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Dieselgate: the prequel

Where there’s smoke, there’s scandal

Long before aging hippies and more respectable members of the general public fell victim to the Volkswagen emissions-cheating scandal, there was the Oldsmobile diesel.

“Das problem”

Born of high oil and gasoline prices at the tail end of the turbulent 1970s, GM’s diesel engine (in 4.3-litre and 5.7-litre guises) seemed the answer to many consumer demands – better mileage, more power, cheaper operating costs.

By the dawn of the 80s, diesels were slapped into nearly everything GM produced, from low-end Buicks to Cadillacs.

Sales peaked at 310,000 in 1981, representing 60% of the diesel market in North America – no small feat considering the amount of Mercedes, Volvo and, yes, Volkswagen diesels being imported at the time.

Just watch this breezy and glamorous promotional video for the 1980 diesel Oldsmobiles.

Seems like a dream come true, right?

Well, the dream of the 80s didn’t stay alive for long.

Customer frustration grew after people had lived with their diesel Oldsmobiles for a while. Poor performance, noise and unreliability emerged as the biggest complaints, and the engines were phased out of the GM lineup by 1985.

So derided were the rumbling power plants, that it created a stigma around diesel that continued in American to this day.

Earlier this year, that stigma seemed to be lessening. Volkswagen TDI models were still rolling steadily off lots in the U.S. and Canada, as they had been for years, while the light-duty 3.0-litre EcoDiesel was being lauded for its use in Ram pickups and the Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Chevrolet’s popular Cruze had just become available with a powerful 2.0-litre turbodiesel that, though rare in the marketplace, was receiving positive press.

Then, the news came that a small European environmental group and a West Virginia University had exposed one of the biggest scandals of the modern automotive era (and there’s been quite a few lately).

Dieselgate is more than just news of a faulty part or a shady corporate cover-up – it comes across as the indictment of an entire fuel. One that powers an engine that can trace its roots back to 1890.

Time will tell how the technology survives this scandal, the eventual recalls, and multiple investigations by regulatory bodies on both sides of the Atlantic. Perhaps oil burners will shrug off the black eye, though it’s possible that – in the face of stricter emissions requirements – automakers might just give up and go in a new direction.

Now, please enjoy this video of an early-80s Oldsmobile 98 diesel starting up.

Vivid failure: the art of the 1959 Edsel

The death row ’59 Edsel shined… on paper, at least.

The enduring saga of the ill-fated Edsel is like a dog-eared copy of To Kill a Mockingbird – a cautionary lesson, wrapped in Americana, about the failures of man and the processes that are supposed to guide, protect and lend stability to society.

And everyone knows the ending.

The short-lived Ford Motor Company marque was one of the biggest marketing failures in corporate history, but the jokes and comparisons live on to this day.

And so does the advertising, spawned from the colourful brushes of commercial artists during the heady (and boozy) heyday of American ad men.

Only a year after the Edsel landed in the marketplace with a thud and a fizzle, its fate was sealed by a bean-counting exec named Robert McNamara – a man determined to chop off the dead weight that was threatening to pull down the entire company.

Before taking the Edsel behind the barn, McNamara, who went on to direct the Vietnam War as Secretary of Defence for presidents John F. Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson, first chose to slash the ad budget for the simplified 1959 lineup.

Unlike the ungainly and controversial ’58s that debuted to a dumbfounded and unimpressed American public, the styling of the ’59 Edsel could at least be described as acceptable.

And even though their contracts would be short, the illustrators employed by the downsized advertising team did their best to make the ’59 Edsel look at home in America.

The results looked far better than the car’s future.

Heat score

2006 Infiniti G35: a canvas waiting for cheese. (IFCAR/Wikimedia)

You know the car.

“Flashy, making a scene, flaunting conventions.” (To quote Mr. Bookman, the hard-boiled library detective from Seinfeld)

Yup, we’re talking about the guy who wants everyone on the block to take notice of his ride.

Aftermarket parts, a burpy exhaust, decals, tinting – the kind of car no father wants to see his daughter get into.

A total heat score.

