Car Lust

Hudson Hornet

The Hudson Motor Car Company merged with Nash-Kelvinator in 1954 to form American Motors, and the Hudson nameplate disappeared from the marketplace completely after the 1957 model year. Half a century later, few people other than old car buffs were even aware that there had once been a Hudson Motor Car Company--until they saw the character of Doc Hudson in the 2006 Pixar film Cars.

While Cars is a fantasy, the character of Doc Hudson is firmly grounded in real life. There really was a Fabulous Hudson Hornet that dominated stock car racing in the early 1950s and won three straight championships.

Even off the racetrack, the 1951-54 Hudson Hornet was pretty fabulous.

Not all Toyota sedans are boring . . .

Not long ago, we here at Car Lust pronounced the Toyota Camry sedan the Most Boring Car Ever.

In the Japanese home market, at least, Toyota appears to have realized that it has a problem. This Carina ED is fitted with the optional Exclamation Point accessory group:

(Photo by Flickr user "Samurai Shiatsu.")

--Cookie the Dog's Owner

Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera

We spend a lot of time here at Car Lust blogging about unsung heroes--cars that for whatever reason never received the recognition they deserved. The Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera is not one of those cars. It received all the recognition it deserved--absolutely none.

With its reputation already listing after the torpedo hits of the 1970s, General Motors did the best it could to scuttle the remnants of its good name with a series of relentlessly mediocre sedans through the 1980s and early 1990s. The Cutlass Ciera was one of those sedans, joined in abject mediocrity by its A-body cousins, the Buick Century and Chevrolet Celebrity. Strangely, the A-body Pontiac 6000 STE escaped the curse--despite its mechanical similarities, it was a surprisingly effective sports sedan by the standards of the time.

The Cutlass Ciera and its fellow A-bodies weren't terrible in the same way as Cookie the Dog's Owner's Chevy Monza Wagon. They didn't tend to grenade, or rust away rapidly. They sold well and typically gave their owners many years of grudging, unenthusiastic service. Even now, more than a decade after the last of these cars went out of production, you can see Cieras and their brethren cruising around with scabrous paint and drooping headliners.

1949 Ford

When I was very small, we had a 1949 Ford just like the one in the illustration at right.

It was big and red and Dad drove it to work at the courthouse every morning. (Actually, it wasn't all that big, but when you're two or three, the world is built to a larger scale.) I knew from watching TV commercials that it wasn't a new car, because new cars were lower and wider and more square. I also knew that the letters on the front meant it was made by Ford. Since it was old, and red, and a Ford, that's what I called it: "the Oldredford," all the syllables run together into a single word.

I hadn't thought about the Oldredford in years, until I saw one very much like it at a charity car show on Labor Day weekend. As soon as I realized what it was, a flood of memories came over me. I remembered riding in the Oldredford. I remembered that when you put the key in, you had to push a starter button to crank the engine. Most of all, I remembered my great affection for it. The Oldredford was a happy car that produced happy memories.

Until I sat down to research this article, I had no idea what a milestone automobile the 1949 Ford actually was--Ford's first true postwar design was a critical event in its corporate history.  In fact, no less an authority than the Henry Ford Museum calls it "the Car that Saved Ford."

Ford Tempo

Full disclosure here--I don't like the Ford Tempo, or its Mercury Topaz twin. Based on some of the other awful cars I like, including its Fairmont predecessor, I really should like the Tempo. I keep moaning on about how depressing it is that Detroit can't make a simple, inexpensive, reliable small car, but yet I don't give the Tempo--a car that filled that niche from 1984 to 1994--any of the respect it deserves. Mea culpa, Tempo lovers. Mea maxima culpa.

The Ford Tempo was a first-car staple in my generation--Tempos were ubiquitous in high-school parking lots back in my day, and two of my friends had Tempos as their first cars. Cookie the Dog's Owner already wrote two excellent posts on the phenomenon of first cars (Challenge, Results), and one of the most agreed-upon points was the fact that kids will love their first car regardless of what it is. I was one of the commenters agreeing fervently with that point, and yet the Tempo makes me question that assertion.

