1986-1989 Honda Accord

by CarLustBlog.com at 2:28 AM PDT, June 25, 2009

Every so often, an automaker has a special run in which it can seemingly do nothing wrong; great car follows great car, and seemingly every product it touches turns to gold. I would argue that GM had a run like that in the 1960s, followed by Mercedes-Benz in the 1970s, Honda in the 1980s, BMW in the 1990s, and Toyota in this decade. These are the stretches in which a run of great cars builds the brand's reputation and a core of loyal customers that continue to buy over the following decades; in other words, the exact opposite of what GM did from 1975-1985.

Besides the great cars, I find these runs of success so compelling because they illustrate just how deceptively simple making great cars can be. These manufacturers didn't succeed because of fancy new technologies, splashy styling, or unnecessary gimmicks; they succeeded because they delivered original, attractive, cars that last and are fun to drive. Honda is the ultimate example here; once just a respected small automaker, Honda became a global powerhouse by executing the fundamentals flawlessly in the 1980s.

There's something special, just innately right about Honda cars in the mid-to-late 1980s; a purity of styling and engineering that took simple, unpretentious cars and lifted them into genius. I'm focusing on the Accord here, and Cookie the Dog's Owner previously waxed eloquent about his 1985 Honda CRX, and Rob the SVX Guy has done the same for his 1989 Honda Prelude Si, but much of what made these cars great go for the entire 1980s Honda lineup--the Civic, Prelude, Accord, and even the first Acura Integra and Legend.

Like other Hondas of the time, the strengths of the 1986-1989 Accord were simple and fundamental. For one thing, the Accord was a cheerful car; its look was attractive but devoid of pretentious artifice. The Accord's interior was straightforward, with informative gauges, firm seats covered in nicely nibbed cloth, and a low beltline, offering expansive, glassy views of the outside world. The inside of the Accord was a pleasant, purposeful place to be, freed from the clutter of today's cars--no bluetooth iDrives, heated seat bolsters, heads-up Onstar, or leather-upholstered satnav here. The Accord's interior provided a comfortable seat, a pleasing steering wheel, and fantastic light and visibility.

That steering wheel connected to some pretty pleasing machinery as well. The Accord was offered in a variety of four-cylinder flavors; none of them offered an embarrassment of power (Car & Driver tested a 1986 Accord LXi at a 9.3-second 0-60 run), but like all Honda four-cylinders, the Accord's powerplants loved to play with smoothness and enthusiasm out of proportion with their modest horsepower. Likewise, the Accord's handling was sneakily impressive. This Accord came with double wishbone suspension at the front and rear; an advanced but expensive suspension type that gave the Accord outstanding sports-car agility unmatched by its family-sedan peers.

That sneaky, subtle sportiness showed up in the Accord's styling. The Audi 5000 and Ford Taurus were rightly lauded for bringing aerodynamics to the sedan world at around this time, but Accord was just as smooth--and it had hidden headlights. Just to repeat, it was a family sedan with hidden headlights--how cool is that? The Accord was unpretentious and clean, but it was sleek. It was even available in--ooh, la la--svelte three-door hatchback trim.

During my great used-car search several years ago, in which I ultimately purchased my 1983 Chevrolet Malibu Wagon, I seriously considered buying an Accord of this vintage. In fact, there was at the time an entrepreneur who specialized in only Accords of this vintage; he purchased them, fixed them up, and resold them at eye-watering prices. I drove a few of his cars and was impressed, but ultimately I couldn't justify spending large amounts of money on 250,000-mile cars, innate, baked-in goodness or not.

I know Rob the SVX Guy has had to make that decision as well; he owned and possibly still owns an Accord of this vintage, and despite his dedication to the car, its extreme age and wear has been presenting him with some difficult decisions. These Accords are the kinds of car that get their hooks into your heart.

Though there have been other great Accords*, I think this model was the high mark for the line--and I say this as the happy owner of a 2003 Accord. Other Accords have been bigger and more powerful, but this Accord just got it right in a way that I miss as Hondas get bigger, heavier, darker, and more self-consciously overstyled.

* I feel that Honda Accords, like Star Trek movies, tend to alternate between interesting and uninteresting. The third, fifth, and seventh-generation Accords were relatively sleek and interesting; the fourth, sixth, and eighth are relatively blocky and uninteresting.

All three pictures here come from How Stuff Works' informative 1986-1989 Honda Accord page; Honda is the original copyright holder.

Update: Some of the commenters are making the excellent point that Hondas of the early 1990s were similarly brilliant, and they're absolutely right. It's easy shorthand to refer to the 1980s as Honda's magic time, but in fact Honda's do-no-wrong period was something more like 1985-1995. Most of the Honda products during that period, including Mochi Mochi's 1991 Honda Civic, my 1994 Acura Integra, the second-generation Acura Legeand, and the 1990 Acura NSX, were inspired and compelling in the same way these Accords were compelling--they offered simple, clean interiors; unpretentious, sleek styling; sweet, rev-happy engines; surprisingly sharp and incisive handling; and great visibility offered by a low beltline. Most importantly, these cars were so much fun to own and drive that their owners became dedicated Honda buyers for the next several decades.

read more “1986-1989 Honda Accord”

Father's Day Round Table

by CarLustBlog.com at 2:37 AM PDT, June 21, 2009

One might reasonably argue that we here at Car Lust do not really write about cars as much as we write about ourselves; the cars are simply a vehicle (pun intended) allowing us to tell a story of how we view ourselves, our friends and family, and society generally. We're mostly average folks with an interest in offbeat automobiles, much like the readers who come here to read our missives to cars gone by. Hardly anyone will ever drive a Lamborghini, but everyone and his brother either had a Ford Pinto or knew someone who did. As Chris put it so aptly regarding the Ford Pinto:

Somewhere, three decades ago, a designer proudly unveiled it to the bosses at Ford; workers spent their waking hours building it. Young families bought Pintos, showed Pintos off to their friends, washed Pintos in their driveways, drove their babies home from the hospital in Pintos. Some of you drove Pintos; some of your parents or grandparents drove Pintos. Pintos were on TV, in movies, in magazines and newspapers. The Pinto is part of the fabric of our history.

Since the child is father (or mother) to the man (or woman), it makes sense for us to look back at our formative years to examine where our attitudes, likes, and dislikes for particular cars comes from. Setting aside the debate over the accuracy of the stereotype, fathers tend to be associated with the family car far more than mothers are. Most of us have fond (or otherwise) memories of going down to the car dealers with dad to get a new car for the family, driving it home, and then watching as it is shown off to all the other dads in the neighborhood, usually with the hood up and everyone making comments about horsepower, transmission ratios, etc., whether they know what any of it means or not.

Some of the most endearing posts and comments I've read on this blog are memories of dads and cars. And so we have convened another Car Lust Round Table™ to share. Included are reminiscences by Car Lust bloggers as well as links and quotes to some of our favorite posts and comments, all in honor of Dad for this Father's Day.

First, a couple from the archives:

-- Making good on a father's wish to restore a 1974 AMC "Oleg Casini" Matador:

"It was Feb. 19, 1999 in Abbotsford, B.C., and my Dad, Edwin Alberta Thoreson, became the proud owner of a 1974 Oleg Cassini Matador. . . . Although Dad received many offers to sell the car, he worked on it whenever he could and had visions of someday restoring the car. In 2003 Dad's legs weakened from age, making it very hard to get around, and after a serious fall the family decided to move him to a home where he could be taken care of. We brought him back to the house numerous times to check on the house, and his first concern was always checking on his old Matador. . . On Jan. 10 2005, Dad passed away peacefully, after joking with a nurse about where she was planning to put a flu shot. As the oldest son, and having seen the hidden beauty in the Matador that my Dad had seen, I decided to have the car moved to Calgary to try to make my Dad's dream come true. . .After two years of hard work, Dad's dream had become a reality. We commemorated the moment by putting on a special front plate that states "BEWARE THE MATADOR--This one's for you, Dad."

-- Reader TAFKA on living with an old car:

"When I was coming up my dad insisted on owning Studebakers. He also had only daughters, so guess who had to help work on these beautiful, but totally unreliable cars over the weekend? And I remember very few weekends that we weren't tinkering with cars. My girlhood was blighted by never knowing of a morning whether one or the other of the two Studebakers (the Commander was worse, but the Avanti later got that way) was going to start up, or whether there would be fraught moments before taking off for work or school, of my dad having to go under the hood to dick around with the carburetor, snarling at us kids just because we were there. . ."

