1993 Ford Probe GT - Regrets, I've Had a Few

Although I claim to be a GM girl, if I could go back to the mid-1990s, I'd buy a Ford Probe GT like this rather than the 1994 Chevrolet Lumina Z34 and 1997 Chevrolet Monte Carlo LS I did buy. I have few regrets, so if I regret a handful of automotive purchasing indiscretions, I can live with that.

A big part of my motivation for going GM back then was that I had a wad of "GM Dollars" on my GM Mastercard. That was real money I could throw at the purchase of a new GM car or truck. If I recall correctly, back then you could pile up as much as $3,500, which could be applied toward the purchase or lease of a new GM vehicle.

Was such a deal enough to get me into one of these sleek beauties? Driven back-to-back, I don't know how I could possibly have gone with what I did. Although, truth be told, I don't recall even looking at these cars back then. Funny how, at times, we fumble big decisions in life.

Then again, "GM Dollars."

I know I looked at a Honda Accord coupe when purchasing my 1997 Monte Carlo, but I wasn't enamored enough with its styling to stray. That was before Honda stuffed a honkin' 3.0-liter V-6 in them, too. This pretty girl has never bought a daily driver with a four-cylinder engine. I have my standards, you know.

I also had extreme myopia. My focus when I got the 1994 Lumina Z34 was to upgrade my 1990 Lumina Euro 3.1. The 1997 Monte Carlo was more driven by the GM bucks than the Z34 was. 

Dream big, grasshopper.

The 1993 model year was the first for the second-generation Probe, which Ford developed in partnership with Mazda. Ford had owned roughly a quarter of Mazda since 1979, and the relationship between the two companies was already well established by the time the second-generation Probe arrived.

The O.G. 1989–1992 Probes, though, were little more than "Fordified" Mazda MX-6s. The second-generation cars were still based on the same basic Mazda architecture, but Ford was involved much earlier in the engineering and had considerably more influence over the finished product.

Starting with a substantially larger and more stable footprint, Ford's engineers stretched the wheelbase by almost four inches and pushed the track out front and rear by more than two inches. That gave Ford's stylists a much larger canvas on which to drape what I think is still one of the prettiest designs of the era.

And underneath that gorgeous skin, the GT got a Mazda-engineered 2.5-liter, DOHC V-6 making 164 horsepower. The wild and crazy turbocharged four-cylinder that powered the first-generation Probe GT was gone.

Supposedly, the first-generation Ford Probe, which I thought had the charm of a block of wood, was originally intended to replace the Fox-body Mustang. Mustang Nation pushed back hard against the idea of replacing its rear-wheel-drive pony car with a front-wheel-drive, Mazda-based Mustang, and Ford ultimately kept the Mustang while introducing the Probe instead. 

Ford sold the Mustang and the Probe alongside each other through the end of the Probe's production run in 1997. 

Seems odd now that a manufacturer would target two of its cars at roughly the same buyer, but pony-car loyalists are cut from a different bolt of cloth than most casual fans of sporty two-door coupes.

Had Ford followed through with badging the 1989 Probe a Mustang, or at best come out with these cars then and done so—would the world have come off its axis? Well, to us car wonks, it would have, briefly. But driven back-to-back, I don't think you could make a legitimate argument that the old pony was any match for the new one.

Of course, that's hindsight talking. And hindsight has never required a car payment.

This particular Probe sold on Cars & Bids for just $12,500 back in May of this year northwest of Indianapolis, Indiana in Brownsberg. With just 26,000 miles on her 33-year-old ticket and looking almost showroom fresh, someone got a lot of car for their money. 

Granted, there's a lot to consider when buying a car that hasn't been made in nearly thirty years. Parts and trim specific to the Probe can certainly be less readily available than for something with a much larger enthusiast following. Still, it's not exactly a "catalog car."

1981 Checker Marathon - Something Blue

People buy old, worn-out fleet vehicles primarily because they're looking for a cheap vehicle that can be rejuvenated fairly inexpensively; that or they need something for a demolition derby. That's harder to do these days since fleet vehicles, just like most cars today, are so technologically dense that even dealership mechanics can struggle to diagnose problems. Even if you can do the work yourself, figuring out what's wrong in the first place is more than half the struggle; then there's the cost of the parts, which can be prohibitive.

That wasn't necessarily the case years ago. Some hearty folks used to buy old police cars and taxi cabs, tweak them here and there, and then run them further into the ground. Few actually fixed them up as nicely as the man who bought this 1981 Checker Marathon did in 1995.

This had been a Cleveland, Ohio, taxicab. He made whatever repairs it needed and painted over its yellow paint in this pretty shade of what's described as "robin's egg blue." The top is painted white. Then he used it as his daily driver for more than twenty years.

If this car looks a lot older than something that was built and sold in 1981, that was not so much by design as by company operating philosophy.

