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Bow before the Crown

The 1961 Imperial: rich, regal... Reichstag?

The 1961 Imperial: rich, regal… Reichstag?

There’s something vaguely disturbing about these ads for the 1961 Imperial.

Yes, I just said ‘Imperial’, because at the time, it was a top-end standalone marque of the Chrysler Corporation, not a model of the Chrysler division.

"The eagle won't let them touch this car, trust me."

“The eagle won’t let them touch this car, trust me.”

While all the signifiers of mid-century high society are present in the ad – a glamorous women dressed for a night out, minimalist background, GOLD EVERYWHERE – a strange undercurrent runs through these ads.

For some reason, I can’t view these ads without thinking of the Nuremburg Rallies and Nazi architect Albert Speer.

Maybe it’s the grandiose style of it all, but when you add all that glittering, finned excess to the somewhat menacing artwork, the minorities treated as a zoo exhibit, and the eagle, that (in my books) equals a passcode to a dangerous and powerful secret society.

Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised to see one of these sedans parked outside an Eyes Wide Shut-style Illuminati sex party.

 

 Imperial: the rich uncle that keeps re-appearing

 

The Imperial name is firmly fixed to the Chrysler brand. After all, it was the ‘affordable luxury’ model that put the fledgling company on the map in 1926.

Since then, it has come and gone from the lineup, re-appearing most recently in the early 1990s as a luxury sedan positioned above the New Yorker. Previously, it had served as a problem-plagued flagship coupe (1981-83).

A monstrous and possibly demonic Imperial concept car was unveiled in 2006, though it came to nothing.

The ’61 model seen here came from (or grew out of) a revered era at Chrysler.

To better allow Chrysler to challenge Lincoln and Cadillac, Imperial was turned into its own range-topping marque in 1955, where it would stay until 1975.

Movie star and super-stud Gary Cooper chats up Jane Russell and her '57 Imperial.

Movie star and super-stud Gary Cooper chats up Jane Russell and her ’57 Imperial.

Just like with Plymouth, Dodge and Chrysler, the low, finned ‘Forward Look’ styling of designer Virgil Exner was applied to Imperial in 1957, generating great acclaim, but by the turn of the new decade (after numerous tweaks and add-ons) it was looking awkward and dated.

The dawn of the 1960s was an all-around confusing time for Chrysler design, though Imperial at least didn’t have to contend with downsizing. That didn’t mean a large, long car couldn’t be made to look strange, however.

Virgil Exner, former Chrysler design head (Image via)

Virgil Exner, ex Chrysler design head (Image via)

1961 brought an edgy new front end for the Imperial, with odd freestanding headlights perched atop the bumper and recessed into a fender cut. Ahead of the rear axle, the look was cohesive and reasonably appealing, but the bat wing tailfins throw the whole design into confused disarray.

Seemingly out of good ideas, Virgil Exner was ousted from his position of head of design in 1962. His successor (Elwood Engel, formerly of Ford) brought Imperial away from the heights of outlandishness and towards a more conventional, simple design.

And so he did. Sharp lines and Lusitania-like length was the name of the game for the rest of the decade, before the ‘fuselage’ bodied Imperials bowed in 1969.

While the Kennedy Era was short-lived, it was memorable for both its experimentation and its focus on style and grace.

Some cars from this era – like the 1961 Continental – became timeless icons of tasteful American design. Others, such as this Imperial, can best be filed under ‘tired relics of 1950s excess’.

In its defence, at least it didn’t start a war.

Albert Speer's 'Cathedral of Light', Germany, 1937 (Image via)

Albert Speer’s ‘Cathedral of Light’, Germany, 1937 (Image via)

 

Britain sends an Envoy

1961 Envoy F-Series, spotted in Gatineau (Hull Sector), Quebec.

1961 Envoy F-Series, spotted in Gatineau (Hull Sector), Quebec.

When was the last time you saw someone driving an Envoy?

And no, I’m not talking about that innocuous SUV of the pre-bankruptcy GM era.

Canada’s mid-century love affair with cheap British imports is a well-known phenomenon, and this rare rolling artifact is another piece of that story.

The Vauxhall Victor F-Series was one of Britain’s most popular exports, with hundreds of thousands snapped up by cost-conscious buyers around the globe.