15 years ago the ride du jour for such characters was a Civic or Accord (Honda remains popular for this, but not nearly as much). Good handling and a peppy engine formed the backbone, while coffee can mufflers, ill-fitting rims, painted mirrors and purple, bubbled tinting made up the rest of the beast.

A close runner-up, usually less obvious and tricked-out than its Honda brethren, was the early 90s Nissan Maxima.

A circa-2006 Infiniti G35 coupe. You’ll hear it before you see it. (IFCAR/Wikimedia)

Since then, the scene has changed a bit and a new heat score has risen to the top (according to this writer’s completely non-scientific observations).

The Infiniti G35/G37, especially those made circa 2002-2010.

Once a fairly conservative intermediate luxury sedan/coupe, this V6-powered, rear-drive import is often seen with massive rims, a matte paint job, and an aftermarket exhaust that screams “Don’t pry in my business or we’ll both get in trouble.”

There’s nothing wrong with lavishing attention on used rear-drive imports with brawny engines – hell, who wouldn’t? – but the act of driving a car that gets you noticed while doing things you don’t want to be noticed doing… well, that seems counter-intuitive.

A former neighbour with a subtly done up early-2000s Accord taught me this lesson. If your otherwise plain ride is seen all over town making brief visits, but you’re not carrying a pizza box into the building, you’re more visible than you think.

Fellas: you can keep the G35 with the slammed suspension and 20-inch rims for social work, but for ‘business’ (whatever that might be, not trying to pry), maybe it would be a good idea to keep a 2008 Impala in reserve.

Handyman’s special

Behold, 6.75-litres of pure British luxury.

Submitted for your enjoyment, an under-the-hood look at the 1975 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.

There’s plenty of space under there for a hand holding a wrench, isn’t there?

This hefty 6.75-litre V8, which powered the Silver Shadow from 1970 until the model’s demise in 1980, only cranked out 189 horsepower (it was the 70s…). However, piles of torque were on tap to get this British beast moving briskly, smoothly applied through a GM-sourced Turbo-Hydramatic 400 transmission.

That’s the same transmission that can be found in a Trans-Am, but we won’t talk about that unrefined plebe-mobile.

British luxury vehicles of the 70s and 80s had a reputation for frying wires and hoses, and given the amount of piping hot hardware under this bonnet, I’m wondering if a Silver Shadow owner needs priority parking at his local tweed-clad mechanic.

Battle for the bottom

Nissan Micra, kingmaker? (Image: Nissan Motor Co.)

Who’s winning in the bargain-basement price field?

For well over a year now, lucky Canadians have basked in the joy that comes from knowing they’re able to purchase the two cheapest cars offered in North America.

Both the Nissan Micra and Mitsubishi Mirage come with window stickers reading ‘$9,998’, making the diminutive imports the cheapest way (by far) to get into a new car.

Canada gets an added bonus with the Micra, which isn’t yet available in the United States. We’re special!!

The Micra, which landed in dealerships in the spring of 2014, trades as much on its quirky, fun-to-drive rep as it does its low starting price. The Mirage, which appeared on these shores in late 2013, offers better fuel economy (and a lot less power from its standard 3-cylinder) but less distinctive styling.

In a two-way race, there can only be one winner, so which subcompact hatch are Canadians lusting after the most?

“Hey, is that the 2015 Mitsubishi Mirage ES??” (Image; Mitsubishi Motors)

Numbers don’t lie, and the Micra is the clear winner (though a corner of west Quebec this writer lives near seems to have an affinity for the Mirage, especially those in gross, retina-burning colours).

The Mirage posted 4,048 sales in 2014 and 2,137 so far this year (ending in July). Its best sales month ever was April of last year, which happened to be when gas prices were nearing their highest spike.

Lately, it seems like sales could be tapering off, though it’s hard to say if that’s a sustained trend.

The mighty Micra, on the other hand, posted 7,815 purchases in its abbreviated 2014 sales year, with year-to-date sales running at a healthy (in contrast) 7,151 units.

If it was ever really a consideration, the recent dip in gas prices would be more incentive to go with the cheap car that has the most horsepower – Micra’s gain.

