Mattel X-15 - The Pain. Oh, The Pain

 

 The object of my early childhood dreams

I don't think I could have been any more clear with Santa when I told him, point blank on that late December weekend before Christmas in 1969 that I wanted a Marx Big Wheel. I even went so far as to tell him that there were other Big Wheels out there but the Marx Big Wheel was the one I wanted. 

 

 

Not the object of my childhood dreams 

 

So, Christmas morning when I found this fully assembled Martian tricycle under the Christmas tree I was most perplexed. My angst was two fold since growing up in John and Betty's fun-house, not showing extreme appreciation for something they did for us could get your head, feet and hands chopped off. Even on Christmas morning. What's more I knew that with this thing fully assembled, meaning my father had actually lifted a finger to do something and it being under the tree, there was no way I'd ever get my Big Wheel. My disappointment, as hard as I tried to hide it, was apparently palpable. "Well," said my mother incredulously as she took a long drag on her filter less cigarette and talking while blowing the smoke at me, "they were out of Big Wheels and the man said this was better because it's heavier since it's made of metal."  Although confused by her statement seeing that I asked Santa for a Big Wheel and not her, I was mortified and terrified at the same time. Through my tears I was able to squeak out a life saving, "Oh...it's cool!"  Save nothing for the fact that I knew then that Kris Kringle couldn't be trusted.

 

 

My X-15 looked very much like this one. I don't remember seat belts on mine; perhaps my father didn't install them. 

 

Late that Christmas day the X-15 sat gathering dust and my mother threw me out of the house demanding that I try it out. Obligingly, I carried the back breakingly heavy monster down our front stoop and onto the walkway. Fist thing it did was get stuck in one of the myriad cracks in the broken concrete slabs of our walk way. The bizarre rear steering of the X-15 doing little to help it get over the juts and ruts of that perilous ribbon of moon craters in the front of our house. The "joystick" slapping back and forth perilously close to my face and other personal equipment as I pedaled; I feared for my cheek bones and worse. What's more, a friend saw me pedaling this monument to weirdness and yelled, mockingly, to me, "Nice Big Wheel, Charley! Hahahahaha" My worst nightmares were coming true; I was drawing attention to myself and not the good kind. All I wanted to do was fit in and this thing was doing the opposite for me. The pain. Oh, the pain.

This X-15 looks like it was left out the rain one too many times

 

The Matell X-15 borrowed its name from from the NASA rocket plane that set numerous speed and altitude records in the 1960's. Like the Marx Big Wheel, the Mattel X-15 was direct pedal drive to the front wheel. The similarities ended there.

 

 

Rear steering for the sake of rear steering. There was no benefit.

 

Whereas the Marx Big Wheel is little more than a plastic tri-cyle and steered conventionally, the X-15's steering is by the rear wheels through a cantilevered A arm setup that banks the thing when you move the steering "joystick". The further you moved the stick the greater the bank. The banking increasing in proportion to the degree of turns helped to keep the rider upright.

 

 

My X-15 looked like this one because I never took care of it.

 

This thing flipped over quite easily at speed and that could be quite fun if you crashed onto grass from the sidewalk or street. Not so much fun if it was onto the sidewalk or street. Or a tree or a sign post. 

 

 

Ultimately, I have no idea what happened to my X-15

 

I never enjoyed standing out like a soar thumb riding the X-15 while everyone else rode their Big Wheels. I did appreciate, though how solid it was in comparison to the soft, flexible Big Wheel. However, once I found out how much fun this thing was to flip over on the big hill  behind my house, especially when it was snow covered, I was almost ok with the X-15. Almost.

 

I never did get my Big Wheel.

Parenting lesson taught; if your kid asks for something specific as a gift, nothing else will ever do.

.

 

1984 Mercedes Benz 380 SL - Some Things Never Change

 

Here's a gem from back in the day that looks as good today as it did back when it shiny and new. This 1984 380 SL looking even more spectacular given that it's based up here in car devouring North East Ohio.

 

I wouldn't have been surprised to have seen Florida plates on this baby let alone these older, vintage 2003 Ohio plates that I see a fair number of melting from rust. There is some sentiment up here that road salt, or brine, used in abundance to keep roads safe during winter months never goes away. It lies in wait the blacktop and cement bubbling to the surface whenever it rains spraying our unsuspecting cars with its rust making solution.

