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Junkyard Gem: 1986 Pontiac Sunbird Sedan

The J-Body platform was a giant seller for GM, staying in production from the first 1981 Chevrolet Cavalier all the way through that final 2005 Pontiac Sunfire. Outside of North America, Opels and Daewoos and Isuzus and Holdens and Vauxhalls and even Toyotas flew the J flag, and better than ten million rolled out of showrooms during that quarter-century. In the United States, Chevrolet, Oldsmobile, Pontiac, Buick, and Cadillac each sold J-Bodies. Of those, the Pontiac Sunbird often had the sportiest image, more cavalier than even the Cavalier Z24. I've documented a discarded Sunbird Turbo in the past, and now here's a bread-and-butter Sunbird sedan from the same era. The Sunbird name began its life in 1976 on the Pontiac-badged version of the rear-wheel-drive Buick Skyhawk, itself based on the Chevy Vega. The first J-Body Pontiacs had J2000 badges, then 2000 badges, then 2000 Sunbird badges, until finally the pure non-2000 Sunbird appeared for the 1985 model year. I remain disappointed that the 2000 name didn't survive into our current century, because we could have had a 2000 Pontiac 2000, or just the "2000 2000" for short. The base engine in the '86 Sunbird was this SOHC 1.8-liter four of Brazilian origin, rated at 84 horsepower. Originally developed by Opel in the late 1970s, this engine family went into cars built all across the sprawling GM empire. 84 horsepower doesn't sound like much— and it wasn't much, even by 1986 standards— but at least the original buyer of this car had the smarts to get the five-speed manual transmission. This car weighed just 2,336 pounds, a good 500 pounds lighter than the current Chevy Sonic, so performance with the manual transmission was tolerable. The '86 Sunbird's interior was much nicer than those in its Cavalier siblings, though nowhere near the Cadillac Cimarron's reading on the Plush-O-Meter. An AM/FM/cassette stereo with auto reverse was serious audio hardware in a cheap car during the middle 1980s, when even a scratchy factory AM-only radio cost the equivalent of several hundred 2020 bucks. The price tag of this car started at $7,495, or about $17,500 in 2020 dollars. The cheapest possible Cavalier sedan went for $6,888 in 1986, but a zero-option base '86 Cavalier would make you think you'd been transported to the Soviet Union every time you slunk into its harsh confines. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings.

Junkyard Gem: 1986 Pontiac Fiero 2M4

The mid-engined, plastic-bodied Pontiac Fiero two-seater caused great excitement when it hit the streets as a 1984 model, then became something of an embarrassment for GM when its design flaws became clear to the car-buying public. Still, when a V6 engine became available for 1985, followed by a fastback roof for 1986, the air of Pontiac Excitement around the Fiero lingered to a certain extent. We took a look at a discarded '86 Fiero GT with both the 2.8-liter V6 and the fastback body last year, and now we'll take a look at an example of the econo-commuter four-cylinder notchback version from the same year. Pontiac used the 2M4 designation (standing for two seats, mid-engine, four cylinders) on four-cylinder Fieros, while the six-cylinder cars were known as 2M6s. 2M4 decals went on four-banger Fieros for the 1984-1986 model years, while 2M6 decals seem to have been applied less consistently to the V6 cars of that period. During the early development period of the car that became the Fiero, the idea was that it would be a nimble sports car with a lightweight engine. Then the plan shifted, with the Fiero intended to be a gas-sipping commuter. When the car finally hit showrooms, it was a lot heavier than intended, it had a Chevy Citation front suspension in the back plus a Chevette front suspension, and its engine was the low-revving, weighty Iron Duke 2.5-liter straight-four. The Duke was about the least sports-car-appropriate four-cylinder engine The General could dredge up from his parts bins, but it was cheap and there was no shortage of production capacity. By the time the Fiero came out, the Iron Duke had been renamed the Tech 4. This one was rated at 92 horsepower and 132 pound-feet. The V6 Fieros get all the press today, but plenty of the Duked versions were sold (amazingly, the Chevrolet Camaro was available with Iron Duke power from 1982 through 1986). The emissions sticker tells us that this was a California-market car, rather than the "49-state" model the rest of the country got. California-specific emissions hardware added $99 to this car's price ($277 in 2023 dollars). While this car is a base model, the original buyer loaded it with options. The transmission is a three-speed automatic, priced at $465 (about $1,303 in 2023 dollars). A five-speed manual was standard equipment on the 1986 Fiero, though the old-fashioned four-speed manual was still available for a $50 credit ($140 now).

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.