Mercury on 2040-cars

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Ford finally issues recall for 230K minivans over rust problems

The rust issue in the rear wheel wells of 2004-2007 Ford Freestar and Mercury Monterey minivans has finally led to a recall. The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration began an investigation into the matter in 2011, said investigation being upgraded to an engineering analysis a year later while NHTSA tried to figure out how many model years should be included in the assessment.
Ford has decided to recall all of the 230,000 minivans potentially affected, namely those sold in salt-belt states and countries like Canada. The excess rust in the rear wheel wells was also able to prevent the third-row seats from locking to the floor of the minivan. To repair the problem, owners can take their minivans to dealers, and the dealers will place new panels in the wheel wells, replace the third-row seat mounting brackets and relocate the latches to an area away from any corrosion.
Ford says it will begin notifying owners during the last week of March.

Junkyard Gem: 1977 Mercury Bobcat

Cultural memory of the Ford Pinto, 38 years after the last new ones were sold, boils down to one thing today: the notorious "exploding Pinto" stories of the late 1970s. Yes, many Pinto jokes were told, the resale value of Pintos crashed, and few paid any attention to the fact that most of the cars sold with the fuel tank between the rear axle and the bumper — that is, just about every Detroit car made during the era — suffered from the same weakness. The Mercury version of the Pinto was badged as the Bobcat, but nobody told Bobcat jokes. Here's a '77 Mercury Bobcat 3-Door in vivid Medium Jade paint, spotted in a Denver self-service yard. The Pinto with glass rear hatch was known as the Pinto Runabout in 1977, while Mercury called this car the " Bobcat 3-door with Glass Third Door." When a car sits for years or decades in High Plains Colorado, rodents tend to nest in it. This Bobcat's air cleaner made a cozy home for our Hantavirus-carrying friends. The 1970s were the last gasp for eye-searingly green vinyl car interiors. Since the Bobcat was a luxed-up Pinto, the door panels have shinier trim than what you'd have had in a proletariat-grade Pinto. Pinto/Bobcat transmission choices boiled down to two: a four-speed manual or a three-speed automatic. Unusually for a Malaise Era Mercury, this one has the manual. Most Pintos and Bobcats came with four-cylinder engines, ranging from the 1.6-liter pushrod Kent to the 2.3-liter engine that lived on for many post-Pinto years in Ford Rangers. This car has the 2.3, rated at 89 horsepower, but the same 2.8-liter Cologne V6 that powered the Capri was available as an option in the Bobcat. That engine made a mighty 93 horsepower. These cars were not too miserable to drive by econobox standards of their time, at least when they had three pedals. You'd blow the doors off a '77 Corolla with a 4-speed Bobcat in a drag race, though the Corolla got better fuel economy. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Gives you hundreds of pounds more car than most small imports and includes standard self-adjusting rear brakes! Related Video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Featured Gallery Junked 1979 Mercury Bobcat View 15 Photos Auto News Mercury Automotive History ford pinto bobcat

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.