The model debuted in 1957 with distinctly American styling, but tell-tale British size. Powered by a 1.5-litre four-cylinder making 55 horsepower, the model wasn’t particularly fast, but by all accounts it was durable and reliable.

A three-speed column-mounted manual transmission put the power to the rear wheels.

The 'Longer, lower, wider' mantra of the 1950s doesn't seem to apply to the Envoy.

The ‘longer, lower, wider’ mantra of the 1950s doesn’t seem to apply to the Envoy.

In North America, Vauxhall Victors were sold through GM dealerships – Pontiac and Buick ones, to be exact – alongside their massive American brethren.

That left the other half of the GM stable (minus Cadillac) without a cheap import to sell.

Enter the Envoy.

Sold at Chevrolet and Oldsmobile dealers in Canada starting in 1959, the Envoy F-Series was a Vauxhall Victor with different options and better trim. Nowhere on the body is it mentioned that the vehicle is entirely a Vauxhall.

1960 Envoy ad. Notice the lack of colour on the car they call 'colourful'.

1960 Envoy ad. Notice the lack of colour on the car they call ‘colourful’.

Two-tone paint and interior fabrics showed that Britain was easing out of its postwar slump, and was now able to appreciate (and offer) nicer things.

Note: the aftermarket rims and mirror dice on this pristine example did not come from 1959. Not even close.

The Envoy, like the Victor, lasted in the Canadian market until 1970. The first generation, with its 1950s proportions, lasted until 1961, before Vauxhall adopted a modern, Ford Falcon-esque styling treatment.

This example wore vintage 1961 Quebec plates, marking it was the last year of the first generation, and a badge showing its sale at a Farnham, Quebec Chev-Olds dealer.

Once commonplace, these imports are now a distant memory for older Canadians. Though imports of Vauxhalls died off, overseas GM subsidiaries (Europe’s Vauxhall and Opel, Australia’s Holden) now share hardware and designs with many of their American counterparts.

Are those 13-inchers?

Are those 13-inchers?

(de)parting on the left

"What's that terrifying green pointy thing in the sky?!"

“What’s that terrifying green pointy thing in the sky?!”

Idiots walk the street everywhere, so it’s only logical that they’d be behind the wheel, too.

There are too many annoyances to list when it comes to other drivers – the guy who never signals, the lady who stops at the end of a ramp to merge, to name a couple – but one major pet peeve will be fleshed out here in this space.

THE LEFT-TURN ARROW.

The simple left-turn arrow never fails to illustrate the stupidity and general lack of critical thinking amongst today’s commuters and vehiclegoing human drones.

Think about it. You’re in a left turn lane, and a green light appears just for you. It’s even in the shape of an arrow, pointing in the direction you want to go.

It's not hard, people.

It’s not hard, people. (Image via)

Simple, right?

Wrong.

It’s astounding how many people distrust this arrow, and – as a result – how few people (on average) get through the intersection on one of these signals.

Usually, the lead driver  – whether due to glassy-eyed boredom or texting – only manages to notice the signal after its been on for nearly its full lifespan, then darts out and clears the intersection with room for maybe one more vehicle behind them.

The experiment then repeats itself for the next signal.

Distracted, comatose drivers are legion on the avenues and byways of the nation’s capital, but it’s the alert-but-confused ones that really grind my gears.

These drivers notice the left turn arrow the second it comes on, but don’t know what to do about it.

Surely they passed driver’s training – I mean, they are licensed – so the true meaning of the signal shouldn’t be a Columbo level mystery. But it is.

"Soooo.... if I'm in this lane, then that signal must mean.... no, wait - "

“Soooo…. if I’m in this lane, then that signal must mean…. no, wait – “

Then, with hands gripping the steering wheel like an Everest climber holds a lifeline, they slowly, cautiously creep forward into the intersection that has been cleared solely for them, eventually realizing that the green arrow means a red carpet for their car.

By the time the realization dawns, the signal is almost over. Usually, one or (max) two more drivers make it through the intersection after Cautious McCautiousy.

It’s a ridiculous situation and only serves to make our overcrowded roads even slower.

The green left-turn arrow is not a fiendish plot to lure you out into the intersection for some nefarious and diabolical purpose.

An anvil will not land on your car. The political party you’d never vote for is not manning the switches down at the traffic light nerve centre.

Just remove your foot from the brake, and place it on the accelerator. Then, proceed to live your life with the joy that comes from being free of fear.

