2002 Saab 9 5. 2.3turbo. 70,000 Original Miles on 2040-cars

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Saab has ruined all Swedish cars for me

It's easy to dismiss my hatred of all Swedish automotive manufacturers as a simple result of bad experiences. I mean, we're all products of our own experiences, some we learn from, others we don't, and some we need to be hit over the head with time and time again. I've been hit over the head too many times with Saabs (and one lonely Volvo), and as a result, I can't bring myself to buy a Koenigsegg. It started with a 900 Turbo sedan. You know, the ugly duckling sister of the beautiful two-door coupe that spawned the Aero, which managed to look stunning from the front, and like a child with a full nappy (diaper) at the rear. I bought it at an auction (mistake number one) for $6,500 (AUD) because as a bloke in his early twenties, I wanted to be noticed – and a greasy-haired bespectacled musician driving a turbocharged Swedish luxury car was my way of standing out. On the drive home I noticed two things: one, it handled like it was on rails – it just gripped! And two, the turbo wasn't working. I took my new wheels to the mechanic, who promptly told me a custom exhaust system would solve the problem – mistake number two. During the fitting, Mr. Shonky's Repair Shop managed to fry some computer thingy. I won't try to remember or understand what it was, but he did tell me that it should have been replaced and that I would have to pay for it. I agreed. Mistake number three. Twelve months later I had spent more than double the original purchase price on repairs, and the turbo still wouldn't work. I sold it for about $4,000, and moved on to something more sensible. But the beautiful handling and quirky design had left an itch that I just couldn't scratch. Many cars and motorbikes later, I sold my Mazda RX-8 because it was too perfect. You know those cars that have spotless paint, an unmarked interior, low kilometers, and you're just too damn scared to park it anywhere? Yep, it was one of those. I would spend 30 to 40 minutes trying to find a vacant spot with vacant spots on either side, and even after leaving the car I would walk back to check if anyone had parked next to me. If they did, I moved. Not a low-anxiety vehicle. So I bought my second Saab – this time a 9-5 turbo wagon – from an auction. Wasn't that mistake number one? This one had reasonably low kilometers, and was even on LPG (a fairly common conversion is Australia – just not on Saabs) and only set me back $2,200. I drove it home, and low and behold, the turbo worked!

Junkyard Gem: 1989 Saab 900 Turbo Convertible

I live in Colorado, where Saabs were loved deeply by residents going way back to the 96 (and I'm sure a few 92s were sold here in the 1950s, though I haven't found any in local car graveyards … yet). By far the easiest pre-GM Trollhattanites to find in Centennial State wrecking yards these days are the 1978-1993 900s, and I walk by a half-dozen for each one that I document as a Junkyard Gem. We admired a gloriously brown 900 Turbo two-door a few months back, but today's 900 Turbo is an extremely rare cabriolet version, the first I've found in a boneyard in at least 15 years. The convertible 900 was available only as a turbocharged version in the United States when it was introduced for the 1986 model year, and that continued through 1991. After that, a naturally-aspirated 900 convertible could be bought here. When in very nice condition, these cars can bring tidy sums. A super-low-mile '87 900 Turbo convertible just sold for $145,000 recently, in fact. This car has more than 843 times as many miles on the odometer as that car, however, and it shows every one of them. It's not terribly rusty, considering, but the sheet metal shows many battle scars, and the interior is about what you'd expect with 33-year-old leather. Last year's film adaptation of Haruki Murakami's short story, "Drive My Car," put the Saab 900 Turbo back into mainstream cultural awareness. However, that car is a two-door sedan; the best-known Saab 900 Turbo Convertible in cinema history is the one driven by Iben Hjelje's character in the film adaptation of the Nick Hornby novel, "High Fidelity." These cars were fairly quick for their time, with 160 horsepower from this DOHC 2.0-liter straight-four in 1989. Having seen more than my share of 900 Turbos going up against same-era BMW E30s and Acura Integras on road courses, I'd put my money on the Saab in a wheel-to-wheel race (that is, in a race short enough to keep the Swede's nervous engine alive). While a three-speed automatic was available on this car, the kind of Americans odd enough to buy Saabs in 1989 also tended to be the type that wanted manual transmissions. In fact, I can't recall ever seeing a (non-Opel-based) 900 with a slushbox. Yes, Opel! Starting in the 1994 model year, the 900 name went on a car based on the Opel Vectra platform. Later on, the Saab 9-5 and Saturn L-Series lived on the same chassis. Given all the luxury features and genuine performance, this car was a pretty good value for the price in 1989.

Are orphan cars better deals?

Most folks don't know a Saturn Aura from an Oldsmobile Aurora. Those of you who are immersed in the labyrinth of automobilia know that both cars were testaments to the mediocrity that was pre-bankruptcy General Motors, and that both brands are now long gone. But everybody else? Not so much. By the same token, there are some excellent cars and trucks that don't raise an eyebrow simply because they were sold under brands that are no longer being marketed. Orphan brands no longer get any marketing love, and because of that they can be alarmingly cheap. Case in point, take a look at how a 2010 Saturn Outlook compares with its siblings, the GMC Acadia and Buick Enclave. According to the Manheim Market Report, the Saturn will sell at a wholesale auto auction for around $3,500 less than the comparably equipped Buick or GMC. Part of the reason for this price gap is that most large independent dealerships, such as Carmax, make it a point to avoid buying cars with orphaned badges. Right now if you go to Carmax's site, you'll find that there are more models from Toyota's Scion sub-brand than Mercury, Saab, Pontiac, Hummer, and Saturn combined. This despite the fact that these brands collectively sold in the millions over the last ten years while Scion has rarely been able to realize a six-figure annual sales figure for most of its history. That is the brutal truth of today's car market. When the chips are down, used-car shoppers are nearly as conservative as their new-car-buying counterparts. Unfamiliarity breeds contempt. Contempt leads to fear. Fear leads to anger, and pretty soon you wind up with an older, beat-up Mazda MX-5 in your driveway instead of looking up a newer Pontiac Solstice or Saturn Sky. There are tons of other reasons why orphan cars have trouble selling in today's market. Worries about the cost of repair and the availability of parts hang over the industry's lost toys like a cloud of dust over Pigpen. Yet any common diagnostic repair database, such as Alldata, will have a complete framework for your car's repair and maintenance, and everyone from junkyards to auto parts stores to eBay and Amazon stock tens of thousands of parts. This makes some orphan cars mindblowingly awesome deals if you're willing to shop in the bargain bins of the used-car market. Consider a Suzuki Kizashi with a manual transmission. No, really.