Can there be a more conflicted feeling than having a Tempo as your first car? On the one hand, you're excited that you own your first car; you want to race around in it, customize it, show it off to your friends, and take advantage of your new mobility. On the other hand, well, it's a Tempo. Small, ugly, and relentlessly slow, the Tempo married an agricultural driving experience with a lack of pretension and luxury that bordered on the Amish.

Frazer Manhattan

UPDATE: Reader Alexander Jason, who makes his living as a forensic photographer, did a little forensics on Mom's photo and improved the image.  The results appear at right.  Thank you, sir!

It  was something of a legend in our family's history, from a time before I was born, spoken of in reverent tones of the sort usually reserved for prewar Bugattis and Rolls Royces.

It was my mother's first car, a brand new 1947 Frazer Manhattan.

The one surviving photo of Mom's Manhattan in the family album reveals that it was painted black and she was quite proud of owning it. My father was said to have wrecked it in 1949, while my parents were still dating. They married in 1950 and stayed married for over fifty years, so it's clear Mom didn't hold a grudge.

For a long time, that was all I knew about Frazer Manhattans. I eventually learned more, courtesy of the "Transportation" section of the Public Library.

Fire-Breathing Fairmont

You remember the Ford Squaremont--er, I mean, Fairmont--don't you? They used to be common as bugs it seemed. Basic mid-sized sedans with squarish styling, mediocre performance, indifferent build quality--typical 1970s domestic cars if ever there were. Car Lust founder Chris Hafner described the Squaremont Fairmont as:

just like a contemporary Volvo 240--except without Volvo's incredible safety record, metronomic reliability, or rock-ribbed safety quality. In terms of boxy styling and a wheezing lack of athleticism, on the other hand, the Fairmont and 240 were near-identical twins.

You don't see them anymore--they've pretty much all gone to the Great Salvage Yard in the Sky. You'd never expect to see one at a car show.

Even if you saw one at a car show, well, you couldn't imagine anyone actually restoring a Squaremont Fairmont.

Even if someone were crazy enough to restore a Squaremont Fairmont, they'd never consider turning it into a fire-breathing terror-of-the-dragstrip musclecar. That would be madness! It would be blasphemy!

4WRD-LK

The 1959 Plymouth Belvedere you see here was photographed at the Wednesday night "cruise-in" at a local ice cream store.

With its low silhouette and large tail fins, the '59 Belvedere is a prime example of Chrysler stylist Virgil Exner's "Forward Look."  This particular car has been lovingly restored. Other than the alloy wheels, its external appearance is just about exactly stock.

That's not quite the case under the hood.

1992 Mercury Grand Marquis

According to Click & Clack, the cheapest car to run is the car you already own. Lucky for me, the car I already own--as opposed to the one I lease for the lovely and talented Mrs. Drucker--is a 1992 Mercury Grand Marquis LS, and I flat-out love it. I'll begin expounding on its wonderfulness a paragraph or two further on; first, though, I'd like to explain how a dashingly youthful 59-year-old came to be driving a geezermobile in the first place.

Actually, the whole story begins in 1967, the year I convinced my parents that my college experience would be greatly enhanced if I didn't have to walk to campus from my in-town lodging. Rather than recount the entire tale, I'll skip forward a few decades, to 1999, when those very same parents came into possession, almost by chance, of the subject Grand Marquis. At the time, it had 30K on the clock, and because it was their second car, the mileage had jumped by only 7K when they passed it on to me in mid-2001. I drove it for three years, bumping the mileage to 75K, and then sold it to a buddy who used it to commute between his home on Long Island and his offices in Brooklyn and Queens. Two years later he was offered a real deal on a 2002 Grand Marquis, and in early 2006 I jumped at the chance to buy the ‘92 – now with 99K showing – back from him for small money. Since then, I've bumped the mileage to 126K.

2003 Chevrolet Malibu

A little over a month ago, I submitted the fourth-generation Chevrolet Malibu (or Chevrolet Classic, if you prefer) as a potential Car Disgust. The post was an emotional, incoherent rant detailing all of the abuses that my significant other and I had experienced at the hands of the very car shown to the right. Thankfully, Chris never published my screed, which has given me time to hone my incoherent rant into what I hope will be an incisive, invective-filled diatribe worthy of being published as a true Car Disgust.