Cookie the Dog's Owner

I've written postings about a few of the cars my father had when I was growing up: the 1949 "Oldredford," the '64 Plymouth Belvedere wagon , and the '76 LTD that got us through the Great Blizzard. Dad had grown up in the Great Depression and learned to drive on big Detroit predreadnoughts with three-on-the-tree manuals. He had no particular interest in acceleration, handling, futuristic looks, or technical sophistication, but he loved his creature comforts. Give him a big land barge with a soft ride and an automatic transmission, and he was happy as could be.

In later years, Dad flirted with becoming a collector and bought a 1952 Chevrolet, which he had for a couple years before selling it to a friend of his. He wasn't particularly a car guy, and had no business
picking up a screwdriver or even opening the hood to check the oil. (I learned a great deal about auto repair and maintenance when i was growing up, but I learned all that from Mom.)

He was also adamantly opposed to owning a foreign car, like a lot of people his age--though that was in part because he was active in politics. When I went to get my Honda CRX, though, he helped me negotiate the purchase, and insisted on driving it around for a few blocks. It wasn't his kind of car at all, but he understood that it was what I wanted.

Virgil Exner, Jr.

We were loafing along at about 80 mph, no speedo, just the big 4 1/2" tach showing 2400 RPM. Our black lacquered beauty was purring on all 8 through the chromed 3" straight pipe, on an even straighter stretch of smooth concrete. There was hardly any traffic. We were eastbound for the SCCA’s (Sports Car Club of America's) summer event of the year at Thompson, Conn. A fuel stop was due at Somerset and we were nursing it a bit, as there was no gauge to go by. No fenders, either, just pure automobile!

I noticed that Dad started to pay more attention to his cowl-side rear view mirror a ways after Laurel Hill. I ‘scootched’ up in my seat and took a quick look back over the tail. One had to be careful or the wind could blow your goggles off. “It’s a ‘41 Packard, Dad,” I said. He nodded. I looked again. It was gaining. Dad applied a little more throttle. There was no speed limit in 1948 on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

I looked again. The big black 180 four door was moving into the passing lane, and I noticed that the two gents appeared to be sitting bolt upright and were wearing black Homburg hats. We were now doing close to 90. The straining Packard inched on by, the gents’ heads unturned with their noses lifted higher. They stretched the distance until returning to our lane. Dad lifted a little, fell back to 2300 RPM, then, bang!, bang! he double de-clutched, shifting down into second, and put his foot in it! The 7.00 by 18" rears cheeped, then bit, and the revs soared rapidly as engine and gears screamed. He switched to the passing lane, and we pulled quickly alongside the brute. Cockpit to front door, at 100, pow!, pow!, dad put her back in high! Again the Firestones burned and we streaked ahead. I looked back. The gents’ mouths were agape! Dad wound it up to 4100, close to 137 mph (the rev limit was 4500) and held her there until we got to the Somerset exit sign.

We parked, climbed out, removed our cloth helmets, and were taking off our kidney belts and WWII summer flying suits when the Packard pulled in next to us. As usual, a few onlookers were gathering. We were hot and hungry for lunch. So was she. The men got out, rushed over, and doffed their hats. One asked, "what is it, what’ll she do?" Dad said "Virgil..?" He always left it to me. I had it down pat.

“Be careful, the exhaust pipe is awfully hot!" I said. "It’s a 1932 Studebaker, two man Indianapolis race car. It has a 336 cubic inch straight eight engine with four Stromberg carburetors and 237 horsepower. It was one of Studebaker’s five-car racing team in the ‘30s, was driven to third place in ‘32 and 11th in ‘33 by Cliff Bergere, then to 10th in ‘37 by Louie Tomei. My dad has had her up to 148 mph, and she comes off the quarter mile in 12.97 seconds at just about a hundred!” The reaction was always the same:
Really? ... Wow!"

That fifth annual trek went on without a hitch. No fouled plugs, no blowouts, no overheating (no fan, for that matter), not even a tail dent. We stomped 'em in the trials on the Thompson half-mile and got the usual, "well, it’s a race car and not a true sports car" reaction from the foreign sporty ca’ lovers. Heck, we’d only just driven nearly 900 miles from South Bend through sun and rain to attend their snobby meet. If our mount didn’t qualify as a true sports car, nothing did! Besides, Dad probably knew more about their own cars than most of them. At least, members like Briggs Cunningham and Russ Sceli really appreciated our endeavor. Father was, after all, almost a founding member (1943) and the club’s first member west of Pittsburgh.

However, to me, the biggest thrill of the trip was that Dad actually let me drive 'our special' on the track. I was 15 and Mom had taught me to drive in our '41 Stude President when I was 13. It was about time! I already had over 8,000 miles in the 'riding mechanic's seat, but, that loud pedal was more sensitive than I had ever imagined. Dad had to hang on for dear life, for a change!

Chuck Lynch

My father was a conservative Democrat; he believed in the working man but held traditions very tight. He was also Irish--he had a fighting temper and the first dime he ever made. And he only drank a beer or two a day to "calm his nerves" since he was an air traffic controller.

He never bought new spark plugs. After all, there was no reason to, since the old ones would always clean up just fine. He also had well-developed arm muscles from pull-starting the 2-cycle boat motor he reinserted those old spark plugs into so many times.

He only bought two brand new cars in his lifetime. The first was a late-1950s Volkswagen, the third ever sold in Nashville. The second was a new white 1965 Beetle, loaded, with whitewall tires, AM radio, sunroof, and a trailer hitch. Yes, a trailer hitch.

About three years later, he bought a two-stall horse trailer to cart my sister's mares around for The Pony Club. To get the thing home, he used the VW, since he had driven it to work at the control tower that day. The folks at Wallace Trailers said he'd never get it home, and in typical Irish fashion, he said, "watch me."

Surprisingly, all went well. He had to get a good running start to climb Yeargin's Hill, and luckily he didn't have to stop quickly that afternoon. But he finally pulled into the driveway safe and sound, trailer in tow, with a satisfied look on his face that seemed to say, "See, I told you so!"

David Colborne

Since I'm probably the youngest contributor posting here, the cars of my youth are probably also the newest. I won't wax nostalgic on any old Detroit iron since I have no memories to pull from--the oldest car that either of my parents drove while I was a kid was my mom's '73 Duster, which was notable for me because it was the first car I remembered my parents owning that was older than I was. Why she bought that car, meanwhile, ties into a bit of personal disclosure. In 1987, when I was 7 (give or take), my parents filed for divorce. My dad got the car and limited visitation rights; my mom got me and the apartment. Consequently, while most of my fellow compatriots here will undoubtedly spin yarns about family vacations gone awry, most of my memories of my dad's cars involve rare one-on-one road trips, many of which involved random SCA events. Between you, me, and the rest of the Internet, most of the costumes I wore for SCA and my mom's paralleling Renaissance Faire obsession were far more damaging to my young psyche than anything the divorce put me through.

Seriously--I had to wear tights.

When my dad wasn't spending far too much time in front of a computer--a habit that has since been transmitted fully and completely to his lone offspring--he had two hobbies when I was a kid. One was dressing up in metal armor, grabbing a wooden stick, and acquiring large, fascinating bruises. The other was small, fast, sporty cars. When I was first born, my parents were forced to live by the adage "beggars can't be choosers." Consequently, when my dad's dad donated a baby blue Pontiac T1000 to the family, nobody complained--at least, not until the first warranty service needed to be performed. As I mentioned in the comments of our previous Chevette/T1000 thread, the car was notable because, after dealing with the myriad issues it developed and the near-criminal lack of support provided by the dealer, both of my parents swore off GM for the rest of their lives. Thankfully, my dad's career as a computer programmer was starting to gain some traction--so when the T1000 died a quick and merciless death, he decided to get something a little more interesting.

In 1985, a couple of years before my parents divorced, they purchased their first new car--a brand-new Plymouth Colt Turbo. It was two-tone, maroon on the bottom and silver on top, and, since my dad absolutely hates automatic transmissions, it came with a five-speed manual. Before the divorce, the most memorable moment occurred when my dad was arguing with my mom about the wisdom of speeding next to a police station. He asserted that a driver could easily speed without incident past a police station since the police would be on patrol elsewhere. My mom argued that speeding next to a police station was intuitively irresponsible since there was no way to know when shifts started or ended. Common sense and female intuition prevailed when a police officer pulled us over immediately after we passed the police station.

