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

2009 Toyota RAV4 Water Pump Replacement -Thank You, St. Christopher

My biggest concern after the pulley fell off the water pump on my 2009 Toyota RAV4 V-6, leaving me stranded on the Ohio Turnpike, wasn't whether a texting motorist or semi would plow into me, but whether the engine's head gaskets had been damaged by running the engine hot—however briefly that was. That possibility seemed to dwarf any concerns I had at the time about my own safety and getting myself and my car back home. Read more about that odyssey here.

I knew it was the water pump because the strange whirring sound from its failing bearing had recently gotten much, much worse. It was the same sound the water pump was making when I first bought the RAV three years ago from a friend who insisted, after I replaced it, that he had told me it needed to be replaced. Somehow, we're still the best of friends.

It had been on my to-do list to replace the pump, but I didn't prioritize it because a mechanic I use for work that's above my pay grade said that as long as the pump wasn't leaking—which it wasn't—and was "holding pressure," which it was, I shouldn't be too concerned about it.

Well, mechanics, like doctors, don't know everything.

The failing bearing got so bad that the pump shaft developed enough play that the pulley was literally shaken loose from its mounting. As bad as the circumstances were, being stranded out where God lost his bicycle, I shudder to think about how much worse it could have been.

That same mechanic who told me not to be too concerned about the wobbly pump also told me there was no simple way to determine whether the engine's head gaskets had been damaged. Sure, there's a cooling-system pressure test, a combustion-gas test of the coolant, compression testing and a leak-down test. But determining whether an engine had actually suffered damage from overheating would be a lot easier with engine running at operating temperature.

Naturally, that couldn't be done since the water pump was AWOL.

So I would have to pay my mechanic—or some shop—full freight for the water-pump swap regardless of whether or not the head gaskets were shot. The going rate for that job was about $1,200. My guy wouldn't give me a quote because he didn't feel it was right to do the job, discover that the head gaskets were toast, and then not follow through with rebuilding the engine on a vehicle with so many miles—nearly 330,000—on it.

The same can't be said for other shops around town. Can't say I blame them either.

That put me in a conundrum: junk the RAV or swap the pump myself and hope for the best.

To know me is to know I took the latter option.

Replacing the water pump on Toyota's famed 2GR-FE, 3.5-liter V-6 isn't a particularly complicated job, but it is a tedious one that requires you to work mostly stooped over in a cramped space. There's a fair amount of disassembly, and it requires careful cataloging of what came off and where it goes back; hence, I took plenty of pictures and video. The 2GR-FE water-pump job involves removing the two-piece, hydraulic motor mounts, water-pump pulley, belt-related components and the thermostat/water-inlet housing, among other things.

Getting the radiator hose off the thermostat housing is a beast, and then making sure the gasket between the thermostat housing and the water inlet is secure is literal water torture—more like coolant torture. You don't know if you did everything correctly until you put the coolant back in and check for leaks.

One bit of advice: to test your work for leaks, fill the system with distilled water and let it sit overnight. If it holds the water, you can drain it and refill the system with the Toyota approved and pricey coolant. You'll need just under 10-quarts. 

Through the heat, humidity, the tight workspace and the added stress that all I was doing might be for naught, I got the old pump out and the new one installed in three days.

My palms sweaty, my heart racing, I filled the system with coolant, praying to St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, that there were no leaks and that all my work wasn't for naught. 

I learned the hard way about the system leaking. First go-round, I missed that the gasket between the thermostat housing and the pump falling out, imagine my misery seeing the coolant slowly drip out of the engine knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it and that I'd have to practically redo have of my work. 

If my efforts were all in vain, that would mean tearing everything apart again to get the new pump out and return it. That would have been an exercise in abject sadness.

Then came the big test: Would the engine get up to operating temperature and stay there, or would it overheat? If it did overheat, would I junk the RAV, get quotes on an engine rebuild or go for a straight-up engine swap? And how much would all of that cost?

All that was going through my mind as I started the RAV for the first time with the new pump.

There was no strange whirring, just the same smooth and silken purr of the big engine I've come to know and love over the past three years.

I gingerly backed out of my garage, down my driveway and onto my street. Gentle pokes on the gas pedal followed as I turtled through my subdivision, keeping a laser-focused eye on the temperature gauge.

Slowly, it began to creep up and up. I made sure not to stray from my neighborhood; best to stay literally close to home in case I had to stop driving it.

The gauge continued to rise slowly. I turned the heat on, and warm air blew gently through the cabin—a good sign. I took the RAV slowly around the block twice as the temperature gauge stopped at its familiar operating-temperature position. The heat was now its old blazing-hot self.

I went back to my garage, checked the coolant level and sniffed hard for burning coolant. All seemed good.

Another, longer drive an hour or so later produced the same result: no drama. After a weekend of short road trips, the verdict was looking pretty good. Thank you, St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers. 

My 2009 Toyota RAV4 V-6 Limited lives to die another day.