Great rides of the Past ?
#1
10-28-2010 | 10:15 AM
Great rides of the Past ?
Below from
10 Orphaned Cars to Drive Before You Die - Feature
These cars’ manufacturers may have gone to the great beyond, but they left behind some great rides.
BY JUSTIN BERKOWITZ, PHOTOGRAPHY BY RENNETT STOWE, SEAN O’FLAHERTY, WWW.STOCKMOPAR.COM, AND THE MANUFACTURERS
October 2010
A few months ago, we presented the 10 Cars to Drive Before You Die. That was the survey course: a rundown of the 10 cars you should drive to get the richest, broadest, and most complete automotive experience. But there are plenty of other awesome rides that need to be experienced before you take a dirt nap, so now we turn our focus to orphaned cars made in the postwar era (1945 to the present). These 10 fantastic vehicles suffered the indignity of being abandoned in the world, as their manufacturers went to the great corporate graveyard in the sky.
Perhaps the biggest automotive tragedy of the past decade, Pontiac’s hottest version of the G8 was practically stillborn. It arrived on dealer lots just months before the Pontiac brand was axed, a casualty of GM’s bankruptcy. Adapted from GM’s Australian Holden Commodore, all G8s were a delight to pilot, with sharp, BMW-esque handling; rear-wheel drive; and powerful engines. But only the GXP came with a 6.2-liter V-8 derived from the Corvette, and it offered a six-speed manual transmission. With 415 hp, the handsome sedan ripped off 0-to-60 runs in 4.7 seconds and sounded like a pissed-off African lion. Fewer than 2000 were imported to the U.S., virtually guaranteeing collectible status for this Australian-American.
The first-generation Toronado is gorgeous proof that, before Oldsmobiles were driven exclusively by Oldspeople, the brand was GM’s experimental, risk-taking division. How much risk? The gloriously overengineered Toronado routed the longitudinally mounted 425-cubic-inch V-8's 385 hp to the front wheels, making it not only the first big American car to employ front-wheel drive since the 1930s but also the first ever to do so with a 7.0-liter V-8. Driving one of these is like driving every other American barge of the era, except you’re being pulled rather than pushed. Torque steer, believe it or not, is largely absent, but the brakes on early cars (finned drums!) were truly awful. It would be a sin not to mention the Toronado’s styling—particularly the 1966 model’s—it is at once menacing and graceful. The horizontally slatted grille sat between two sharp-edged fins, and pop-up headlights completed the slick front fascia.
Cumbersome, unrefined trucks are often derided for being “agricultural.” The original Hummer isn’t agricultural at all, because its driving manners predate agrarian societies. As a hunter-gatherer, then, the H1 is best sampled in its end-of-the-line Alpha form. Its 300-hp Duramax diesel V-8 allowed acceleration to 60 in the mid-13-second range—an improvement over the 15.2-second run we managed with the less-powerful 1997 model and enough for the H1 to overtake what would now be its natural prey, the Smart Fortwo, which needs 14.4 seconds. The halo vehicle for the entire SUV segment, the military-derived H1 first wore AM General badges before being sold as GM’s Hummer H1. But it never sold well, and those who bought them realized the H1 was utterly useless in civilization. Still, from behind the wheel, you’re guaranteed to chortle at the absurdity of the enterprise, to say nothing of trampling medians, traffic lights, parking dividers, and that guy you hated in high school.
To get behind the wheel of a Tucker is to sit in a moment of automotive history—it’s been the subject of films, books, controversies, conspiracy theories, and endless debate—but more important, it’s a chance to see what people of the 1940s thought the cars of the future should be. Although Preston Tucker’s brainchild ended in a pageant of failure, the 52 Tuckers built are dramatically different from what American automakers were cranking out at the time.