After the divorce, the previously pedestrian Colt suddenly became something far more interesting. It was now Dad's car, which meant that we could now do whatever we wanted in it. My dad's way of spending quality time with me after the divorce frequently involved road trips, which worked out well for both of us. He got his young son to sit still for a while. I got to see parts of the country that I had previously only heard of, and I could finally tell friends that I visited other states. We went to Arizona for various SCA events. We went to Colorado for a random road trip, during which I successfully pulled an all-nighter with my dad while he iron-manned the trip from Torrance to some national park near Denver in a single 24-hour bout. We drove to Oregon. We ate at a Denny's in Las Vegas. We did road rallies through the San Fernando Valley, answering odd questions about random landmarks that we were supposed to pass if we followed the directions right. The list went on and on.

Eventually, the Colt started to develop serious problems. Fifth gear went out--suddenly we were making road trips in 4th while I pondered whether or not neighboring drivers thought we were going fast because our engine was loud. Then, one day, my dad called to let me know he wouldn't be able to pick me up that day. The transmission had melted on his way home from work. Fortunately, it was rather lucrative being a computer programmer in the early '90s with more than a decade of experience, so that led to him asking me whether he should purchase a Toyota Celica or a Volkswagen Cabriolet of some sort. The Celica looked much cooler with its rounded lines, and, from where my dad was sitting, it was cheaper and faster than the Volkswagen, so it won out in a landslide. Now, instead of a two-tone, tarted up family sedan, he had an actual sports coupe, or at least something with the miniscule back seat of a sports coupe.

Sadly, around the time that he picked up the Toyota, life started to become increasingly strained on my end. I just couldn't emotionally take the strain of the visitations anymore. So, when I was 11, I called my dad and told him I didn't want to see or hear from him again. As a divorced dad myself, it's one of those decisions that I really wish I could take back. Fortunately, years ago I did the next best thing--once I graduated high school and moved out on my own, I sent my dad an e-mail and we've been in touch ever since.

After the Toyota, my dad, all 6'4" and 300+ pounds of him, picked up a late '90s Mazda Miata convertible--yeah, the visual is as ridiculous as it sounds. He still has that car--in fact, he eventually installed a supercharger in it--but, thanks to some rather generous stock options he cashed out of a while back, he also has a brand new, paid-in-cash Lotus Exige that he drives around. He hasn't let me drive it yet, but I haven't gone out of my way to ask. To be honest, I'm almost scared to death of it--the idea of driving it gives me the same nervousness and unease that talking to a really attractive girl in high school used to give me. I think I'll wait a while longer; besides, the Miata was plenty fun enough.

Since I wasn't paying attention when my parents both told me not to marry young, I'm a divorced dad myself. Taking a page out of my dad's playbook, I take my eldest son on road trips whenever I get the chance, visiting random ghost towns or just driving wherever the road may take me. I don't know if he'll ever think about my old Dakota or my current Kia Rio with the same level of fondness that I hold for that old Colt, but if he does, I'll understand why.

David Drucker

You might think that someone who grew up in Brooklyn wouldn’t have a whole lot of car-related memories to contribute to a Father’s Day compendium. But the Brooklyn of my kidhood (which began in mid-1949) was not the Brooklyn of today, and it especially wasn’t the Brooklyn from which my parents fled at the end of the turbulent ‘70s. In our Brooklyn it was possible to park a convertible on the street, and that’swhat my dad did for quite a while. My own particular automotive goofgeist was informed to a large extent by the cars dad owned while I was growing up. When he was relatively young, his choices were relatively interesting. As he got older, he bought more with his head than his heart. As I look at my own list of cars, which now approaches 50 entries, it becomes clear that I followed the same path.

The earliest family car I can remember (albeit vaguely) is a blue ‘49 Dodge Wayfarer Roadster, which had no back seat and, in the interest of keeping the price down, had removable side curtains instead of roll-down windows. The Wayfarer was replaced rather suddenly by a two-tone blue 1953 Dodge Meadowbrook sedan, but we only had that for a few months. It went away in favor of a ‘53 Dodge Coronet convertible that boasted Chrysler’s semi-automatic fluid drive transmission, wire wheels (replaced with steel wheels by the time the picture was taken), and a continental kit. We kept that car for quite a while, abandoning it only when it became clear that the carpeting was the only barrier between my back seat feet and the pavement below.

I take full credit for finding the Coronet’s replacement. Cruising the Sunday Times classifieds – as was my habit even at age 11--I came upon a ‘56 Chrysler Windsor 225 convertible whose equipment list included ... a record player! I pointed it out to dad, who replied, "it couldn’t hurt to look," so look we did. The Chrysler was white, with a white top and a red-and-white leather interior. I don’t recall whether any pleading on my part played a part in the decision, but a deal was struck and the Chrysler, complete with a small library of 16-2/3 RPM records, was ours within a couple of days.

In those days, Chrysler offered a powerful gasoline heater, and we took full advantage of it. If the temperature outside was above freezing, we could drop the top and stay toasty warm up to about 40 mph. Life wasn’t as good when it rained, for Chrysler hadn’t quite mastered the top-to-windshield seal. If the rain was heavy enough, and the wind direction and vehicle speed were just right, the water would come into the car in sheets. Eventually dad added another strip of weather sealing, which made it very hard to latch the top down using the single center-mounted lever. The solution was a length of pipe, which provided the necessary additional leverage.

After a serious fender-bender, my dad replaced the Chrysler with a metallic blue ‘58 Chevrolet Impala convertible that turned out to be the family’s only GM car, ever. It had the wonderful 283 cubic inch small block V-8, and the less-than-wonderful two-speed Powerglide automatic. Towards the end of the Impala’s life I got my learner’s permit, and proceeded to abuse both the car and the permit on a regular basis. By that time the Impala had begun to rust, and was suffering from a serious case of vapor lock that manifested itself as a hot-start problem. "The car wouldn’t start" was my regular excuse for returning home later than agreed, and more often than not it was the truth.

Alas, the Impala was our last convertible, but we still had two more pushbutton-tranny Chryslers in our future. The first was a white ‘62 Newport four-door hardtop whose most distinctive feature was the clear plastic bubble that covered its full set of electroluminescent gauges. I took my road test in that car, and still have a soft spot for the hardtop body style. In 1967 the Newport gave way to a ‘64 New Yorker four-door hardtop, complete with rectangular steering wheel and brocade upholstery. It always ran very hot, and the brakes seemed to have only two positions: off and "buckle up or I’ll put you through the windshield." After a couple of years, the New Yorker went away in favor of a truly lovely 1965 Chrysler 300, again in four-door hardtop configuration. But what a difference that single model year made. Where the ‘64's body and interior felt tight and solid, the ‘65 seemed to be held together with thumb tacks and rubber cement. Mechanically, though, it was just fine, as was the identical-under-the-skin Dodge Custom 880 that became my own very first car at roughly the same time. The big difference was that mine, just by chance, had air conditioning.

From that point on, my cars got more interesting (the next two were a 1951 Cadillac and a 1964 Jaguar Mark 2), while dad’s, at least for a while, became mostly awful. The 300 gave way to--gasp!--a colossally craptastic ‘71 Plymouth Duster whose only redeeming virtue was air conditioning. After another few eminently forgettable examples of Detroit’s worst efforts, dad went offshore and bought a year-old ‘86 Volvo 240. Aside from needing a fairly regular shot of Freon, the Volvo gave good service for 10 years.

Dad’s last car was the ‘92 Grand Marquis that I took over when he gave up driving. It now occurs to me that a big reason I’ve put so much effort into keeping that car on the road is to retain that connection for just a while longer.

Anthony Cagle

Many people have fond memories of their dad, the Car Guy, out in the garage or driveway, changing the oil, replacing the plugs and points, and performing a number of maintenance jobs on the family car.

That was not my dad. Although he loved certain cars, he wasn't much of a Car Guy. During my early years, he was the main force behind car purchases even though mom did most of the driving. Being of the old school of American automotive design, he liked BIG cars. Big luxurious cars. Even though we couldn't afford them, he had a real love for Cadillacs and Chrysler luxury models. We ended up nearly always getting some GM product, not out of a real love for the brand (although my mom probably felt safest with them) but because there was a dealer in town that they both trusted.

