Car Lust

Submitted by Brian Miller

For my graduation from high school, I received a car. Wait, let me back up. Before I graduated from high school, my mother drove a 1979 Oldsmobile Cutlass Salon to her job every day for 10 years. Don't ask where she got it, suffice to say it was not new. The Olds was parked in the back yard during an ill-fated interlude with a Chevrolet Cavalier--an interlude that ended up a complete failure. The Olds had 90,000 miles on it when parked after having served us well--the helm awaited the hands of the new teenage driver, me.

After I turned 16, and the automatic transmission was repaired after disintegrating from two years sitting unused in the backyard, I took over the keys to the Olds. It didn't take long for a leaking oil pan and my own obliviousness to the engine's need for oil to catch up to the Olds. After a long drive out to the remote reaches of the Eielson Air Force Base neighborhoods, the old Olds spun a bearing and we limped home 25 miles. Knock-knock!

This was the spring of my senior year of high school, and I hadn't graduated yet. So of course I shrugged off the need to study hard and get good grades; I just knew I could fix that engine, no problem. So I bought a Haynes manual and patiently and methodically replaced the crankshaft, bearings and rings, and so on. Eventually I had the engine entirely disassembled and neatly labeled in the garage. My parents were horrified!

The 1979 Oldsmobile Cutlass is a real piece of crap. I mean that in the gentlest way possible, in that it's the kind of car that just basically sucks. It's ugly, for one, and the build quality is typical 1970's General Motors. It uses a Chevrolet engine and transmission, the 305 and the Turbo Hydromatic, that I assume were originally destined for a Caprice Classic. Despite its shortcomings, the Chevy engine is simple and relatively robust--an instructive platform for learning the basic principles of gas engines. The 305 is a gas-chugging but gutless beast with a 4-barrel carburetor; married to a slushbox transmission, the only way you can tell you're accelerating is when the gas gauge needle moves to the left. The Olds also has vague but effortless power steering, which makes you feel not as if you're robbing the engine of power, but you are in fact robbing yourself.

Soon after graduation, I reassembled the engine with a reground crankshaft, new bearings, rings, and gaskets, and installed it in the car. After some mucking about, it finally fired up. It worked! After some tinkering, and it ran well for the rest of my ownership, about four years. We finally gave it away to some people down the street who needed a vehicle more than we did.

The Olds never had much power, looked very cool, or got very good gas mileage, but it taught me a thing or two about cars. It taught me that they can really suck, and totally break down after like less than 100,000 miles. It also taught me that attention to detail and preventive maintenance can avert tons of hardship later on down the line. It also taught me that rear-wheel drive plus icy, snowy conditions is a recipe for very difficult driving.

My friends (and girlfriends) had some interesting times in the Olds. A typical conversation would go:

"Why did your mom buy this thing?"

"I don't know, but I guess she had to get to work in something!"

It was an okay first car but didn't really have a lot to offer in the way of mileage, performance, luxury, or reliability, though it was fairly large and obviously unique. That weird sorta-Euro wedge-back design ... I mean, what the heck is that, anyway? It looks like a hatchback, but it's not--there's a wedge-shaped trunk in back. One thing it did have was lots of space for friends and cohorts, and a very nice cruising feel. You had to put a lot of weight in the back and mount studded tires to get anywhere near competence in snowy weather, but that's how it was done! The only Cutlass of this era that really looks okay to me is the two-door version, which is still strange but at least in a coupe-like way.

Of course, Oldsmobile took that too far--one of those coupes was a 4-4-2--to which I can only say ... What?!?!

--Brian Miller

Car: 2006-2007 Subaru Impreza, WRX, and WRX STi

Condition: Angry, slightly cross-eyed

Possible Motivation: You can see in the Impreza's eyes its deep-seated resentment at wearing its fourth different face in five years. And after all that change it gets saddled with an Edsel-like horse collar grille? I'd be angry too.

Defining Overblown High-Testosterone Action Movie Quote:
Subaru Impreza: You're a disease - and I'm the cure.
(from Cobra again)

--Chris H.

It has been some time since we last featured a Kei car, so why not go with a definitive example of the breed? Boxy, tall, and tiny, the Alto Works boasts surprising interior space despite its minuscule footprint. Yet, like the most interesting Kei cars, the Alto Works makes its biggest splash with its glitzy high-performance hardware and tempest-in-a-teapot aggressiveness.