 

Embrace the joy of driving safely and decisively, people.

Embrace the joy of driving safely and decisively, people.

Special K

Reagan-era pride: 1982-83 Chrysler LeBaron, spotted in Gatineau, Quebec.

Reagan-era pride: 1982-83 Chrysler LeBaron, spotted in Gatineau, Quebec.

It was, and still is, a status symbol born of 1980s America.

The Chrysler LeBaron convertible. Loved by many (especially Lee Iacocca and Jon Voight*), it was the first spin-off of the 1981 K-car architecture, and brought top-down motoring back to U.S. shores.

 

*debatable

 

Sadly, you don’t see many of these soft-tops plying the roadways anymore.

This 1982-83 example ditched the Town & Country’s fake wood veneer in favour of some sporty red pinstripes. All in all, it’s not in bad shape, though spots of rust are forming and the trim – like that of many old models – is starting to become misaligned.

Ricardo Montalban doing what he did best - hocking Chryslers.

Ricardo Montalban doing what he did best – hocking Chryslers.

While the LeBaron name had been used on and off by Chrysler for some time, it is these 1980s front-wheel-drive compacts that people most associate with the name.

Hot on the heels of the bankruptcy-busting 1981 Dodge Aries/Plymouth Reliant twins, Chrysler’s 1982 introduction of the LeBaron sedan, coupe, wagon and convertible helped squeeze as many products as possible from an existing platform (in order to put the company’s finances firmly in the black).

Joined by its stablemate, the Dodge 400, the new ‘Super-K’ aimed to bring luxury to the still-novel domain of front-wheel-drive American vehicles.

At the time, the U.S. was still struggling from the effects of a recession and high gas prices brought on by the Iranian Revolution. Value for money was everything, which explains why Americans flocked to buy the cheap-but-roomy Aries and Reliant starting on Day 1.

In order to capitalize on the success of the first year K-cars and solidify the company’s comeback, Chrysler Corporation released a now-famous television commercial starring chairman/saviour Lee Iacocca.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6nmCFTmPnE

Iacocca enticed potential buyers with an old-fashioned sales pitch that culminated in the iconic line, “If you can find a better car, buy it.”

Mechanically, the early K-derived LeBarons harnessed the same hardware as their lesser brethren.

A carbureted 2.2-litre four-cylinder made 84 horsepower and 111 lb-ft of torque, mated to a 3-speed Torqueflight automatic transmission or less-common 4-speed manual.

The man's desire for Chryslers was insatiable.

The man’s desire for Chryslers was insatiable.

Optional was the 2.6-litre four borrowed from the Mitsubishi Astron. Also carbureted, this hefty 4-banger made 114 hp and 146 lb-ft, and served as the K-class upgrade engine until the Chrysler-made 2.5-litre came on board in 1986.

Starting in 1984, LeBaron owners could outfit their ride with a turbo version of the 2.2 and finally enjoy top-end performance (the stock engine was tuned for low-end torque, but ran out of steam fast).

Despite not being designed for it, the 2.2 proved to be very adaptable – several increasingly powerful versions of the turbo 2.2 were built before the engine ceased production in the mid-1990s.

While their numbers dwindle each year, we can find comfort in the fact that LeBaron convertibles will always live on through their many movie and TV appearances.

‘Planes, Trains, and Automobiles’ (1987) features many memorable road trip scenes in a LeBaron Town & Country, while a 1994 episode of Seinfeld immortalized the same model as the too-good-to-be-true ‘Jon Voight car’.

Long live the Jon Voight car.

The Greatest Generation… of vehicles

Canada marked the 70th anniversary of VE Day last week, and here in the capital the streets quickly filled up with vintage military rolling stock. Here’s a taste of what showed up for the celebration:

World War 2 era GMC CCKW-353 (aka 'Deuce-and-a-half')

World War 2 era GMC CCKW-353 (aka ‘Deuce-and-a-half’)

GMC CCKW-353 2.5 tonne

Tanks and aircraft get the lion’s share of the limelight when it comes to warfare, but troops couldn’t advance en masse without a convoy of study, rugged trucks.

In the European theatre of WW2, that truck was (more often not) the three-axle, 6×6 GMC CCKW-353, affectionately known as the Deuce-and-a-half due to its 2.5 tonne payload rating.

