Spannerhead Dot Com

Beautiful day for a junkyard visit.

A week or so ago, I tracked down a used coolant overflow bottle for our minivan at the local Pull-A-Part location. I’ve been to you-pull-it junkyards before, and I have absolutely no affiliation with the company, but this one was in a whole different league—clean, well-stocked, organized and efficient. It didn’t take me long to track down the part, and I took some time to scout the yard for desirable cars.

I forgot how much I love junkyards. Sure, it’s sad to see cars in such states of decay, but the variety on the lot presented a great opportunity to get a first-hand look at the mechanicals of some cars, such as an early Saab 900 or Alfa Spider, that I’d only seen in pictures on the Internet. It’s a car tech geek’s paradise.

So after my first visit for the coolant bottle, yesterday I returned for some Z parts. The orange-on-white ’72 240Z at top was my initial focus, but I scouted out some others as well, including a 2+2 280ZX:

and a non-turbo Z31 300ZX:

Neither had many salvageable interior bits, both both their engines were intact.

My two main scores were a 6-2-1 header off the 240Z:

and an under-hood service light:

I’m hoping the header will clean up. It seems to be intact. If not, no big deal. Removing it was a bear; since I didn’t have a hacksaw, I had to rip the whole exhaust off, and ended up having to pull the steering column and twist the crusty muffler off before fishing it out the hood. As for the service light, the aluminum body should clean up, and my intention is to simply buy a new plastic lens, if it’s available. I’m strangely optimistic about that; in my experience with car restoration, sometimes the little ticky-tack stuff can be had more readily than more desirable NLA parts like door weatherstripping and interior plastic components.

If nothing else, it was a fun couple of hours exploring the yard and tearing into a classic Z with wild abandon.

Editor’s note: This post is Part 20 of an ongoing series chronicling my efforts toward the restoration of my 1972 Datsun 240Z, originally my father’s. Read the other installments here:

• Part 23: Gutting the Interior
• Part 22: The Teardown Begins
• Part 21: …And the Engine Comes Out
• Part 20: Treasure Hunting
• Part 19: Beginnings
• Part 18: VIN Discoveries
• Part 17: The Bad News
• Part 16: On The Road
• Part 15: Getting It Back On The Road
• Part 14: It Lives!
• Part 13: Restoring the Fuel System, Part I
• Part 12: Meat on the Wheels
• Part 11: Inspiration (Sort Of)
• Part 10: Carbs’ Return
• Part 9: First Triad Z Club Meet
• Part 8: Wheel Work
• Part 7: Tactical Changes
• Part 6: Little Things
• Part 5: Coming Home
• Part 4: The Rollout
• Part 3: Confessions of a Poor Car Enthusiast
• Part 2: Opening the Tomb
• Part 1: Projecting Forward

As much as I covet the quattro Concept, I’m actually kind of glad Audi decided not to put it into production.

Why? It’s too retro. It’s a developmental dead-end. As a nostalgia piece it’s a brilliant tribute, echoing not only exterior details like the classic Quattro‘s aggressively stubby proportions and box flares but also its businesslike interior and especially its iconic turbocharged 5-cylinder engine. No mere automotive sculpture, it’s a real working car, driven in anger by more than a few automotive publications.

But had Audi produced it, even as a limited-run model, as many implored them to do as it graced the auto show circuit in 2010, the quattro Concept would have met with the same fate as other unabashedly retro concepts like the Plymouth Prowler or the 2002-2005 Ford Thunderbird: Constrained to its niche and not really relevant to any of the other cars in the manufacturer’s lineup. One of Audi’s greatest assets as an automaker is their brand cohesiveness; some may call it lack of creativity but there’s real value in their cars’ messaging consistency across the model line, and a production quattro Concept would have been a bit of an outlier, even as a halo car.

