Low Mileage on 2040-cars

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This Mercury Cougar Eliminator is a lovely '69 survivor

If you have an overachieving brother/sister/cousin/friend (or whoever), you might know this feeling well; it can be tough to live up to those standards. In many ways, that notion can also describe the Mercury Cougar and its pioneering Ford Mustang sibling. Quite the act to follow, no? Happily though, the Cougar proved to be different enough from its Mustang relative to make a big splash, and perhaps no more so than in its racy "Eliminator" trim, new for 1969. This is one such heady Mercury, dressed in sporty Competition Orange paint, and claimed to be an unrestored "survivor." Need it in your life? The '69 Mercury Cougar Eliminator recently popped up on eBay in Chepachet, Rhode Island . The genesis of the Mercury Cougar began in 1967, really with one singular purpose—to bridge the gap between the Ford Mustang and the Ford Thunderbird with a more upscale, stylish, and chiefly more "European" feeling pony car. It's safe to say the Cougar fit the bill. Using the Mustang chassis as a base, the early Cougars were about three inches longer than their 'Stang cousins and offered better legroom, sleek front and rear fascias, and a more luxe interior. Don't mistake "upscale" for "soft" however; come 1969 the Eliminator package gave the Cougar a seriously mean attitude. Spec-up the interior package and you received high-back bucket seats, a Rallye clock, wood-rimmed steering wheel, and padded interior moldings among other custom trims. Outside is where the Eliminator really struts its stuff, though. Eliminators came equipped with a blacked-out grille, special steel wheels, an aggressive front splitter and rear wing, plus racy decals and side stripes. Four color choices were available — Competition Orange, Bright Blue Metallic, White, and Bright Yellow. As standard, the '69 Mercury Cougar Eliminator came equipped with a 351 cubic inch V8, boasting 290 horsepower, as seen in the case of this car. More powerful options were also available, as noted by Barnfinds, which included a big 390 cubic inch V8 (320 hp), a high-revving Boss 302 V8, and the gargantuan 428 Cobra Jet V8. Peek beneath the body of this Cougar and the 351ci V8 is hooked up to a desirable close-ratio four-speed manual transmission, showing a claimed 35,243 miles. Though the mileage isn't verified, the car's overall condition and wear would suggest the readings to be true. Befitting those low miles, this unrestored Cougar does carry quite the high price — a tall $32,000.

Junkyard Gem: 1996 Nissan Quest XE with 338,549 miles

When I hit the junkyard, I always look for vehicles with impressive final figures showing on their odometers. I find so many Hondas and Toyotas with better than 300,000 miles that I don't consider them especially noteworthy (the exception being super-low-spec cheap models, such as a Tercel or Civic VX), and it goes without saying that the bar is quite high for Mercedes-Benzes as well. It has been surprisingly difficult to find discarded Nissans that made it past the 300k mark; today's Junkyard Gem is just the fourth I've documented. The highest-mile junked Nissan I'd found prior to today's minivan is a 1994 Maxima with 364,238 miles, followed by a 1987 Maxima with 341,176 miles and a 1986 200SX with 309,222 miles. Keep in mind that Nissan didn't go to six-digit odometers on most of its US-market cars until the early 1980s, and then went to tough-to-read-in-the-junkyard electronic odometers in the early 2000s; this means the pool of potential high-mile Nissans is limited to about the 1983-2000 range of model years. Ford has just as much right to claim credit to this van's impressive mile total as does Nissan, since the Quest was a collaboration between Ford and Nissan that also produced the Mercury Villager; this van was built by Ford at the Ohio Assembly plant. The Quest/Villager platform was derived from the Maxima's, and the engine is pure Nissan: a 3.0-liter VG30 V6 rated at 151 horsepower. The only transmission available in the first-generation (1993-1999) Quest/Villager was a four-speed automatic. This one appears to have been sold new at Landrum Nissan in Pueblo. The rear glass has been painted flat black, possibly to keep prying eyes from seeing valuable cargo. The rear seats are long gone, so this van probably hauled cargo for much of its long life. The front interior seems to be in good shape. Why is this van here? There's body damage on the left rear and right front, suggesting a crash that may have bent the suspension past the worth-fixing threshold. Perhaps the crinkled metal just made this van too unsightly, or maybe some powertrain problem was the culprit. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. It's time to expect more from a minivan. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. It's all fun and games until the toddler takes the wheel.

Car Stories: Owning the SHO station wagon that could've been

A little over a year ago, I bought what could be the most interesting car I will ever own. It was a 1987 Mercury Sable LS station wagon. Don't worry – there's much more to this story. I've always had a soft spot for wagons, and I still remember just how revolutionary the Ford Taurus and Mercury Sable were back in the mid-1980s. As a teenager, I fell especially hard for the 220-horsepower 1989 Ford Taurus SHO – so much so that I'd go on to own a dozen over the next 20 years. And like many other quirky enthusiasts, I always wondered what a SHO station wagon would be like. That changed last year when I bought the aforementioned Sable LS wagon, festooned with the high-revving DOHC 3.0-liter V6 engine and five-speed manual transmission from a 1989 Taurus SHO. In addition, the wagon had SHO front seats, a SHO center console, and the 140-mph instrument cluster with mileage that matched the engine. When I bought it, that number was just under 60,000 – barely broken in for the overachieving Yamaha-sourced mill. The engine and transmission weren't the only upgrades. It wore dual-piston PBR brakes with the choice Eibach/Tokico suspension combo in front. The rear featured SHO disc brakes with MOOG cargo coils and Tokico shocks, resulting in a wagon that handled ridiculously well while still retaining a decent level of comfort and five-door functionality. I could attack the local switchbacks while rowing gears to a 7,000-rpm soundtrack just as easily as loading up on lumber at the hardware store. Over time I added a front tower brace to stiffen things a bit as well as a bigger, 73-mm mass airflow sensor for better breathing, and I sourced some inexpensive 2004 Taurus 16-inch five-spoke wheels, refinished in gunmetal to match the two-tone white/gunmetal finish on the car. That, along with some minor paint and body work, had me winning trophies at every car show in town. And yet, what I loved most about the car wasn't its looks or performance, but rather its history. And here's where things also get a little philosophical, because I absolutely, positively love old used cars. Don't get me wrong – new cars are great. Designers can sculpt a timeless automotive shape, and engineers can construct systems and subsystems to create an exquisite chassis with superb handling and plenty of horsepower. But it's the age and mileage that turn machines into something more than the sum of their parts.