Like all Kei cars--not to be confused with the ubiquitous Chrysler K-cars of the 1980s--the Alto Works was limited to its tiny exterior dimensions, a 660cc engine, and a maximum of 64 horsepower. On the surface, perhaps, this doesn't sound like a formula for a particularly interesting performance car--until you work light weight into the formula.

rkAs we've discussed in this space before, weight is the enemy of every automotive function; weight smothers acceleration, deadens handling, slows a car's reflexes, hurts fuel economy, and creates more harmful emissions. Even worse, a heavy car requires a larger engine, which in turn necessitates a more robust suspension and brake package--which adds yet more weight. Most family sedans today weigh 3,000 pounds or more, often much more. Even the Honda Fit, which most Americans consider to be embarrassingly small, tips the scales at 2,500 pounds.

The Alto Works? It weighs less than 1,400 pounds--about one-third of a typical American family sedan. This means that 64 horsepower can accelerate the Alto Works with the same alacrity as a V-6 family sedan. That is at least respectable straight-line speed, melded with the hair-trigger go-kart reflexes that only a car that light can offer. The Alto Works isn't burdened with the layers of fat and mass that deaden the reflexes of more substantial cars. I wouldn't recommend driving one into a brick wall, but a tight autocross course could be a lot of fun.

While 64 horsepower isn't a particularly dizzying figure in this era of breathless horsepower inflation, just consider how it's generated. The Alto Works' engine displaces only .66 liter--smaller than many motorcycle engines, making the Geo Metro's 1.3-liter engine look like a big-block V-8 in comparison. Thanks to the magic of turbocharging and intercooling, the Alto Works generates nearly 100 horsepower per liter--an impressive figure. In fact, since 64 horsepower is the legal limit for Kei cars, there's a good chance the Alto Works' horsepower figure is on the conservative side. Add in a close-shifting five-speed and all-wheel drive, and you have a dangerous urban warrior in the cloak of a clown car.

Still not enough power? A publicly available kit pumps the engine up to an amazing 120 horsepower--nearly 200 horsepower per liter. That doesn't sound like much, but it gives the Alto Works a power-to-weight ratio in line with a twin-turbo BMW 335i or a V-8 Ford Mustang GT. I'll take mine in black, please.

The Alto Works commercial campaign in Japan included American animated characters Popeye and Olive Oyl, who, oddly enough, speak English in the commerical. I don't really understand their inclusion, but if you're going to include Popeye and Olive Oyl, where are the usual Popeye plot elements? Is Bluto waiting to ambush them in a Toyota? If Popeye eats spinach, does his Alto Works turn into a Nissan Skyline or something?

The top photo is from Wikipedia; the second is courtesy of Flickr user cozymax.org.

--Chris H.

The big black Lincoln Model K pictured here belongs to a car collector friend of mine.

The person he bought the car from claimed that it originally belonged to one of Al Capone's goons bodyguards, but my friend has not been able to either confirm or disprove that tale. Al Capone was serving time in Alcatraz when this car rolled off the assembly line, so even if it did belong to one of his associates, it is unlikely that the infamous mobster ever got a ride in it. Nevertheless, the connection to Capone, however tenuous, makes for a good story.

Regardless, if you were going to be a "Godfather" in the late Thirties, this is probably the big black sedan you'd want to be seen in.

The Model K was introduced in 1931 and was the top-of-the-line model of Ford's upscale marque. It was largely hand-built, and many Ks had custom bodies constructed by outside coachbuilders. I don't know if this particular example is customized or just the "base" model, but a high degree of craftsmanship is apparent in details like the two-tone inlaid wood trim running just below the windows.

Another interesting feature is the dual glove compartments, one on each end of the dashboard. These are each big enough for a set of heavy winter gloves--or, if you're in Al Capone's line of work, it would be a handy place to stash that loaded revolver!

Model Ks were built on either a 136-inch or 145-inch wheelbase. History records that the "small" version was discontinued after the 1936 model year, so this one has the 145-inch frame. By way of comparison, that 145-inch wheelbase is two and a half feet longer than that of Ford's modern day full-size "Panther platform" sedans such as the Grand Marquis and Crown Victoria, which ride on a 114.7 inch wheelbase.

The Lincoln Navigator SUV, considered by many critics to be an oversized paragon of conspicuous consumption, rides on a 118- or 119-inch wheelbase, depending on which generation you're talking about. The Model K's wheelbase is therefore longer than a Navigator's. It's also longer than that of the Honda Odyssey minivan (also a 118-inch wheelbase), the immense 1971-76 Chevy Impala (121 inches), or even the queen mother of all Yankee large-barge luxury sedans, the 1966 Imperial (129 inches).

