Car Lust

Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon

        

Oh, hell yes.

Pontiac Aztek

When GM's panopoly of brands was in full swing during the 1950s, the goal was to create a natural progression for customers to climb through to preserve brand loyalty. The theory, so it went, was that a young buyer would start with an inexpensive Chevrolet, then work up to a slightly sportier Pontiac, migrate to a more reserved Oldsmobile, follow that with a more luxurious Buick, then retire to a nice Cadillac. Owing to its early postwar success for GM, this model was adopted by both Ford and Chrysler--for Ford, it was supposed to be Ford to Mercury to Edsel to Lincoln, while Chrysler pushed a Plymouth to Dodge to DeSoto to Chrysler to Imperial progression.

As both Ford and Chrysler learned the hard way, maintaining a fine-grained approach to the market, with separate brands, bodies, engines, vehicles and dealers for each conceivable market segment, only makes sense when you're selling enough volume to make it worthwhile. For Ford, it didn't take long for Edsel to disappear. Chrysler's DeSoto, meanwhile, disintegrated by 1961, having been killed off by the same market economics that led to sales declines for Buick and Oldsmobile while rendering Ford's poorly executed efforts at establishing the Edsel brand moot. By 1970, GM, which controlled nearly 50 percent of the market by itself, appeared to be the only car company large enough to pull off such a strategy profitably.

1985 Mercedes-Benz 300TD

When I first read David Drucker's piece on W124-series Benzes, my interest was definitely piqued. One of my first cars was a previous generation 300TD, a big maroon diesel belching beast that's probably still running around to this very day. Then I read this small piece of soul-wrenching blasphemy:

"Fairness requires that I present an opposing point of view, and as it happens, I have one. First: you can keep the Diesels. They’re slow, noisy, and hard to start. And the smoke is embarrassing. And second: the W123 wagon--the 300TD through the 1985 model--could be the most boring vehicle of its type since the first generation International Travelall. That it was burdened with a Diesel engine can only be ascribed to our government’s Draconian CAFE regulations. But regardless of motive, the Series 123 300TD was doubly cursed, and I don’t want one. And here in Scarsdale, where Mercedes-Benzes are fairly thick on the ground, neither does anybody else. 

"It’s not that nobody in these parts needs a station wagon. (Everyone, everywhere, needs a station wagon; most folks just don’t know it yet.) No, Scarsdale has plenty of station wagons, just about every one of them a Volvo. My guess is that the locals see the 300TD as being about as exciting as yesterday’s yawn. Since station wagons themselves are perceived as being pretty dull, it’s only natural that the less boring ones get the nod. That staid old Volvo finds itself in that position indicates that some of the Turbo’s panache has rubbed off on the lesser models."

Mr. Drucker is absolutely correct that, on paper, the W123-series 300TD was about as exciting as waterlogged Melba toast. 0-60 times were best measured epochally and referenced apocryphally ("It may get to freeway speed before the next mass extinction!"). Driving one with its characteristic black plumes of diesel smoke emanating from the tailpipe in California and parts of New York may run afoul of public health regulations that prohibit second-hand smoke. It handles precisely how you would expect a heavy station wagon with an inscrutably byzantine pneumatic suspension system would handle.

None of that matters.  That was never the point.

1986-1995 Mercedes-Benz E-Class (W124)

Over the past few months, while other commitments have kept me from venting in this venue, my far-flung colleagues have heaped much praise on a succession of flimsy econoboxes. I take comfort in knowing that most of these objects of their misguided car lust have long since been consigned to junkyards, landfill, and recycling plants. I take even more comfort in knowing that a representative sampling of these turkeys have found homes in the garages of borderline fanatical owners, and that those owners gladly spend non-trivial sums to keep the objects of their obsession in what passed for tip-top condition when they were new. To see a “Cadillac” Cimarron in the wild, so to speak, can serve as a reminder of the kind of thinking that led GM to its current state. Similarly, to see a Datsun B210 with an intact body shell, and in any kind of drivable shape at all, serves as proof that rust is no match for a big pile of money.

I wasn't a fan of these sad little vehicles when they were new, and time hasn't caused me to change that opinion. Indeed, I prefer my tin foil to be wrapped around leftover pizza, rather than turned into a car’s body panels. With that in mind, I’d like to heap some well-deserved praise on a car that belongs on any list of the best, and most important, cars ever built. That car is the Mercedes-Benz E-Class of the W124 generation, which was introduced in 1986 and remained in production through 1995. Given the huge success of the model that it replaced, the W124 needed to bring something very special to the table. Fortunately, in those pre-Lexus days “something very special” was nothing more than “business as usual” at Daimler-Benz AG.

<rant>When Lexus hit the scene it seemed as though Daimler-Benz lost the formula. The models developed in the post-Lexus environment overtly skimped on overall quality in order to accommodate ever more complex gadgets and subsystems. And, taking a page from the GM playbook, they used paying customers as the test bed for those gadgets. Rumor has it that, after a couple of decades in the wilderness, the company is back on track. We’ll see. </rant>

The W124 debuted to worldwide acclaim, receiving accolades for its ride, handling, and bank vault solidity. Over the course of its lifetime, the W124 was available as a four-door sedan or wagon, a two-door pillarless hardtop, and a convertible. Worldwide, the W124 was equipped with gas and Diesel engines ranging from 2.0 to 6.0 liters, and between 1989 and 1993 the car could be had with 4Matic all-wheel drive. Through 1993, the model names consisted of a number (roughly indicating engine size) followed by a letter code whose meaning sometimes described the body style, and sometimes didn’t. In 1994 the letter/number position was reversed, and the letter described the position of the platform in the Mercedes-Benz line. So for 1994, the 300E became the E320.