In Quebec, which seemingly values cheap imports more than other provinces, the Micra has the added boost of starring in its own racing circuit, the Nissan Micra Cup.

Now, who can resist that allure?

Links:

http://www.goodcarbadcar.net/2013/10/mitsubishi-mirage-sales-figures-usa-canada.html

http://www.goodcarbadcar.net/2014/05/nissan-micra-canadian-sales-figures.html

The diminutive Brit

Itsy-bitsy 1953-1956 Austin A30, spotted in Ottawa, Ontario.

During the Second World War, the British fielded the largest non-nuclear bomb of any military power in the conflict – the 22,000 pound ‘Grand Slam’ earthquake bomb.

You wouldn’t guess it by looking at postwar British cars.

While the mighty bombs carried aloft by Lancasters were meant to bring an invading power to its knees, the peacetime reality of a battered and bruised nation still dependent on food rationing called for economical living – especially with cars.

It’s not the size on the outside that matters, apparently.

Small, frugal and low on power, the vehicles produced in postwar Britain were Spartan but innovative.

The Austin A30, built to compete with the popular Morris Minor, adopted monocoque (unibody) architecture to go with its 803 cc engine.

The new manufacturing technique allowed the car to be lighter and sturdier, and able to be powered by a smaller engine.

Produced from 1952 to 1956, life with an A30 would have been quite different from an American car of the same vintage. Instead of the plush interior, powerful engine and modern convenience items that adorned iron rolling out of Detroit, this little Austin listed ‘passenger side sun visor’ and ‘heater’ amongst its optional equipment.

Kids seated in the back would have (not) enjoyed the hard metal shelf topped with PVC plastic that served as a rear bench seat. To indicate a turn, drivers operated a knob that controlled a small indicator arm that popped out of the B-pillar.

The Austin A30 handled this park without even a hint of sidewalk intrusion.

Fun times.

After a 2-door version and wagon joined the 4-door saloon body style in 1953, the progression of time saw the introduction of the more powerful A35 (34 hp) in 1956, which carried the compact Austin brand through to 1959 (in saloon form) and 1962 (in wagon form).

The author’s mother often spoke of the tiny Austin of her Edmonton childhood, purchased by her father as a first car for the family in the late 1950s.

A nightmare in the frigid Prairie winters (which rendered the turn indicators inoperable), the Austin also accomplished the regular feat of stalling after driving over a puddle. A bottle of carbon tetrachloride had to be carried at all times in order to dry out the points when this occurred.

If anyone’s wondering why any Canadian would have purchased such a car, just remember that British imports came to these shores prices awfully cheap.

Even if it’s cold and stalls a lot, owning an Austin A30 beats waiting for the bus or walking any day.

Bumps of misery

Sometimes, as in life, the dirt just won’t come off…

See, it’s ‘pebbled’- rough, not smooth, mountainous, you follow? – and I’m at a loss to figure out why.

My car is a 1st Generation Chevy Cruze (2011-2015), a capable little vehicle with comfy front seats and impressive highway gas mileage, but one minor gripe is becoming very distracting.

The plastic surfaces on the interior – the dash, door panels, console – are impossible to keep clean. This is because you can’t get them clean to begin with.

Why? It’s pebbled.

Can you see where the paper towel was? Can you?!

While the overall appearance of the interior is pleasant (“Classy stuff,” people used to say of the tu-tone fabric inserts), the pebbled black plastic is a product straight out of Hell.

Not only does the millions of channels, grooves and valleys of this surface trap dirt and dust, but they help save it from being removed by cloth or towel.

And paper towels? Prepare to have those shredded as you attempt to Armour All that rough surface, thus adding white paper to the already dirty depressions in the now off-black plastic.

Yes, attempting to clean it actually makes it worse. It’s like trying to clean sandpaper.

Cleaning an interior in any other car I’ve owned has always been a breeze. Very pleasant, really. Paper towel + cleaner = all you needed.

A close-up of the culprit, bathed in a forgiving sunset glow.

Not so in this mass-produced vehicle. That gleaming, mirrored polish you see on other dashes, and on the labels of cleaning products? The one that sparkles and shines like a gangster’s shoes? Nowhere to be seen after all that effort and expense.

