The Truth About Cars » Nostalgia

Editorial: Winter Comes To Michigan

HeBeGB — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 15:44:36 +0000

I live in Michigan. Not on the Detroit side of things, around here it's mostly suppliers. I'm an engineer. As I write this, I'm off on unpaid furlough. I don't work in the auto business; my company is in an industry about 10 bailout levels down. But around here, it all looks the same. Two years ago the Delphi fuel injector plant was shut down; two months ago the big GM stamping plant was stamped for extinction. Winter even came a bit earlier this year. It's cold, damp, gray, and we got some snow before Thanksgiving. Not unheard of, but not exactly welcome. I think it was P.J. O'Rourke who remarked while flying over the "liberated" but still depressed Eastern Europe, "Communism is the only form of government you can see from 30,000 feet." This economy is like that. You can see it of course, but it's also cold and gray and it hangs in the Michigan air.

Land of Hope and Glory

Adrian Imonti — Sat, 17 May 2008 13:09:31 +0000

Driving in London just for fun is as sensible as rollerblading on the autobahn. Enlisting a young fresh-off-the-boat Yank to indulge in such folly should be a felony. Yet there I was, strapped behind a steering wheel located where the glove box should be, with a carload of norteamericanos who had entrusted me with their sightseeing and their lives. As an avid reader of British car magazines who watched BBC documentaries on PBS, I convinced myself that I possessed the knowledge required for such an undertaking. I'd already shown courage under fire, surviving several days as a pedestrian on these streets without being hit, not even once. All we needed now was more petrol, and a bank loan to pay for it.

Czech it Out: 1965 Buick LeSabre 400

Jonny Lieberman — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 12:43:53 +0000

Pop quiz, hot shot: What's longer than a Ford Excursion, older than the Beatles' Revolver, blacker than midnight, totally devoid of seatbelts and soon heading to the Czech Republic? The pictures don't lie: a 1965 Buick LeSabre 400. Yes, the lure of a small finder's fee and my irrational obsession for anything with four wheels has once again seen me purchase a hunk of Detroit iron for a mysterious man somewhere north of Prague. Who am I to resist?

Road Trip to Wenatchee

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 12:27:42 +0000

“You’re free to go.” With those hackneyed words, the Goldendale police officer returned my license. They were the very same words I’d heard in my head just a few hours earlier. At one-thirty last Sunday, my older son Ted called: “If you can drop Will [(his brother) here by three, we can take him back with us to Portland for a few days.” Cabin fever was at 103. The ninety minute deadline to pick a destination and pack the xB was just the tonic I needed. Time to head for… (flings open the atlas)… Wenatchee!

Non-Zen and the Art of MGB Maintenance

Brendan McAleer — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 12:46:38 +0000

For some people, climbing into a car, starting it on the first try and driving off with reasonable confidence in actually arriving somewhere is as sacrilegious as getting communion wafers out of a vending machine. These zealots (let’s call them Tinkerers) regard motoring as a religious experience filled with arcane ritual, unfathomable mystery and fervent prayer (or at least frequent blasphemy). To members of The Church of The British Sports Car, there are few better altars than the MGB upon which to sacrifice one’s time and money. But perhaps MGB ownership is not so much automotive-hair-shirt-wearing as it is Guy Fawkes emulation: brilliant plan, ‘orrible execution.

400 Miles in a 1981 Corvette, Part 2

Jonny Lieberman — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 16:00:34 +0000

When we last left our hero, I was dodging post-wine tasting Buicks and Caddys in a hair-brained sprint to Los Angeles before the sun went down. My steed was a sparkle-blue 1981 Corvette with non-functioning headlights. Until this point, I’d been lollygagging along in the right lane. I assumed that the ‘Vette’s engine would crap-out on me if I gave it the boot. But the fear of getting caught with no lights-- and then watching the DEA strip the car to the frame-- forced my foot to the firewall.

400 Miles in a 1981 Corvette, Part 1

Jonny Lieberman — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 18:45:31 +0000

By most accounts, I’m a good citizen. I work, I pay taxes, I keep my crimes to myself and I call my mother at least once a week. But I have a wild side. Like a vintage race, this part of my personality just begs to be taken out and let loose from time to time. I’m not going to tell you what I spent my first Bush tax rebate on. But I will tell you that when the $600 arrives in June, I will be at a $10/$20 No Limit table. So, when I was contacted by a guy in Prague to transport a 1981 Corvette from Oakland to a container ship in Los Angeles, I jumped at the chance. How could I lose?