I've outlined my family's history of cars elsewhere, but the main ones I remember most are the Catalina and the Wildcat. The Catalina was the first car I truly remember to any extent, and the Wildcat was the first one I have actual memories of us actually shopping for. We'd looked at a Dodge Coronet, which dad really liked (he had a thing for Dodge, too), and I took a fancy to it as well. Nevertheless, we ended up with the Wildcat. I have fond and not-so-fond memories of the Wildcat. We used to drive from Wisconsin to Alabama for summer vacations, which meant being cooped up in a hot car for 14 hours. The usual configuration was mom driving, dad navigating from the passenger seat, me (the youngest) in the middle front, and my two siblings in the back. It only had an AM radio, so most of my musical memories from the late '60s and early '70s were AM radio songs. Dad loved navigating, so he'd be sitting there with one of the old foldout maps on his lap pointing out to us all the places he'd been to in his life, which often meant some stress for mom as he mapped out half a dozen different possible routes when all she wanted to know was which exit to take and when.

On those trips and others we'd also play the "counting cars" game. This was back when the Big Three were still about the Only Three and styling was still in vogue, so it was relatively straightforward to tell them apart. My sister always took GM, my brother had Chrysler, and I had Ford. Dad took the AMC leftovers and mom didn't care. Of course, little did I know then that, due to market share, the game was always stacked in sis' favor. Still, we dutifully depended on dad to recognize oncoming cars and put them in the appropriate categories. Only later did I find out that he'd been guessing much of the time.

After I moved away, I didn't have much to do with my parents' cars unless I was home for a vacation or something. They went their separate ways with car purchases, mom getting whatever she wanted for her various jobs and personal errands (always GM, of course) and dad getting whatever caught his fancy at any given time. He absolutely loved those mid-late '70s Ford "personal luxury cars" like the Lincoln Continental and Thunderbird though he never broke down and bought one. That's probably where I get my affection for these as well, though at the time I preferred the GM types. Nature or nurture? Beats me, but we sure ended up with similar tastes. He eventually got a Pontiac Bonneville, which was an absolute nightmare. He was either too cheap or uninterested to invest the substantial sums needed to keep the thing running properly, and the one time I drove it I had to call him up to find out why it wasn't starting. I don't remember precisely what I had to do, but I recall it was some complicated series of mechanical maneuvers that only he knew how to perform. Thankfully, that was a short-lived experiment.

His last car was a 1986 Chrysler Fifth Avenue. This was probably the closest he came to having his ideal car. He got it used from a family friend and it was a truly excellent car in the tradition of American luxury sedans, with rear wheel drive, V-8, leather seats, and a quiet, smooth ride. I was quite fond of it as well, and we spent many fine days driving it back and forth to the golf courses while on vacation. There really are few things more satisfying than getting into a quiet, comfortable car after walking for several miles swinging a bunch of metal sticks around and being carried home in soft, butter-smooth luxury.

By then my mom had drifted towards smaller SUVs, and dad didn't much care for them. He always saw them as trucks and felt that a good, big car was a true mark of having "made it." He never really felt safe in smaller vehicles either; safety for him was mass, acres of steel, and a hood long enough to have its own zip code between him and oncoming traffic. I admit I've acquired some of this; I simply can't stand being in a car where I don't have difficulty seeing the end of the hood.

Dad passed away a few years ago, and the old Chrysler sat in the garage for almost a year after he was gone. It took mom a while to part with it even though always seeing it out there was something of a painful reminder of his absence. He hadn't driven it very much in his last couple of years, but it was still "dad's car." When she finally did sell it, it went back to the old GM dealer on consignment and sold pretty quickly and for a pretty good price, too. I don't remember what she did with the money, but she spent it on something dad would have liked as his last material gift.

Chris Hafner

My particular strain of the Car Lust disease was passed to me by three prominent figures in my life--my father, my maternal uncle, and my maternal grandfather. The photo at right was taken during a visit to the Black Hills Speedway in South Dakota a few years ago; neither my uncle (left) or father (right) appear too pleased at the photographic interruption.

Aside from his status as the second-greatest human being walking the earth* and an impossibly fantastic role model, my dad is a hopelessly besotted car nut. He grew up, as with many kids of the 1950s, memorizing the headlight and tailight configurations of the latest cars on the road. He and his friends would flock around the local car dealerships in that pre-Internet age, straining for glimpses of the newest iron.

In a comment to the Chevy II/Nova post, my dad recounts his first real performance car experience:

"My first ride in a hot rod was in the back seat of a brand new 1966 Chevy II with the 350hp 327 engine. A friend of my sister had just purchased the car and was anxious to show it off. I was 15 years old at the time and the hottest car I had ever ridden in was a 1959 Chevy wagon.

"The new owner took it to redline in each gear, much to my delight. I will never forget the sound of that 327 screaming, the new-car smell of vinyl and carpet and the incredible accleration. I still love the look of the car ... (and) those memories of a time 42+ years ago. I will never forget (it)."

Unfortunately, the timing of the muscle car boom and bust was cruel for my father. During the intoxicating peak of the muscle car era--producing hero cars like Chevelles, GTOs, Chargers, Mustangs, Camaros, Firebirds, Barracudas, and the like--my father was in high school, unable to purchase any of that exotic machinery. By the time he graduated from college and had any hope of buying one of these all-time greats, it was 1972 and the entire performance market was in full collapse. This didn't stop my dad, though; in college he and his friends disassembled and reassembled an engine in their dorm room, using the shower as a parts washer. He purchased an Oldsmobile 442 from a local used car lot, only to find that the unscrupulous dealer had temporarily concealed a major oil leak with layers of newspapers. Shortly after I was born, my Dad dedicated himself to what I still think is an incredibly cool project--transplanting an aluminum V-8 into the completely unworthy engine bay of a Chevy Vega. Whenever I need a chuckle, I think of my mom staring forlornly out of the front window of our trailer house while holding her infant son, wondering at the sight of my dad furiously working on a hot-rod Vega. Now that's car lust.

(* The greatest human being walking the earth? My mother, at least in part because she has put up with my dad's odd automotive fanatacism for the past 30+ years.)

As I mentioned in the Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera post, my dad traveled for his job a great deal when I was a kid, invariably to some remote destination across the Great Plains, and always in a four-cylinder Ciera:

"... he coped with the impossibly slow 55-mph speed limit and a four-cylinder Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera company car. Strapping a performance guy like my dad into a 90-horsepower Cutlass Ciera for forced marches across Kansas at 55 mph was as cruel a punishment as forcing Carl Lewis to wear wooden clogs."

Life wasn't quite so rough in the 1990s; my dad finally was able to afford performance cars that befit his passion. We replaced a Buick LeSabre with an Acura Legend--a smooth, capable sports sedan that allowed my dad to display to his pleased son the joys of 120+ mph motoring across Montana. He replaced that with a four-door 1994 Acura Integra GS-R and delighted in taking that car up to its shrill but thrilling 8000-RPM redline.

My dad raised me on a steady diet of car magazines, go-kart racing, live short-track races, televised NASCAR events, and a general sense of awe for slick machinery, especially big-engine, big-horsepower domestic iron. Even today, we love to visit car dealerships for no particular reason and talk through various car acquisition scenarios. Even during the usually difficult teenage years, my dad and I never had difficulty communicating, at least in part because of our shared love of cars. If you're looking for somebody to blame for this blog, he's your man.

Well, he might need to share the blame. My dad loves cars, but he doesn't necessarily share some of my more bizarre tastes. No, that part of my automotive dysfunction was influenced by my import-car-loving uncle, who owned several Volkswagen Squarebacks, ice-raced Mk. I VW GTIs, and was conversant in the goings-on in Formula 1 in a way unshared by anybody else I knew. Quoting from the GTI post, my uncle is "also a master model crafter--his sickness for all things automotive may actually rival my own--and presented me a custom-painted yellow Matchbox rabbit with his sponsorship decals assiduously affixed--the battered remnant of that Matchbox car serves proudly as the photo for Car Lust because that was the point at which my car lust began to ignite."