 

This masterpiece of German engineering is flawless. At least from what I can tell. These SL's have a reputation for rust and, again, given this is Cleveland, an old Benz in this shape is even more remarkable. The better the condition the more it's worth, of course. You don't see many of these around these days that are in bad shape. What's more, if you see one if great shape, like this one, it's most likely original. These SL's are very expensive to repair let alone restore.

 

 

She's only a 380 meaning she has a 3.8 liter V-8 making all of 155 horsepower. A Buick 3.8 liter V-6 of the same vintage put out only five less horses and similar torque. Albeit with far less smoothness in operation. SL stands for "sport" and "leicht" (light). Sport and light may have been true on older SLs. Our beauty here weighed in at more than 3500 pounds. Light by todays standards, a modern SL pushes down north of 4500 pounds, not so much by even 1984 scales.

 

 

 

Back in the '80s, nothing said "I got it" more than a Mercedes Benz SL. Some things never change.

Buick Reatta - What Were They Thinking?

Seeing this little Buick reminds me of a program director I worked for years ago who, when something would go wrong, would slam us (metaphorically) with his signature admonishment, "what were you thinking?".

 

I have to wonder, with regards to the Buick Reatta, "what were they thinking?" Buick, that is. Not whomever bought one for while I'm not a fan of the Reatta, I can appreciate that someone could be. My issue is with who approved this obviously niche-niche-niche targeted vehicle for production in the first place. Did General Motors really think that a two passenger, pseudo sporty, weird looking Buick would sell? What were they thinking?

As long as I've been on this green earth, Buick has had identity problems and they have been forever trying to change perception as to what a "Buick" is. Just recently I saw a commercial for the Buick Verano where a stereotypical looking grandmother barks out, "that's not a Buick!" What is a Buick anyway? A sporty, junior Cadillac? Then what was Oldsmobile? Alfred Sloan's ladder of marques for GM could be as confining as it was supposed to define what each brand was supposed to be. Years ago being the rung in the ladder either below Cadillac or above Oldsmobile meant that Buick's could get quite stodgy, frumpy. The Buick Grand National and GNX, which were discontinued just as this thing went on sale, played against that type but muddied the idea of what a Buick was just the same as the Reatta. Is Buick for old people or young people? Can you be both? Reatta was supposed to be a vehicle that would show the world grand dad could still cut the rug. To a point. Modest underpinnings and weird styling (did the team that designed the front ever meet the team that designed the back?) can only do so much but for the all important image, Buick wanted the world to know that this was not your father's Buick.

Reatta's biggest problem, aside from the lack of a cohesive design and whether or it was a good idea in the first place, was cost. A two passenger Reatta cost upwards of $5000 more than the car it was based on, the four passenger Riviera. All the hoopla about handcraftsmanship and superior build quality in the world couldn't coax "near luxury car" buying Buick customers to cough up the extra money for Reatta and its two seats as opposed to the Riviera's four. Or depending on the size and number of the grand children you had, five.

Sales of the pricey, two passenger, odd little Buick were, not surprisingly, disastrous. Buick selling just 4700 Reatta's in 1988 against a business case projection of 20,000.  Peak sales were in 1990 when 8500 Reatta's found buyers. A figure reached in part by the introduction of a convertible whose styling did away with the coupe's odd bread basket handle profile. The Reatta was a dead end for Buick and GM quietly dropped it for 1992. 

 

 

Buick then as it is now is a division of General Motors and one would think GM launched an automobile with at least some degree of market research revealing that there was an untapped market for a two passenger, bath tub shaped pseudo sports car. Did they do any research? If they did and it came back that a two seat Buick was viable something got lost in translation. Chances are, as is the case so many times when "corporate" makes mandates, like with that beaten down radio station with that tactless jerk program director I worked at years ago, there was no research.   

 

What were they thinking?

 

Reatta was Buick's second two passenger automobile. Their first was the Model 46 business coupe  they introduced in 1940. It lasted four model years, same as the Reatta.

To the best of my knowledge that guy never worked in radio again after that station went dark.

There Is Nothing Grand About A Pontiac Grand Am

 

 

 

Would I find this car as horrible has I do if it was called anything other than "Grand Am"? I can say with all confidence that I would most certainly would not.

