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Late 90s E-Class and circa-1975 Buick LeSabre, Chelsea, Quebec.

Late 90s E-Class and circa-1975 Buick LeSabre, Chelsea, Quebec.

He was from America, she was from the Continent. He liked Zeppelin, she preferred Ace of Base.

Yet, somehow this late-90s E-Class and circa-1975 Buick LeSabre found each other. In a west Quebec garage/scrapyard.

Just like in Titanic.

I always admired the capable, no-nonsense presence of the E-Class, but that Buick is land barge Heaven.

A road tank. A square-rigged cabin cruiser, like so much of what rolled off 1970s U.S. assembly lines.

Malaise was soaking into the industry in the mid-70s, but this ’75 reflects an era where full-size meant living room, full hardtops and convertibles were still available, and the increasingly emissions-choked 455cid engine option was still on the books.

In 1977, downsizing across the entire GM lineup turned those heady days of conspicuous excess into memories.

 

Circa-1952 and 1957 Chevrolet, Ogdensburg, New York.

Circa-1952 and 1957 Chevrolet, Ogdensburg, New York.

What could be more American than this?

Okay, there’s no baseball in sight, nor is the Stars n’ Stripes waving proudly in the breeze, but this pair of 1950s Chevrolets hold the U.S. end up nonetheless.

And that garage – oh, baby, that garage.

The 2-door ’57 is clearly the owner’s pride and joy. Black paint deep enough to take a swim in, cataract-forming chrome, not to mention the aftermarket wheels and white-letter rubber.

With this level of flash, I don’t think anyone’s going to ask its frumpier older sister to the dance. Still, the ’52 looks like it hasn’t been ignored completely, though I have to wonder about that fading attempt to paint on a sportier roofline.

 

 

1952 Pontiac, Ottawa, Ontario.

1952 Pontiac, Ottawa, Ontario.

That laundry was never happier.

Early 50s styling was conservative pretty much across the board, but this spotless ’52 Pontiac sedan stands out. It’s no Cadillac, but it ain’t no Chevy, either.

Liberal amounts of chrome (minus unnecessary, gaudy flourishes) plus a tasteful two-tone paint job compliment this great example of one of the more overlooked American makes of the 1950s.

The Fiero still burns…

April in Ottawa, Canada.

The glaciers have slowly receded following a winter that resembled something from a Roland Emmerich eco-disaster film, exposing formerly icebound treasures to the lukewarm spring sunshine.

Such bounty, too! Not just old coffee cups, but also mud, no-longer-frozen dog feces, more mud (I think), and the shovel that went missing after New Year’s.

However, on the roads – potholed and cracked as they are – the capital’s weary motorists are thumbing their nose at winter by (cautiously) getting their summer rides out. Last week I rounded the corner near my house to find a red, first-generation Pontiac Fiero parked at the curb.

This also would have been noteworthy in July – I mean, who still has one of these 80s relics?

The encounter sparked hazy childhood memories for me – especially the recollection of my mother forbidding me from going for a spin in my cousin’s Fiero, which I thought was second only to a Mustang for awesomeness. The reason had something to do with safety – the phrase death trap was tossed about quite a bit that day.

Certainly, acceleration-induced whipflash from the car’s standard Iron Duke inline-four wasn’t among those worries.

The 1984-88 Pontiac Fiero (Spanish for ‘fierce’, and ‘ferocious’) was far tamer than most drivers would have liked, despite its radical two-seat/mid-engine layout. The reason for this was GM’s need to make do with off-the-shelf suspension and drivetrain parts that formed the basis of such pulse-pounders as the Pontiac Phoenix and Chevrolet Celebrity – not to mention the pavement-scorching Chevette.

Not quite a Fiero: still, these Chevettes had more than a few parts in common with their two-seater stable mate.

Not quite a Fiero: still, these Chevettes had more than a few parts in common with their two-seater stable mate.

Nothing spells performance quite like the heavy, horsepower-deficient Iron Duke, which, because of tight quarters in the engine compartment, was saddled with a shrunken oil pan that perpetually ran a quart low.

In an attempt to squeeze more juice out of this lemon, drivers often revved the Iron Duke too high, leading to widespread breakdowns. Media reports of engine fires served to saddle the car with a stigma that lasted, and GM tossed the hot potato before the 80s were finished.

In the end, models with the 2.8-litre V-6 and 5-speed manual were the closest the Fiero came to matching its own high-performance looks. I have to image the little wedge I saw parked around the corner had a V-6 stuffed behind the seats, as I can’t image anyone bothering to keep an Iron Duke on the road in this economy – even for the irony factor.