Checker Corporation of Kalamazoo, Michigan, introduced the basic design that would become its famous Marathon in the late 1950s and continued building essentially the same basic body and chassis through 1982. The Marathon name itself was introduced for the 1961 model year. The idea was that incremental changes and improvements would be made as needed, while the basic body and tough-as-nails chassis would remain largely unchanged.

Built on a rugged body-on-frame chassis, Checkers were known for their durability, reliability and cavernous interiors, especially when compared with many other cars of the era. Their heavy-duty construction was particularly well suited to the punishment of taxi service.

Chevrolet often supplied the engines, and this one is powered by a Chevrolet-built 229-cu.-in. V-6.  Like the Checker itself, it's a relatively straightforward, durable engine that, aside from doing its assigned tasks with unassuming aplomb, is remarkable in how unremarkable it is.

Engines weren't the only parts glommed from the General Motors parts bin. Keen-eyed spotters will note that this is a late-'70's\'80's Chevrolet steering wheel affixed to a GM Saginaw steering column. Looks as out of place here as modern rims do on classic cars, but it gets the job done. 

Checker also sold cars directly to the public, although the vast majority of its production went to commercial and fleet customers. The company's consumer-market efforts began in earnest in 1959, and the A12 Marathon followed in 1961.

Sadly, the man who bought this old Cleveland taxi eventually became ill and passed away, His car sat in his garage for several years, unused and falling into disrepair. In 2022, as a tribute to his late father, his son restored the car to running condition. It was most recently used as "something blue" in his wedding.

Needing room in his garage for his children's toys, he has it for sale now on Marketplace, less than a half-hour south of the Triple Wide. Actual mileage is unknown, best bet is it's north of 200K. There is some frame rot. Asking price is $4,250.

 

1988 Mercury Colony Park - VCR's and Typewriters

If the notion of a luxury station wagon is as foreign to you as watching “over-the-air TV” or listening to the radio, well, kid, you didn't grow up in the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s or 1980s. The 1990s to some extent, too. And please, get off my lawn.

A luxury wagon like this 1988 Mercury Colony Park was what you drove back then if you wanted to swaddle yourself and your family in the lap of luxury while allowing yourself to be as pragmatic as possible.

This one found me on Facebook Marketplace for sale here in the Cleveland, Ohio, area with an asking price of $4,800. The ad lists it as a Mercury Marquis. Technically, that's not quite right: by 1988, the full-size wagon was the Colony Park version of the Grand Marquis. From 1984 onward, the Colony Park was Mercury's sole full-size station wagon, complete with its obligatory simulated wood-grain siding.

With its wood sides—no one ever thought they were real anyway—a Mercury Colony Park was Mercury's top-line full-size station wagon from its introduction in 1957 through 1991. While a fraction of the number of Colony Parks were sold compared with the number of Ford Country Squires, if buyers wanted the equivalent of a station-wagon Lincoln—which Lincoln never built—a Mercury Colony Park was about as close as they were going to get.

A family truckster for the well-heeled that looked as relatively at home at the country club as it did at Home Depot.

I know I'm not the only car guy who's got a thing for station wagons, and the more luxurious and stuffed with doo-daddery, the better.

                          

This one's got it all. Leather-trimmed seats, power windows and locks, air conditioning (I doubt it works), cruise control, tilt wheel and the apple of my 8- to 10-year-old eyes: twin, rear-facing fold-down, jump seats out back. 

Leather seating surfaces were an available option on the 1988 Colony Park rather than standard equipment. They weren't cheap either, figure about $415. The original owner of this "are we there yet" mobile spared no expense.  

By the end of the 1980s, station wagons as we knew them were circling the drain. The growing popularity of the minivan, followed by the rising popularity of SUVs, was eating into the traditional station wagon's territory. Ford's full-size station wagons disappeared after the 1991 model year, although Ford continued selling front-wheel-drive Taurus- and Mercury Sable-based wagons through 1995. GM continued to offer traditional full-size, body-on-frame, rear-wheel-drive wagons through 1996, when the Chevrolet Caprice and Buick Roadmaster wagons went away.

Chrysler got out of the station wagon business wagon after 1988. 

Curiously, Cadillac sold a wagon version of its CTS for the 2010–2014 model years, ostensibly giving luxury buyers an alternative to the German wagons from BMW and Mercedes-Benz that were still being offered at the time. Hey, don't laugh; the CTS wagon was an amazing car but found few buyers. 

Throw in the added surge in popularity of SUVs, and the station wagon, luxury or otherwise, was quickly becoming as irrelevant as VCRs and typewriters.

Our Marketplace gem here appears to have more than her fair share of problems. Rusted quarter panels mean there's probably more where that came from. The leather on the front seats is shot, and the door panels have been torn apart for an aftermarket stereo system, too.

Lastly but not leastly—and sadly—most of her simulated wood sides are faded and worn to the point that they only add to the dreariness of the whole package. Sorry, $4,800 seems like all the money in the world for this old luxury workhorse.