A few hundred thousand of these came in handy in the mid-1940s.

A few hundred thousand of these came in handy in the mid-1940s.

Powered by a smooth and reliable 270 c.i.d. inline six (making 91 hp and 216 lb-ft), this GMC saw the U.S. and Canada through WW2 and Korea.

Given the massive numbers of Allied troops pouring into Europe in the wake of D-Day, huge numbers of transports were required.

Between GM and GM of Canada, 800,000 examples were cranked out in every possible configuration.

The GMC provided a stable platform for carrying and towing, and besides its most common role as a troop carrier, saw use as a water and fuel tanker, surgical van, and mobile anti-aircraft gun installation.

Though replaced in official service in the early 1950s, CCKW-353s were a common sight on military bases well into the 1960s.

Volkswagen Type 166 Schwimmwagen ('floating car')

Volkswagen Type 166 Schwimmwagen (‘floating car’)

Volkswagen Type 166 Schwimmwagen

Count on the crafty Germans to come up with something as innovative as this.

After the Axis power decided that expansionism was the way to go, the German armed forces found themselves needing more than just tanks, trucks, and staff cars to get around. After all, there’s a lot of narrow roads and water in Holland.

"Faster? But Sir, we're already doing 5 knots!"

“Faster? But Sir, we’re already doing 5 knots!”

Enter the lowly People’s Car, which offered up its underpinnings and drivetrain for the VW Type 166 Schwimmwagen, a light, agile car that could double as a motorboat (thanks to a watertight body and a propeller mounted on a driveshaft extension).

And so, the most mass-produced amphibious car in history was born out of wartime necessity. Powered by a 1.1-litre flat four, a total of 14,265 of the bathtub-like vehicles rolled, then swam, off the assembly lines.

Yes, that paddle is there for a reason. The Schwimmwagen could make steady (but slow) forward progress in the water, but backing up required  basic canoe training. If lost, the shovel would suffice for maneuvering the tiny ship.

On dry land, a four-speed transmission and two-speed transfer case (with 4WD in 1st) helped the Schwimmwagen navigate roadways and mixed terrain.

While it provided next to no protection to occupants and was puny compared to other road-going machines of the era, a passenger-side 8-millimetre machine gun helped sooth the driver’s ego.

1941-45 Willys MB, aka 'Jeep'

1941-45 Ford GPW, aka ‘Jeep’ (note: nine grille slots, instead of seven for the Willys)

Jeep (Willys MB and Ford GPW)

We can all thank Hitler for unwittingly introducing the world to the Jeep – an iconic vehicle whose lineage continues to this day in the Wrangler.

With entry into WW2 seeming like a sure thing, the U.S. Army appealed to the auto industry for designs of a small, durable four-wheel-drive scout or reconnaissance car of light weight and adequate power.

A startan interior was just what the Army ordered. Not custom sheepskin shift boots on this restored example.

A startan interior was just what the Army ordered. Not custom sheepskin shift boots on this restored example.

Tiny, failing car company American Bantam submitted blueprints five days later, which impressed the military so much that they sent the designs to Ford and Willys-Overland for refinement, and ultimately production.

Powered by a Willys-sourced ‘Go Devil’ 2.2-litre four cylinder making 60 hp and 105 lb-ft of torque, the vehicle went into extensive production starting in 1945.

Because production was split between two companies, Willys designated their model the MB, while Ford called theirs the GPW. The only tell-tale difference between the two was the nine-slot grille on the Ford, versus the quintessential seven-slot grille on the Willys.

The Willys 'Go Devil' engine was chosen for the Jeep due to its small size and robust power.

The Willys ‘Go Devil’ engine was chosen for the Jeep due to its small size and robust power.

In all, Willys assembled over 359,000 of the do-anything runabouts before the end of the war, while Ford produced over 277,000.

Nowhere in official documents was the word ‘Jeep’ mentioned. There’s much speculation about how the car – and eventually the company – came to adopt the name; most of it centres around slang used by servicemen and a high-profile 1941 media event in Washington, DC.

Whatever the origin, the word ‘jeep’ became synonymous with small, rugged 4×4, sparking a worldwide movement that led to the creation of the Land Rover and Toyota Land Cruiser.

After the war, the popular civilian Jeep (CJ) found itself on quite a wild ownership ride, changing hands several times.

