, that they are “dasai” or uncool. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The Japanese love American cars so much that they lay on a big festival a few times of the year, dedicated to the celebration of the great American car. I blew TTAC’s travel budget and went all the way to Yokohama to attend today’s Amefes, and to snap a lot of pictures of a lot of old and new American cars in Japan.

Right this way, dozo…

“Amefes” actually means “American Festival,” but the Japanese have this thing for abbreviating everything. Nissan for instance used to be “Nippon Sangyo.” “Family Mart,” a chain of convenience stores, is referred to a as “Famima,” and the remote control, or rimoto kontorora in Japanese, turned into “rimokon.”

The full name of Amefes is actually “Ikura’s American Festival.” Baldheaded Ikura is the owner of “L-Garage”, a customization, restoration and classic car shop in Yokohama. Ikura is also the lead singer of a mildly famous soul and funk band that goes by the same name. Abbreviating “Ikura’s American Festival” correctly would yield “Ikuramefes.” But that’s too long for Japanese tastes. Above is the bald head honcho and rock star, giving last minute directions before the show begins.

Amefes must attract most American cars that actually are in Japan. For instance a whole lineup of  manly muscle, one of them a rare 396 Turbojet.

True love.

The little red Corvettes attract lots of admirers.

There are little red Corvettes with a classic dash (someone left am amplifier on the floor.)

And there are little red Corvettes with a mad dash.

Pink Cadillacs are popular with the ladies …

They are popular with the gentlemen as well. He’s looking very hard whether there’s a Marilyn Monroe in there, somewhere. OK, how about a Marilyn Monroe lookalike?

Cars come in all colors, for instance burgundy.

Did we mention burgundy?

Speaking of colors: For some strange reason, the Chevy vans have a cult following in Japan.

Chevy Astrovans even more so. Maybe, because they save the expense for a love hotel. Which they resemble. In color, shape, and size.

But does this love hotel have a Hemi? Note the flag on the toolbox.

At some Amefes occasions, they have real drag races. This one has only stationary dragsters.

Stationary dragsters are not very popular with some of the crowd: “You promised me a real drag race, dad!”

The show has the finest examples of American ingenuity. For instance, the car that absolutely CANNOT have a 5mph bumper.

There are demonstration vehicles for the double wishbone suspension.

And superb examples of forced air induction.

Such an array of exciting technology remains not without effect on the male visitors of the show.

Back to cars. Here is a Ford that is to die for.

Another Ford that is to die for.

And speaking of dead ….

These three guys got a great deal on a small fleet of brand-new Chryslers. So they started a brand-new Chrysler taxi service. If you are tired of the Toyota Crowns, go to the Kannai station in Kanagawa, after 9 pm, that’s where they hang out.

Wait: Is Elvis alive?

It wouldn’t surprise us. Here is the Japanese cast from Grease.

There you have it. Elvis lives! In Yokohama with wife and sleepy son.

Back to cars: How about some triple orange?

Would you have expected a Plymouth Duster here?

Or this fine example of a Chevy Stepside?

“So THAT’S that Transam!”

Already classics.

Not a single sign of anything Japanese. All true blue American.

Required reading: The 1971 Chilton.

A WHAT is inside?

Even the female shapes are Americanized. Japanese shape (right) for comparison only.

Need a Christian air freshener? Or a Republican air freshener? Or a tax and spend air freshener?

There’s even a Caddy for Junior.

Frau Schmitto-san can’t make up her mind: Fluffy dice or fake boobs?

This one had me stumped. Can you figure it out?

Who buys all these American cars? Japanese people from all walks of life. Here some inner-city customers.

Customers from a high net-worth zip-code in Chiba.

Customers from the South Side.

Customers who love sex.

This customer hasn’t made up his mind yet.

The show isn’t just for old cars. Toyota brought their FJ Cruiser. Lots of them. Now also available in Japan! They even brought an urban off-road course.

Want a Jeep on the cheap? Financing deal! The pricing is an old Japanese custom: They just drop the last four zeroes. That Jeep sets your back 3,990,000 yen. Or $47,500

You can have the Jeep in white also. With that trim and option  package, it will cost a little extra. If you had to ask …

Speaking of which: A hopped-up Dodge Challenger, a.k.a. Saleen SMS 570. Price upon request.

Want a new Chevy Camaro? They brought SEMA right with them.

The GM boothbabes need a little work. He definitely does not come with the car.

Oooops. Two cars that went to the wrong show.

And that was this year’s Amefes, American cars in Japan! Reporting live from Yokohama, for Thetruthaboutcars, this is Bertel Schmitt.

That Karmann Ghia reminded me: There is a German Christmas market, right next door to Amefes, right here in Yokohama. I treat myself to a Bratwurst and a beer. If you want real Christmas, or real American cars, you must come to Japan!

The car industry is looking with envy and trepidation at the biggest bottom fisher in their market: AutoZone. Last week, AutoZone posted a 20 percent jump in quarterly earnings. And don’t look at their chart. You’d wish you would have bought AutoZone instead of the auto. But it’s not the financial results that has the industry worried. Everybody who knows the industry knows that the money is in fixing cars. The average expense per car for repair and maintenance is $1,200 per year, and if you multiply that with the 250 million cars and trucks on the street in the U.S., you’ve got yourself a nice $300 billion business. No, the industry is worried about why AutoZone suddenly is doing so well: America is in love with more mature models.

Everybody expected the repair business to go up in 2009 as people kept their cars longer, and to go back down as people buy more new cars. Not so, says AutoZone CEO Bill Rhodes.

Reuters reports Rhodes saying that “customers have been more focused on maintaining cars than they were three or four years ago.” Rhodes suspects there will be long-term benefit for the auto parts sector as drivers hold on to their cars longer.

The most worrisome Rhodes quote: “I think people have changed their mindset on how they deal with their most valuable assets.”

Translation: No more 2 year leases. Drive you car longer. Not that there is a shortage of cars in American garages anyway. Since 1972, there have been more cars than drivers. In recent years, that trend exaggerated.  Despite cash for clunkers, the average age of cars and trucks is now 10.2 years. Now why do you think Paul Niedermeyer’s and Murilee Martin’s pieces are so popular? Nostalgia can’t be the only reason.