1968 Ford XL - Such is Life

We lost our local engineer in the latest round of company downsizing recently. Tom (name changed to protect the guilty) was quite the character; "character" an overused term to describe someone who's charmingly quirky. Tom is nothing if not quirky. Let's leave it at that rather than character-assassinate the poor guy, who can't defend himself here. Let's instead talk about the 1968 Ford XL he had "stored" out in the back of our 10-acre compound in Youngstown, Ohio.

Obviously, there's a lot to unpack here.

This showed up less than a month after he was told by corporate to remove all his other junky cars, trucks, engines, transmissions, lawn mowers, garden tractors, toys, and who knows what else from the property. On one hand, I respected what I perceived to be his gumption in doing so, a metaphorical middle finger to "the man." Well, it was either that or he didn't quite grasp the "you-need-to-do-this-now-ness" of the directive. An edict from the very people who ultimately decided whether he had a job or not. Would he still be employed if he had hauled his stuff out of here? Probably not, but still.

I never asked Tom what his plans were for this thing. It's in, no kidding, terrible shape, and having it sit out here in all this soggy glory on the Ohio-Pennsylvania line isn't doing it any favors. The hood is so rusty that when I went to lift it, I felt it had all the structural integrity of a matchbook cover.

My father had a 1968 Ford Ranch Wagon, essentially the exact same car, only completely different in scope and purpose, if that makes any sense (it does to me).  Therefore, I feel a kinship to full-size '68 Fords. They're uniquely different from the other 1965–1968 big Fords, and I think—and apparently, I'm in the minority on this one—they're the best-looking of the era of very good Fords. 

While I loathed my father's rental-grade wagon, these rare XLs are a different story.

Available only as two-doors, either as a fastback like this one or a convertible, the XL was Ford's sporty full-size offering. Ford associated the XL name with "Extra Lively," a tip of the bumper to the sporting elan these cars were supposed to have. Tom's is equipped with a 390-cubic-inch two-barrel, 265-gross-rated-horspower V-8, that's maybe, give-or-take, 180-hp net. A four-barrel 390 was also available, rated at 315 (gross) horsepower, along with limited-availability 427- and 428-cubic-inch engines. The 427 was rated at 390 horsepower, while the 428 made 340.

Judging by the buckets, console, and shifter, this one may have the optional GT Equipment Group. The GT package added a number of performance-oriented goodies, including special suspension, wide-oval tires, power front disc brakes, and available distinctive exterior stripes. XLs could be ordered with three- and four-speed manual transmissions; this one appears to have Ford's C6 three-speed automatic.

Introduced for 1967, the Ford XL continued through 1970 and was positioned as the sporty member of Ford's full-size lineup, a rung below the luxury-oriented LTD and above the more conventional Galaxie 500, and the entry-level Custom 500 and Custom.

Would my woe-begone childhood have been less miserable had my father driven home one day in this rather than the Ranch Wagon? Of course not, but at least I'd have something physically tangible to remember him positively by. 

In its day, with the fastback roofline, buckets, console, and even just the two-barrel 390 engine, this car was totally badass. I'd love to be able to say that my father wasn't the man I needed him to be, which is sad but true, but at least he could have driven a wicked-cool car. Such is life. 

My plan is to find a salvage company willing to haul all this stuff away and send Tom the bill. Naturally, we'll give him an ultimatum first; get your crap out of here ASAP or else. 

It's getting late in the year, though, so this may have to wait until spring. It's not like corporate is on me to get this done now anyway. That'll give me five or six months to watch it all sink further into the ground. Five or six months more to try to make sense of it all too. 

Wish me luck.

1994 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 - I'm Still a Lovesick Sophomore

Auto manufacturers know they're playing with fire when they update a popular, long-standing design. Even when fans of the previous model are calling for a substantial update or something different—as we Chevrolet Camaro die-hards were by the early '90s—the effort is fraught with challenges. Unlike the 1984 Corvette, which I find aesthetically disappointing, Chevrolet exceeded all expectations with their fourth-generation Camaro they rolled out for 1993. This one that found me on Facebook Marketplace is a 1994 Z28.

I'm such a fan of these cars that I've owned three of them: two 1996 V-6-powered Sport Coupes and a 2002 LS1 V-8-powered Z28. My adoration for these cars went all but unrequited, though, as I found all three to be heartbreakers. So, I know better than to think any good could come of this one, even if it's reasonably priced and I wouldn't use it as a daily driver, as I did with my previous Camaros.