Motivation came from a flat-six, which was a heavily modified helicopter design mounted at the back of the vehicle. The sedan’s designers were unusually focused on safety for their day. The Tucker featured a center-mounted third headlight that turned with the wheels, a windshield that was designed to pop out during collisions rather than shatter on passengers, and a padded dash. The plan was even to include seatbelts, but that idea was nixed because Tucker execs thought customers might interpret that as a sign the Tucker sedan was especially unsafe. For cost reasons, Tucker dropped disc brakes and fuel injection before building any cars, and it would be years until these features were widely available on anything but sports cars. Every one of the 47 Tuckers that survive today is different, many of them having served as development prototypes, and they drive like unfinished test cars, too. Although that makes for unimpressive dynamics, it also means that every Tucker is a rolling snapshot of what creative automotive engineers were thinking some 60 years ago.
The defunct British automaker Austin-Healey is best known for its cute-as-a-button “Bugeye” Sprite and inline-six 3000 roadster. But the most rewarding of all Healeys to drive is a special version of the company’s least-celebrated model, the four-cylinder 100. Basically sharing the same good looks as the 3000 that replaced it, the 100 was named for its ability to hit 100 mph—very much a headline for a small roadster in 1953. But that wasn’t enough for Austin-Healey, which was eager to build its cred as a sports-car manufacturer. After a successful entry at the 1954 Sebring 12-hour race, Austin-Healey built 50 examples of the 100S to satisfy homologation requirements and put a credible track car in the hands of privateer racers.
The cars went on sale in 1955 and are to this day the apogee of Austin’s four-cylinder cars. With an all-aluminum body, no convertible top, and a plastic windshield in place of the standard glass one, the 100S was significantly lighter than the standard car. But it also benefitted from major performance enhancements. Four-wheel disc brakes complemented a stiffer suspension and a tweaked engine, now making 132 hp and an impressive 168 lb-ft of torque. The 100S could make a run to 60 in fewer than eight seconds, drift elegantly around a track, and be driven home that night. To pilot one, feeling and listening to the whirring and clacking and meshing of the mechanicals at work, is to experience motoring at its most pure.
Yes, it’s obscure and, yes, only 34 were made between 1948 and 1953. With somewhere between 120 and 140 hp on hand, these stark British sports cars are not amazingly fast, with a top speed of about 120 mph. But they were successful racing cars in their day—one finished third at the Le Mans 24-hour race in 1949, hence the name, and another won the 1952 12 Hours of Sebring. They remain competitive in vintage racing today. That racing heritage comes through in the way they drive. The Le Mans Replica’s handling, in particular, is a joy, with delicate, incredibly precise steering and a playfully neutral cornering balance. The 2.0-liter inline-six Bristol engine gives solid midrange torque and frisky acceleration—the cycle-fender roadster weighs all of 1600 pounds. Cross-country, a well-driven Le Mans Rep will keep up with modern cars, but the experience is much more visceral because you are so exposed to the elements and can see exactly what the front wheels are doing. You don’t so much sit in the Le Mans Rep as become a part of it. Great drivers down the years have adored these cars, which is one reason they command high prices today.
10 Orphaned Cars to Drive Before You Die - Feature
These cars’ manufacturers may have gone to the great beyond, but they left behind some great rides.
BY JUSTIN BERKOWITZ, PHOTOGRAPHY BY RENNETT STOWE, SEAN O’FLAHERTY, WWW.STOCKMOPAR.COM, AND THE MANUFACTURERS
October 2010
A few months ago, we presented the 10 Cars to Drive Before You Die. That was the survey course: a rundown of the 10 cars you should drive to get the richest, broadest, and most complete automotive experience. But there are plenty of other awesome rides that need to be experienced before you take a dirt nap, so now we turn our focus to orphaned cars made in the postwar era (1945 to the present). These 10 fantastic vehicles suffered the indignity of being abandoned in the world, as their manufacturers went to the great corporate graveyard in the sky.