In other words, the Model K is huge.

Since most of the Model K's length is between the wheels, with very little overhang at either end, the total interior volume rivals some modern-day passenger vans, even after allowing for the engine. The length and width of the chair-high back seat, and the opulent upholstery, tell the world that this is a car for the sort of people who leave the driving to the hired help. The roofline is high enough for full-grown men in hats, a design objective which was more important in 1937 than it is today. There is so much volume back there that your humble narrator, who is six feet tall and a bit on the husky side, could do the "Numa Numa Dance" without bumping into anything.

The prominent ram-bowed hood contains a 414-cubic inch L-head V-12 engine. (That's 6.8 liters for those of you using the metric system.)

This engine produced a smooth 150 horsepower, and it probably needed every last pony to get the heavy car rolling. On the other hand, if you owned a car like this in 1937, the straight-line performance (or lack of same) would be your chauffeur's problem, not yours. Power steering did not exist in 1937 production cars, so the chauffeur would have also needed strong biceps and triceps.

With its epic length, giant fenders, and glossy black finish, the Model K is an imposing artifact, the perfect car for visiting ambassadors, captains of industry, movie moguls, and perhaps the occasional Chicago hoodlum.

--Cookie the Dog's Owner

(Yes, that is a DeLorean next to the Model K. Talk about your study in contrasts!)

"Beautiful Ugliness in a Wheeled Breadbox" is how a 1974 issue of Popular Mechanics described The Thing. "I saw the Thing and it was so ugly it was cute," one owner said, describing his first encounter with his Thing.

Perhaps no other car has so perfectly typified its nameplate than the Volkswagen Type 181, known in the US as The Thing. Though I was just a wee lad when it was first introduced to the North American market in 1973 I recall that it was billed as the quirky, fun successor to the original Type 1 Beetle. It certainly was quirky.

Recreational off-road vehicles were becoming more common in the late '60s and early '70s thanks to the budding environmental movement and the continued rise in discretionary spending among younger buyers that had made the Mustang so popular years earlier. Jeep CJs were abundant and Ford's Bronco, introduced in 1966, contributed to the rising popularity of what would eventually become the SUV. Into this growing market segment stepped ... Volkswagen?

The Thing started life early in 1938 when Ferdinand Porsche was tasked with producing a small, lightweight off-road vehicle for both the German Wehrmacht  and Waffen-SS, ostensibly to be based on the existing VW Type 1 (Beetle). Porsche soon realized that, given the weight restrictions (550 kilograms), simply strengthening the existing Beetle's chassis  wouldn't cut it. It was eventually designed from the ground up as a pure military vehicle and, with the Type 62 "Kübelwagen" moniker in place, participated in World War II from the start with prototypes taking part in the invasion of Poland. It retained the air -cooled, rear-engine, rear-drive design and other mechanicals of the Type 1 and was produced only as a 2-wheel drive version; several prototype 4-wheel drive models were produced, but the added weight and complexity precluded full production.

Despite a lack of all-wheel-drive capability, the Type 62 had a number of features that enhanced its off-road capabilities including very light weight, a flat and smooth underbody, self-locking limited slip differential, and a portal gear hub reduction that provided for higher ground clearance and more torque. It was used extensively by Rommel's Afrika Korps in North Africa where its flat undercarriage proved incredibly useful for riding over sand.

Production carried on through the end of the war by which time it was known as the Type 82; all in all, more than 50,000 vehicles were produced. In the 1960s the design was resurrected when various European governments attempted to cooperate in developing a new light-duty military vehicle, tentatively dubbed the "Eurojeep." While development of the new vehicle was taking place VW was again tapped to provide a bridging vehicle for use in the meantime. The original Type 62/82 was dragged out of the closet and modified using existing parts of various models including, once again, the Beetle, Karmann Ghia, and Volkswagen Transporter Bus. The final product was dubbed the Type 181.

Though the Eurojeep was never built, VW started selling the military version of the 181 in 1969 and a civilian version in 1971 in Europe and Mexico. American sales began in 1973 as The Thing. There was some reason to expect good sales numbers for The Thing, since dune buggies based on the original VW were popular. It was hoped that some of that image of rugged fun would rub off on The Thing.The sales brochure reproduced below shows how the beach aspects of Thing marketing reflect this.