In fairness, the two 1996 models were well past their "best-used-by" dates when I bought them for my then-teenage sons. One had spent its entire life exposed to the salty brine they treat our roads up here in northern Ohio in winter with. The other was an Arizona car that, while rust-free, suffered from many of the maladies that afflict older cars—especially a mid-1990's Chevrolet.

On the other hand, the 2002 Z28, which was only four years old when I bought it, was trouble-free but far from headache-free. The stiff ride, numb steering, awkward seating position, and creaky structure got old fast. Real fast. I remember driving home from the Chevrolet dealership in Dallas, Texas, where I bought it and saying to myself, "What have I done?"

Through it all, though, even after dealing with the '96s that couldn't go a month without some mechanical calamity and the '02 that beat my kidneys and spine with a jackhammer, I'm still a lovesick sophomore whenever I see one. I just wish they were, overall, better cars and were easier to live with. 

These days, unlike third-generation Camaros, whose values have climbed considerably, you can still get a fourth-generation model in good condition for a reasonable price. This one, with just 57,000 miles on it, is listed for $8,000. While that's more than I paid for both of the 1996 Camaros my boys had combined years ago, based on the current market, the closer you can get it to $7,000, the better. Get it for $6,500, and I'll eat my heart out.

You could easily pay close to $20,000 for a particularly nice third-gen Z28, depending on the year, condition, and originality. Why that is a blog topic for another day. 

This is a lot of car for the money. While the LT1 V-8 isn't quite the durable workhorse the L98 engine was, if you can work on it yourself or "got a guy" (or girl) who can, it'll pay endless dividends for you at stoplights and on freeway entrance ramps. Keep in mind that, while the handling is excellent, the steering feel, again, is vague and numb; it's not the most satisfying performance car to drive.

Bonus: This interior is not O.G; someone upgraded it. Good choice. While the factory fourth-gen seats are an improvement over the third-gen's, they're still not great. For the sake of originality, I hope the original interior comes as part of the deal. I doubt it seeing they didn't mention it in the Facebook Marketplace ad. 

Fun little aside, these fourth-generation Camaros are the last ones that, in my opinion, had an original design identity rather than borrowing heavily from an earlier generation. Yes, they are an evolution of the third-gen's, but the design ethos was a clean break from what came before it. 

When the Camaro returned for 2010, Chevrolet leaned into its heritage, giving the fifth-generation car a decidedly retro look inspired by the first-generation models. The sixth-gen's, while wonderful cars, get a lost in the weeds styling wise trying to be more than just an updated fifth-gen. 

 

1961 Chevrolet Biscayne - Where is the Classic and Collector Car Market Headed?

I know it's not the best idea to judge the current state of the classic- or collector-car market by what cars are going for at auction, but it's a bit disconcerting, although not surprising, that this very clean 1961 Chevrolet Biscayne has a high bid of just $19,250 with two days left before the auction closes.

Is the market shifting and changing? Short answer: yes, it is. Values have leveled off and softened following the massive, unsustainable boom seen between 2020 and 2022, and Hagerty has reported signs of a cooling market.

It's a buyer's market in many respects, but here's the problem: the traditional buyers of cars like this are still largely the same old-fart Baby Boomers and older Gen Xers. Younger Millennials and older Gen Zers, meanwhile, may have very different ideas about what makes a desirable collector car.

Can't say I blame them. It's not that younger buyers don't appreciate the aesthetics of something like this '61; it's that cars like this can be freakishly, if not terrifyingly, difficult to drive by modern standards. While this car, blissfully, does have power steering and brakes, many cars of this era don't. 

Even its big, lusty, multi-carbureted V-8 might not interest younger buyers today because, for all its noise and fury, this thing will take longer to go from zero to sixty than their Hyundai Palisade will.

Please don't give me that old-school macho-man bullshit about driving a "real car." You might have gotten away with that even ten years ago, but these days, as Gen Z approaches its prime earning years, its members will increasingly influence the collector-car market. And guess what? Many aren't looking to buy cars like this.

And if you think Gen Z is ambivalent toward cars, just wait until Generation Alpha—and eventually Generation Beta—comes of driving age.

There are a number of reasons for changing attitudes toward car ownership, but the instant connectivity of smartphones is often cited as one of them. Back in my day, a car was a conduit to friendship and freedom; many "kids" today view car ownership as a burden.

