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Junkyard Gem: 1986 Chevrolet Sprint Plus

General Motors sold second- and third-generation Suzuki Cultuses with Geo or Chevrolet Metro badging in the United States from 1989 through 2001 model years, and we've all seen plenty of those cars on the street over the years. The first-generation Cultus was sold here as well, with Chevrolet Sprint badges, and I've found a rare example of the Sprint five-door hatchback in a Northern California car graveyard. The Chevy Sprint first appeared on the West Coast as a 1985 model, then became available everywhere in the United States for the 1986 through 1988 model years (in Canada, it was sold as the Pontiac Firefly). It was available here as a hatchback with three or five doors; for 1986 only, the five-door was badged as the Sprint Plus. Soon enough, The General would be selling many more Asian-built cars with Detroit badges here. Isuzu I-Marks were sold as Chevrolet/Geo Spectrums starting in the 1986 model year, while Daewoo provided the Pontiac LeMans two years later. Under the hood, a 1.0-liter three-cylinder rated at 48 horsepower. The five-door Sprint cost $5,580 in 1986, which was $200 more than the three-door (those prices would be $15,445 and $14,891 in 2023 dollars). I've documented seven discarded Sprints prior to this one (including an extremely rare Turbo Sprint), and all of them were three-doors; we can assume that price was the most important factor for Sprint buyers. Gasoline prices were crashing hard during the middle 1980s, but memories of gas lines and odd-even-day fuel rationing from 1979 remained strong. What cars competed with the '86 Sprint on sticker price? Well, there was no way to undercut the hilariously affordable (and terrible) Yugo GV, which cost $3,990. The much bigger (but still pretty bad) Hyundai Excel listed at $4,995, while Toyota would sell you a sturdy (but zero-fun) Tercel starting at $5,448. Even the wretched Chevy Chevette — yes, it was still available in 1986 — cost $5,645. The original buyer of this car was willing to shell out an extra $395 to get an automatic instead of the base five-speed manual. That's about $1,093 in today's money. This car must have been slow. By the end, the doors were held shut with duct tape, but it still stayed alive until age 37. 53 miles per gallon on the highway! It does everything. The camels of the highway.

Tarantino's stolen Chevy Malibu from Pulp Fiction recovered after 19 years [w/video]

Quentin Tarantino fans will likely remember Vincent Vega's cherry 1964 Chevrolet Malibu Convertible in Pulp Fiction. In a movie drenched in automotive references, the Malibu is very nearly a character in and of itself, and it serves as the subject of Vega's soliloquy about the kind of man who vandalizes another's automobile. It also happened to be Tarantino's personal car when the film was shot, and was apparently stolen shortly after production wrapped. Now police have located the car some 19 years later.
As it turns out, the thieves cloned the vehicle identification number from another '64 Malibu and had the car registered under the new digits. It was then sold to an unsuspecting buyer. Police happened upon the duplicate VINs while investigating another potential theft. Right now, it's unclear whether Tarantino has taken possession of the Chevrolet, if it has remained in the possession of the fraud victim, or whether it's caught somewhere in the gears of justice. Either way, you can catch Vega's memorable thoughts on the car keying in the Pulp Fiction clip below. But consider yourself warned: the video contains explicit language as Not Safe For Work as it comes.

24 Hours of Le Mans live update part two

We tasked surfing journalist Rory Parker to watch this year's live stream of the 2016 24 Hours of Le Mans. What follows is an experiment to experience the world's greatest endurance race from the perspective of a motorsports novice. Parker lives in Hawaii and can hold his breath longer than he can go without swearing. For Part One, click here. Or you can skip ahead to Part Three here. I write about surfing for a living. If you can call it a living. Basically means I spend my days fucking around and my wife pays for everything. Because she's got a real job that pays well. Brings home the bacon. Very progressive arrangement. Super twenty first century. I run a surf website, beachgrit.com, with two other guys. It's a strange gig. More or less uncensored. Kind of popular. Very good at alienating advertisers. My behavior has cost us a few bucks. I'm terrible at self-censorship. Know there's a line out there, no idea where it lies. I still don't understand any of the technical side. Might as well be astrophysics or something. For contests I do long rambling write ups. They rarely make much sense. Mainly just talk about my life, whatever random thoughts pop into my head. "Can you do something similar for Le Mans?" "Sure, but I know absolutely fuck-all about racing." "That's okay. Just write what you want." "Will do. But you're gonna need to edit my stuff. Probably censor it heavily." So here I am. I spent the last week trying to learn all I can about the sport of endurance racing. But there's only so much you can jam in your head. And I still don't understand any of the technical side. Might as well be astrophysics or something. While I rambled things were happening. Tracy Krohn spun into the gravel on the Forza chicane. #89 is out of the race after an accident I missed. Pegasus racing hit the wall on the Porsche curves. Bashed up front end, in the garage getting fixed. Toyota and Porsche are swapping back and forth in the front three. Ford back in the lead in GTE Pro. #91 Porsche took a stone through the radiator, down two laps. Not good. The wife and I are one of those weird childless couples that spend way too much time caring for the needs of their pet. French bulldog, Mr Eugene Victor Debs. Great little guy. Spent the last four years training him to be obedient and friendly. Nice thing about dogs, when you're sick of dealing with them you can just lock 'em in another room for a few hours. You don't need to worry about paying for college.