Corolla Memories

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 13:23:04 +0000

For me, driving bliss is all about the setting. Give me an empty road, spectacular scenery, good company and the freedom to explore without an itinerary or time constraints, and I’m in Heaven. Sure, a nice set of wheels enhances the pleasure. But if it came down to it, I’d take an inexpensive reliable car and an endless open road over a garage full of under-used toys that never really get off their leash. I knew the basic formula intuitively in my youth.

TTAC Celebrates the Toyota Corolla’s 40th Birthday

Paul Niedermeyer — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 15:18:41 +0000

Forty years ago, Toyota’s invasion of America (and effectively, the world) began in earnest. In 1968, the newly-minted Corolla was sent stateside to do battle with the perennially best selling VW Beetle. Only two short years later, the Corolla was the second-best selling car globally. By 1975, Toyota surpassed Volkswagen as the top import brand. The Corolla has taken all the global production crowns (1.5 million sold in 2007; over 33 million total). It has been the engine powering Toyota’s rise to the world’s largest carmaker. Has the Corolla achieved immortality, or will it eventually lose its way like its spiritual predecessors, the Model T and VW Beetle?

Steven Lang Gets a Woody (Wagon)

Steven Lang — Sat, 01 Mar 2008 11:58:37 +0000

The Buick Roadmaster Estate Wagon was God's gift to Perry Como fans, the last of the great all-American trucksters. It was also my gift to the family for last year's Christmas road trip. I figured I’d nix my penchant for narrow European wagons to forestall the cantankerous habits of our two darling creatures. They needed space. We needed space... and boy, did this car have space!

Hemi Love

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 10:56:53 +0000

What eye-candy poster was pinned up on your bedroom wall when you were thirteen? A black Lamborghini Countach sprouting numerous spoilers? Farah Fawcett-Majors with blindingly-white teeth? Metallica? KISS? What I gazed lovingly upon-- whilst sprawled across my bed-- was a giant detailed cross-sectional drawing of a Chrysler hemi engine. Thus was the spell that the mythical engine had on me.

Requiem for a Station Wagon

Andrew Dederer — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 12:19:01 +0000

One of the rare examples of altruism in pistonheads concerns the (nearly extinct) American station wagon. They passionately defend the one automotive genre that the vast majority of American consumers wouldn’t be caught dead in (excepting a hearse). Why so much love for a car shape that’s been fading from the American scene for the best part of 25 years? The passion comes from recognition. The reality we’ll have to blame on Darwin and his stupid birds.

In Praise of: The ‘57 Chevy

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 08 Dec 2007 11:09:00 +0000

If there's any doubt that the ’57 Chevy is THE iconic American car, it’s been erased. Long the favorite with the hot rod and collector crowd, the classic Chevy has now attained automotive immortality: they’re making new ones again from scratch. For $180k, you can buy a brand new 1957 Bel Air Convertible assembled from reproduction parts. The story of how the ’57 Chevy (and its ’55 – ’56 predecessors) became a living legend is worth repeating, since it includes some lessons still relevant today.

Detroit Death Watch - The Prequel (Part 3)

Paul Niedermeyer — Wed, 07 Mar 2007 17:34:07 +0000

The Big Three entered the 1980’s in typical Three Stooges fashion. GM (Moe) knocked the other two automakers’ heads together, and then gloated over the market share he’d stolen-- oblivious to the imports stealing it right back from under his nose. Mild-mannered Larry (Ford) scratched his professorial pate, and cooked up a brilliant scheme to avoid getting hit in the coming (import) brawl. And buffoon Curley (Chrysler) lay on the floor, doing his dry-swimming antics in a desperate attempt to draw attention to his only product: K cars.

Detroit Deathwatch - The Prequel (Part 2)

Paul Niedermeyer — Tue, 06 Mar 2007 17:04:43 +0000

Those of us who lived through the 1970’s have thrown out, remodeled or psycho-analyzed away any lingering echoes of those economically, socially and politically divisive years. But the decade of pet rocks, big hair, anti-war protests, moon landings, presidential pardons, drug-addled introspection, Middle Eastern war and convulsive oil shocks left the Big Three’s collective psyche permanently altered. In some ways, they never recovered.

Auto-Biography Pt. 4

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 17 Feb 2007 12:31:50 +0000

As a boy in the pre-internet early sixties, I became obsessed with unveiling the secrets of that inexplicably alluring object of male interest. I had a general notion of what transpired within: the rhythmic in and out motions, the frenzy of moving members, the rapid inhalations, the (hopefully) synchronized explosions, and in their wake, the murmur of exhalations. Yes, the inner mysteries of the internal-combustion engine sang their siren song, and I was powerless to resist.