Car Lust in the post-2008 format no longer has a keynote photo, but my uncle's model collection and slot-car racing enthusiasm continue to influence several of my unhealthy hobby obsessions today. Someday, someday, I'll regularly race slot cars like he does and have as impressive a die-cast model car collection as his--I know, because I've been working slowly towards those goals since I was eight years old.

When I was growing up, my uncle was a writer and a photographer for the Rapid City Journal covering the motorsports beat, and he often let me watch him in the darkroom developing the racing pictures he had taken the previous night at the Black Hills Speedway.** Watching him develop those photos cemented in me the vague but powerful ambition that this is what I wanted to do too. What higher purpose could there be?

(** The only thing I regret about the otherwise fantastic digital camera era is the fact that it has robbed us of the darkroom experience--the dim red light, the mysterious equipment, the smell of the chemicals, and the alchemy involved in transforming light and a sheet of blank paper into a picture. As a kid, it was incredibly transformative ... well, okay, deeply awesome to watch my uncle and grandfather work in the darkroom.)

Young basketball players measure themselves against Michael Jordan or Wilt Chamberlain; since I began practicing writing and photography, I have been striving to write with my uncle's degree of wit and pith. And like that young basketball player, I find myself continually coming up short but nevertheless benefiting from the inspiration.

Some of the happiest moments of my almost unfairly happy childhood came when my dad, my uncle and I piled into one of the various family Jeep Wagoneers, picked up some Taco Johns fast food, and watched local short track racing at Black Hills Speedway until well past my bedtime. Ah, bliss.

Speaking of Wagoneers, I have mentioned before in this space that my grandfather was famously loyal to the Jeep Wagoneer, a ruggedly capable truck that mirrored many of his admirable qualities. Grandpa wasn't a car guy per se in the mold of either his son or his son-in-law; he didn't obsess over the latest cars' performance figures or go out of his way to see a race. But he did have a deep appreciation for good automotive equipment.

The picture at right is one of my favorites--it shows my grandpa (at right) taking a rare moment off from his refrigeration business with a buddy to try out a primitive but nicely put-together slot car track. I'd like to think that the moment pictured here trickled down to me in some way, and that in writing about cars I'm keeping alive a family tradition handed down from both of my parents.

Now, of course, I'm fortunate enough to have a consuming passion for cars and car racing, which has helped ensure that I don't need to worry about the perils of high-paid employment as a doctor or a lawyer. A side benefit is a significant spousal slow burn in the form of my six large bookshelves packed with car magazines--filled in part with the assistance of my dad and my uncle.

What nobler action could I take than to pass all of this along to the next generation--my daughter? Well, I'm doing my best on that score. I've been taking my daughter to car shows since she was an infant, and as you can see her tastes are suitably quirky. Her favorite movie? Pixar's Cars.

Chris Meirose

My love for vehicles can be directly traced to my father. I say vehicles, because in my family motorcycles are the primary focus of wheeled lust. Most families own a three-car garage to fit the family vehicles and maybe the lawn mower and a boat. Our three-car garage had one "stall" air-conditioned before the house was so the cycle shop would be comfortable. Oh, and the other two stalls? They were filled front to back and side to side with motorcycles. There has been a car in that garage maybe three or four nights in the last 28 or so years. A man has to have priorities right?

While our tastes in cars differ, my father and I share a common automotive enthusiasm. If I had to guess my father's top car lusts, they would all be a form of race car, starting with a World of Outlaws Sprint car and his own private half-mile dirt track. The unfortunate reality of economics in my family meant that we never really owned a remarkable car. Everything we owned had to be dependable and fixable. That meant nothing exotic nor temperamental would ever land in our stable.

The first car I can remember is a mid-1970's Honda wagon in bright orange--one of those 1600cc gutless wonders that could go miles on a thimbleful of gas. I don't know what happened to that car, but I do remember as a kid seeing my father grabbing the rear bumper and lifting the whole back end of the car off the ground by himself. I'm sure there was a connection of some sort to the fact that my father was/is a Honda motorcycle fanatic and shop manager/mechanic. My only memory of riding in that car was a trip to the hospital.

The next vehicle of note was an early 60's Ford truck. It had the cool vent windows and bias-ply tires that howled like mad when you drove too fast. This truck was cool because in it's former life it drove a bazillion miles at the local airport with an airplane stairs mounted on top of it. This was from the days where you got out of the plane, hiked down the steps to the tarmac, and walked in to where your family waited just inside the doors. The truck was covered with spots where the welds for the steps were cut off when it reached the end of its airport service.

From there it was a Pontiac Ventura, a Chevy Impala, a VW Rabbit, another Pontiac that never quite ran right, and now a F-150 and a Honda Accord.

I drew some major benefits from our limited resources and the fact that my grandfather owned his own car repair shop. I got to spend a lot of time working on vehicles with my dad. I remember weekends of turning disks and bleeding brakes, welding exhaust and changing rear differential fluids. Outside of a transmission overhaul, there was little that we didn't do at one point or another. This gave me a great basis for being mechanically inclined, and over my lifetime it has undoubtedly saved me many thousands of dollars and has saved my butt more than a time or two when something broke down at the worst possible place and at the worst possible time. While dad was always working on cycles to make ends meet, he always included me in the process and let me learn, even when that meant it might cost him some time and/or money to do so. My father and I skinned our knuckles together wrenching on cars, countless motorcycles, and even a few bicycles. I learned a lot about vehicles, but even more about love. So happy Father's Day to all you dads, especially to mine!

The top photo is from Darrin & Andrea Lythgoe's Genealogy Pages. Mr. Exner's photos appeared in Car Collector magazine. All other photos are property of the Car Lust contributors.

read more “Father's Day Round Table”

MG MGB Series

by CarLustBlog.com at 1:39 PM PDT, June 19, 2009

Writing Car Lust posts is a privilege, especially when they bring back memories of vehicles I have either personally owned or that have been in the family. Such is the case of a 1973 terracotta-colored MGB that my sister had for a few years until her family outgrew the car, which didn't take a lot of outgrowing to do.

What attracted us to the MGB was that, as small as it was, the car was larger than a Triumph Spitfire or MG Midget. I wanted a Spitfire at the time, but this wasn't going to be my car. I believe this is the only picture of "our" MG that we have left. That's Snoopy right behind it, and my first car, a 1972 Vega:( .

My favorite MGB eccentricity was its three windshield wipers. The windscreen was low and wide, and two wipers just weren't up to the job. Only American MGBs had three wipers; all others had two. One night I got caught in a thunderstorm in the canvas-roofed car, and those wipers gave their all to let me see. I was minoring in Aerospace Technology at the time, and driving the roadster was not unlike flying a Cessna 150, except that no pilot is stupid enough to fly a 150 in a thunderstorm.

The best memories I have of the car are during the week I got to take it off to college. People actually lined up to get a ride around the block in it, including some attractive ladies. Oh, if I could only go back and do that day again. ...

I'm getting ahead of myself. The MGB Mark I (1962-1967) was very advanced at its introduction. One of the first cars to have crumple zones for crash safety, it was also made from unibody construction to save weight, unlike the Triumph TR6 and Spitfire.

Powered by a 1798cc B-Series I-4 engine with 95 horsepower, it was carried over from the MGA but enlarged. The MGB made a then-respectable 0-60 time of 11 seconds. This 3-bearing engine was upgraded to 5 main bearings in May 1964.

But this roadster was first and foremost known for its great handling. Maybe it's a coincidence, but the MGB's 91-inch wheelbase is virtually identical to a 2009 Miata's. A rare MGB option was a small rear seat for the kids.

The MGB Mark II (1967-1972) got a 4-speed synchromeshed gearbox (an automatic was an option in the UK), a new rear axle, and an alternator, replacing a dynamo, or generator. The floorpan and driveshaft tunnel sheet metal were new, producing a flatter floor. For the US market, a padded dash, nicknamed the "Abingdon pillow", was introduced.

The MGB Mark III (1972-1980) was built with a new fascia and a better heater. At no time during MGB production were any major exterior body panels changed significantly. The addition of rear back-up lights in March 1967, was a welcomed stamping improvement.

I remember that "our" car had two batteries just behind the seats. Each was a 6-volt, connected to make 12 volts, and were placed on each side of the driveshaft tunnel. These helped balance the car. In 1974, MG builders went to a single battery, which produced more amperes, or cranking power.