That said, even as a one-off homage, the car demonstrates a few aspects of Audi’s way forward. The grille shape and headlight treatment, for one, seem to represent the direction those of the rest of the marque’s lineup are headed—with the logo moved up above the grille onto the hood for a cleaner look. The 402-hp, 2.5l 5-cylinder engine, lifted from the TT RS, seems in tune with the latest trends in engineering and has a considerable amount of development potential remaining. Most significantly, the quattro Concept signaled Audi’s newfound commitment to lowering their cars’ weight, tipping the scales at a lithe 2,850 lbs. After several decades of ballooning car mass, via the quattro Concept, Audi’s statement was, “We’re fighting back.”

Audi showed commendable self-restraint in not producing such a desirable car. I can admire it as a hat tip to its creator’s legacy, infused with a few glimpses of the future.

Image credits: fourtitude.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series discussing Audi’s rich history of noteworthy concept cars. Read the other installments here:

• TTS
• Rosemeyer
• Avus quattro

It had so much going for it; if only Pontiac had had the resolve, resources and most importantly, the vision to really make this car what it needed to be.

Who knows; perhaps they had the desire to but were simply hamstrung by the corporate culture at GM. All I remember is that when I first became aware of the 1992-1995 Bonneville, while I was pleased with the looks (until a 1996 refresh spoiled them), I was thoroughly disappointed that Pontiac had chosen to build it on a staid FWD platform shared with the contemporary Olds 88 and Buick LeSabre, and that they had declined to offer a manual transmission option.

Would either choice have made any economic sense? Highly unlikely. Pontiac made a killing in the ’90s selling cars that promised excitement based on their looks but routinely wound up near the bottom of comparison tests when pitted against their rivals, helping to consolidate the claim that the average American consumer was more drawn to the appearance of dynamic competence rather than the actual presence of it. So there’s no reason to believe RWD would have been a selling point to the typical Pontiac buyer of the era. Same with the option of a stickshift—the sales of three-pedaled versions of more recent cars such as the Lincoln LS and Cadillac CTS have had enormous difficulty rising out of the single-digit percentages.

So from a business standpoint, with the 1992-1995 Bonneville, the blinders-on, here-and-now mindset prevailed, and Pontiac squandered one of their best opportunities to fundamentally alter the brand’s perception. GM had wanted for years to position Pontiac as an “American BMW,” the luxury + performance sweet spot of the GM constellation of marques, and as much as the division’s development team may have wanted the same, they were always constrained by the platform-sharing dictates of upper management. GM’s corporate philosophy seemed focused on giving the customer what they wanted at present, never educating, never driving, never leading, never generating excitement by exceeding the customer’s expectations in opening his eyes to a more complete, satisfying driving experience the way Pontiac’s erstwhile German competitors did.

It’s really a shame. If only its handling and general refinement had lived up to its looks, the 1992-1995 Bonneville could have been the perfect BMW 5-series fighter. From the outside, it’s a very handsome car; the fascia and resolution of the C-pillar and decklid are particularly well done. Sure, some of the details are crude, like the awkward position of the side mirrors and the overwrought body cladding, but it’s a great start. If only Pontiac had been set free to turn the supercharged, 225-hp V6 90°, hook it up to the rear wheels via a 5- or 6-speed manual transmission and invest in suspension tuning, they would have drawn a crowd of enthusiasts overnight. It turned out to be another missed opportunity for Pontiac to be who they really wanted to be.

Image credits: carinpicture.com, edmunds.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series highlighting key decisions I wish automakers had made differently, for divers reasons. Read the other installments here:

• Infiniti Q45
• Honda S2000
• BMW 840Ci
• Eunos (Mazda) JC Cosmo

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Dug this one out of an old stash during a recent visit to my parents’ house. I can’t remember if I got it from the dealership or from a local car show; regardless, it’s a nice snapshot of Nissan’s last turbocharged Z-car during one of its final years here; it would depart our shores after the 1996 model year. I’ll let the pictures (mostly) speak for themselves.