Back in my day, an oldie like this was a step up in many ways from your run-of-the-mill daily driver, and it could be a ticket to at least knocking on the door of the in-crowd. These days, driving something like this is more like a trip back to the Stone Age.

General Motors redesigned its full-size cars for 1961, and, through my foggy spectacles, they were spectacular. GM design chief Bill Mitchell and his talented teams had broken free from much of the wanton styling excess associated with Harley Earl's regime and rolled out a fleet of freshly styled, smart-looking cars that proved you didn't have to festoon nearly every inch of a car with chrome and ornamentation to make it look exceptional.

The Biscayne was Chevrolet's entry-level full-size passenger-car line for 1961, followed by the Bel Air and the range-topping Impala. Biscayne sedans were available in two- and four-door configurations, and neither was a hardtop. But with its wraparound rear window—please don't call it a wind screen—this is one pillared car that this hardtop-loving redneck could get his arms around.

A wide range of engine and transmission options was available even on the cheapie Biscayne. The auction ad doesn't tell us whether this particular car has the original 348-cubic-inch V-8 it might have been born with, but that engine was certainly available in 1961. Chevrolet offered several versions of the 348, ranging from 250 to 350 horsepower. A 360-horsepower 409 was also available, although it's anyone's guess whether this Biscayne left the factory with one of those.

A quick glance at the values of the so-called "bubble-top" 1961 Chevrolet Bel Air and Impala hardtops suggests that some examples can command roughly twice what this Biscayne looks likely to bring. Even so, $40,000-some-odd dollars for one in good, if not great, condition feels undervalued to me.

Where is the classic- and collector-car market headed? If you're a fan of the oldies and of a certain vintage, there are values to be taken advantage of for certain, but it terms of long-term investment, now more than ever, the market is going places we don't want it to go. 

 

1985 Renault Encore - Bookish

Funny how we associate certain cars with certain people in our lives 

Whenever I see a Renault Encore, admittedly that's not that often, I always think of my wonderful friend Paulette who passed away last spring. We worked together at a radio station on Long Island in in 1987 and 1988. Paulette was a brilliant and compassionate journalist, kind, sharp witted and had a love-hate relationship with a Renault Encore she was driving when we worked together. Actually, it was more of a hate-hate relationship. Paulette's Encore was blue; I'm using this black '85 for illustrative purposes.

 

The French automaker Renault dates back to 1898, first selling cars in the United States prior to World War I. After that, they didn't import anything over here until 1957 when the odd-looking Dauphine sedan (left) found a cadre of loyal buyers. The Caravelle (right), Renault's sporty little rear-engine convertible, followed in the early 1960s. 

Renault imported other oddities here through the 1960's and in the 1970's like the R 10 (left), and R 12 (right). Renaults the perfect car for those looking something decidedly if charmingly left of center. The kind of car a pretentious, pipe smoking college professor would drive and swear to any nay-sayer they were better automobiles than anything else on the road at the time. 

Renault's American fortunes saw a real boost during the 1970s, when the oil crisis and growing demand for economy cars helped make the Renault Le Car a familiar sight on American roads. Far more contemporary looking than anything they had sold here before, it was still "what-the-hell-is-that" funky, but it was fuel-efficient and, as small cars went back then, fairly luxurious. Le Car was praised by contemporary reviewers for its entertaining handling and driving character. When I was a kid growing up on Long Island in the 70's, while I can't say these were everywhere, you saw enough of them to say they were something, if anything, of a fashion statement and helped mainstream Renault as a brand in the U.S. 

In 1979, Renault bought interest in struggling American Motors Corporation (AMC), Renault taking control of the company. Renault saw AMC's dealership network and U.S. manufacturing facilities as an opportunity to establish a stronger foothold in the American market.

Renault invested heavily in the partnership, and AMC's Kenosha, Wisconsin, factory became the birthplace of the Renault Alliance, an Americanized version of Renault's 9 sedan. Introduced for the 1983 model year, the Alliance was followed in 1984 by the Encore, a hatchback derived from Renault's 11.

While certainly no looker—I found the styling appalling—critics praised the cars' handling, packaging, and efficiency. Although the Encore was a subcompact, its 97.8-inch wheelbase gave it a reasonably roomy interior for its class.

Critics (and Paulette) weren't nearly as enthusiastic about its modest acceleration or its real-world fuel economy. Consumer Reports reportedly managed no better than 27.5 mpg over its combined test loops. That's respectable for a car from the mid-Eighties, but it fell well short of the 50-plus mpg highway figures they advertised it to get. 