Once upon a time--in 1997, to be exact--this ubiquitous mascot of rental fleets around the country was the Motor Trend Car Of The Year. Its competition, at least in the domestic space, was fairly lax. The Ford Taurus of the time was becoming increasingly infamous for eating transmissions like most people eat Nilla wafers, and the first generation LH-based Dodge Intrepid was overdue for a refresh, preferably one that involved a change in Chrysler's increasingly notorious paint chemistry of the era.

1996 Eagle Vision TSi

Back when I was in high school, I remember noticing just how badly space was wasted in cars. Small cars could seat five passengers, and a large car could likewise seat five; the big differences in exterior size dwarfed the small differences in interior space. A few years later, I read about Chrysler's push towards "cab forward" design, pushing the cabin forward in the chassis for better space utilization. Other car manufacturers had toyed with the idea, but apparently Chrysler was planning to dive right in and redo their whole car line based on the concept.

I was excited, because it made sense--better stability and handling, sleeker lines, and best of all, maximum room for people and minimum space dedicated for the machine. I foresaw the Colt becoming a sleek little speedster-ish coupe. I imagined beautiful cars revitalizing the whole Mopar line. I was mostly a Ford fan at the time, but I liked the idea of the underdog Chrysler brands putting out some decent products for a change.

1974 Dodge Monaco

The title of this post is a bit of a misnomer, since nobody actually remembers or lusts after the 1974 Dodge Monaco for its own merits. No, the '74 Monaco is most famous for its role as the Bluesmobile in the 1980 film The Blues Brothers, in which the humble Mopar full-size sedan became one of the most famous movie cars of all time and easily the most influential car in molding my questionable automotive tastes.

My love for huge American sedans, my passion for beaters, my odd predilection for 1970s Mopars, my belief that "Hold On, I'm Coming" by Sam & Dave is the best driving song of all time--these are all thanks to my early exposure to the Bluesmobile.

1973-1977 Chevrolet Malibu

The mid-1970s Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu lived in a no-man's land for Malibus, coming as it did after the legendary muscle-car Chevelles and Malibus of the late 1960s, and just before the popular ground-breaking Malibus that debuted in 1978. In that context, it's difficult to argue that the mid-1970s Malibus were anything other than gutless, tawdry, disappointing (and, to me, stunningly desirable) dinosaurs so typical of the era. In fact, I made that very point a few months ago in excoriating the Malibu's fancypants sibling, the adorably atrocious Chevelle Laguna Type S-3 454.

It is true that the mid-1970s Malibus were vastly less powerful and purposeful in line than their predecessors, yet bulkier, more wasteful, and more bloated than their successors. Big on the outside, small on the inside, and slow and floaty regardless of trim choice, even a fresh-off-the-showroom-floor 1973 Malibu would be a hopeless anachronism today.

Car Disgust--1990-1994 Toyota Camry

Before I really get into today's post, I want to revisit the definition of Car Disgust and explain anew why these cars are worthy of my disgust. It's not because they're all awful cars, although many are. It's because, generally speaking, they're awful and boring. If given the choice between a solid car that's unbelievably boring, and a car whose very incompetence makes it interesting, I'll take the latter every time. It doesn't make any sense, but that's my particular cross to bear.

Take the Toyota Camry, for instance. Any way you slice it, every version of the Toyota Camry is an incredibly smart buy. It's about the right size for most families, it drives pretty well, it's not too slow, it's not too fast, and the design doesn't have enough character to be ugly or even controversial. Marry that with Toyota's legendary monotonous reliability, and the Camry really makes sense for anybody looking for solid transportation. It has virtually no weaknesses.

Car Bust--Suzuki Verona

Submitted by Nathan of Brainfertilizer Fame

Back in January 2005, to celebrate an upcoming promotion at work (about five months early, as it turns out), I wanted to replace my 1990 Toyota Corolla with a nicer vehicle. Unfortunately, at heart I am a skinflint. I love Hondas and like Toyotas, but the $18k starting price for an Accord made me choke, and a Camry was out of the question. I knew I could get a Civic or Corolla for about $14k, but that would still be a base model with few options. I checked out a Ford Focus but was unimpressed with its small size, road noise, and bumpy ride.