Childhood’s End?

Robert Farago — Sun, 11 Feb 2007 15:03:05 +0000

“You’re not like other adults. You’re like a big kid.” My nephew made this observation after I’d guided my Porsche C4 through an impossibly tight corner, accompanied by a rebel yell. Max’s assessment of my temperament was not entirely correct. In my forty-seven years, I’ve met a few souls who also experience frequent bursts of child-like enthusiasm. In fact, one of the main reasons I love cars is that I love people whose love of cars keeps them young. Of course, the flipside of that ‘tude is that it can kill you dead.

Auto-Biography Pt. 3

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 12:01:56 +0000

Three days after our psychedelic nocturnal journey to America, my family arrived at our final destination: Iowa. The transition was a rude awakening, from a fantastic dream straight into a bad nightmare. We’d traded Austria’s alpine vistas for New York’s towering skyscrapers and wide freeways, and then watched the modern world evaporate in the blazing sun, replaced by endless corn fields and arrow-straight gravel roads.

El Camino Redux?

Bob Elton — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 16:23:24 +0000

The Big 2.5 are floundering about, looking for new product ideas. And no wonder. Does anyone really think the beleaguered domestic automakers have the time, talent, energy and money to develop a Camcordima beater? A [profitable] B-segment car that can take on the Fit, Yaris or Versa? A luxury car to rival the Germans? As the founder of Federal Express said, the trick in business is not to do something a little better than the other guy. The trick is to do something different. Anybody remember the El Camino?

Just Because You’re Paranoid Doesn’t Mean You Won’t Get Stranded

Andrew Dederer — Sun, 04 Feb 2007 13:54:38 +0000

Years ago, when I was not yet twenty I drove my brother between my parents’ homes, a distance of five hundred miles each way, with no back-up but a gas card and some loose change. Although the journey passed without incident, it was a nerve-racking experience. My upbringing had taught me that there’s a thin line between farce and tragedy, between going to the ends of the earth and being stranded in the last place on earth.

Auto-Biography Pt. 2

Paul Niedermeyer — Sat, 03 Feb 2007 11:02:03 +0000

My first glimpse of America: looking down on a freeway at night, with glow-worm toy cars and a perfect cloverleaf. It was just like the picture of GM’s World of Tomorrow exhibit at the 1939 New York World Fair that I’d seen in an old book. We were circling to final approach at New York International airport, having left Austria (and micro-cars) behind forever.

Auto-biography Pt. 1

Paul Niedermeyer — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 02:17:33 +0000

My first memories are of the womb. The enveloping warmth, the soothing sounds that correlated to alien activity. I remember the sensations of being propelled: forward, stop, turning, forward again, the gentle g-forces rolling me delicately from side to side, ensconced in my snug compartment on all sides, conscious of the rounded form that surrounded me. My first ride was a VW.

Car Collecting: Giving Private Sellers Benjamins

Terry Parkhurst — Sun, 21 Jan 2007 12:13:01 +0000

Buying an automobile from a private seller is risky business. There’s only one guarantee: you have less chance of successful legal compensation than you would trying to recover your $5 tip from a New York City cabbie. On the positive side, you can make out like a bandit. This is especially true for a privately owned collector car. Whether it’s a classic or a street rod, if someone else gets stuck with the time and expense of restoration, you win.

Land Rover, Land Rover, Send Brendan Right Over!

Brendan McAleer — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 11:22:56 +0000

Over the years, my father’s garage has become an elephant’s graveyard of corroded metal, faded wiring diagrams, desiccated gaskets and other relics of a lifetime of Land Rover ownership. Buried deep somewhere in that automotive salmagundi: an old Punch magazine. Within its yellowed pages, a cartoon shows three British Leyland workers clustered around the company magazine, contemplating a picture of an Austin Mini with its speedometer mounted on the hubcap. The caption reads: “Cock-up of The Month.” Amen. The Land Rover was the far best four by four by far ever built by lazy English Communists.

Car Collecting: The Weakness of Strangers

Terry Parkhurst — Sun, 07 Jan 2007 11:38:35 +0000

Buying a car from a reputable auction house is a “safe” way to add to your collection. Yes, you must compete against equally serious buyers, but auctioneers depend on repeat business for their survival; they don’t stay afloat by ripping people off. And there’s far more legal comeback on a going concern than an individual seller. But buying a collectible car privately can be just as rewarding and much cheaper— if you use common sense, basic psychology and due diligence. First, you gotta know where to look.

Car Collecting: We Got Auction Fever!

