1980 Pontiac Bonneville Brougham Arizona Rust Free Beauty Super Clean 68k Miles on 2040-cars

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Junkyard Gem: 2008 Pontiac G5 Coupe

In the grim early days of the Great Recession, the situation at GM's Pontiac Division didn't feel so great but there was some cause for optimism. The Solstice still had a certain glow, the Holden Commodore-based G8 had just arrived, and vehicle shoppers could stride into their local Pontiac showrooms and choose from eight different models bearing the iconic arrowhead badge. Yes, there were still new Torrents and Grand Prix and Vibes for sale in 2008, and of course the Cavalier-twin Sunfire had been replaced by the Cobalt-twin G5 by that time. Here's one of those G5s, found in a Colorado Springs car graveyard. It wasn't long after this car was built that everything went to hell for Pontiac. In April of 2009, GM announced that the Pontiac Division would be "phased out" over the next few years. Just to drive home the point, GM itself filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy five weeks later. GM had already offed Oldsmobile—a marque dating back to 1897, making it nearly 30 years Pontiac's senior—five years earlier, so everybody knew there would be no reprieve in this case. Just to confuse everybody, Pontiac dealers offered a G3-badged Chevy Aveo (aka Daewoo Kalos) to sell alongside the G5 for 2009, but by 2010 there were just two new Pontiac models still standing in the United States: the G6 and the Vibe. Just over 70,000 G5s were sold in the United States during the 2007-2009 model years, making these cars fairly rare. The Cobalt/G5 ignition-switch fiasco of the mid-2010s really hammered their resale value at the time. Sometimes the definition of "Gem" refers to historical value, not the happier kind. Speaking of ignition switches, the key is still in this one. That generally means that a junkyard vehicle is a dealership trade-in or insurance total that couldn't sell at auction. This one is a base model, which listed at $15,675 (about $22,040 in 2023 dollars). The snazzier G5 GT started at $19,850 ($27,911 now) that year. The engine in this car is a 2.2-liter Ecotec four-banger rated at 148 horsepower and 152 pound-feet (the GT got a 2.4 with 171 hp/167 lb-ft). A five-speed manual was standard equipment, but the buyer of this car paid extra for the automatic. GM stuck these little "Mark of Excellence" badges on the fenders of its vehicles starting in 2005, then ditched the idea in 2009. I have vivid memories of this logo from the seatbelt buttons in my parents' 1973 Sportvan Beauville.

This or That: 2005 Chrysler Crossfire SRT6 vs. 1984 Pontiac Fiero

Welcome to another round of This or That, where two Autoblog editors pick a topic, pick a side and pull no punches. Last round pitted yours truly against Associate Editor Brandon Turkus, and my chosen VW Vanagon Syncro narrowly defeated Brandon's 1987 Land Rover. In fact, it was, by far, the closest round we've seen, with 1,907 voters seeing things my way (for 50.8 percent of the vote) versus 1,848 votes for Brandon's Rover (49.2 percent). Sweet, sweet victory! For this latest round of This or That, I've roped Editor Greg Migliore into what I think is a rather fun debate. We've each chosen our favorite terrible cars, setting a price limit of $10,000 to make sure neither of us went too crazy with our automotive atrocities. I think we've both chosen terribly... and I mean that in the best way possible. 2005 Chrysler Crossfire SRT6 Jeremy Korzeniewski: Why It's Terrible: Taken in isolation, the Chrysler Crossfire isn't necessarily a terrible car. In fact, it drives pretty darn well, and there's a lot of solid engineering under its slinky shape. Problem is, that engineering was already rather long in the tooth well before Chrysler ever got its hands on it, having come from Mercedes-Benz, which used the basic chassis and drivetrain in a previous version of its SLK coupe and roadster. Granted, the SLK was an okay car, too, but even when new, it hardly set the world on fire with sporty driving dynamics. Chrysler took these decent-but-no-more bits and pieces from the Mercedes parts bin – remember, this car was conceived in the disastrous Merger Of Equals days – and covered them with a rather attractive hard-candy shell. Unfortunately, the super sporty shape wrote checks in the minds of buyers that its well-worn mechanicals were simply unable to cash, though an injection of power courtesy of a supercharged V6 engine in the SRT6 model, as seen here, certainly helped ease some of those woes. In the end, Chrysler was left with a so-called halo car that looked the part but never quite performed the part. It was almost universally panned by critics as an overpriced parts-bin special, which, I must add, was damningly accurate. As a result, sales were very slow, and within the first few months, dealers were clearancing the car at cut-rate prices, just to keep them from taking up too much of the showroom floor. Why It's Not That Terrible, After All: I can speak from personal experience when discussing the Chrysler Crossfire. You see, I owned one. Well, sort of...

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.