Flat plastic is boring, I know, but is pebbled plastic the answer to that problem? At least the former can be cleaned.

All of this boils down to a minor First World bitch and moan fest, to be sure, but the pointlessness of having such a surface in a car has gotten under my skin.

Who flicked the ‘Let’s Do This’ light that led to this situation?!!

*calming breath, calming breath…*

Owners of the 2016 Cruze likely won’t have to put up with this madness, as it looks like the interior will do away with the pebbled dash.

I can only imagine how satisfying it would be to wipe one of those down.

Get HIGH with Hertz

Yes, please take me away!

If any rent-a-car ad will compel you to build a time machine, it’s this 1965 spot for Hertz.

Even a postmodern person would want to travel back to the Don Draper era after seeing this vision of ‘friendly skies’ air travel, monstrous open-topped cars and copious amounts of disposable income mixed with youthful vitality.

Hell, I’m already envisioning myself bitching about Lyndon Johnson while tuning a Hi-Fi set.

While the golden age of the West, air travel and car renting seems to be receding in the rear-view, at least we still have these whimsical reminders of that halcyon bygone age.

Down with the sickness

1981 Chrysler LeBaron Special – a stripper with a nice face.

The so-called Malaise Era – the turbulent 10 years from (roughly) 1973 to 1983 – brought us many automotive gems.

Who can forget that heady time when a 460 cubic inch Lincoln V-8 (7.5 litres) managed to wheeze out a paltry 190 horsepower?

Or when automakers began crash-diving the displacement of their already detuned V8’s to satisfy federal regulators? (Ford’s 255 Windsor, GM’s 267 small-block)

What about those hackneyed attempts at downsizing that still flaunted all the trappings of big car luxury? (Landau tops, opera windows, retractable headlights, velour, velour, velour)

1981 Chrysler LeBaron Salon coupe, the Special’s higher achieving sister.

In addition to smog-choked land yachts, the Malaise Era also brought us leisure suits, wide lapels, disco, and Three’s Company. Obviously, we owe it a debt of remembrance, if only to say ‘never again’.

Horsepower values reached their deepest trough in 1981, the same year gas prices and interest rates skyrocketed to their tallest postwar peak. No automaker was struggling more than Chrysler at that time, and besides the new K-car (which ultimately saved the company) malaise wasn’t hard to find in the showroom.

A great example of this is the 1981 Chrysler LeBaron Special – a Chrysler with all the trappings of a low-end Plymouth. To squeeze every last sale out of its lineup, Chrysler fielded a bare bones version of the M-body LeBaron (1980-1981), touting its value and affordable status.

With a venerable (but emissions strangled) 225 cubic inch Slant Six under the hood making a pulse-pounding 85 horsepower, the 3,368 pound sedan could rocket to 60 mph in 18.8 seconds, just slightly less than eternity. A trusty 3-speed Torqueflite automatic rounded out the drivetrain.

Clearly, the Special didn’t give up a whole lot in looks compared to its high-end stablemates.

Inside, luxurious vinyl bench seats whispered “cop car” or “fleet rental” into the driver’s ear, but the happy motorist was probably too busy enjoying his or her standard power brakes.

Outside the vehicle, the costly vinyl roof and wire wheel hubcaps seen on higher end versions were substituted for bare metal and pie plates.

Yes, this was indeed a base Dodge Diplomat with LeBaron front and rear fascias, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The M-body LeBaron and its stripper base model didn’t last long, though. After ’81, the name was applied to a new front-wheel-drive, K-car based model, while the rear-drive M-body platform carried the upscale New Yorker model until 1989.

About face

The 2016 Scion iA, not to be confused with the Mazda 2 (Image: Toyota Motor Corporation)

Is Scion’s new direction the right one?

The sales woes of the Scion brand have been well documented as of late, including here on this humble blog.

Right now the struggling Toyota subsidiary is valiantly trying to reverse its falling fortunes, announcing three new models and chopping three of its worst sellers, the xB, xD, and iQ.

So far, two of those three company-savers have been unveiled, destined for 2016 showrooms. The iM is a small, sporty hatchback that would compete with the likes of the Honda Fit, while the familiar-looking iA subcompact sedan would compete with just about everyone.