This 1947 Willys, found on a farm in the Yukon, was painstakingly restored to 1944 specs (including the installation of a WW2 Ford grille).

This 1947 Willys, found on a farm in the Yukon, was painstakingly restored to 1944 specs (including the installation of a WW2 Ford grille).

After Willys-Overland, the CJ was built by Kaiser-Jeep from 1953 onwards, followed by a long stint at American Motors Corporation (AMC), before being purchased by Chrysler Corporation in 1987.

The ride didn’t stop there, as Chrysler then embarked on its own ownership roller-coaster. From DaimlerChrysler AG, though the dismal Chrysler Group LLC years (which was followed by bankruptcy) and eventually to its current home in Fiat-Chrysler Automobiles (FCA), the Jeep division clearly has nine lives, and many new dads.

The fact that the division has remained in such demand over the decades – and created such a lifestyle around its products – should make the original designers of the Jeep proud.

Rust Belt

Still holding it together...but just barely.

Still holding it together…but just barely.

Beaters this bad are a rarity these days – so much so that this corrosion conveyance merits its own blog post.

Yes, this is the sedan version of the 4th Generation Honda Civic (1987-1991), a popular compact that started life weighing 2,200 pounds, but in this case has probably shed weight since.

Badging on this rusting relic was non-existent, but judging by the bargain basement black bumpers, it’s a low end trim level – likely the DX or the unfortunately-named STD (an apt designation for a ‘stripper’ model).

The late-80s Civic had style to spare! (*cough*)

The late-80s Civic had style to spare! (*cough*)

Assuming that all cylinders are firing, the owner of this Bush, Sr. era econobox regularly enjoys either 70 or 92 horsepower from the car’s fuel-injected 1.5-litre engine.

But the age of the vehicle isn’t what made me stop, it was condition all the way.

Clearly a car that has seen much use in the salt-encrusted northern climes, the fact that this less-than-cared-for ride is still on the road is a testament to the Civic’s rock-solid drivetrain.

Though less common on the road nowadays, Civics of the late 80s and early 90s used to be a big deal. Affordable, easily customizable and with inherently good handling, old Civics possessed compact clout. Sedans weren’t as appealing as the two-door hatch, however.

As I marvelled over this car, nostalgia crept into me, along with some questions.

Once upon a time, rusty beaters held together with duct tape and chicken wire used to be a much more common sight, at least in my neck of Ontario.

Growing up in the 1980s and 90s, the roads seemed filled with aging Oldsmobiles covered in rust and Bondo, vinyl tops faded and peeling.

1972 Buick LeSabre Custom, spotted in Edmonton, Alberta.

Quintessential ‘beater’ (1972 Buick LeSabre Custom) spotted in Edmonton, Alberta.

What was it? Are newer cars just better built, and thus don’t rust so badly? Not according to the Pontiac Sunfire in my work parking lot.

Were interest rates so high back then that fewer people financed new cars? That could be partly true for the Eighties, when 20% was deemed low.

Maybe it’s just the haziness of memory, and the fact that back then, a ‘beater’ meant a landau-riffic road yacht from the Seventies. Plenty of contrast to be had between one of those square-rigged barges and your average modern hatchback.

Suddenly, it’s 1961!

A couple of recent bold car designs have been bothering me as of late, leaving me with a loose feeling of styling déjà vu.

The first design is the corporate SUPER GRILLE(!) of contemporary Lexus vehicles, what with its gaping proportions and pinched middle. The treatment was recently applied to the stalwart ES 350, giving the otherwise conservative sedan a dash of visual presence.

The other design is the new Nissan Murano, with its ultra-curvy flanks and unusually angled rear end architecture.

Where, oh where, had I seen these elements before?

Oh, yeah – in Chrysler Corporation’s awkward, identity-confused 1961 models. That year saw the company break free of the high-finned look that, while fresh and exciting when introduced in 1957, had become dated by 1960.

The Lexus grille brings to mind the jarring front of the 1961 Plymouth – a design that lasted one year and was compared to the face of an insect by some critics.

The Lexus ES 350, now with new grille (Image: Toyota Motor Corporation)

The Lexus ES 350, now with new grille (Image: Toyota Motor Corporation)

1961 Plymouth: a face not for forgetting.

1961 Plymouth: a face not for forgetting.

There’s much to look at in the Murano, but its rear haunches are strongly reminiscent of the 1961 Dodge and its odd, ‘reverse tailfin’ design.