Like the Jeep, Things were very utilitarian. The body consisted of a series of rib-reinforced flat stampings welded together. You could remove the doors without tools, and they were in fact swappable front-to-rear and the windshield could fold down flat. The interior was similarly sparse with bare metal door panels and a glove compartment that was little more than a hole in the dash. The only internal heating available was a gas-fired heater attached to the gas tank (!!). The engine was the standard air-cooled 1.6 liter four putting out a whopping 46 horsepower, mated to a 4-speed gearbox as the only transmission option. Top speed was only 68 mph, and 0-60 took 23 seconds.

In Europe it was marketed as simply the 181 and was also sold elsewhere as the Safari and the Trekker (a right-hand drive model for the UK was sold as the 182). The 1973 Thing came in only three colors, orange, yellow and white. For 1974 an 'Acapulco' version was produced which was little different from the basic model with a few extras: blue and white paint, hard or soft top, and running boards.

Several factors came together to kill The Thing. While young people loved the car, it was priced around $3,000--almost $1,000 more than the Beetle. This was pricey for such a spartan vehicle, especially in comparison with the Jeeps, Broncos, and FJ40 Land Cruisers. The Thing was a fairly capable off-roader for a two-wheel-drive vehicle, but could not keep up with other 4-wheel drive models on the market. Many owners complained about the draftiness, the leaks, the hard ride, and the lack of power. The final blow came when it failed to meet new stricter crash standards for 1975. Things continued to be produced and sold in its civilian version through 1980 and the military version through 1983.

Things have become classic cult vehicles. Prices have been increasing, and you can expect to pay up to $5,000 for a good driveable version. Many in mint condition are going for $12,000 and up. Most of the ones I see around the Seattle area have been repainted in a myriad of colors, reflecting their owners', errrrrm, unique tastes. Though Things never quite replaced the classic Beetle in sales or widespread notoriety, those that remain are beloved by their owners, and rightfully so.

Special thanks to James Nantz  and his web site that provided a lot of information and the sales brochure reproduced above.

--Anthony Cagle

One of the great things about the Car Lust blog is the comments we get from our readers.

My recent "Car Disgust" posting on the Stutz "revival" cars of the 1970s drew some interesting comments from reader Jim Milliken. Several of Jim's photos were used to illustrate my original article.

Jim and I had a very pleasant conversation in the comments thread which continued by e-mail. While we disagree on the merits of the Stutz, we both agree that they are fascinating vehicles.

By the way, Jim isn't just a Stutz fan. He owns five revival-era Stutzes--just like Elvis! (I've linked to photos of his cars in the text below the fold.) Between the Stutz cars he owns and the others he has encountered in his travels, he may well have seen more Stutzes in more places than anyone else now living. 

I thought our readers would enjoy learning a little more about these interesting vehicles from someone who knows them well.

Technical details: I wrote that the Stutzes were built in Italy by Ghia, a mistaken impression I'd gotten from not reading one of my sources closely enough. Jim corrected me: while Ghia built the prototype Blackhawk, production models were assembled by two other Italian coachbuilding firms: Padane for the first year, and Carrozeria Saturno ("Saturn Coachworks") for the rest of the production run.

Jim also advises that all Stutzes have rear air shocks to help take up the increased weight of the custom bodywork.

Driving experience:  In my original article, I speculated (based on my own experiences with 1970s-vintage personal luxury cars) that the Stutz was underpowered and probably not the sort of vehicle you'd want to fling down a winding back road. According to Jim, I wasn't too far off:

"For the driving experience which you asked about, I can say that the handling and performance is about as uninspiring as you might expect. It isn't for handling and I pushed my 75 with the 455 to the max and couldn't get it over 100 mph. It is not very aerodynamic to put it mildly."

There is, however, a factor beyond 0-60 times,top speed, and lateral acceleration that I did not completely appreciate:

"However what did impress me is that when driving it I felt like I 'built' the road. I mean the close cockpit feel, especially on the '71, the smell of the leather was like being in a library, the wood paneling surrounding you and looking out over that long hood with the headlights piercing the visual plane made me feel like I owned road. Now you must recognize that Car Lust has entered the equation so don't be too hard on me."

Hard on you? Not a chance!We're all Car Lust "sufferers" here.

As you might expect, the Stutz also has an effect on the people around you:

"One of the things I love about the cars is that no one, absolutely no one, is neutral about them. Yes, you do get noticed. And, contrary to the impression one would get if reading only the comments posted here to date, many people find them 'beautiful'. Now I don't use that word to upset people who don't believe this but only to report the word most used to me by the many people who have come up to me to find out more about the car because they enjoyed seeing it. Stutz is definitely an acquired taste and one that most people who are into mainstream muscle/sports vehicles aren't likely to ever get. But hey, it would be a boring place if we all liked the same thing....