 

 

"There's nothing grand about a Pontiac Grand Am" is not entirely true. An apple of my philandering automotive eye, the original Pontiac Grand Am was introduced in the fall of 1972 as part of GM's new for 1973 "A body" mid sized models. Known as "colonnades" for the new "B pillar" or column (hence colonnade), these cars were derided for their sheer bulk, styling excess and spacial inefficiency (big on the outside, small on the inside). The Grand Am, though was the beautiful swan in a Great Lake of ugly ducklings. However, despite being sexier and cooler than the Grand Prix, Buick Regal/Century and Oldsmobile Cutlass and more masculine than the overdone LeMans and Chevrolet Monte Carlo, Grand Am sold poorly. Pontiac dropped it unceremoniously after 1975. 

 

 

Somebody in Pontiac's model naming department (who names cars anyway?) must have had a serious jones for "Grand Am" because Pontiac brought the nameplate back for another three year run starting in 1978. Now on GM's newly downsized "A body" platform (later called G body), the 1978 Grand Am was but a mere shell of the '73 model but it was a breath of manly, Royal Cophenhagen tinged air compared to the homely lump they put "GRAND AM" on next.  

 

 

My drive of a friend's fresh from the showroom, "N-body" '85, just like this little shitter, had me quoting the car salesman from National Lampoon's "Vacation" who was trying to sell Clark Griswold on the virtues of the "Wagon Queen Family Truckster". "If You Hate It Now, Wait 'til You Drive It". 

 

Wouldn't you know it, though? "The Little Car That Could Not" sold in droves. And then some. So much so that during it's inexplicably long twenty one year production run, many times it was one of the best selling cars in America. Right up there with the Taurus and Camry. So what's in a name?

 

Nothing really. You can't accredit the "N-body" Grand Am's sales boom to it's name any more you can blame it for the first two versions lack of success. The N-body or "little" Grand Am sold well because, primarily, it was cheap; significantly undercutting far superior wares from Japan and Europe. Throw in some practicality (the first Grand Am was available as a four door, by the way) and the not so grand Grand Am took off. Even my in laws bought one. A white on grey, 1994 3100 V-6 powered "SE" sedan. Its styling acceptably benign, its overall character one of resigned complacency. They rolled their eyes whenever I waxed nostalgic for the Grand Am of yore.

 

 

Such is the fate of fanatics of whether it be music, film, sports teams, food, cars. The list goes on. What us "experts" find intriguing being miles away from what John Q. Buying Public finds most important. John Q looking for automobiles that are little more than inexpensive, stoic appliances.

A Tale of Two Chevys - The Doppelganger

My Sunday morning routine is pretty simple. Coffee, walk the dog, drive to the gym in the red Camaro we bought for our boys to use, workout, hit Giant Eagle for bagels and muffins and head home. Last Sunday morning, however I deviated from that scintillating agenda to drop $20 gas in what I lovingly refer to as "The Old '96er". Despite my constant lecturing to the contrary my 17 year old son, the primary driver of The Older 96er, has a habit of letting the tank get down very low. Modern, fuel injected automobiles not taking kindly, I remind him constantly, to running out of gas so my generosity was as much "prophylactic" as it was charitable. With Costco being on the far side of town it meant taking the long way home. That long way home had me stumbling across The Old 96er's doppelganger. 
 

You don't see many "fourth generation" Camaros anymore especially up here in Rustville Cleveland. The body on these Camaros might be of a rust proof fiberglass/plastic blend but the undercarriage is  rust friendly iron. To find another fourth generation Camaro is rare; to find another red one just like The Old 96er is just flat our freaky. Finding it so arbitrarily only adding to the delightful randomness of the whole experience.

 

Chevrolet and Pontiac's 1993 update of the 1982 Camaro and Firebird went a lot deeper than just a swoopy, plastic body but this body is all anyone really remembers. A delightfully handsome design that came at a time just as the market for these types of cars was starting to wane. Another example of GM's incredible bad timing and product planning that led ultimately to bankruptcy. GM pulled the plug on these cars after 2002.

 

There's little to distinguish a 1993 Camaro from a 1996 Camaro. However, while The Old 96er has aged gracefully, this '93 looks like it's been put a way wet. Very wet and very often. My "put away wet" vernacular suggesting this car was neglected and abused more than actually driven hard.