Perhaps the biggest automotive tragedy of the past decade, Pontiac’s hottest version of the G8 was practically stillborn. It arrived on dealer lots just months before the Pontiac brand was axed, a casualty of GM’s bankruptcy. Adapted from GM’s Australian Holden Commodore, all G8s were a delight to pilot, with sharp, BMW-esque handling; rear-wheel drive; and powerful engines. But only the GXP came with a 6.2-liter V-8 derived from the Corvette, and it offered a six-speed manual transmission. With 415 hp, the handsome sedan ripped off 0-to-60 runs in 4.7 seconds and sounded like a pissed-off African lion. Fewer than 2000 were imported to the U.S., virtually guaranteeing collectible status for this Australian-American.
The first-generation Toronado is gorgeous proof that, before Oldsmobiles were driven exclusively by Oldspeople, the brand was GM’s experimental, risk-taking division. How much risk? The gloriously overengineered Toronado routed the longitudinally mounted 425-cubic-inch V-8's 385 hp to the front wheels, making it not only the first big American car to employ front-wheel drive since the 1930s but also the first ever to do so with a 7.0-liter V-8. Driving one of these is like driving every other American barge of the era, except you’re being pulled rather than pushed. Torque steer, believe it or not, is largely absent, but the brakes on early cars (finned drums!) were truly awful. It would be a sin not to mention the Toronado’s styling—particularly the 1966 model’s—it is at once menacing and graceful. The horizontally slatted grille sat between two sharp-edged fins, and pop-up headlights completed the slick front fascia.
Cumbersome, unrefined trucks are often derided for being “agricultural.” The original Hummer isn’t agricultural at all, because its driving manners predate agrarian societies. As a hunter-gatherer, then, the H1 is best sampled in its end-of-the-line Alpha form. Its 300-hp Duramax diesel V-8 allowed acceleration to 60 in the mid-13-second range—an improvement over the 15.2-second run we managed with the less-powerful 1997 model and enough for the H1 to overtake what would now be its natural prey, the Smart Fortwo, which needs 14.4 seconds. The halo vehicle for the entire SUV segment, the military-derived H1 first wore AM General badges before being sold as GM’s Hummer H1. But it never sold well, and those who bought them realized the H1 was utterly useless in civilization. Still, from behind the wheel, you’re guaranteed to chortle at the absurdity of the enterprise, to say nothing of trampling medians, traffic lights, parking dividers, and that guy you hated in high school.
To get behind the wheel of a Tucker is to sit in a moment of automotive history—it’s been the subject of films, books, controversies, conspiracy theories, and endless debate—but more important, it’s a chance to see what people of the 1940s thought the cars of the future should be. Although Preston Tucker’s brainchild ended in a pageant of failure, the 52 Tuckers built are dramatically different from what American automakers were cranking out at the time.
Motivation came from a flat-six, which was a heavily modified helicopter design mounted at the back of the vehicle. The sedan’s designers were unusually focused on safety for their day. The Tucker featured a center-mounted third headlight that turned with the wheels, a windshield that was designed to pop out during collisions rather than shatter on passengers, and a padded dash. The plan was even to include seatbelts, but that idea was nixed because Tucker execs thought customers might interpret that as a sign the Tucker sedan was especially unsafe. For cost reasons, Tucker dropped disc brakes and fuel injection before building any cars, and it would be years until these features were widely available on anything but sports cars. Every one of the 47 Tuckers that survive today is different, many of them having served as development prototypes, and they drive like unfinished test cars, too. Although that makes for unimpressive dynamics, it also means that every Tucker is a rolling snapshot of what creative automotive engineers were thinking some 60 years ago.
The defunct British automaker Austin-Healey is best known for its cute-as-a-button “Bugeye” Sprite and inline-six 3000 roadster. But the most rewarding of all Healeys to drive is a special version of the company’s least-celebrated model, the four-cylinder 100. Basically sharing the same good looks as the 3000 that replaced it, the 100 was named for its ability to hit 100 mph—very much a headline for a small roadster in 1953. But that wasn’t enough for Austin-Healey, which was eager to build its cred as a sports-car manufacturer. After a successful entry at the 1954 Sebring 12-hour race, Austin-Healey built 50 examples of the 100S to satisfy homologation requirements and put a credible track car in the hands of privateer racers.