Most of the MGBs made were sold in the United States. But like the Spitfire and Midget, the 1974 MGB became a victim of US bumper and emissions laws. Same story, different car ... raise the thing, add large "rubber" bumpers, and choke the power in return for cleaner air.

Limited Edition MGBs were built to signify the end of the car's 18-year run. They were all black with silver lower body stripes and tan interiors. Limited Edition equipment included a front air dam, 5-spoke alloy wheels, a 3-spoke leather-covered steering wheel, special MG badges on the wheels and steering wheel, and a Limited Edition plaque on the glove box. A total of 6,668 were made in 1979 and 1980.

Some call the hardtop MGB GT a shooting brake. I can see this. Designed by Pinin Farina, launched in October, 1965, and built until 1980 (though export to the Colonies here stopped in 1974), the car gave you a tiny back seat and a bit more luggage space accessible through its rear hatch.

The engines and driveline were the same as the MGB. But the springs were stiffened, and anti-roll bars were added due to a bit of top-heaviness. The MGB GT was 5 mph faster than its roadster sibling on the top end due to much better aerodynamics. Some folks even thought they handled better than the roadster, as the solid roof provided a stiffer body.

The MGB GT V-8 was a monster. Made from 1973-1976 and only with right-hand drive, they were never brought to America by MG. Using Rover's 3528cc V-8 that was also used in the Buick Special and Oldsmobile F-85, this was the lightest V-8 in mass production. Having all-aluminium block and heads, at 318 pounds, it actually weighed 40 pounds less than the iron MG 4-cylinder.

These cars would do 0-60 in 8 seconds and top out at 125 miles per hour. The press loved the GT V-8, but British Leyland became concerned that the car would overshadow the company's Triumph Stag, and production was halted. A total of 2,591 MGB GT V-8s were made.

In 1967, the MGC was released. It was available as either the open roadster or GT coupe. Sold through 1970, the MGC had a 2912cc straight-6 producing 145 horsepower. A 4-speed manual with overdrive was standard, and a 3-speed automatic was optional.

Changes were made to the engine bay and floorpan for the 209-pound increased weight and engine size. The hood had unique bulges for the relocated radiator and carburetors.

With a top speed of 120 mph and a 0-60 time of 10 seconds, these cars were no slouch for their time. Its handling was iffy at first, caused by the heavy, off-weighted front end. Later, tire and suspension tweaks brought the driving experience up to par.

The last MGB and MGB GT were built on Oct. 22, 1980. They were shipped to British Leyland's Heritage collection at Gaydon, England, now called the Heritage Motor Centre.

And last, but absolutely not the least, we have the stately MG RV8.

Using only about 5% of the original MGB parts, it was offered in roadster and coupé forms. The underbody stampings of the original car were retained, as were the trunk lid and doors (minus the vent windows). But all-new body panels were formed to create this proud steed over the original MGB British Motor Heritage body shell.

Bits and pieces of other cars made their way to this MG. Headlights from a Porsche 911, door handles from a Jaguar XJS, and CDO instruments from a TVR blended in quite nicely.

The Rover 3950cc V-8, with 190 horsepower and a 5-speed stick, rocketed this car from 0-60 in 5.9 seconds. Top speed was 135 miles per hour. Rear drum and front disc brakes were used, as well as a live rear axle. Front coil and rear elliptic springs with dual roll bars kept the RV8 well-planted in the curves. A RV8 could almost pass as a small Bentley. All interiors were Stone Beige colored, with rich Connelly leather, Burr Elm veneer woodwork, and thick cut pile carpeting, even in the trunk. Ten body colors were offered. All MG RV8s were officially built as right-hand-drive, but one left-hand-drive RV8 is known to exist.

Only 2,000 examples of the MG RV8 were made between 1993 and 1995. They were not sold as new in North America, but three are known to have snuck in. The Japanese market loved these cars- 330 RV8s were sold in Great Britain, and 1,579 went to Japan. Being right-hand-drive, they were tailor-made for Japanese roads.

This brought total MGB Series production to 525,836 cars. It was the most popular sports car of all time until passed by the Mazda Miata. Other MGs followed, including the MG F and TF, but these probably deserve a post of their own.

Driving our MGB was always a pleasure. In a lot of slight curves, you didn't turn the steering wheel so much as you put pressure on it towards the corner. We didn't have the reliability problems a lot of sports cars had back then, but it was only three years old when we got it. I remember the car had some kind of radio, but convertibles and audio systems do not mix. Raising and lowering the ragtop was a bit of a chore, as levers and snaps were everywhere.

Sis sold the MGB and bought a '73 Olds Cutlass as her family car; it was the perfect vehicle for them at the time. But at least I will always remember that day on campus when all the ladies were lined up to go for a ride. ...

The black and white MGB photo is from my scrapbook. The interior photo is thanks to mzaff.com. The MGB GT image is from flickr user Sjoerdwm. The MGC photo is from Wikipedia. MGRV8.com is a great source for all things MGRV8, including ths photo. Cartype.comsupplied the MG logo.British Motor Heritage supplied inspiration as well.

read more “MG MGB Series”

Daihatsu Rocky

by CarLustBlog.com at 11:17 AM PDT, June 16, 2009

It was the dawn of the present-day SUVs, say around 1990. The huge Chevy Suburban and Blazer had been with us for some time, but they hadn't yet crossed over into the auto-buying mainstream. The Ford Explorer and Mazda Navajo were brand new. The word "craze" did not apply to the old behemoths, but when mid-sized SUVs like the Explorer debuted, their sales took off like rockets.

At the same time, the Suzuki Samurai was on the outs because, like Mayberry's Otis Campbell, it had a reputation for being a little "tipsy." Yet there seemed to be a market for a compact SUV, especially for thrifty folks like yours truly.

Enter Daihatsu. The name "Daihatsu" is a combination of the first kanji for "Osaka", and the first kanji of the word "engine manufacturer." When put together, they are pronounced "dai hatsu." With only two vehicles in its American lineup (1988-1992), Daihatsu struggled to keep up with the established brands. The company only offered the compact Charade and Rocky. The Charade was a car, and a bit plain at best. The Rocky was a small SUV that, had it been a bit more refined, could have been a big hit in our market. Comparing the Rocky to the more-familiar Samurai just seems natural here.

I had the pleasure of keeping a new Rocky for a few days as a test vehicle back when it launched. In addition to highway driving, I took it off-road on some farms, but nothing real serious. My attitude was to return the vehicles in as good of shape as I received them, if not better. So forging streams and jumping dirt mounds was out of the question.

The Rocky had the tight, well-built feel of all Asian vehicles of the time. All the pieces fit together well. If I had not been in need of a pickup truck with an open bed to tote smelly fossil fuels around in, the Rocky would have been a good candidate for my next vehicle.

Its styling was pleasant enough. The character lines all flowed together, door hinges were concealed, and the wheel arches and large tires were macho enough to say "rugged" without being a Jeep poseur. The design looks clean today.

Like the Samurai, all Rockys were two-doors with manual transmissions and four-wheel-drive. The Rocky had a five-speed; the Samurai had a four-speed. Air conditioning was extra. The Rocky was also available in different open-roofed configurations; the one I drove featured a hinged hard top over the front passengers. A soft canvas top covered the back, and a rear hardtop was an option.

The Rocky was just big enough to live with. I enjoyed the Samurai (aka SJ-410) that we rented in The Bahamas, where there were no interstates and the fastest speed limit was 45. But back here in the States, a little more mass is needed to feel safe above 55. If you've ever caught a wind gust while in a high-profile vehicle, you know what I mean. At least the Rocky felt adequate on the highways of middle Tennessee.

The low points of the Rocky were its lack of power and poor interior design. With just 1.6 liters and 94 horsepower, doing burn-outs while leaving the drive-in were impossible. Zero to 60 times were, well, leisurely. Top speed? In one of these vehicles? Uh-uh, not while I'm in it.

I'm not a big guy, but my right knee almost became sore from bumping the obtrusive radio/HVAC control housing. To live with a Rocky, some form of padding there would have been necessary. The radio was way too low to safely reach while driving; most newer vehicles have reversed this placement of the radio and A/C controls.

Our final verdict of the Rocky was that it was a glorified Samurai, and maybe a bit better planted on the road. Today, a new Rocky-type vehicle could be a success. Just give it some decent power, a few comfort goodies, and please remove that awful knee-knocker.