Those concave body flares turned off buyers and even presented a safety risk to other motorists, thanks to the undersized, hard-to-spot taillights placed below them.

1961 Dodge Dart Seneca: a new (fin) direction (Image via)

1961 Dodge Dart Seneca: a new (fin) direction. (Image via)

2015 Nissan Murano (Image: Nissan Motor Company)

2015 Nissan Murano (Image: Nissan Motor Company)

Like the Plymouth, the design of the ’61 Dodge didn’t live to see another calendar year. It was an awkward time for the Big Three automakers,  each of whom was struggling to break free of the design direction of the past to bring to market a fresh, modern design for a new decade.

Some things don’t really change in business, and getting noticed is still paramount for automakers. It’s not surprising that some elements of the past have been resurrected, albeit unknowingly – after all, there’s only so many ways to bend sheet metal.

 

Join the club

"Look over here!" screams the Lexus RX 350 F-Sport (Image: Toyota Motor Corporation)

“Look over here!” screams the Lexus RX 350 F Sport (Image: Toyota Motor Corporation)

“Everyone’s doing it.”

That statement can serve proudly as the reason why fads become as widespread and prolific as they do, and why it takes so long for the hip-to-passé cycle to play itself out.

Hell, I’m still waiting for the neck beard/tattoo/slob look to die out, and that look is just ugly and stupid.

It’s no different with cars. In fact, it’s rampant in the auto industry.

The other day I found myself in a discussion with two fellow car buffs and this very subject came up.

Grilles, as you may have realized, are the new tailfins or decklid spoiler. Across the automotive landscape, cars – even stodgy low-end luxury sedans – are adopting gaping, wide, aggressive mouths. Think anything new from Lexus, the Toyota Camry/Avalon, or the new Mitsubishi Outlander (whose only change is a BIG NEW GRILLE).

"You think yours is big? Getta load of this!" - 2016 Mitsubishi Outlander (Image: Mitsubishi Motors North America)

“You think yours is big? Getta load of this!” – 2016 Mitsubishi Outlander (Image: Mitsubishi Motors North America)

My friend denounced the newly ubiquitous grille treatment he saw sweeping the world, but I just saw it a part of the inevitable evolution of design.

Throughout history, when one company makes a splash by going heavily in one direction, others often drop everything to hastily emulate the next big thing.

“Stop what you’re doing, Bob – we’re going in a new direction.”

“But we’re almost finished the project! We’ll be read to roll out in a few weeks!”

“Forget it, Bob. Big grilles went out with powdered wigs and smoking in elevators. They’re yesterday’s news. We’re hearing that fender skirts are coming back. It’s gonna be big, so get cracking. We want ours to be the biggest – don’t stop till they hit the ground.”

Design and styling conventions can define an era, especially in the auto world.

High-flying tailfins in the ’50s, ‘pony’ and muscle cars in the ’60s, baroque, vinyl-clad faux luxury in the ’70s, minivans and hatchbacks in the ’80s, SUVs in the ’90s – the list goes on.

Changes in actual styling are often quicker to be adopted, and dumped, simply because no company wants their products looking old. Think of the elimination of running boards (circa 1940-42), the proliferation of pillarless hardtops (c. 1955), the raised tailfin (c. 1957), quad headlights (c. 1958), compact car offerings (c. 1960) and the ditching of raised tailfins (c. 1960-62).

With all of these styling fads, however, there have been holdouts.

The 1959 Chevrolet design: on a gull wing and a prayer (Image via)

The 1959 Chevrolets: on a gull wing and a prayer (Image via)

Ford really didn’t go all-in for the tailfin thing, leaving that party for GM and Chrysler. The stacked headlight motif of the mid-to-late 1960s (favoured by Plymouth and Ford) saw the last member of the Low-Priced Three (Chevy) call in sick.

This me-too phenomenon has its own dangers, though. Follow too close in the wake of the Next Big Thing, and you could find yourself pulled down when it all sinks.

Ford found that out when, after discovering the plans for the radically styled 1959 Chevrolet, it scrapped its planned 1960 models in favour of a production version of its Quicksilver design concept car (which contained elements similar to the Chevy).

Ford learned its lesson with its 1960 models, which were meant to emulate '59 Chevys.