Perhaps it runs fine. Details in the ad, other than it “needs a windshield,” are scant.

It's fun to think about turning this into a sleeper of sorts. What massive junkyard truck engine and transmission could be stuffed into this thing to cost-effectively make it as fun as possible? Not before the interior gets sorted out first, though.

Today's do-everything-well crossovers and SUV's are not unlike our phones, which do most of the tasks we once needed separate appliances for well enough that we don't need those separate gadgets anymore. While some may lament the brand of the crossover or SUV they're driving, few, if any, complain about the vehicle itself per se—above and beyond its reliability or lack thereof.

That wasn't the case when this Colony Park's simulated—don't call it fake—wood siding was shiny and new. Back then, what type of vehicle you drove—sports car, pony car, personal luxury car, four-door sedan—said as much about you, whether you cared or not, as the logo on its hood and sides.

1972 Citroën SM - Nothing Says, "France" Quite Like An Old Citroën

How do you pronounce Citroën? See-troe-on? Sih-tron? Cee-trin? Best I can tell, since it seems no two people pronounce it the same way, Citroën is pronounced something like, see-tro-en—and this 1972 see-tro-en SM is up for sale on Facebook Marketplace less than an hour south of the Triple Wide, just west of Cleveland, Ohio. If you're interested, bring a trailer with a powerful winch.

While today’s Citroën's are generally less eccentric than their predecessors, they're part of the monolithic Stellantis Auto Group now, there was a time—particularly from the years just prior to World War II through the 1970s—when Citroën marched to the beat of its own cylinders.

I thought they were just plain weird and, without question, they were. For the most part, though, they were weird in the most wonderful ways.

Citroën was founded by André-Gustave Citroën in 1919 and quickly established a reputation for doing things differently.

The 1934 Traction Avant was a watershed. Its name literally means “front-wheel drive,” and the car combined front-wheel drive, a unitary/monocoque body structure, four-wheel independent suspension and hydraulic brakes at a time when many competitors were still building cars around separate frames and rear-wheel-drive layouts.

Then came the 2CV in 1948, a remarkably simple and inexpensive car designed to provide basic transportation to rural France. Nothing says “France” quite like an old Citroën, in particular a 2CV.

And then, in 1955, Citroën dropped the technological equivalent of a flying saucer on the Paris Motor Show floor. The DS.

The DS introduced Citroën’s famous hydro-pneumatic suspension, which used hydraulic pressure and gas-filled spheres to provide an extraordinarily smooth ride while automatically maintaining ride height. Hydraulic pressure was also used for other systems, including the brakes and steering.

Citroën began developing what eventually became the SM in the 1960s as a high-performance derivative of the DS. As the project evolved, however, Citroën decided it needed a more powerful engine for it than anything it had available.

Rather than go through the expense of developing its own engine, Citroën acquired Maserati in 1968 and used the Italian company’s expertise to develop the 2.7-liter, 90-degree, quad-cam V-6 that powered the SM. The engine produced about 170 horsepower with its original triple-carburetor setup; in 1972, Bosch D-Jetronic electronic fuel injection was introduced, increasing output to approximately 176 horsepower. 

Up front, European-market SMs have six headlights tucked behind a broad transparent cover. The inner pair swivel with the steering, allowing the lights to illuminate the road around corners. The car’s hydropneumatic suspension also automatically maintained ride height, and the headlights were hydraulically self-leveling so their aim remained consistent as the car’s load changed.

The SM’s love-it or what-the-hell-is-that styling, designed under Citroën stylist Robert Opron, is what makes it really stand out. Despite the deterioration visible on our Marketplace gem here, the basic shape still looks reasonably contemporary more than half a century later.

The list goes on and on with unique, different and debatably overly complicated, “Rube Goldberg-esque” engineering that makes it terrifying to think how much money one would have to spend to get this particular car roadworthy. Not to mention the interior and exterior work that needs to be done.

The poster of the ad is asking $2,500, but they're adamant they “need it gone,” so they're open to offers.  It might be hard to believe, but it's not running, although it was apparently running when parked in this field. Not surprisingly, in addition to all the other issues this car has, the floor pans are rotted out.

I’d love to know why anyone would buy this and go through the labor and expense of even getting it roadworthy. Especially since, unlike back in the 1970s, importing a 1972 SM from Europe today doesn't involve federalizing it to meet current U.S. safety standards. Doing that wouldn't be cheap, but it would probably be a lot less than fixing this thing up—and less of a headache, too.

Poster of the ad claims if you know what this car is, you know how valuable it is. Well, can't blame them for saying that, problem is, what something is really worth is only as much as someone is willing to pay for it. 

The SM was withdrawn from the American market after 1973 because Citroën could no longer get an exemption from evolving U.S. safety requirements, particularly the five-mile-per-hour safety-bumper mandates. Citroën pulled out of the U.S. market after 1974.