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Fantastic shot of a Steve Millen IMSA 300ZX. Click image to enlarge.

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Beautifully simple lines. Click image to enlarge.

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This spread is especially nice; the technical illustrations on right page are printed on a translucent sheet which overlays a full-color photograph from the same perspective. Click image to enlarge.

Wonderful cockpit. I remember sitting in one in a dealership in the mid-’90s and thinking, “This feels perfect.” Click image to enlarge.

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Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series chronicling interesting automotive advertisements and brochures. Read the other installments here:

• Toyota Supra
• Car and Driver, March 1984 issue

It’s difficult to overstate how much I’m looking forward to this film.

Ron Howard’s upcoming movie Rush depicts the action, tensions and interpersonal drama that characterized the epic 1976 Formula 1 season. Chiefly concerned with the rivalry between two top drivers—charismatic British playboy James Hunt and methodical, determined Austrian Niki Lauda, both supremely quick in their own ways—the film’s trailers (you can see the first here) have set the online automotive community ablaze with commentary and anticipation.

The director, of Apollo 13 and A Beautiful Mind fame, is an avowed Formula 1 fan, so there’s hope for we internet F1 geeks that the gestalt of the sport will be convincingly translated to the big screen. A quick review of the trailers certainly promises a gripping, action-packed film true to the spirit of the 1976 season.

That said, I do have a couple of concerns:

• Chris Hemsworth seems slightly miscast as Hunt. He may convey his affectations and joie de vivre, but his face has a kind of boyishness irreconcilable with that of the more grown-up looking, rakish Hunt. Casting Daniel Brühl as Niki Lauda was a masterstroke, however; he seems to have the Austrian’s appearance and mannerisms nailed.
• Biographical accuracy. I’m not so much concerned about technical precision—the filmmakers used a combination of CGI, replicas and vintage racers for the action scenes, and Apollo 13 is renown for its level of technical detail—but the personalities, themes, and events must be presented as they existed and happened from a historical standpoint. I would less concerned if Howard’s award-winning effort A Beautiful Mind hadn’t taken rather large liberties with very crucial elements of its subject’s life story. If the new film turns out to be “inspired by” rather than “based on,” (the latter implying a more faithful rendering), I’ll be very disappointed.

Rush hits theaters in the US on September 20, 2013.

This is the best-looking American car to come along in the past 10 years. Maybe longer.

Aggressive, fleet, tailored, expensive… Visually, the 2014 CTS is a quantum leap ahead of its predecessor. A lot of credit has to be given to the new upright grille, which gives the nose a crisp, commanding appearance. Proportionally, the 2014 CTS echoes the latest Mercedes E-Class, but without that car’s baroque extremities and glitzy detailing. The new midsize Caddy has presence in spades; it looks chiseled and confident, borrowing its German rivals’ overall themes but imbuing them with a uniquely American swagger. It’s sub-zero.

Amazingly, even more than its looks, the best part about the new CTS may be its chassis. Left Lane reports that Cadillac may be taking a page from Audi’s recent weight reduction efforts with their luxury car lineup, targeting a curb weight that would undercut its competitors from BMW and Mercedes by at least 200 lbs, flashbacks of decades past when a trim, 3,600 lb luxury sedan was the norm rather than the exception. Lighter weight benefits every performance- and economy-related quality, especially handling; when an automaker choose to “add lightness,” as Colin Chapman famously put it, it’s huge in my book.

As far as the powerplant is concerned, Left Lane continues:

[T]he big news for 2014 is the introduction of a 3.6L twin-turbocharged V6 in the new Vsport model. The twin-turbo mill is based on Cadillac’s naturally aspirated 3.6L V6, but boasts a number of improvements, including a new block casting, updated cylinder heads, stronger connecting rods and a 10.2:1 compression ratio. As a result of those changes, the twin-turbo V6 cranks out 420 horsepower and 430 lb-ft of torque, good for a 0-60 time of just 4.6 seconds and efficiency of 17 city/25 highway mpg.