The cars went on sale in 1955 and are to this day the apogee of Austin’s four-cylinder cars. With an all-aluminum body, no convertible top, and a plastic windshield in place of the standard glass one, the 100S was significantly lighter than the standard car. But it also benefitted from major performance enhancements. Four-wheel disc brakes complemented a stiffer suspension and a tweaked engine, now making 132 hp and an impressive 168 lb-ft of torque. The 100S could make a run to 60 in fewer than eight seconds, drift elegantly around a track, and be driven home that night. To pilot one, feeling and listening to the whirring and clacking and meshing of the mechanicals at work, is to experience motoring at its most pure.
Yes, it’s obscure and, yes, only 34 were made between 1948 and 1953. With somewhere between 120 and 140 hp on hand, these stark British sports cars are not amazingly fast, with a top speed of about 120 mph. But they were successful racing cars in their day—one finished third at the Le Mans 24-hour race in 1949, hence the name, and another won the 1952 12 Hours of Sebring. They remain competitive in vintage racing today. That racing heritage comes through in the way they drive. The Le Mans Replica’s handling, in particular, is a joy, with delicate, incredibly precise steering and a playfully neutral cornering balance. The 2.0-liter inline-six Bristol engine gives solid midrange torque and frisky acceleration—the cycle-fender roadster weighs all of 1600 pounds. Cross-country, a well-driven Le Mans Rep will keep up with modern cars, but the experience is much more visceral because you are so exposed to the elements and can see exactly what the front wheels are doing. You don’t so much sit in the Le Mans Rep as become a part of it. Great drivers down the years have adored these cars, which is one reason they command high prices today.
#2
10-28-2010 | 10:16 AM
Continued
If you’ve ever driven an AC Cobra or a replica, you know that wedging a big Ford V-8 into a small British sports car is the best idea ever, with gratuitous burnouts, lurid (sometimes snap) oversteer, and positively ridiculous acceleration only a right-foot flex away. You'll also know, however, that trying to drive a Cobra every day will eventually result in a total loss of hearing—not to mention spinal damage from the granite suspension. The Sunbeam Tiger, which was assembled by the U.K.-based Rootes Group, was something of a compromise; it’s the thinking man’s Cobra. The sharp-looking Sunbeam Alpine convertible served as the host, and Carroll Shelby and his wrenchmen engineered the car to take a Ford V-8. Although initially offered with a 260-cubic-inch engine, the Tiger to drive is the rare 1967 model with Ford’s more-powerful 289, which improved the Tiger’s output from 164 hp to 200. The Tiger offers classic looks, a convertible top, and a choice of two V-8s. What’s not to like?
We’ve all been there: sitting in a car, near a body of water, thinking, “If only I could drive my car directly into that lake and putter around very slowly, sinking over the course of a few hours." A car capable of making that dream a reality was built from 1961 to 1968: the Amphicar. Ostensibly capable of traveling about 10 mph in the water and 70 mph on land (downhill, wind-assisted), a cruise in this weird boat/car is a delightful, if bizarre, endeavor. The transition from land to sea is brisk: Pop the bilge plug into place, pull the secondary handles to tighten the refrigerator-style rubber seals around the doors, and the Amphicar is ready to scoot into the water.
Once at sea, the Amphicar’s rear-mounted engine powers two propellers, and the front wheels act as rudders, altogether making for a surprisingly maneuverable little craft. There’s a bit of bad news, though. Those rubber seals around the doors aren’t truly watertight, and with the help of other seams, every one of these takes on water. But Amphicars have a bilge pump that’ll work desperately to keep you afloat, and considering how slow the thing is in the water, it would be tough to end up somewhere that’s beyond swimming distance from shore. Despite the fact that it’s a bad boat and an even worse car, an amphibious cruise in an Amphicar is an experience not to be missed.