Ford learned its lesson with its 1960 models, which were meant to emulate ’59 Chevys.

The radical Chevy turned off many traditional buyers, while the boxy and conservative ’59 Ford sold well. The next year Ford was forced to roll out its new take on the ’59 Chevy even as Chevy was planning a return to ‘safe’ styling.

As soon as it became possible, Ford corrected its mistake and went the conservative route as well. Buyers returned.

Maybe one day we’ll see a backlash to big grilles, forcing automakers to revert back to their early ’90s designs (Front air slit? Check). Until then, open wide and enjoy the ride.

 

Hero of the Republic

Late 1980s Peugeot 505 V6, spotted in Ottawa, Ontario.

Late 1980s Peugeot 505 V6, spotted in Ottawa, Ontario.

Though a mountain bike was attached to the rear bumper, the driver of this rare French beast slid behind the wheel with a bag from a nearby McDonalds.

Drivers need fuel too.

Looking stylish in silver, this Peugeot 505 V6 was France’s answer to low-end BMWs and Mercedes-Benz’s of the circa 1980s. Produced in massive quantities between 1979 and 1999 and marketed worldwide, it was the last rear-wheel-drive passenger car produced by the storied company.

Meow! Can you sense the animosity being hurled over the Maginot Line?

Meow! Can you sense the animosity being hurled over the Maginot Line?

Respected for its comfort, handling, and relative toughness, the 505 was just at home on the rutted roads of Nigeria as it was cruising along the highways of Paris.

The V6 designation helps narrow down the age of this particular vehicle.

Between 1987 to 1990, the Peugeot 505 came with an optional 2.8-litre SOHC V6 making 168 horsepower and 174 foot-pounds of torque. The 90-degree engine was mated to either a 3-speed automatic or 5-speed manual transmission.

(A long list of gas and diesel inline fours ranging from 1.8 to 2.5 litres were offered during the model’s lifespan, in both naturally aspirated and turbocharged form)

The last 505 sedans reached markets in 1990, with the wagon version soldering on longer.

During the model’s run, the 505 was manufactured in every continent except North America. Production of the 505 for the European market ceased in 1992, though production continued in Argentina, China and Nigeria well into the mid-to-late ’90s.

The 505 stands out amongst 1980s/90s vehicles due to its low beltline, forward facing grille and ever-so-slightly sloping trunk lid. Though it can happily inhabit the term ‘boxy’, the 505’s shape offers hints of upper class design – think a muted Audi 5000 or BMW 530i.

French connection

 

Straight outta France: 2006-2008 Renault Mégane CC, spotted in Ottawa, Ontario.

Straight outta France: 2006-2008 Renault Mégane CC, spotted in Ottawa, Ontario.

Is there heroin in the rocker panels?

There’s no telling who owns this 2006-2008 Renault Mégane, but the diplomat plates imply it’s a bigwig from the Republic (who really wanted to bring his car with him).

Exotic imports aren’t as big in Canada as they are elsewhere, so it was a treat to eyeball this French interloper, seen parked outside a Euro-centric garage near the ritzy diplomat enclave of Rockcliffe Park.

Diplomatic plates make this French tourer all the more intriguing.

Diplomatic plates make this French tourer all the more intriguing.

The Mégane is Renault’s bread and butter offering – its all-important C-segment (small family car) model that space-conscious, overtaxed Europeans flock to in droves.

First offered in 1995, the Mégane has sprouted every possible body style over its two decades of existence, though the retractable hardtop CC (for ‘coupe-cabriolet’) is by far the rarest.

Yes, you would really be living large as you cruised down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées in Paris – passionately, of course – in one of these babies.

Crafted by famed design studio Karmann, this era of Mégane CC could be had with a wide variety of engines, ranging in size from 1.4 to 2.0 litres. As for sales, it was wildly successful in its home country, and saw healthy sales in neighbouring Britain.

Seriously, what gives?

Seriously, what gives?

The model remains in production and continues to garner accolades, including kudos for providing a lower entry price for convertibles. However, at £23, 795 for a 2015 model, it will still set you back over $44,000 in Canadian currency.

Since spotting this example, I’ve yet to see it on the roads. Hopefully, if Mr. Diplomat is still in town, the coming warm weather will lure it outdoors for some top-down motoring.

Then I’ll get my chance to ask about that bull emblem on the trunk lid.