Other Vsport goodies include Brembo disc brakes, a driver-selectable track mode for the standard Magnetic Ride Control system, an electronic limited-slip differential, a heavy-duty track cooling package, a quickened steering ratio and 18-inch wheels shod with Pirelli summer tires (19-inchers with all-season rubber will be available).

However, sadly:

The slow-selling six-speed manual option from the current CTS has been deep-sixed.

Here’s hoping they choose to resurrect it for the range-topping CTS-V performance variant. Until then, between the new CTS’s design, emphasis on chassis lightness and fantastic new engine options, I’d say Cadillac has their latest winner on their hands.

Image credits: netcarshow.com

Editor’s note: As a point of clarification, I will be using the more technically correct term “dampers” to refer to what are normally, but misleadingly, described as “shock absorbers.”

Fitted prominently to the Volvo 760 sedan and 780 coupe, among many others including Rovers, Opels and Mitsubishis, Nivomat dampers should be more well known. But they seem to remain an obscure detail uncovered only by new owners of cars fitted with the system, and then usually only when it fails.

A combination of the French words niveau (level) and automatique, Nivomat dampers combine the function of the car-supporting spring and damper into one self-contained unit. As a result, they can be a source of particular frustration when they go bad, since the whole unit must be replaced, unlike a conventional suspension which isolates failure to either the spring (uncommon) or damper (more common). Not only that, Nivomat dampers’ relative rarity compounds the challenge by making parts that much more difficult to source and expensive.

Does the Nivomat system have any redeeming qualities? Absolutely; as mentioned, the units combine springs and dampers, but more than that, as implied by the name, they automatically level the car regardless of the load conditions. No more sagging rear end when the back seat and trunk are fully loaded—the Nivomats’ internal pressure rises to compensate and restore the normal ride height. It’s worth noting, as well, that most, if not all applications fitted the system only to the rear wheels, leaving the fronts with a conventional spring-and-damper setup.

The Nivomat system is hardly the only self-leveling suspension (SLS) on the market—BMW and Mercedes, just to name two, developed their own SLS systems—but what truly sets it apart is its completely self-contained design. Where other SLS systems require a support network of pumps, lines and valves, raising the part count and drawing (an admittedly small amount of) power from the engine, a Nivomat damper has an internal pump and relies on car’s normal up-and-down suspension movement as it drives for the energy needed to operate, much like a self-winding watch depends for its power on the movement of the wearer’s arm. It’s a remarkably clever design that harnesses what would other be wasted energy in service of a useful function.

Sadly, as widespread as they were, Nivomat dampers never really became mainstream. The system persisted for 20+ years, but modern electronic suspension setups eventually eclipsed the Nivomat system’s mechanical novelty.

Image credits: netcarshow.com, wardsauto.com, ipdusa.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series spotlighting obscure automotive engineering solutions. Read the other installments here:

• Opel’s Cam-In-Head Engine
• The Desmodromic Valve
• Front-Engined AWD Systems
• Mercedes’ Monoblade Wiper
• Twincharging
• The Turbine Car
• The Sleeve Valve
• The Variable-Geometry Turbo
• The Hydraulic Cooling Fan
• The Laycock de Normanville Overdrive
• Audi’s UFO Brakes

In the automotive world, the ultimate badge of shame is the lack of one applied by the factory. The following are a few examples of cars effectively disowned by their manufacturers while they still remained in production.

Pontiac Aztek. The modern byword for complete automotive failure, it appears Pontiac had an inkling that the Aztek’s reception would be…less than favorable almost as soon as it hit showrooms, and quietly downsized its badging. The car’s name is still present, but only in non-contrasting body colors, and the trunklid bears the smallest logo imaginable. I wonder if they repurposed the keychains from the Pontiac gift store in order to create the emblems?