Wagon Queen Family Truckster

It's hard to imagine a car more divergent from yesterday's Ford Fiesta than the Wagon Queen Family Truckster. For one thing, the Fiesta was a real car with real significance to the automotive industry; the Truckster was fictional, significant only in the degree of anguish it inflicted on the Griswold family in National Lampoon's Vacation, the 1983 movie paean to family road trips. The Fiesta was a simple small car that excelled at doing more with less; the Truckster was monumentally excessive and yet completely hapless.

The Truckster might be fictional, but it's still worth discussing--if only because it is right at the center of one of the funniest movies of the 1980s. Captain Ahab rode to inexorable and tragic disaster aboard the Pequod; Clark W. Griswold did the same thing much more entertainingly aboard the Wagon Queen Family Truckster.

Everybody knows the Family Truckster is funny; what is not as well-understood is the fact that the Truckster's disgusting excesses make it intelligent, incisive, pitch-perfect satire of the dismal state of American cars in the 1970s and early 1980s. It was certainly over-the-top, the Truckster is so well-aimed that it's not hard to imagine it being real. Don't believe me? Let's step through the ways in which the Truckster satirizes the typical 1983 American LeBehemoth Brougham.

Dodge Aspen/Plymouth Volaré

This is a compact. That Family Truckster-colored monstrosity to our right is a compact on drugs. 

Any questions?

One of the stranger facts in American automotive history is that, in 1976, Chrysler was able to sell the F-body Dodge Aspen and Plymouth Volaré as "compact cars" with a straight face. To put these cars into a more modern perspective, the coupe version of the Aspen is 198.8 inches long. A brand new Chrysler 300C, on the other hand, is only 196.8 inches long--the "compact" Aspen is two inches longer than a modern full-size luxury car. That station wagon to the right, meanwhile, checks in at 201.2 inches, which is only an inch shorter than a base trim Escalade.

At the time, of course, none of this was unusual. A year later, GM would release the New Chevrolet, spearheaded by the "downsized" 212-inch long Caprice, and people would marvel at how small it was.  Indeed, this collective hallucinatory perception of space-time would eventually lead to Disco Demolition Night and the War on Drugs.

1986-1992 Saab 9000 Turbo

When Saab debuted the 9000 in 1986, it raised some eyebrows. It's not often that a car garners attention because of its normalcy; but such is the case when a noted oddball carmaker like Saab introduces a car so seemingly bone-stock conventional as the 9000.

Saab had always been known for cars with profiles that could best be described as quirky. From the early 92 and 95, to the swoopy Sonnetts, to the swollen and hunchbacked 99 and 900, Saabs looked different than normal cars and were seemingly proud of that fact. By contrast, the 9000 was clean and attractive but otherwise unremarkable by the standards of 1986. The aero headlights and the smoothly contoured sides were handsome and aerodynamic, but reminiscent of the ground-breaking Audi 5000 and Ford Taurus. Without the Saab grille and insignia, it would be difficult to identify the 9000 as a Saab--while the 900, on the other hand, showed its Saab heritage clearly and proudly. Only the five-door hatchback bodystyle betrayed Saab's quirky tendencies.

In another break from non-conformity, the 9000's platform was the result of a joint development effort with three other European carmakers. The 9000's chassis and, in some cases, body panels, were shared with the Alfa Romeo 164, Lancia Thema, and Fiat Croma. Sharing a platform with the likes of Alfa and Lancia doesn't exactly raise the spectre of awful and irrelevant clones like the Cadillac Cimmaron or Mercury Bobcat, but its conventionality was a bit worrying for this slavish Saab-ite. Had Saab sold out and built a bland every-car?

Nissan Cube

UPDATE: the U.S.-spec 2010 Cube has been unveiled--and it's the mirror image of the Japanese version.  Pictures here.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Japan seems to be producing a lot of adorably quirky rectangles on wheels these days. Some, like the Honda Element and Scion xB, have become familiar here in the U.S., while others, such as the Suzuki Alto Works, are unknown to these shores.

The most interesting of all is the appropriately-named Nissan Cube. I first learned of the Cube by reading about it in Robert Cumberford's "By Design" column in Automobile magazine. That article focused on the Cube's styling, of course. But while the Cube is interesting for how it looks, that's not the only thing that makes it interesting.

The Car that Sten Built... a Volvo 740?

I want this car. THIS CAR! Not a car like it. This one. Why do I want this ordinary looking Volvo 740? Because this the car Sten built, and it is by no means ordinary.

Who's Sten? Sten was this crazy old Swede, an artiste-inventor, with an amazing sense of humor. Sten had been an engineer who worked for Volkswagen, but he liked Volvos. When Sten retired he had some time on his hands, and turned his attention to this Volvo as a project--or shall I say canvas.

If you are in or around Montreal and you think you have a fast car, be warned--this inconspicuous Volvo will pull the paint off of your very fast ride as it smokes you. Sten liked Volvos, but he also liked F-Body Camaros and Firebirds with a 5.7-liter V-8s and 6-speed manual transmissions. Perhaps you can see where this is going.

1955-1957 Chevrolet Nomad

In general I'm not a big fan of station wagons. This may be familial in origin, since my family never owned one, so I have no warm, fuzzy memories of riding in one as a child. Nor do I recall any of our circle of friends and family having one or ever even riding in one; such is the impression this type of vehicle made on me.

Nevertheless, in recent years a few of them--starting with the Dodge Magnum--have made me take a second look. One that got my motor going (pun gleefully intended) was the Chevy Nomad, specifically the 1955-57 version. Not only is it an incredibly handsome piece of machinery, but it was generally, if not spectacularly, unsuccessful. Thus, combined with its relative anonymity these days, the Nomad is a fantastic example of a beautiful and gloriously dysfunctional car lust.