Then there was the poor build quality, questionable reliability, and often disappointing dealership service. Paulette complained not only about how often her Encore wound up back at the dealership where she bought it for repairs, but also how long it stayed there. Sometimes, for weeks at a time.

In fairness, the number of times Paulette's Encore broke down was less than the number of times the 1975 Chrysler Cordoba I was driving at the time we worked together did but my car was already twelve-, thirteen-years old with more than 100,000-miles on it; Paulette's Encore was practically brand-new.

At least the Renault Encore was relatively inexpensive compared with many larger American cars. You could get a well-equipped one for around $8,000. 

On some level, though, the quirky little Encore fit Paulette her to a tee. Believing people put as much time and effort into their car purchases as I do, when I asked her why she bought such an offbeat automobile, her answer surprised me.

"My old car had broken down, and the dealership where I bought it was within walking distance of my house," she said. "They were desperate to make a deal, and they gave me a good one on it."

Renault, which these days is part of a literal Renault-Nissan-Mitsubishi alliance, hasn't sold anything in the United States since selling American Motors lock, stock and barrel to Chrysler in 1987. 

 

1977 Chrysler New Yorker Brougham - A Nice Sunday Afternoon Drive

There's something unapologetically old-school about these 1976–1978 Chrysler New Yorker Broughams, and I've loved them ever since I was first smitten by one back in the summer of 1977.

This one is a 1977 that found me on Facebook Marketplace this morning, listed for sale up in New Baltimore, Michigan, a good three-hour drive north of the Triple Wide. There's no information about its history, but based on its apparent condition, the seller's claim of just 68,000 miles on its nearly 50-year-old odometer seems plausible. The asking price is a fairly reasonable $12,000.

Still, that's a nice bit of change in these post-COVID, OMG-inflationary times, but I don't think it's unreasonable for an oldie that appears to be in near-pristine condition. A Cadillac Coupe de Ville of this era, in similar condition with comparably low mileage, could easily carry an asking price of $20,000 or more. Not saying they'd actually go for that, though.

I wish the wife were into these kinds of cars. She hates them.

"Old-man-fart cars," she calls them.

Well, dear, if the brake shoe fits.

Let's flash back to the summer of 1977. I'm with my parents, used-car shopping at the long-gone Conway Chrysler-Plymouth Motors dealership in Baldwin, New York, on Long Island.

I'd grown tired of my parents obnoxiously trying to work over a used-car salesman on a 1970 Buick Electra, so I moseyed over to the new-car showroom to get a closer look at a brand-new NYB two-door that had caught my eye. I carefully popped open its massive door, making sure it didn't rub against the Plymouth Volare parked next to it, jumped in, and slid across acres of impossibly soft and oh-so-slippery leather seats. 

In the silence of that tomb-like interior and in an era when thin-was-in in the car industry, that still-large-and-in-charge New Yorker had me hooked. I still am to this day although I wonder if I like these cars or we tend to romanticize everything about our childhoods to some degree. 

Perhaps I could convince the wife that the trip would be mostly about leaf-peeping and taking in the splendor of New Baltimore, nestled on the shores of Lake St. Clair.

The geography, for those keeping score, is a little more complicated than it might appear. The Detroit River connects Lake St. Clair to Lake Erie and forms part of the larger waterway system linking Lake Huron with Lake Erie. New Baltimore, meanwhile, sits along the northern shore of Lake St. Clair, in the northern reaches of the Detroit metropolitan area.

I'm considerate of other people's time, though, far more so than my own. And an ad on Marketplace isn't an invitation to a free-for-all for folks like me to test-drive cars they find cool or interesting. I've sold a lot of cars on Marketplace, and I don't appreciate someone who just wants a joyride. Not that this car is a joy to drive.

Built on Chrysler's full-size C-body platform, these cars put the yacht in land yacht. Despite Chrysler's innovative torsion-bar front suspension, steering was only in the relative sense. The suspension was tuned for isolation rather than handling, and the brakes had their work cut out for them trying to stop nearly 5,000 pounds of Detroit iron. 

Even with the 440-cubic-inch V-8 available in these cars, sorry, no picture of it in the ad, you're not going to keep up with modern traffic well. More power is something you could address at any speed shop; suspension upgrades for Chrysler C-bodies are tougher to come by. 

Although these seats look as inviting as a birthday cake buried in buttercream frosting, they're backbreakers, especially for the driver. These cars were meant to be ridden in, not driven. Still, I want to smear my face in them. I know. That sounds gross, but hopefully you get what I'm saying.