"I have driven the '75 and '81 from San Diego to Ft Myers and people circled us on the freeway with video cameras running giving us thumbs up. Every rest stop we were besieged with appreciative visitors. And this is admittedly a trip for the driver.

In one of his e-mails to me, Jim told one more story that's too good not to share:

"One last Stutz story. I was up in MA back in 05 (after attending a Stutz meet at GM Carlisle) and entered the '72 in the Mt. Wachusett Old Car Show and won first prize in the specialty vehicles category.  One guy comes up to me, and he was obviously a car guy, and said "OK, what kind of people bought these cars, because they sure weren't from around here!" "

About those side pipes: One of the things I commented on in my original article was the prominent, nonfunctional chrome side-pipes. These run through a hole in the front quarter panel and mount to a bracket inside the fender.

Turns out I'm not the only one who doesn't like them:

"I agree with your hating of the fake sidepipes so I have converted three of mine to real sidepipes, including the '81 which you show with Virgil Exner Jr and his wife as the last picture in this article."

The Japanese Stutz: Of Jim's five Stutzes, the most interesting is the '79 Bearcat convertible pictured at right. (There's a video of it here.) This car was built for a customer in Japan, and was fitted with additional turn signals to comply with Japanese safety requirements. If the original owner bought it to attract attention, he certainly got his money's worth. The sight of this extroverted, 5,000-pound, two-tone Yankee blingmobile plowing through a sea of JDM compacts and Kei cars half its size--well, it must've looked a lot like Gojira tearing up the town!

Jim and his Japanese Bearcat will be at the Lake Mirror Classic Auto Festival in downtown Lakeland, Fla., on Oct. 17-19, 2008. If any of our Car Lust readers attend the show, be sure to say hello to Jim for me. He should be pretty easy to find.

--Cookie the Dog's Owner

Car: 2005-2008 Audi A4

Condition: Angry

Possible Motivation: Perhaps the car is angry that its once-elegant nose was replaced by a massive, gaping black schnozz? Insecurity about one's looks can often breed great anger.

Defining Overblown High-Testosterone Action Movie Quote:
Audi A4: You have the right to remain unconscious. Anything you say ain't gonna be much.
(from Lethal Weapon 3)

Photo Courtesy Of: Flickr user Autodetailer

--Chris H.

In the course of looking up something else, I came upon a reference to "Fargo" trucks built by Chrysler. I had never heard of such a thing before, so I followed the hyperlinks to this article at allpar.com, which tells the story.

The Fargo brand name originated in 1928, and was used on commercial vehicles sold through Chrysler-Plymouth dealers. After Chrysler acquired Dodge, all of its U.S. trucks were branded as Dodges or Plymouths, and the Fargo name was used only on trucks sold through Plymouth dealers in Canada, and in certain other export markets.

On some 1930s Canadian models, Chrysler took a Dodge truck and gave it Plymouth front body panels to make it into a Fargo. However, most Fargos were just Dodges with a few Canada-specific details. As time went on, economic efficiency concerns forced Fargo trucks to become increasingly de-contented, until they were almost indistinguishable from their American cousins. Chrysler finally "rationalized" the Fargo brand name clean out of existence in 1972.

The delightful 1956 Fargo pictured here (in a photo from Wikipedia) is basically a '56 Dodge with Fargo badging and trim and a Canada-only hood that opened from the side. Another example of the distinctive Fargo hood can be seen here. As far as I know, these were the only vehicles being made in North America in the 1950s with a hood that worked this way.

When the Fargos finally got modern "alligator" hoods for the 1957 model year, Chrysler's Canadian ad agency waxed ecstatic over this great engineering advancement. That advancement came at a price. The side-opening hood may have been impractical and anachronistic, but it's unique and it looks cool. Isn't that what really matters?

I'm not a truck person, but for some reason I find the idea of exploring the Great White North in a Fargo with side-opening hood panels very appealing.

--Cookie the Dog's Owner, eh?

Car:  1993 Plymouth Voyager

Condition: Smiling menacingly

Description/Possible Motivation:  Go ahead--underestimate the malice of a Voyager. It's a family car.  It can't hurt you ... right?

Defining Overblown High-Testosterone Action Movie Quote
"I don't make things difficult. That's the way they get, all by themselves."
- Martin Riggs, Lethal Weapon

-- David C.