Turkeys

On this day of thanksgiving I want to honor the turkey. I am not talking here about the avian that has been genetically engineered to the point that it can not stand in the rain without drowning, I am talking about the turkeys that automakers have tried to pass off as viable transportation.

 

We must get the most obvious model out of the way first.  The Pinto is biggest among turkeys not only because it was so poorly conceived and cheaply built that it was simply horrible to drive, but because it was deadly. Unlike the Corvair, whose instability was a result of innocent engineering oversight, Ford understood the dangers of the Pinto, and judged profits more valuable than human life. It puts the recent VW diesel scandal into some perspective. Truth be told, the Pinto engine is not all that bad, and the front suspension is one of the best to come from a domestic automaker. But all we remember is Henry Ford II’s choice to pay off claims from victims rather than fix the fuel filler neck. This alone places the Pinto in an unenviable position of top turkey.

No other cars in my list are quite so depressing, they are simply bad products. I am not going to include the Corvair on this list, because it was really a decent car. GM was making a sincere effort to produce an attractive, affordable car and fell victim to a lack of experience with swing axles. The later model Corvairs corrected the oversteer problems, but it was too late. Ralph Nader, the perennial green party candidate, had made a name for himself and was not going to fade into the background. Ever.

Luckily, Chevrolet replaced the Corvair with the Vega. I say luckily because just like the Republican presidential primary, it is so bad it gives me something to laugh about. The Vega was a great design, rivaling the Germans in sophistication. But due to the aforementioned problems with the Corvair, the Vega was rushed into production. Had there been only a few teething problems, all would have been forgiven. But as it turns out, it was entirely bad. The new aluminum engine destroyed itself from within, the suspension was made of linguine, the interior was covered in plastics that would make Mattel cringe, and the svelte body rusted to a pile of flakes on the showroom floor. When I was a kid finding a Vega that had floorpans was like spotting a unicorn. They didn't exist. And, in regular GM tradition, the Vega eventually became a great car, even with a Cosworth 16valve engine option, but by then nobody cared.

Italians must love thanksgiving, because so many of their cars are turkeys. Some of the most beautiful cars made have a strong whiff of rosemary and thyme to them. Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Maserati are internationally recognized symbols of fiscal prowess not because they are expensive to buy, but because they are expensive to own. Lancia, Fiat, and Alfa Romeo produce affordable cars, but they are still full of stuffing and gravy. The Alfa Romeo GTV is a stunning coupe smart enough for even James Bond to pinch when a quick getaway is required, but is so unreliable had it been sitting cold, 008 would have finally gotten his chance to be a real spy.  The Fiat 124 defined the sports sedan, unless you actually wanted to drive it, then your definition changed to BMW 2002. And Lancia, the nuttiest of all automakers, attempted a normal, sensible car with the Beta. Much like the Vega, had it just been for the rust, nobody would have cared. It was the pretty little coupe's propensity for violent explosions that eventually removed Lancia from our shores.

People can be turkeys, too.  Especially when they simply must name their car after themselves. John DeLorean, after successfully poking America in the eye with the Vega, decided the world needed his vision of a “safety car.” He somehow convinced Queen Elizabeth II to give him millions to open a factory in Ireland. A car made by the Irish seems to define quality and safety, at least to John DeLorean. Luckily the engine was to be made by Renault and the chassis by Lotus, two stalwart names in the automotive industry. A French engine in an English chassis assembled in Ireland. What could go wrong? As it turns out, almost everything. At least it was a slow and expensive car. Luckily, English cars never explode. That would require actual electricity to flow through the conductors. They tend to simply stop doing anything other than spill their fluids on the pavement, and the DMC was no exception. Sales plummeted, and to paraphrase Billy Preston, something from nothing leaves nothing. Not even the long established business practice of cocaine trafficking could raise enough capital to save the DMC. Had it not been for Marty McFly, nobody would remember the DeLorean.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, and enjoy the turkey.

Porn Magazines

I received my regular monthly installment of magazines recently.  For most of my life, these were porn.  Glossy images of unattainable beauties spread across the pages.  I should clarify immediately none of the magazines I read are filled with naked women, not that I find anything wrong with that.  The magazines I am talking about have names like Car and Driver or Road & Track or Top Gear.  The seductive photographs were of Ferraris or Lamborghinis or Jaguars.  When I was young, I would eagerly await the arrival of my eye candy each month, usually consuming the entire contents in a single sitting.  And I mean the entire contents from letters in the front to the tiny ads in the back for retread performance tires.

I learned a great deal from these magazines, from literary tools like caesura to the difference between desmodromic valves and valves with springs.  I even tried a set of those retreads on my old BMW once.  The words on the page had so much influence over me that I believed the Pontiac 6000 STE was a cool car, even with its goofy digital dash and rear beam axle.  Each month my (admittedly small) world was full of adventures to exotic places in special cars.

As the years have passed, I have grown less excited about the arrival each month of my “porn.”  It is not the fault of the magazines, it is just that I can’t find much interesting about the new F150 v/s Silverado article, or the fact that Bentley is going to make a Sports Utility based on the same chassis that is already used in the Cayanne, Tourag and Q7.  There is an article on the new Suburban, a Lincoln truck / wagon thing, a Range Rover Sport, and the Scion iM.  I could go to my grave happily without the knowledge of how Weathertech makes floor mats or the fact that a Honda Fit is reliable and economical.  But all these things are considered important enough to print.

There is a mildly interesting article on the Mustang GT350, and some downright pleasant reading about a few English cars on the Isle of Man, only slightly disrupted by several pictures of the jackolantern faced McLaren 650.  As always, the technical articles that open the magazine are through and entertaining, and the columnists can usually be counted on for an amusing car related yarn or two.

I am not sure which is to blame, me or the magazine.  Car and Driver was wrong about the 6000, it was a horrible car.  But I liked it because it was new, I was young, and the world held the promise of yet undiscovered riches.  Now that I am somewhat older, banal cars like the Scion iM or Ford F150 do not earn my attention.  New cars tend to be somewhat homogenized due to regulations, resulting in very few interesting designs.  Fitness trackers or phones are where the excitement is these days, and there are some amazing phones out there.

I love new cars like the Fiesta ST or Viper or even the Cayman GT4, despite the computer nannies and tons of air bags.  But I really like older stuff, cars that are light and simple like an E30 BMW or MKII Supra or C4 Corvette.  It is easy enough to find something cool and entertaining to drive.  There have been roughly one million 911’s made, about a million Corvettes, more than eight million Mustangs, and thousands and thousands of other neat cars that can be had (relatively) inexpensively.  They will not impress your neighbors as much as a new Lincoln truck / wagon thing, but will be considerably more fun to drive.  And, if you are lucky enough, they will be broken or unreliable enough to require you to work on them yourself.  There is no greater satisfaction than operating a machine you have fixed with your own hands.