Staying youthful looking takes a combination of hard work and luck. Hard work in terms of exercise, diet and clean living. Luck in terms of being born with great, rust proof genes (we all know those people who are born with those great jeans. We secretly despise them.) You don't see many 18 year old Camaros like mine here in Cleveland not to mention a 21 year old Camaro like our well worn doppelganger. Our lovely "Old '96er", on the right, has spent much of it's life pampered by loving owners up to an including me. Who knows what the doppelganger's story is. I'm sure it has some tattoos in some unsavory places.

"Camaro", in case you've wondered, is a made up word. Legend has it that Ed Cole, then president of GM, came up with the name one morning while taking a shower. Us fans of car wish the origin of "Camaro" came from some place with a tad more mystery and intrigue. Perhaps Camaro is a code word for soap on a rope?
 

 

Doppelganger sounds like a made up word too but according to wiki -- 

 

dop·pel·gäng·er

ˈdäpəlˌgaNGər/

noun

noun: doppelgänger; plural noun: doppelgängers

1. an apparition or double of a living person.

   "he has a doppelgänger named Donald, his invented twin brother"

 

 

 

1975 Chrysler Cordoba - Anything Is Possible

 

My wife thinks it crazy of me to want this car especially when we already have an "old car" that many would die for.

While the "old car" is cool as hell and drop dead gorgeous, it's that white Cordoba my car loving nostalgic heart yearns for most. Yes. A Chrysler Cordoba.
 

 

A white, 1975 Cordoba represented a change in my life where nothing was possible to anything at least seeming possible. While I've had more than my fair share of ups and downs in the 31 years since I first got that car, I can trace the change in my life for the better back to the summer of '83 when I got, "The Cordoba".

 

 

Our lovely Corvette, as magnificent as it is, can't hold a candle to it. 

This car appears to be the base model Cordoba, just like mine (no Corinthian leather).Only difference, mine had a black interior. This light, bright interior is the same color interior that the Dodge Magnum that I bought years ago and restored to look like my Cordoba had.

 

The Magnum (above) was a cool car and thanks to a fairly hopped up engine was pretty fast. Much faster than my Cordoba was. Had it not started burning oil by the bucket I don't know what I would've done with it. The cost of shipping it when we moved back North, even driving it, from Dallas to Cleveland was prohibitive. The failing engine made the decision to dump it somewhat easy. Still, as nice as the Magnum turned out, it was not a Cordoba.

 

 

This beauty is for sale up in Ontario and they're asking a mere $3400 Canadian. That's just over $3100 American. Anything is possible.

The Cordoba was one of the few bright spots for Chrysler during the 1970's. In fact, during its 1975-1977 peak, Cordoba accounted for 60% of Chrysler sales. An abortive styling in update in 1978 killed much of the original's charm and uniqueness. In an attempt to make Cordoba into something more, designers instead made it less than it was. 

1999 Buick Century - The Power of Value

People, in general, have about as much passion for the radio station they listen to as the brand of hand soap or paper towels that they buy. Same is true for automobiles. While there are people who are passionate about the radio stations they listen to, as there are people who are passionate about what they drive, those people are in the minority. The vast, silent majority are a conservative, no less fickle bunch and due to their size and buying power are whom businesses cater to most. That's why music radio stations sound so homogenized, regardless of format or genre and why there are or were cars like this plain jane, despite the red paint, maddenly bland 1999 Buick Century.
 

 

That's not to say there's nothing not to like about this car for there certainly is. The shape is pleasant, the seats are comfortable, the car tracks nicely, the brakes are excellent, the ride is pleasant, acceleration is ample, fuel economy is good, it is fairly feature rich with just about everything you'd need, and most quite admirably, it should've given back about 100,000 fairly carefree miles before things started to go. 

 

 

This car was also relatively cheap in its day especially compared to similar size offerings from Toyota, Nissan, Honda and VW. That, combined with its fair degree of reliability, especially compared to the crap Buick and General Motors was pushing out a generation before this car, being the primary reasons this car sold in the numbers that it did. Never underestimate the power of value.

Those of us who want something more from their daily driver than the bland, vanilla yogurt of a car like this weren't the target buyers for it anyway so who are we to judge.

 

My in laws had a '99 Century, it was gold not whatever shade of red this one is, and they enjoyed nearly a decade of pain free South Florida motoring bliss. Until it got north of a 100 on the odometer and things started flying off it but up until that, Mrs. Lincoln, the play was great. Mom traded the old girl in for a Honda Civic.

There is something noble about a vehicle so stoic in its mission to be nothing more than pleasantly utilitarian. I myself like a little spam in my meatloaf mix.