The first image is from Wikipedia, the second is from DougFreeze.com, and the third image is from Industriebedarf-hesse.de.

read more “Daihatsu Rocky”

The Munster Koach and the Drag-u-la

by CarLustBlog.com at 5:41 PM PDT, June 15, 2009

Two hilarious monster-themed TV shows, The Addams Family and The Munsters, premiered and expired the same two weeks of the same two years in 1964-1966. Both were in black and white. Each had their audience, and you were either a Munsters fan or an Addams Family fan, or both. I liked them both, but I guess I was more of a Munsters fan, primarily because they had The Munster Koach.

George Barris is a genius. He created custom cars like the Batmobile, Monkeemobile, and The Beverly Hillbillies' truck; if a studio wanted a cool custom vehicle for a TV show or movie, Barris Kustom Cars was the place to call. Barris was also wise enough to retain ownership rights to some of his vehicles and just rented them to the studios, guaranteeing him rights for displays, models, and other rewards.

Built in less than 30 days from three fiberglass Model T Fords, the Koach has the driver's seat up front for Herman and Lilly, a center laboratory for Grandpa, and a rear overhanging couch for Eddie and poor Marilyn, the only "abnormal" one of the bunch. Total seating is eight, though Herman in costume was seven feet tall and could not enter or exit the car on camera. He had to drive it in regular shoes instead of his costume.

The Koach also has a brass tombstone-shaped radiator, carriage lamps, landau bars, a 300-horsepower 289 Ford Cobra V-8, Anson Astro wheels with Mickey Thompson rear slicks, and a 133-inch wheelbase, nearly identical to the Maybach 57. Casket handles on the front, step bars, parlor curtains, and the family crest on the second of the three doors complete the comically creepy car's character.

Here's a couple of stories from the archives: One time during filming, Fred Gwynne (Herman) hijacked the Munster Koach with the whole cast, with everybody in full costume of course. They drove down the freeway and onto Lankersheim, into the heart of Hollywood, and got many looks from the public. I can't help but wonder if that happened today, if anybody would notice.

Another time, they were in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with George Barris driving the Koach. Fred and Al Lewis (Grandpa) were riding in back, and it was so cold that Fred had a bottle. There was a point in the parade when they rounded a corner next to a TV camera, and Fred's comment to that live camera is not printable on this page.

In an episode titled "Hot Rod Herman, Herman lost the Koach in a bet with a faster drag-racer. To win the family car back, Grandpa built a dragster out of a coffin. In the end, they wound up with both cars, and the Drag-u-la is seen in the closing credits of the second season.

The Drag-u-la has a Dragmaster chassis, a 350-horsepower 289 Mustang V-8, four-speed stick, and dragster slicks mounted on polished Rader five-spoke wheels. On the front, English Speedsport wire wheels have mounted Italian motorcycle tires. With the upturned organ pipe exhaust, Grandpa says it's the only dragster in America that can play Oh, Promise Me in second gear.

Getting the casket for the car was, well, another story. Seems the crew went to buy a damaged casket, but the undertaker would not sell one to Barris since he wasn't dead. As soon as the funeral director left, Barris "appropriated" a casket, leaving the cash behind for payment.

CBS thought that after only two years and 70 episodes, monster humor had ran its course. Judging by more than 40 years of "Munster" sequels and countless reruns, CBS might have been mistaken. The Munsters made a 1966 movie, Munster Go Home in color. It flopped. Somehow the green skin makeup just was not believable.

A TV movie was made featuring most of the original cast and, of course, the Koach. The Munsters' Revenge premiered on Feb. 27 1981, and was, well, not received. That attempt to bring the show back to the small screen was not successful.

Other Munsters productions have been made with new stories and new actors. In 1988, The Munsters Today (aka The New Munsters) premiered, and ran for three years and 66 episodes, almost as many as the original. 1995 brought us a Halloween TV movie Here Come The Munsters, and a year later, The Munsters' Scary Little Christmas.

Somehow, I don't think we've heard the last of the residents of 1313 Mockingbird Lane.

As usual with popular Barris Cars, several copies (four total) of the Koach were made. In 1984, one of them sold for $36,000. The latest one was made for in 1995 for Here Come The Munsters".

Here's a rare color photo of The Munsters and their Koach. Please enjoy! All photos and most technical information for this post are from Stephen Cox's "The Munsters - A Trip Down Mockingbird Lane", and a few bits I remember from the show. Wikipedia was a source as well.

--That Car Guy (Chuck)

read more “The Munster Koach and the Drag-u-la”

1992-1998 Oldsmobile Achieva

by CarLustBlog.com at 7:54 AM PDT, June 8, 2009

If there were ever an entirely inexplicable, odd, unusual and unexpected object of Car Lust, it would be . . .the Rampage! But a close second (third, fourth, or fifth, really, given the people around here) is my uncanny BLOARC* for the Oldsmobile Achieva.

No, I don't understand it. The car has no personal meaning to me; I never owned one, nobody I know ever owned one, and I'm not sure I'd ever really want to own one. By most measures it was neither a particularly good or bad car, certainly nothing that would make any normal person sit up and take notice. No major reliability issues, not an exceptional performer, but not an underpowered weenie-mobile either. It looked a little odd and the name is kinda flaky.

But I love it still. And that is no doubt due to its rather unique styling. "There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion" as Francis Bacon said, and there is strangeness in the Achieva's looks. It doesn't really look like anything else and that appeals to me.

In a way, it's somewhat akin to the Honey Badger: You may not want one yourself, but they look interesting and you're just glad to know that such a creature exists.

* Bizarre Love Of A Random Car

The Achieva was part of Oldsmobile's early-1990s efforts to revamp its line and attempt to compete more head-to-head with the imports and also to get away from the boxy look of the rebadged J-body models that had taken Olds through the late '80s. The Achieva replaced the Calais in mid-year 1991 and came in both sedan and coupe versions. It was a pretty standard front-drive car and although classed as a compact, it pretty much pushed the limits of that class. The base engine was a 2.3-liter Quad-4 that developed anywhere between 115 and 190 horsepower, so it could be tricked out to a reasonable performer in that respect. After 1995 the Quad was redesigned as a 2.4-liter "Twin Cam" with about half of the architecture of the engine new. This was done to smooth out many of the rough spots in engine performance compared with the imports, notably the Honda Accord. Horsepower with the new engine never reached the heights of the old Quad, but it was much smoother and more in line with what customers wanted. Olds also made V-6s available for those requiring higher torque.

Reviews were generally positive, although in terms of fit and finish the Achieva suffered from the general "parts bin" mentality of GM in those years, resulting in cheaper-looking parts that didn't really fit in with the Oldsmobile style. It was supposed to go head-to-head with the Honda Accord but didn't really measure up.

Its looks set it apart, which is really where I start to take notice. It's two things really: The rounded split grill sitting above the flat bumper and the. . .yes, I am actually saying this. . .rear fender skirts. As I have noted before I've never been a big fan of fender skirts--they make most cars look ponderous to my eye rather than elegant--but in certain cases they work. Perhaps because those on the Achieva are a bit smaller, they seem to me to add that touch of strangeness in an otherwise unassuming little car that tickles my aesthetic fancy. Just enough to be quirky, but not enough to really put it over the top. Personally, I prefer the coupe as it seems a little better proportioned than the sedan but unfortunately, the skirts only seem to have been an option on the sedan version.

The Achieva didn't quite achieve its goal of model longevity, being replaced after 1998 with the Alero, which took its styling cues from the Aurora. And, well, we see what happened to Olds after that. I still see quite a few of these around and they always invite a turn of the head. Despite my protestations above, I could see me bombing around in one of the 190-horsepower coupes.

--Anthony J. Cagle

read more “1992-1998 Oldsmobile Achieva”

Saab 9-3 Viggen

by CarLustBlog.com at 5:35 PM PDT, June 11, 2009

I'm currently wrapped in denial. Actually, avoidance might be closer to the mark, but either way I'm currently not in a good mental state. For the past two decades Saab has been my favorite automaker because it so enthusiastically embraced three of my favorite automotive attributes: an individualistic philosophy, the magic of turbocharging, and characteristically hunchbacked profiles. The result? Magic, in the form of magnificently funky and atypically useful sporty cars like the Sonett, 99, 900, and 9000. Long-time readers may remember that the 1986 Saab 900 SPG is my personal Car Lust high-water mark.