Terry Parkhurst — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 12:34:43 +0000

As the New Year dawns, serious car collectors are about to take Horace Greely’s advice. They’re heading into the Arizona and Nevada deserts for the annual automotive auction feeding frenzy. Barrett-Jackson, Kruse International, RM Auctions, Russo & Steele, Silver Auctions— there’s enough action west of the Mississippi to satisfy the most voracious automotive aficionado. But as Public Enemy advised, don’t believe the hype. While the warm weather bidding frenzy appeals to high rollers, the best opportunities to locate a future heirloom at a bargain basement price usually lie within a 50-mile radius of your front door.

Too Much the Magic Bus

Andrew Dederer — Sat, 23 Dec 2006 11:26:33 +0000

My friends frequently tease me about my automotive taste. It’s not my passion for stupidly expensive high-performance sports cars, or my weakness for brash, flash, trash. It’s my ongoing affection for supremely ugly yet practical vehicles that triggers their head-shaking scorn. Dude, you like a minivan? Luckily, I have a ready defense that usually shuts them up. I tell them that when I was a kid, our family car was a Microbus.

Training Wheels

Andrew Dederer — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 12:02:46 +0000

For the second time in less than two years, I’ve been relegated to rental car Hell. My normal ride is busy recovering from a rear-end encounter initiated by a young driver in iffy conditions. Previously on “This Is Not Your Beautiful Car,” I sampled one of the last of the great V8 Interceptors-- I mean, the Pontiac Bonneville. It was so large-- on the outside-- that I was constantly checking the rear-view mirror for Tomcats auguring-in for a landing. On the inside, it was plush and chock-full of gadgets. But it was also more cramped than an Olympic swimmer after a seven course meal. This time ‘round I got sentenced to an 05’ Taurus.

Live and learn

Robert Farago — Sun, 26 Nov 2006 17:30:55 +0000

The day my high school classmate flipped the bird at a Lincoln Continental was the day I learned that handling is more important than horsepower. VINNIE (as proclaimed by his vanity plate) decided that my erstwhile friend’s one finger salute justified our immediate extinction. His black Lincoln rammed the back of my Ford Pinto station wagon as I entered the highway on-ramp. Although I later learned that the Pinto tended to explode in such circumstances, even then I knew I had to drive as if my life depended on it. If only because it did.

The Phantoms of Flansberg Road

Steve Smohlenkamp — Sun, 19 Nov 2006 11:48:25 +0000

As a six-year-old growing up in the rich farmlands of northern Illinois, I spent my days playing in the creeks that meandered along and across Flansberg and Orangeville roads. One day, I was ambling home when a thunderous roar jolted me from my reverie. A black car came out of the curve behind me and sped past. The passenger waved. Convinced that I’d seen not one but two ghosts (restless souls at that), I ran home.

Epiphanies

Jonny Lieberman — Sat, 11 Nov 2006 11:33:06 +0000

A genius named Vinnie Cilurzo in Santa Rosa, California makes a beer called “Pliny the Elder.” I will never forget the first time it passed through my lips; it was as if the Victoria’s Secret angels were lap-dancing on my tongue. Even after thirteen years of home brewing, even after qualifying as a Certified beer judge, nothing had prepared me for my first taste of Vinnie’s magnificent brew. And no beer I would drink after that would ever taste the same. I’d had a beer epiphany. As a pistonhead, my first automotive epiphany occurred, oddly enough, in a Jeep Cherokee.

A Look Back: The Chevrolet Chevette

Andrew Dederer — Sat, 04 Nov 2006 13:24:49 +0000

I remember my Dad carrying me out to a little greenish-yellow station wagon when I was two. We had that car a little more than a year and that’s my only memory of it. This puts me in rare company: one of the few Americans with a positive memory of a Chevy Vega. My parents would not be in that group. One rear end collision and one melted engine, and the Vega was gone. If I missed out on the joy of picking rust scabs, at least I got to sample the full majesty of the Chevette. Was it a bad car? Was it a match for the Vega? To steal a line from “Bloom County,” it wasn’t that bad, but Lord it wasn’t good.

In Defense Of: The Pontiac Aztek

Andrew Dederer — Wed, 25 Oct 2006 11:21:53 +0000

Automotive history is littered with titanic failures. For every hot-selling Mustang, there’s a hatful (hateful?) of Vegas, Pintos, Excels, Yugos, Edsels and, of course, Azteks. From its introduction until its timely demise some four years later, the Pontiac Aztek SUV was the subject of journalistic dog-piling and a thousand weak jokes. But really, does it belong in this infamous company? The answer is a bit complicated; the Aztek was certainly a failure, but not exactly in the way you might expect.