 

By the way, if you don't like my radio station there's nothing stopping you from putting in a CD of something you'd rather hear instead. Sorry, no aux hookup on this old gem. 

 

Lincoln MKZ - I Can't So I Won't

 

Lincoln's naming scheme has to be the oddest vehicle nomenclature in the market today. What does "Mk" mean? "Mmmmmm, k?" As in texting short code that my teenagers use? Mmmmmm, no; Mk is short for "Mark" which harkens back to the days of the Mark II through VIII. As if anyone really cares. It is an attempt, though, to embrace the alpha (sans numeric) naming that other "rich" brands have been doing for years. Today at your neighborhood Lincoln store you have the MkS (fancy Taurus), MkT (fancy Explorer), MkC (fancy Escape), MkX (fancy Edge) and our fetching subject, the MkZ (fancy Fusion). Those "modest" Fusion bones aside, the Fusion is a great car, the Lincoln MkZ is one of but a handful of contemporary cars that I think I would purchase...if I had 50 grand to spend on a car. I don't have that kind of money so I won't be buying one. But if I did...Oh, come on. Who's kidding who. If I had 50 grand to blow on a car I'd buy a BMW or Mercedes. I should say, if I had 50 grand to drop on a car and it had to be a domestic...

The MkZ' svelte lines and interesting exterior details make it quite attractive and hide its, again, "humble", Fusion borrowed DNA. I didn't snap the interior here but suffice to say it's leather lined library gorgeous compared to the "looks a vinyl lined Tupperware bowl" of the "lowly" Fusion. Think Lexus ES 350 vs. Toyota Camry. This dyed in the naugahyde coupe lover is smitten, though and the availability of Ford's lusty, 3.7 liter, 263 horsepower V-6 in lieu of the wonky "Ecoboost" 2.0 liter four makes the MkZ all the more appealing. This particular car had the 2.0 liter turbo engine. You can not get a V-6 on the Fusion. You also can not get the Ecoboost V-6 in the MkZ. Just as well.

Testament to the MKZ' beautiful design is that people are amazed to hear that the car is little more than a dressy Ford Fusion. Now, the problem is the Fusion itself is a car that can be confused with luxury brands costing thousands more so with an average price pushing hard against $50,000, the MkZ better offer a whole more than a loaded, $37,000 Fusion. Sadly, as is often the case with "badge or brand engineering" like this, you don't get your premium dollars money's worth.

My two cents: Buy this car because you love the car and not for some notion that Lincoln has any real luxury cache. Or, wait a couple of years and look for a low mileage used MkZ that someone took the depreciation beating on.

Aston Martin DB7 Vantage - What Are YOU Doing Here?

 

The Aston Martin DB7 Vantage's beauty is so out of this world unreachable, so untouchable, so intimidating that I've found myself walking away from it because I feel I'm not worthy to be in the same air space as it is. Which is ironic because the air space that I routinely find it in is in the parking lot of the gym I frequent. That gym happening to be the dumpiest, oldest, cheapest gym in town.  

 

It's a long, boring, sordid, twisted tale of ownership change and lost contracts as to why I still work out at this scurvy and cholera invested dump. I have to wonder, though, why someone who drives an Aston Martin DB7 Vantage would come here. For the same reasons as I? Perhaps but there are few people as cheap as I am. Maybe, though they pinch pennies in one part of their life so they can spend it elsewhere? Like on keeping up on the frighteningly expensive maintenance of this legendary British grand touring car?
 

 

See what happens when you drive an expensive, exotic car? People automatically think you're filthy rich and that can cut you both ways. It's expensive to not only be rich but come across as rich. It's really expensive to maintain the trappings of the rich and if you want to give off the impression of being rich and you don't have the money to do so, well, good luck explaining to friends why you've gone from driving as Aston Martin to an old Chevy Cobalt. 

 

 

I just hope the person who drives this car appreciates it for what it is; a kick butt. beautiful automobile that's as much rolling sculpture as it is a transportation device. Those that see it as nothing more than a trapping of the rich end up being trapped by those trappings. It's a slippery sloped. Still, seeing this old Aston Martin in the parking lot of my gym is not unlike rubbing elbows with a celebrity you'd run into in a cheap restaurant. It happens, occasionally but it leaves you with one question you want to ask them, "What are YOU doing here?"