Never meet your idols, they say. The same is true of old cars. No good could come of this for me, although a trip up north this time of year, with autumn in full swing, would make for a nice Sunday afternoon.

 

1990 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 - The Stuff of My Early Adulthood Dreams

 

In 1990, I was driving a brand-new Chevrolet Lumina Euro 3.1 with a 135-horsepower, 3.1-liter overhead-valve V-6 that could do zero to 60 in 10.1 seconds and the quarter mile in 17.8 seconds at 80 mph. Adequate, but nothing special, and I knew that. Still, it was a vast improvement over the woebegone 1982 Buick Riviera it replaced.

Therefore, kids, the notion of driving any Corvette, let alone a 375-horsepower ZR-1 like this 1990 model, was the stuff of pure fantasy.

These days, I could simply write an $80,000 check, drive less than an hour from the Triple Wide, pick this one up, and fulfill my early-adulthood dreams. This old man would then slaps his knee, adjust his teeth, laughs, and says, "And that's not going to happen, by crackie!"

Why? Are you serious? Well, before we get to that, this particular ZR-1 is interesting. It has just 300 miles on it and appears to be in museum-quality condition. A museum is probably where it belongs, too.

I'd be afraid to drive it, fearing that every additional mile on its odometer and every paint chip would cost me thousands in resale value. And the roads around here in northern Ohio wouldn't do the suspension any favors, either. Finding a mechanic willing and able to work on it could be challenging, too. 

You'll pay through the removable roof for parts, as well. Corvettes are "catalog cars," meaning you can find just about any part you need. But these ZR-1s are different because Chevrolet built so few of them, and their specialized components can be expensive and difficult to source.

Introduced for the 1990 model year and built through 1995, these ZR-1s represented the second generation of Corvettes to wear that designation. The first ZR-1 was offered from 1970 through 1972 and featured a high-performance, 350-cubic-inch LT-1 V-8, a heavy-, I mean heavy-duty transmission and suspension, upgraded brakes, and other performance enhancements. Its competition-oriented suspension and other beefed-up components were best suited to a track. 

Only 53 of those early ZR-1s were built. Above is a 1972 that sold at auction, in 2014, for $115,000. 

This 1990 ZR-1 featured a performance-tuned suspension and FX3 Selective Ride Control, which used electronically adjustable shock absorbers to let the driver tailor the ride and handling. Like other C4 Corvettes, it retained four-wheel independent suspension and transverse composite leaf springs.

The real magic, though, lies under the hood.

Dubbed the LT5, this all-aluminum, 5.7-liter V-8 featured dual overhead camshafts and four valves per cylinder. Developed by General Motors in cooperation with Lotus Engineering, the engine was manufactured and assembled by Mercury Marine's MerCruiser division in Stillwater, Oklahoma, before being shipped to Bowling Green, Kentucky, for installation in the car. The result was an unusual combination of American V-8 muscle and sophisticated, high-revving, overhead-cam engineering.

When first introduced, the ZR-1 was among the fastest American production cars you could buy. The numbers were blistering: zero to 60 mph in roughly 4.5 seconds, the quarter mile in the 13.1-seconds range, and a top speed of nearly 180 mph. 

In 1990, that was serious supercar territory. The idea that a Corvette could run with Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and other exotic machinery raised a few eyebrows. It seemed almost comical at the time, but the numbers were there, even if few would have equated, or would equate the ZR-1 with Italy's or Germany's finest.

At the time, it seemed that overhead-cam V-8s, particularly double-overhead-cam, four-valve-per-cylinder engines like the LT5, were the future of performance cars. That wasn't how things ultimately played out at Chevrolet.

General Motors eventually returned to a simpler, less expensive approach to high-performance V-8s. By the time the LS1 arrived in the redesigned 1997 Corvette, it delivered 345 horsepower using "old school" push rods and overhead valves.  It didn't match the original LT5's peak output on paper, but it demonstrated that a sophisticated, expensive engine wasn't the only way to deliver serious performance. 

And when Chevrolet increased the LT5's output to 405 horsepower for 1993, the comparison became even more interesting: the two engines represented very different approaches to extracting performance from a V-8.

As for blowing $80,000 on this or any car, I don't know where my portfolio would need to be for me to feel comfortable spending that much money on one. And I most certainly wouldn't spend it on a cream puff like this that I'd be too scared to drive.