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What's driving the spike in air-cooled Porsche 911 prices

Classic car prices have been racing skyward in general, but prices for air-cooled (pre-1999) Porsche 911s are ascending like they're strapped to rocket boosters. It's been going on for years, and every year people are surprised by how outrageous it's getting: Classic Driver covered it this month, as did The Truth About Cars who included this example of a "scruffy" 1993 RS America with 215,000 miles asking $80K; Mike Spinelli at Drive riffed on it at length last year along with a host of classic-car-market observers; Porsche forums were at it two years ago; and let's not even get into the 993 Turbo, going for prices so high you have to lie down to look at them. Speed Academy has run a piece looking at why it's happening, one theory being that regular-guy owners are hopping on the runaway-price wagon without any good reason. As in the example of that high-mileage, scruffy 911 RS America at Bring a Trailer, the owner sees pristine examples valued by Hagerty at $170,000, and even though the average value is $93,238 he thinks something like, "Mine's got to be worth half of top dollar ..." The tide - even one rising on air - makes it hard to find decent prices. Then there is the flood of money into the market. In spite of articles that try to temper investors' outlooks on collectible cars, other articles in places like the Financial Times and the Guardian promote vintage metal as a safe place to put money and reap astonishing returns. Speed Academy thinks one side effect of high 911 prices is that responsible enthusiasts are turning their attention to cars like the BMW 2002, E30 M3, and E9 3.0CS, saying their prices are "sharply on the rise." The entire article is worth a read since it goes into markets far afield from pricey German steel, but incredibly, the entire piece was actually inspired by a 1997 Acura Integra R that sold for $43,000 on eBay. So while this could be the best time to get into the classic car market if you know what you're doing, it is certainly the best time to do your homework. Related Video:

2023 Grand National Roadster Show Mega Photo Gallery | Hot rod heaven

POMONA, Calif. — From an outsider's perspective, it would be easy to assume that the Grand National Roadster Show has always been a Southern California institution. After all, it celebrates the diverse postwar car culture of the region — hot rods, lead sleds, lowriders, and more. However, the show had its roots in NorCal in 1950 when Al Slonaker and his hot rod club showed their custom cars at the Oakland Expo. The GNRS moved to Pomona, California, in 2004. By then it had grown exponentially and seen about a dozen more car customization trends come and go. However, the show and its centerpiece award, the America's Most Beautiful Roadster prize, celebrate what is perhaps the first of those trends: the American hot rod in its purest form. Today, in its 73rd year, the GNRS is the oldest indoor car show in America. Annually it welcomes 500-800 cars, gathered into special themes like Tri-Five Chevys or Volkswagen Bugs. At this year's show, which was last weekend, a special hall was dedicated to pickup trucks built between 1948-98, including mini-trucks, groovy camper bed conversions, and resto-mods.  However, of all the vehicles presented, only nine are eligible for the America's Most Beautiful Roadster award. Winners get their names engraved on a 9-foot-tall perpetual trophy that was, according to The Ultimate Hot Rod Dictionary, the largest in the world when it debuted in 1950. Slonaker chose the word "roadster" initially because "hot rod" bore slightly negative outlaw connotations in 1950. Only American cars built before 1937 of certain body styles — roadsters, roadster pickups, phaetons, touring cars — are eligible, and they cannot have roll-down side windows.  Cars in the running for the cup cannot have been shown anywhere else before their debut at the GNRS.  Contestants for this accolade essentially build their cars to the a platonic ideal of a hot rod. This year the honors went to Jack Chisenhall of San Antonio, Texas, for his "Champ Deuce," a 1932 Ford Roadster. It's exactly what you picture when you think of a hot rod, but distilled to its absolute essence.  Other standouts included "Green Eyes," a two-tone green 1959 Chevy El Camino  with a heavily metal-flaked bed, "Blue Monday," a 1964 Buick Riviera lowrider, and a personal favorite, "Purple Reign," a purple and black 1951 Mercury. Cars may have started out as tools, but there aren't shows like this filled with custom refrigerators.

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.