Could there be a more perfect representative of the 1970s mid-engine sports-car craze than the Pantera? Yes—a Pantera with a mustachioed **** producer behind the wheel and a kilo of cocaine in the trunk. The Pantera was a joint project between Ford and the Italian firm De Tomaso and married the best the two companies had to offer. The heart of the car was a 5.8-liter Ford V-8, which had been tuned to produce 310 hp. It sent power to the 8.0-inch-wide rear wheels by way of a ZF-sourced five-speed manual transmission. These running bits propelled a monocoque tub, and the whole package weighed 3123 pounds. Back in 1971, we clocked a Pantera to 60 mph in a scant 5.5 seconds; that’s less than a second behind a 2010 Chevrolet Camaro SS. The body was penned by Tom Tjaarda, who was also responsible for the classic Ferrari 330GT two-plus-two. When it debuted, we felt the Pantera was a match for any other sports car in its class. Nowadays, it might not be able to keep pace with a Porsche Cayman (or even a Honda Odyssey) on a track, but it’s still a damn fine car to drive, with precise steering, crisp turn-in, and that rumbling V-8 singing soulful Motown music. Besides, the Pantera is about more than performance numbers; it’s about the full Italian sports-car experience: the sound, the fury, the style. Just be sure you’re prepared for the mechanical headaches that it brings. Elvis, for example, wasn’t. One day, after the King’s yellow Pantera failed to start, he was so incensed he pulled his handgun from its holster and shot the poor car several times.
Every car fan, at least once, needs to experience a proper Mopar muscle car. The V-8 engines don't so much burble as intoxicate bystanders with their cocktail of violent noise and delicious fumes. Of all the excessive muscle cars in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the Road Runner Superbird and its sibling, the Dodge Charger Daytona, are the most ostentatious. The Superbird, like the Austin-Healey 100S, was built for homologation reasons; Plymouth wanted to compete in NASCAR and had no choice but to build 1920 Superbirds for the public. The sloping nose and the three-foot-high wing on the back were done for aerodynamic benefits on the track and resulted in a car than not only looked insane but was insane. Under the hood, the base engine was a 375-hp, 440-cubic-inch V-8. But the version that is really worth begging, borrowing, and stealing to drive is the Superbird with the 425-hp, 426-cubic-inch Hemi V-8.
If you’ve ever driven an AC Cobra or a replica, you know that wedging a big Ford V-8 into a small British sports car is the best idea ever, with gratuitous burnouts, lurid (sometimes snap) oversteer, and positively ridiculous acceleration only a right-foot flex away. You'll also know, however, that trying to drive a Cobra every day will eventually result in a total loss of hearing—not to mention spinal damage from the granite suspension. The Sunbeam Tiger, which was assembled by the U.K.-based Rootes Group, was something of a compromise; it’s the thinking man’s Cobra. The sharp-looking Sunbeam Alpine convertible served as the host, and Carroll Shelby and his wrenchmen engineered the car to take a Ford V-8. Although initially offered with a 260-cubic-inch engine, the Tiger to drive is the rare 1967 model with Ford’s more-powerful 289, which improved the Tiger’s output from 164 hp to 200. The Tiger offers classic looks, a convertible top, and a choice of two V-8s. What’s not to like?
We’ve all been there: sitting in a car, near a body of water, thinking, “If only I could drive my car directly into that lake and putter around very slowly, sinking over the course of a few hours." A car capable of making that dream a reality was built from 1961 to 1968: the Amphicar. Ostensibly capable of traveling about 10 mph in the water and 70 mph on land (downhill, wind-assisted), a cruise in this weird boat/car is a delightful, if bizarre, endeavor. The transition from land to sea is brisk: Pop the bilge plug into place, pull the secondary handles to tighten the refrigerator-style rubber seals around the doors, and the Amphicar is ready to scoot into the water.