Now, of course, Saab's future is in doubt. After two decades of generally benevolent General Motors ownership, Saab is up for sale. Over the last few months, I have been generally and perhaps unrealistically optimistic that Saab would land on its feet, perhaps with an owner that would give it both ample funding and a license to regain its uniquely Swedish mojo. Now, though, I'm no longer as sanguine.

Saabs United is all over the story, and its reporting describes the three bidders currently in the running for Saab. From a car-development perspective, the best scenario is probably a purchase by Koenigsegg, the Swedish supercar manufacturer. Based on the latest news, Koenigsegg and Norwegian investors are reportedly Saab's "preferred candidate." But it's not as if Koenigsegg has an easy road ahead of it. The other two parties are less-well-known, and regardless of who wins, what does it mean to Saab's future if venture capitalists take over?

Anyway, this is where my avoidance comes in. While I am cautiously optimistic about the Koenigsegg group, that optimism does not prevent me from being terrified that Saab will either disappear entirely or simply lose any semblance of relevance. The whole experience reminds me far too much of losing my beloved Seattle Supersonics last year, and I'm not sure my psyche could handle the slow, protracted loss of Saab as well.

So, in an attempt to sooth my jangled nerves while this story unfolds, I'd like to honor the impending end of Saab's stint as a GM subsidiary by featuring my favorite Saab made under the GM banner--the 9-3 Viggen.

It should surprise exactly nobody that the Saab 9-3 Viggen gets my blood boiling; after all, as the compact high-performance turbo hatch in Saab's lineup, it had all the elements of greatness. It was fast, rare, and, most importantly, boasted the same lasciviously lumpy profile as its predecessors. While I prefer the less aerodynamic, more chiseled lines of the older Saabs, the 9-3's smoothness and a tasteful aero package were compelling in their own right. The 9-3 Viggen was essentially the spiritual successor to the 900 SPG, and that fact leaves me completely helpless to its charms.

Before I get into the Viggen's performance credentials, let's keep in mind that it came to market in 1999. As hard as it is to believe for old fogies like me, 1999 is now a decade in the past--and the performance market back then was very different. This was before the recent horsepower boom, before Hyundai family sedans were available with 250 horsepower, and before SUVs accelerated like exotics. At that time, cars that could make the 0-60 run in the low 6-second range and hit a 155-mph top speed were considered special, and in putting up those numbers, the Viggen could nip at the feet of such brawny and expensive high-performance stars as the BMW M3 and Audi S4. New Viggen buyers even received a two-day training course at Georgia's excellent Road Atlanta road course.

Unfortunately, the combination of high horsepower with front-wheel drive resulted in major-league torque steer, a condition in which the steering wheel tries to twist to one side when the driver accelerates rapidly. This unfortunate characteristic marred the Viggen's handling and prevented it from competing seriously with the M3 and S4. Even back in the late 1990s most major manufacturers had figured out how to infuse horsepower into front-wheel-drive cars without creating torque steer, but Saab chose a different path. Instead of getting the engineering right, Saab tried a bald-faced marketing maneuver in which the carmaker claimed the torque steer was intentionally left in to pose a "challenge" for "advanced drivers." Um, yeah ... like kicking a marathoner repeatedly in the shins is a desirable "challenge" for "advanced runners."

Nowadays a V-6 Nissan Altima can run in stride with the Viggen, but despite that and the torque steer I'd love to have a Viggen in my garage. After all, it's fast, rare, and sports a bloated profile. It just doesn't get much more authentically Saab than that, and heck, its Viggen moniker was even borrowed from Saab's background as a military jet fighter manufacturer.

It is impressive to me that the Viggen contains so much undiluted, earthy Saab flavor despite being born during GM's ownership. In fact, unlike many other Saab devotees, I haven't especially minded Saab's time under GM's thumb. The 9-3 and 9-5 are still fast, interesting cars, with at least some residual 900 and 9000 flavor. The 9-2X was just a rebodied Subaru WRX, but as a turbocharged, AWD wagon with a rally flavor, it's a car that I can at least imagine Saab producing. Obviously I prefer Saab as an independent company creating oddly compelling cars with strong character, but things could have been much worse.

After all, GM could have forced Saab to manufacture a SUV ... say, a rebadged, generic, pointless version of the Chevy TrailBlazer. Can you imagine how unbelievably soul-crushing that would have been?

Sigh. Come on, Koenigsegg. For the sake of the small bits of hope remaining in the soup of my anguished psyche, please make it all better.

--Chris H.

read more “Saab 9-3 Viggen”

Tata Nano

by CarLustBlog.com at 4:06 AM PDT, June 9, 2009

You knew this was coming. Is it gutless? You betcha. Is it cheap? Of course--it's designed to be the cheapest production car on the planet. Does it prove, like so many before it, that necessity truly is the mother of invention? Absolutely.

So, Car Lust material? Well, yeah. I mean, c'mon - it even comes in hot pink! How lusty is that?

But wait - it gets better. As numerous news outlets are pointing out, Tata is planning on bringing this little bastion of affordable motoring to the United States. Naturally, this begs the question--will it follow the path laid down by the VW Beetle, burrowing a place into our automotive hearts, or will it simply rust out of our consciousness like the Citroen 2CV?
To help us answer that question, let's run through the specs:

• 2 cylinder, 33 horsepower engine
• 4 speed manual transmission
• 0-43 mph in 14 seconds
• Top speed of 75 miles per hour
• 47 miles per gallon
• Drum brakes all around
• Seats four

If any of this sounds familiar, it should. Consider the following specs:

• 2 cylinder, 28 horsepower engine
• 4 speed manual transmission
• 0-60 mph in a glacial epoch or two
• Top speed of 75 miles per hour
• 34+ miles per gallon
• Byzantine power brake system with weird and proprietary green goo
• Seats four... I think

Those would be the specs for the Citroen 2CV, which was nearly as successful in the US market as Gamelin was against the Wehrmacht, and that was against '50s and '60s competition. Though I have no doubt that the Nano is nowhere near as agricultural as the Deux Chevaux, it still doesn't change the fact that a stock Yugo GV could run circles around it. The only advantage the Nano would have against other new cars would be its price, which I guarantee you would be well above its legendary $2,500 price after US emissions and safety equipment are bolted on.
None of this, however, means that Tata's first effort in the US is completely doomed. Honda originally made a modest living in the US selling kei cars, after all. Assuming the Nano's price tag doesn't swing into Smart ForTwo territory (or, realistically, Nissan Versa territory) and assuming its reliability doesn't drift into Warsaw Pact territory, the Nano could be a small hit among the East Cost urban-dwelling college student crowd.
I doubt it, though.
What are your thoughts? Does the Nano have a prayer, or is it just going to be a strange footnote in American automotive history? For whatever it's worth, I still want one.
The pink Nano pictured above is from Flickr user bbjee; the more conservatively colored one comes from Flickr user ethnu.
--David Colborne

read more “Tata Nano”

Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon

by CarLustBlog.com at 9:44 AM PDT, June 3, 2009

Oh, hell yes.

My wagon fever has been largely dormant of late, but this saucy minx from Cadillac has re-ignited it. There's something about the combination of Cadillac's crisply folded styling and a rakish wagon profile that puts my adrenal glands on red alert.

The CTS Sports Wagon joins the Dodge Magnum in a uniquely lustful place in my heart reserved for lascivious sports wagons that, somehow, put me into a tuner mindset. I'm the farthest thing one could imagine from a tuner or a customizer, and no other car triggers that response from me. But I look at the Magnum and CTS and think, "Wow, just imagine that car in deep glossy black, with bigger rims, maybe lowered just a smidge. ..." I don't even recognize myself when it happens.

I have always liked Cadillac's "Art and Science" design ethic; it's genuinely fresh and distinctive, without relying on retro callouts or a mishmash of design cues. On the STS and the new CTS, I think the look has evolved and matured into something truly beautiful--completely new and genuinely Cadillac. It looks gorgeous in wagon form. One request for Cadillac--not that I'm unhappy with 305 available horsepower, but I'd love to see a Sports Wagon version of the CTS-V that could challenge the legendary Audi RS6 Avant for mega-wagon supremacy. Please?

"Fill my eyes, with that wagon fever ...
No disguise, for that wagon fever ...
Ooh, when it gets through to me, it's always new to me ...
My wagon fever gets the best of me!"

read more “Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon”