1973 Mazda RX-2 - Poor Old Mike

Along with anything by Toyota or Honda, Mazdas were on a short list of vehicles I believed worthy of our test-drive time when my wife and I were shopping to replace her 2004 Mitsubishi Eclipse GTS Spyder recently. Notably, their CX-3, CX-30 and CX-5 crossovers and, car lover that I am, the Mazda3. While we ultimately ended up with a lovely 2021 Lexus NX300, I was impressed with the Mazdas. Their build quality seemed extraordinary, and they seemed downright luxurious, which was remarkable given their price points. Through each of our Mazda test drives, I couldn't help but be reminded of the little Mazda RX-2 coupe the family that shared our last name and lived across the street from us had in the late 1970s.

If you're not familiar with the RX-2, you're not alone. Mazda only sold the sub-compact car in the United States in two- and four-door versions from 1971 through 1974. This RX-2 I used for illustrative purpose is a 1972.

Contemporary road tests of the RX-2 were glowing. Testers admired its space-efficient, ergonomically well-designed interior as well as its more-than-competent road manners. In a day and age when Ford was selling Pintos and Chevrolet was pushing out Vegas, the RX-2 was a watershed. Where they dinged the RX-2 was on its fuel economy, but did that really matter when gas was 25- to 30-cents a gallon? 

I thought it odd at the time that they replaced their tank-like 1952 Pontiac Chieftain with the lilliputian RX-2. What's more, their RX-2 it was yellow, making it look even smaller, whereas their big old Pontiac was an austere black, just like this one. Mike and Sally were considerably older than my fossilized parents, and I thought the Chieftain fit them perfectly. Those two sweet natured oldsters looked totally out of place in something not only so small, but so contemporary. 

However, back then, with the wounds of the 1973–74 OPEC oil embargo still fresh, plenty of people were swapping their big, heavy gas guzzlers for something more economical. Many found themselves in well-built, supposedly gas-sipping Japanese cars, just as Mike and Sally did.

While certainly better on gas than their Pontiac Chieftain's straight-eight likely managed, the RX-2's rotary—or "Wankel"—engine was compact, lightweight and turbine-smooth, but also surprisingly thirsty. The U.S.-market RX-2 used Mazda's 1.2-liter, two-rotor 12A engine, its prodigious performance coming with a fuel-economy penalty that became increasingly difficult to ignore as gasoline prices rose.

Although Mazda entered into a technical cooperation agreement with NSU/Wankel in 1961, it didn't actually begin selling a rotary-powered production car until 1967, when the Cosmo Sport (above) was introduced. 

The company subsequently brought the rotary-powered R100 to the United States in 1970, followed by the RX-2 in 1971.

When I was a kid, Wankels were all the rage and seemed destined to replace conventional piston engines. They were compact and lightweight and, because of the way rotary-engine displacement is measured, offered impressive power for their nominal displacement. My older brother, who wasn't a car guy but knew I was, gave me one of these Wankel rotary engines model kits for Christmas in what had to be 1973 or 1974. 

General Motors was so enamored of the concept that it planned to use its own Wankel in several small cars, initially targeting the Chevrolet Vega and later the new-for-1975 Chevrolet Monza. American Motors, in fact, designed its Pacer around the compact dimensions of a rotary engine and initially intended to source the engine from GM.

Everything was fine at GM—until it wasn't. Engineers struggled to make the Wankel meet increasingly stringent U.S. emissions requirements while also delivering acceptable fuel economy and durability. By 1974, GM had canceled its rotary program. That left AMC, which had gone a long way down the development pipeline with the Pacer, in a bit of a pickle. AMC ultimately had to redesign the Pacer's drivetrain and engine compartment to accommodate its conventional straight-six engines.

In addition to emissions and fuel-economy challenges, Wankel engines became notorious for problems involving their apex seals—the seals at the tips of the rotors that help maintain compression against the inside surface of the rotor housing. Wear or damage to those seals could result in loss of compression, reduced performance and difficult starting.

Back to my old stomping grounds and Mike and Sally and their funky-sounding, Wankel-powered RX-2: they didn't keep it long. While they bought their Chieftain new in 1952 and had it for more than a quarter-century, they only had the RX-2 for a year or so. Mike loved its handling and, in his words, its "snazzy" interior, but was wholly unimpressed with its fuel economy. Bad fuel economy was the Wankel's dirty little secret, as it were.

Seeking fuel-economy nirvana, poor old Mike replaced the RX-2 with a two-door 1979 Oldsmobile Cutlass powered by a diesel engine.

2004 Mercury Marauder - Attack, Raid, Destroy

The dictionary defines "marauder" as a person or animal that roams from place to place looking for opportunities to attack, raid, or destroy. While The Big Three love alliteration to name their vehicles, "marauder" is still a rather curious moniker to use on a vehicle. The Ford Motor Company's late and most often not so great Mercury division named three supposedly high-performance, full-size cars such; from 1963 to 1965, 1969 and 1970 and in 2003 and 2004 when they gussied a Grand Marquis into the scariest grocery getter this side of the time I affixed an old lawn mower engine to a shopping cart. This 2004 found me on Facebook Marketplace for sale in the town just west of us here on the far west side of Cleveland, Ohio. 

Mercury sold just 11,052 of these cars combined in 2003 and 2004; 3,204 in 2004. Therefore, finding one these days is rare. Asking price is $10,000. 

Such a deal, right? Before you go running to the ATM, buyer beware. Apparently, the seller didn't heed the warning signs before buying it and now, it seems, they're trying to recoup their losses. 

Founded in 1938 as a mid-priced brand intended to bridge the price gap between Ford and Lincoln, Mercury spent much of its existence occupying an awkward spot in the Ford Motor Company hierarchy. Save for a smattering of models, such as the 1967–1970 Cougar, a Mercury was generally either a dressed-up Ford or a scaled-down Lincoln. The Cougar itself a dolled Mustang but they get a hall pass because they did such a nice job. Being sold primarily through Lincoln-Mercury dealers didn't exactly help establish Mercury as a brand with an identity of its own, either.

If anything, these cars most likely confused buyers. By the early to mid '00's, Mercury's image was so "old", this car was akin to hot-rodding the little bus that takes oldsters from the assisted living residence to the mall and back. Frankly, if they felt compelled to do something like this, had the Ford Motor Company simply hopped-up a Ford Crown Victoria with the same go-fast baubles and bits, it would have sold better. I'm sure there were 1994-1996 Chevrolet Impala SS fans who would have signed on the dotted line for a Crown Vic "SS". 

Sharing the Panther platform with the Ford Crown Victoria and Lincoln Town Car, Marauders got a number of heavy-duty chassis components and suspension upgrades, along with the 4.6-liter DOHC, 32-valve V-8 related to the engines used in the Mustang Mach 1 and Lincoln Aviator.

Stripped of much of the Grand Marquis' usual brightwork and dolled up with a monochromatic, blacked-out treatment, the Marauder also received plenty of chassis hardware to go with its sinister appearance. The suspension was considerably firmer than that of a standard Grand Marquis, with unique front springs, Tokico monotube shocks and a larger front anti-roll bar. In back, the car used load-leveling air springs, while the 2003 revision of the Panther platform brought rack-and-pinion steering and other chassis improvements.

The rims are 18-inchers shod with appropriately meaty tires, and they're staggered, the Marauder wearing 235/50R18 tires up front and 245/55R18s in back.

The rear axle ratio was also bumped from the Grand Marquis' typical 2.73 or 3.27 gearing to a 3.55:1 setup with a standard limited-slip differential. 

If these cars had an Achilles' bumper, it was under the hood.

Despite Roush Performance's involvement in developing the intake manifold and dual-exhaust system, the big 4.6-liter DOHC V-8 made 302 horsepower and 318 lb-ft of torque. That's respectable, but moving a roughly 4,200-pound barge with a four-speed automatic transmission isn't exactly a recipe for tire-smoking acceleration.

Contemporary road tests put zero-to-60 mph at roughly 7.5 seconds, while the quarter mile came in around 15.5 seconds at roughly 91 mph. Good, but hardly remarkable.

Fuel economy wasn't exactly the Marauder's strong suit, either. EPA ratings were only 15 mpg city and 21 mpg highway, and the 10.1:1 compression ratio meant Ford specified 91-octane premium unleaded for optimum performance.

An attempt to fix the lack of real go-power on this car was apparently made by the person from whom the current owner bought it.

An Eaton M112 supercharger was added, along with an Aeromotive 340 fuel pump, heat exchanger, intercooler, high-pressure fuel injectors and various other baubles and bits, all in the interest of literally boosting horsepower and torque. 

There are no raw numbers indicating what those mod expensive moifications did to the engine; I'd figure 60- to 75-horsepower, but there's a caveat: Although the person who posted the ad claims the car passed local emissions testing when they first bought it, something has apparently gone kablooey with the engine tune since. Not only will this thing no longer pass a local e-check, but it's not even running. 

Exhibit A, your honor, as to why you should never buy cars that were modified. Good luck finding a mechanic who'd even look at this thing. 

They can provide video of it running, though. 

 

1981 Porsche 928 - There is No Substitute

 

I'll try my best not to fall into the "Risky Business" rabbit hole today with regard to this 1981 Porsche 928 that found me on Facebook Marketplace recently, for sale not far from the Triple Wide. The asking price is $12,500, which puts it at the low end of what these are going for these days.

But you can't have a blog about an early-'80s Porsche 928 and not mention the movie where a 1981 (and several 1979) Porsche 928's are the indirect focal point of the plot. 

Producers of the film initially considered using a Ferrari or Lamborghini but thought either would be too exotic for a conservative Chicago businessman to drive. Porsche's 911 was considered as well, but it was deemed too mundane. The 928, by comparison, was contemporary, sophisticated and exotic without being over the top.

Through my eyes, the Porsche 928 was already famous and made the movie; understandably, many believe the movie made the car. I had long been a fan of the rear-wheel-drive, front-mounted, water-cooled V-8 928 since it was introduced for 1978. 

Thus, when we first see Joel go for a joyride in his father's 928 in the movie, I was slack-jawed that any one actually lived like that. The affluence, the silver-spoon privilege, the charm, the smarts, the innocence and the gumption all muddle together to create a remarkable film. Well, except for the ending, which sucked. Like I said at the top, though, let's keep the focus here on the car.

If you're not aware of how seminal an automobile—not just a sports car—the Porsche 928 was, it's all but impossible to emphasize just how game-changing it was, even if it was as controversial as it was revolutionary.

Take a drive in this well-worn '81 today, and even if it rides and handles better than it appears to, no doubt you wouldn't be impressed. That's because even the most plebeian of crossovers today has so much finesse that, for all intents and purposes, it could probably match the 928 bumper-to-bumper and tire-to-tire on the track let alone the street. 

Context being everything, turn the clock back nearly 50 years and, frankly, there was nothing else quite like the 928 before it.

The rail-like handling, the all-of-a-piece solidity of its structure, the sonorous drone of its magnificent engine made everything else on the market seem as rudimentary as a school bus. Its styling was the only polarizing element; you either loved it or hated it. I'm still as smitten by it today as I was the first time I saw it. Many, Porschephiles or not, did not appreciate the design of the 928 despite the car's overall virtues.

The 928 was intended to replace the old-guard 911. Much to everyone's surprise, particularly those in Stuttgart, Germany, the 911 wasn't discontinued as planned. Instead, it continued alongside the 928, which ultimately attracted a somewhat different buyer. Porsche itself says the 928 was developed as a Gran Turismo and luxury sports car, with considerably more comfort and luggage space than the 911, and that it was originally intended to replace the 911.

In reality, though, Porsche management in the early-to-mid 1970s believed the famed air-cooled, rear-engine 911 was nearing the end of its development potential. By 1973, Porsche engineers and decisionmakers were already concerned about how much longer the 911's successful run could continue, and work was underway on a successor. The 928 was intended to move the company toward a more comfortable, more luxurious grand tourer, albeit one that was superbly engineered.

Porsche's new front-engine, water-cooled strategy also produced the 924, which arrived before the 928. The 924 was introduced in 1976, while the 928 made its public debut in 1977 and went on sale as a 1978 model.

Porsche purists weren't exactly enamored with it, deriding the 928 as not being a "true Porsche" because of its water-cooled V-8 up front and rear-wheel drive. Naysayers even called it a "German Corvette," which was actually flattering when comparing Chevrolet's primitive Plastic Fantastic to something as advanced as the Porsche 928.

I think it's pretty obvious from the pictures here that your $12,500 buys you a basket case of a 928. Imported to Tennessee from Germany in 1984, the best that can be said is that this should be fairly rust-free, having spent most of its life down South. The current owner has owned it for the past 14 years.

Apparently, there's crash damage to the passenger-side front fender and bumper cover. The bumper cover looks pretty badly scuffed, but the fender looks fine.

The damage to the rear bumper cover is disconcerting—is that a hole? Replacement front- and rear- bumper covers and replacement right-front fender are included in the deal. I'd be all but certain they'll need to be painted.

The interior is another sore point. These well-worn front seats are aftermarket, power-adjustable Recaros. 

The radio is a replacement Clarion unit. No word on whether the mounted Blaupunkt remote-control pod works with the Clarion unit or not.

The timing belt on the 4.5-liter SOHC V-8 was changed in 2004. That's not exactly a selling point in 2026. The previous owner spent more than $13,000 servicing the car in 2023, yet there's nothing in the ad about how the car actually runs. Odd.

And here's the thing about that timing belt: on a 928, time matters almost as much as mileage. Depending on the maintenance guidance you're following, belt replacement is generally recommended at intervals of roughly four years, even if the mileage hasn't been reached. So a belt last replaced in 2004 is very much a "replace before you drive" item rather than a reassuring maintenance record.

Seeing how much was spent on service most recently gives us an idea of how expensive these cars can be to keep on the road.

Ah, but if you're of a certain vintage, there's no better way to channel your inner Tom Cruise or Rebecca DeMornay than in one of these, despite this one's relatively ratty appearance. A properly sorted example can cost considerably more.

You'll probably end up spending a good chunk of that difference just to get this one, ahem, "camera ready."

Porsche, there is no substitute.

1962 Rambler American - It Could Have Been Worse

 

Up until I was six years old, my father had a 1961 Rambler "Classic" that I loathed. Growing up on a block jam-packed with flashy Chevrolets, Fords, Oldsmobiles, Buicks and even a Cadillac or two, my father's little Rambler stood out like a little clown car. In fairness, my father wasn't a "car guy", and things could have been worse. He could have been driving a Rambler "American" like this 1962 that found me on Facebook Marketplace recently.

American Motors was founded in 1954 through the merger of Nash-Kelvinator and Hudson Motor Car Company. Packard was supposed to be part of the mix, but negotiations got bogged down at the last minute. Packard eventually merged with Studebaker in 1954, creating Studebaker-Packard, and that semi-conglomeration soon crashed and burned.

Before a reboot of its makes and models in 1957, the newly formed American Motors Corporation sold cars based largely on the existing Nash and Hudson lines, including the Nash "Rambler"; above is a 1954. Yes, apparently, it was as bizarre looking then as it is now, but it was cheap and easier to maneuver than the growing leviathans the Big Three were selling at the time.

Curiously, though, when American Motors introduced its first all-new models for 1956 and 1957, it moved away from the compact car market. The new Rambler models were still considerably smaller than most of what GM, Ford and Chrysler were selling, but they were larger, plusher and, hence, more expensive than the little Nash Rambler had been. All AMC's were "Ramblers" by then. 

That proved to be a problem. Sales of the larger Ramblers didn't meet expectations, and with the U.S. economy headed into a steep, albeit brief, recession in 1958, American Motors was left without a truly inexpensive car to sell.

Just like that, AMC dusted off the old Nash Rambler, gave it a major facelift and, for 1958, brought it back as the Rambler American.

The problem was that, while the American had been extensively restyled, underneath it was still based on the basic architecture of the original Nash Rambler, a car that dated to 1950. Back then, with planned obsolescence and the rapid advancements in automotive engineering and design, three years was an eternity, let alone five—not to mention eight.

AMC modernized the American again for 1961, giving it completely new styling while retaining the basic chassis architecture of the previous American. Note in the above illustration from a 1961 American Motors brochure, with the couple so far in the background, it makes the car appear larger than it is actually is. In reality, at 173-inches long, this was a tiny car. A 1961 Chevrolet Corvair and Ford Falcon where, respectively, 10- and 11-inches longer. 

While a far more modern overhead valve six-cylinder engine was available, the old 195.6-cubic-inch flathead inline-six, like this car has, was the base engine. This engine had DNA in dating back to 1941. 

Gosh, even my father's '61 Classic had AMC's overhead-valve sixer, not that it was available but, for sure if it was, no doubt my father's car would have had it. American Motors used this engine as the base engine in the American through 1965. 

With the American, American Motors had a three-tiered Rambler lineup: the top-of-the-line Ambassador, the middle-child Classic, and the bargain-basement American like this '62. By 1964, AMC began phasing out the Rambler name in favor of AMC branding, although "Rambler" continued to appear on cars for several more years. The last Rambler, technically anyway, left Kenosha in 1969.

This '62 is a curiosity. First off, it's a four-door, which is actually less common than the two-door sedan. The rear doors certainly do its design balance and proportions no favors but there is a lack of pre-tense about this car I respect. Few people would buy one of these cars, even in two-door guise, to impress the Jones'. 

My father was, if anything, a wholly unpretentious man; as far as my mother was concerned, that was to his detriment. His Rambler, therefore, was perfect for him; a modest car for a very modest man. Any aspirations my father had were clearly to make my mother happy. Quite the slippery slope. A blue-collar man attempting to make it in the white-collar sector, he suffered dearly because of it. 

The poster of the ad claims he's owned it for the past ten years, and he and his son rebuilt it from the ground up, removing every nut and bolt, cleaning, painting and fixing whatever needed to be fixed. They even painted it themselves in their garage, a very scary proposition regardless of how good the job appears to have been. 

Good as it is, still has a bit of an "Earl Sheib" aesthetic to it if you ask me, though. 

It's for sale about twenty minutes south of us here on the west side of Cleveland, Ohio. Asking price: $5,100. It's rust free car from Pennsylvania which is amazing considering Yinzers use the same salty brine on road in winter like they do in here in Northeast Ohio. If it matters, which it really doesn't. it nd has just 33,000-miles on it