The salesman asked, "Have you thought about a Suzuki?" I sneered at first, but he seemed insistent, so I shrugged and agreed to do a test drive in a 2005 Suzuki Forenza. It was very nice, and cost just over $14k. It seemed fairly peppy, but not enough to satisfy me. I tested a standard-transmission Forenza and it had more of the driving feel I wanted, but the fuel efficiency on an automatic was 21/28, and the efficiency on a standard was ... 21/28. I couldn't understand it then, and I don't understand it now.

Car Lust--Toyota Prius

In most car enthusiast circles, admitting affection for a Toyota Prius is like putting a "Kick Me" sign on your own back. While I like the Prius, I can understand the antipathy.

I've read an amusing description of the Prius that describes it as powered by a small gasoline engine, an electric motor, and its owners' smug sense of superiority. Fair or not, for many people who love cars, the Prius has become a symbol both of people who hate cars and of haughty environmental elitism. The Prius, as the most famous and visible hybrid, also takes a lot of the heat for the fact that hybrids often are overly expensive, complex, use lots of environmentally unfriendly batteries, and tend not to live up to their EPA mileage estimates. Given the fact that a decade-old Geo Metro can match the Prius' mileage without a massive environmentally unfriendly battery pack, there is a perception that hybrids (and, by association, the Prius) are more a symbol of environmentalism than a useful way to save gas.

Car Lust--Mazda Protege5

For the last two decades, two diminutive titans have towered over the rest of the compact car field, dominating sales, reputation, and mind share. Every friend of mine who has looked for a small car in the last decade has started their search by looking for a Honda Civic or Toyota Corolla, and for good reason--they tend to be durable, high-quality cars.

Overshadowed somewhat by this excellence has been Mazda's small cars, which have ranged from okay (the GLC) to amazing (the 323 GTX) to beautifully refined (the Protege). The Protege has long been one of my favorites; for quality transportation over the last decade, in my mind it has been more of a mentor in its class than a protege, leading the way in refinement, quality, and its driving dynamics.

Car Lust--1971-1976 Chevrolet Impala

Like the dinosaur, the massive rear-wheel-drive American full-size sedan once had a long run as the master of all it swurveyed--only to fade slowly into obscurity and disappear entirely, succumbing to competitors more suited to a changing environment.

But, also like the dinosaurs, the big sedans enjoyed a long, glorious run. For decades, the large rear-wheel-drive sedans were at the top of the heap; for many years, the Chevrolet Impala was the runaway sales leader, the most popular of the behemoths.

And why not? Impalas, like their slower-selling bretheren, were large, attractive, soft-riding sedans that offered palatial accommodations and cavernous cargo room at a reasonable price that many families could afford. In those hazy, nearly forgotten days before minivans and SUVs burst onto the scene, Impala wagons carried large quantities of people and cargo, serving as the trusty backdrop for countless family vacations. As a bonus, the Impala's massive hood and trunk lid could double as a helicopter landing pad in case of emergency.

Our Cars--1998 Mazda 626 LX

Submitted by Nathan of Brainfertilizer Fame

The reason I've been thinking more about cars and car issues lately is because my commuter car was totaled (hit by a motorcycle while the car was parked). I spent a great deal of time researching to determine value while searching for a suitable replacement.

I ended up getting a steal--a 1998 Mazda 626 LX 4-cylinder with 83,000 miles for $1,000. According to Edmunds, it is worth $4,000 retail or $3,100 in private party sale in Hawaii (where I am). I could get $2,300 for it as a trade-in. The typical Mazda transmission problems from that era should not be a worry, as the transmission was replaced last year.

I was looking for a car that I could drive for a month, then sell without a loss while shipping my '01 Prizm for the upcoming move to Texas. Not only did I do that in spades, I ended up getting a car I don't want to give up, so maybe we'll sell the Prizm instead.