The iA is a jarring thing, because it’s not really a Scion. Anyone keeping tabs on the industry will recognize the body shape and familiar flanks of the Mazda 2 sedan, albeit one with a strange (and huge) grille that serves to put design distance between it and the Mazda.

A third model has yet to be unveiled.

1978 Dodge Challenger (aka the Mitsubishi Galant Lambda), a product of desperate times.

When the iA first rolled onto the scene, it was a head-scratcher. What’s going on here? A Toyota-owned car company getting Mazda to built a car for it? What gives?

Badge engineering is a frowned upon activity for carmakers, but at least that would keep it in the (corporate) family.

Trans-corporate badge swapping like this reeks of 1970s-80s desperation – the kind that saw Chrysler leap into bed with Mitsubishi in order to get some diversity in the merchandise it was offering.

“We don’t have the resources to compete, but never mind that – can I offer you a (Plymouth) Sapporo?”

As weird as those rebadged imports were, the Scion bed-hopping is even more unusual, because it’s going behind the bleachers with close competitors. Not just Mazda with the iA, but also Subaru with the FR-S.

But maybe I’m just not getting it. Subaru and Mazda both offer modern, competitive tech-laden cars that are known for their sporty handling and attitude. Toyota? Not so much, but that’s fine – car companies don’t have to make each marque all things to all people.

Having well-regarded underpinnings for new model makes sense, even if it comes from someone else.

Is it wrong to bash badge-swapping if the donor car is a good one?

The appeal grows when you consider the financial incentives of paying another company to provide you with a manufactured product, without the need to invest much of your own capital into design, tooling and production.

In Scion’s case, just like in Chrysler’s way back when, the idea is to move units and make money. That’s what a company needs to do to stay afloat.

I don’t disagree with this reality, nor Scion’s decision to target big-volume segments like compact hatches and sedans. What I do disagree with is the form the product is taking.

Scion was founded to serve as a youth-oriented, edgy brand that stood in stark contrast with its parent company and its competitors. Rebadged Mazda’s and hatchbacks that could so easily carry a Toyota badge are not distinct and don’t distinguish the brand. Buyers might be lured into one for value and versatility, but not for individuality.

In other words, Scion risks diluting the image it has built for itself, confusing its purpose for existing. What’s the point of a Scion brand if they’re not even Scions?

Bring in the versatile funk

Many posts ago, I let slip an idea I had for resurrecting the Scion brand. It seemed like a good fit at the time, and even though new products have been announced since then, I still feel like it would be worthwhile.

A car company like Scion wants economical and versatile cars, yes? And they want them to be fun, and quirky?

Everyone in 1970s car ads skied, it seems.

I propose a modern-day line of cars that draw from the spirit and intent of the lowly Fiat 124.

Yes, the little Italian workhorse that spawned so many different body styles – sedan, coupe, wagon, roadster – between 1966 and 1974.

Durable, boxy, but attainable, the four-cylinder-only lineup is still readily identifiable (and not just because it was copied by Lada from 1970 to 1988).

Not only would it likely appeal to the nostalgia-stricken and wannabe avante-garde hipsters alike, it could draw in those looking for a sporty RWD offering that doesn’t break the bank.

After all, it was a nimble thing, by all accounts. Boldride.com has a series of excellent Fiat 124 track photos, including one of a sedan lifting its wheel in a corner (isn’t that adorable?) while battling a 124 coupe.

Again with the skiing. This time, a 124 coupe.

It would be hard not to compare the concept of a modern day 124 with the original xB – the car that put Scion on the map. That model was a funky take on the lowly compact hatchback, and it initially sold like gangbusters.

It was also unique and instantly recognizable as a Scion, something a rebadged Mazda or Subaru is not.

I don’t expect to be paid handsomely by Scion for this helpful suggestion (I’m here, though – call me) – rather, I’m just putting the idea out there. You know, if it appeals to this writer, there must be at least several other weirdos who’d also like to see it happen.

The full model range of the Fiat 124. Something for everyone.

Driven to Attraction

If it has an engine, it has a heart