For Sale: My Dad’s 1949 Buick Road Master. 50,982 Original Miles. All Original. on 2040-cars

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1987 Buick Regal GNX driven just 54.8 miles heads to auction

The previously unimaginable prices for seemingly anything on any number of wheels continues to lure garage queens into the open. Here we have another Buick GNX headed to auction, this one Mecum's Summer Special in Orlando from July 6-9. Buick only made 547; it feels like half went to owners who never drove them. The last GNX auction we covered, in 2019 on Bring a Trailer, ended up grossing $200,000 for a model with 8.5 miles. This example has been driven much harder than that, praise be to enthusiasts, with 54.8 miles on the odometer. That means the original owner, who kept the coupe until 2017, got more than six times the use out of his GNX than the 2019 owner. Way to go. For those who haven't attended any classes on the Buick Regal GNX, allow us to summarize the subject matter. When Buick greenlit "a Grand National to end all Grand Nationals," out came the one-year-only 1987 GNX. A racier brand back then, it partnered with ASC/McLaren to work up the wheel lip flares, fender vents, 16-by-8-inch BBS rims, more aggressive tires, and the interior treatment. The Grand National trim used a 3.8-liter V6 making 245 horsepower and 355 pound-feet of torque hooked to a four-speed automatic. The GNX benefited from a larger Garrett T-3 turbocharger with a ceramic impeller, a larger intercooler, more aggressive fuel, spark, and waste gate tables, and a dual exhaust system that boosted output to what some say is an underrated 276 hp and 360 lb-ft.  This GNX headed to auction spices up the standard specs with the original order paperwork, window sticker, dealer invoice, ASC documentation, a GNX coffee table book, and a GNX jacket. That jacket could be the denim one or the high school varsity jacket with the cloth front and back and leather(ish) sleeves, which, sadly, didn't include Buick's attacking eagle logo of the time. We'd mention the black and sand gray cloth interior, power driver's seat and mirrors, and Delco Concert Sound stereo, but it's likely that the future owner won't spend much time with them. Likely fated to be a garage or show queen again, the jet black paint, "original parts stickers still affixed on suspension," and "original chalk markings throughout" will be the major points of interest. Mecum doesn't give a pre-sale estimate for this GNX, so we'll be waiting to find out if the 2019 sale price was an anomaly — well, more of an anomaly — or the new benchmark.

Junkyard Gem: 1957 Buick Special Riviera Sedan

While I find plenty of 1950s Detroit cars in quick-inventory-turnover self-service wrecking yards during my travels, they tend to be the ordinary post sedans that were built by the millions during the heyday of the three-on-the-tree manual transmission and nuclear-attack symbols on car radios. The more sought-after convertibles, coupes, and four-door hardtops are tougher to find in such yards, which makes today's 1957 Buick Special Riviera in a yard in northeastern Colorado an A-List Junkyard Gem. During the late 1950s, the Special ranked at the bottom of the Buick prestige hierarchy just below the more upscale Super and Century. Of course, this was the era of Alfred Sloan's "Ladder of Success" and the lowliest Special outranked even the nicest Olds Ninety-Eight on the Swank-O-Meter. If you were the Buick-driving Joneses and your neighbors had proletarian Chevrolets, aspirational Pontiacs, or petit-bourgeois Oldsmobiles, they were failing to keep up with you… but then you'd see a new Cadillac and feel intense envy for your victorious rival. The Ladder of Success collapsed later on, when the top-trim-level Chevy Caprices began to compete against their Cadillac Calais big brother, but it was still standing tall in 1957. The Riviera name ended up being used for its own distinct model starting in 1963 and continuing nearly into our current century, but in 1957 it was a trim level designation, used to indicate a Century or Special sedan with the then-radical pillarless hardtop design. This car listed at $2,780, which comes to a cool $27,630 in 2021 dollars. That price included the 364-cubic-inch (6.0-liter) Buick Nailhead V8 engine, rated at 250 horsepower and enough torque to peel 1957's rock-hard bias-ply tires right off their rims. The Special had a three-on-the-tree column-shift manual as standard equipment, but the original buyer of this car sprang for the extra $220 ($2,185 today) to get the Dynaflow transmission. While the shift indicator looks just like the ones on GM cars equipped with the two-speed Powerglide, the Dynaflow was an odd beast used only in Buicks; while it had gears for two forward speeds, the driver had to select low gear manually. Otherwise, a complex torque converter rig provided an experience something like today's CVTs (though with better smoothness and much more wasted power), in which the car stayed in high gear all the time and used the torque converter to multiply as needed.

2014 Buick LaCrosse

A Nice, New Buick Aims For Middle Of The Road
Any time someone describes some portion of a car or a driving experience as being "nice," I want to either A) throttle them or B) run as fast and as far as I can from that vehicle. "Nice" is among the most insidious words in the English language - at best it's vague, and at worst, it conveys the exact opposite of its literal meaning. Yet it seems to be used with damnable frequency when it comes to verbally illustrating vehicles. "It looks really nice," or "These seats feel nice," or, heaven forefend, "It's got a nice ride," are all windy signifiers of absolutely nothing resembling a concrete opinion. "Nice" is the adjectival equivalent of meekly smiling and nodding your head.
Of course, I'm as guilty as the next person of having thrown English's least powerful descriptor around. There's even a chance that, rant aside, you'll catch me making nice in reviews to come. That's fine, but you should know that when you stumble upon such usage, past or future, that you've found a sentence in which I'm simply applying a bare minimum of effort to the task.