Without further ado, I give you An Ode to My Mazda 626:

Our Cars--2003 Honda Accord EX V-6

Let's say I went back in time to 1973 and tracked down the proud original owner of my old 1973 Plymouth Valiant. Let's say I offered that Valiant driver a chance to look at a car from 2003 and then, with eager anticipation in the air, I whipped a sheet off of the Honda Accord pictured here. How do you think that Valiant driver would react?

I think the 1970s driver would be momentarily thrown by the aerodynamic styling, but would subsequently be really disappointed by the lack of progress in the intervening three decades.

"This car is from 2003?" Valiant Bob would ask incredulously. "But it's hardly any different! It still runs on gasoline? It still scrapes rain off the windshield with rubber blades? You still have to steer it with a wheel? It doesn't drive itself? It doesn't fly? What does your car do that mine doesn't?"

Volvo 240DL

The Volvo 240DL pictured here was a loyal partner for nearly a decade--a period of time in which the Volvo covered more than 200,000 miles, took part in two cross-continental moves, transported us and our friends to countless enjoyable endeavors, and generally became an omnipresent part of our lives. It was my wife's first car, and endured as our primary vehicle even as more modern replacements came and went.

With more than 350,000 miles on it when we sold it, our 240 lived up to the line's reputation for ground-breaking durability. The build quality was high, the construction was tank-like, and it took every beating we handed out.

So, given all that, I'm a little ashamed that I never really warmed up to the Volvo and wasn't all that sorry when we eventually sold it. I can't avoid the feeling that I've failed some fundamental personality test. So, if I could just vent a bit ...

1973 Plymouth Valiant

It all started simply enough. A couple of years ago, a co-worker of mine casually mentioned that he had a 1973 Plymouth Valiant just sitting in his backyard that he would be willing to let me have for free. To my ears, that pitch was as seductive and destructive as the Sirens were to Jason's Argonauts.

Of course, at the time my wife and I had an infant to care for, we weren't particularly well-off, and we already owned two cars. On the list of things our family needed, a '73 Valiant ranked somewhere between flesh-eating bacteria and and an infestation of locusts.

Also, this example wasn't exactly perfect. My co-worker had mentioned that the Valiant tended to stall if the driver was overly gentle with the throttle; that exhaust poured into the passenger compartment, likely due to a cracked manifold; and that thanks to a breakdown in the weather sealing, there was likely to be moisture in the car. It had been sitting in his lawn for some time, and was a a faded, dingy, somewhat mossy shade of brown.

Saturn SL2

I've already put on record what I think of the Saturn SL2, but since it fits the Our Cars theme, I'm going to include two photos of our Saturn which sum up our entire experience with that car. And, to give me some text to flow around the photos, I'll reprint the most pertinent section:

In our first weekend of ownership, the Saturn sprang a coolant leak that left the car smelling vaguely of antifreeze for the rest of our time together. After the leak and a near-overheat situation, there emerged a curious squawk from the engine that sounded like a leaky hose or a bad seal. The shop, of course, couldn't find a problem.

AMC Eagle

In last week's Jeep Wagoneer Car Lust, several commenters mentioned the AMC Eagle as another completely honest, totally rugged, wonderfully faithful vehicle. People, if you're looking for some appreciation for the Eagle, you've come to the right place.

Today, the AMC Eagle looks like an ungainly, unlovely, rolling anachronism, with indifferent build quality and a paucity of style and elegance. But what you have to remember is that, back when it was introduced in the early 1980s, the Eagle was an ungainly, unlovely, rolling anachronism with indifferent build quality and a paucity of style and elegance.

Peugeot 505

Most French cars of the 1980s and before were weirdly styled, horribly unreliable, slow, and possessed a combination of pillowy ride and freak-show interior ergonomics. This combination proved to be either immediately endearing or nausea-inducing to Americans.

The Citroen CX, for example, was such a car--my lust for that vehicle marks me as one of those unfortunates genetically predisposed to French cars. I'm hoping medical science finds some pharmacological help for me before I do something I regret.*

If it is at all possible for a French car to be in the American mainstream--and I'm not at all convinced that this possibility exists--then the Peugeot 505 was it. It replaced the typically strange 504, but set itself apart from the diverse oddness of other French cars.