Once at sea, the Amphicar’s rear-mounted engine powers two propellers, and the front wheels act as rudders, altogether making for a surprisingly maneuverable little craft. There’s a bit of bad news, though. Those rubber seals around the doors aren’t truly watertight, and with the help of other seams, every one of these takes on water. But Amphicars have a bilge pump that’ll work desperately to keep you afloat, and considering how slow the thing is in the water, it would be tough to end up somewhere that’s beyond swimming distance from shore. Despite the fact that it’s a bad boat and an even worse car, an amphibious cruise in an Amphicar is an experience not to be missed.
Could there be a more perfect representative of the 1970s mid-engine sports-car craze than the Pantera? Yes—a Pantera with a mustachioed **** producer behind the wheel and a kilo of cocaine in the trunk. The Pantera was a joint project between Ford and the Italian firm De Tomaso and married the best the two companies had to offer. The heart of the car was a 5.8-liter Ford V-8, which had been tuned to produce 310 hp. It sent power to the 8.0-inch-wide rear wheels by way of a ZF-sourced five-speed manual transmission. These running bits propelled a monocoque tub, and the whole package weighed 3123 pounds. Back in 1971, we clocked a Pantera to 60 mph in a scant 5.5 seconds; that’s less than a second behind a 2010 Chevrolet Camaro SS. The body was penned by Tom Tjaarda, who was also responsible for the classic Ferrari 330GT two-plus-two. When it debuted, we felt the Pantera was a match for any other sports car in its class. Nowadays, it might not be able to keep pace with a Porsche Cayman (or even a Honda Odyssey) on a track, but it’s still a damn fine car to drive, with precise steering, crisp turn-in, and that rumbling V-8 singing soulful Motown music. Besides, the Pantera is about more than performance numbers; it’s about the full Italian sports-car experience: the sound, the fury, the style. Just be sure you’re prepared for the mechanical headaches that it brings. Elvis, for example, wasn’t. One day, after the King’s yellow Pantera failed to start, he was so incensed he pulled his handgun from its holster and shot the poor car several times.
Every car fan, at least once, needs to experience a proper Mopar muscle car. The V-8 engines don't so much burble as intoxicate bystanders with their cocktail of violent noise and delicious fumes. Of all the excessive muscle cars in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the Road Runner Superbird and its sibling, the Dodge Charger Daytona, are the most ostentatious. The Superbird, like the Austin-Healey 100S, was built for homologation reasons; Plymouth wanted to compete in NASCAR and had no choice but to build 1920 Superbirds for the public. The sloping nose and the three-foot-high wing on the back were done for aerodynamic benefits on the track and resulted in a car than not only looked insane but was insane. Under the hood, the base engine was a 375-hp, 440-cubic-inch V-8. But the version that is really worth begging, borrowing, and stealing to drive is the Superbird with the 425-hp, 426-cubic-inch Hemi V-8.
#5
10-28-2010 | 12:29 PM
I know, what were they think'in ? Smok'in ?
LOL 
Below are a few vid's to watch on Monte's 4 Sale...
The first vid is a sales dude taking a Dale Jr on a test drive..
LOL (It a Super Monte 4-Sure : ) Ok, go to the Monte Movie's and click on the below links
Videos for 2004 dale jr monte carlo
click
#8
10-28-2010 | 01:27 PM
LOL `Amy,Yes, they still make Big Wheels, and I am still riding mine around the warehouse every night @ work
LOL I've noticed that the prices have really increased, (but what hasn't in 2days World: ) p.s. Amy, it would be a great holiday
gift for your boyfriend & add 2 his collection of rides
Customer image from Captain Obvious
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16-Inch Original Big Wheel
Available from these sellers.
Is this a gift? To keep it a surprise, check the Gift options box during checkout.
3 new from $145.75
Sorry, I'm highjacking my own thread : ), but it's still about
"Rides of the Past