Hyundai Genesis. This one’s somewhat unfortunate, since by all accounts the Genesis is a very nice car, and pleasing (or at least not offensive) to look at as well. Conscious that potential buyers might harbor concerns about brand cachet, its manufacturer designed the car with an unadorned grille and hood, as shown above. Here’s an idea, Hyundai: Why not create a new luxury marque and release the car under that brand? It’s not like it’s never been done before, and would give you the opportunity to, you know, actually seem proud of the worthy car you’ve created?

Buick Skylark. Between its angular grille (which paid homage to that of the 1940’s Buick Special), and its overwrought, late-’90s-Pontiac-ish plastic body cladding, the 1992-1995 Skylark was hardly a looker. It had the potential to be attractive, but Buick seemed to take all its designers’ worst ideas and combine them on one car. Initially released with a badge, after a year or two the emblem was removed from the grille, the prominence of which made the design decision very obvious. The Skylark underwent a full refresh for 1996 and the result looked much more normal…if more forgettable. So it goes.

Kia Amanti. Like the Genesis above, this is another case of an economy car automaker attempting to go upmarket, but worried (somewhat justifiably) customers would cringe at the idea of driving a “luxury Kia.” So off came the badge, leaving other drivers to wonder exactly what kind of car was filling their rearview mirrors. As for the Amanti itself, other than styling that slavishly aped that of the W210 and W211 Mercedes E-Class sedans, Kia’s first crack at an entry-level luxury car was merely serviceable.

Image credits: netcarshow.com, carsdirect.com, caranddriver.com, cars-on-line.com

The alloy wheels, the wedgy, aggressive stance… Growing up a budding car enthusiast in southern France and blind to little else besides high-end exotics, the Peugeot 205 GTI made an impression. It stood out.

It helped that I wasn’t so inured to the sight of visually hopped-up economy cars; in the mid-late ’80s a budget hatchback with sporting pretensions was something new. And in the case of the 205 GTI, the appeal extended beneath its skin. As with its VW equivalent, the specs weren’t anything to get excited about: 1.6 and 1.9 liter engine options producing a maximum of only 126 hp pulling a chassis whose underpinnings were decidedly bargain-basement. A little carefully-applied suspension tuning and some detail changes here and there, though, made the 205 GTI feel positively alive behind the wheel, never mind the fact that power was delivered to the front wheels.

It just looked light, lithe, playful, spritely—and the chassis delivered in massive fashion with telepathic steering response and an eagerness to rotate that beggared belief for a FWD car. The simple, unadorned lines have aged remarkably well too; it still looks almost as fresh as it did 30 years ago. It’s a case study for car designers in how carefully proportioning (as opposed to mere decoration) can dramatically extend a car’s stylistic shelf life.

Sadly, the 205 GTI was never imported to the US. The car’s massive success overseas prompted talks of bringing it stateside, but in the end it came to naught. However, with the recent loosening of import restrictions for cars at least 25 years old, the very real possibility exists that a 205 GTI could be brought over and registered. The car was made from 1984 to 1994, so at least the first few years of production are theoretically available to us here in the US, and given its popularity in Europe, decent examples could probably be had relatively cheaply. Worth checking out!

Image credits: driversgeneration.com, mad4wheels.com, sub5zero.com

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series highlighting FWD cars we think highly of, in spite of our RWD bias. Read the other installments here:

• B4 Volkswagen Passat
• Lancia Fulvia Coupe
• Acura Vigor
• Mazda Millenia
• Citroën SM
• Fiat Coupé
• ’91-’96 Infiniti G20
• ’91-’94 B13 Nissan Sentra SE-R
• ’88-’92 Mazda MX-6
• Audi Coupe GT
• Volkswagen Corrado
• Peugeot 405 Mi16
• ’78-’93 Saab 900
• Volvo 850 T-5R
• 5th-generation Honda Prelude
• 1st- and 2nd-generation Volkswagen Scirocco