1995 Pontiac Firebird Project Car With Extra Engine on 2040-cars

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Junkyard Gem: 2002 Pontiac Aztek

The General's Pontiac Division sold the Aztek for the 2001 through 2005 model years, and — despite enjoying something of a cultural rebirth in recent years — it is generally considered to be one of the worst cars of all time. The idea of using a minivan platform as the basis for a rough-and-tough-looking crossover with plenty of outdoor-lifestyle amenities wasn't the problem, since many vehicle manufacturers have printed bales of money using that formula. What doomed the Aztek was its hideous appearance and sticker price too lofty for its underemployed-at-the-time Generation X target demographic. Still, the Aztek proved to be perfectly suited for the outdoor activities that Coloradans love: hiking, camping, fishing, skiing, hauling mud-caked golden retrievers around, etc., and so you'll still find lots of Azteks on the roads of the Centennial State. Here's an Aztek Yellow Aztek (yes, that's really the paint color's official title) residing just a few rows from a '76 Checker Taxicab in a Denver self-service yard. Sure, it does look like a vehicle built to the specifications of a six-year-old who decreed a mashup between a Datsun F-10 and a Fisher-Price Little People Travel Together Airplane, but so what? There's a built-in air compressor to blow up your inflatable rafts and volleyballs, a tent attachment that turns the rear of the van into a camper, 12-volt power plugs all over the vehicle (years before this became commonplace on ordinary minivans and SUVs), and running-gear commonality with a jillion Ventures, Silhouettes, Montanas and Trans Sports. Buick managed to de-uglify the Aztek (somewhat) and sold it as the Rendezvous through 2007, but the Aztek never could win over many people with this face. I see plenty of Azteks and Rendezvouses in Denver-area wrecking yards, and I've documented a handful over the years. This one came fully loaded from the factory, with the Corvette-style heads-up display in full effect. The center console was a removable cooler, which was a great idea Â… except for the fact that this cooler holds five standard 12-ounce cans. Michigan residents tell me that this must have been intentional on the part of the Detroit-based Aztek designers, because Michiganders are expected to chug one beer out of a sixer as they walk from the liquor store to the car in the parking lot Â… which makes me extra cautious whenever I'm driving in the Wolverine State.

Woman Cleared In Fatal Car Wreck After GM Letter

A Texas judge cleared a woman Monday for a car accident that killed her fiance in 2004, after General Motors acknowledged that her car would have been among millions being recalled for a problem that may have contributed to the death. Candice Anderson was driving a 2004 Saturn Ion when it suddenly veered off a road about 60 miles east of Dallas and slammed into a tree. Anderson, then 21, was severely injured when the car's air bags failed to deploy. Her 25-year-old fiance, Gene Erikson, who was a passenger, was killed. She later pleaded guilty to charges stemming from the wreck. But during a hearing Monday, State District Judge Teresa Drum expunged the conviction from her record, according to officials in the Van Zandt County court andAnderson's attorney, Bob Hilliard. In a letter given to the court ahead of the hearing, an attorney for the automaker confirmed that Anderson's Saturn would have been among 2.6 million GM vehicles recalled in February to address ignition switches that can slip out of the "run" position, causing the engines to stall and disabling power steering, brakes and air bags. Anderson's crash "is one in which the recall condition may have caused or contributed to the frontal air bag non-deployment in the accident," attorney Richard C. Godfrey wrote. Hilliard provided a copy of the letter to The Associated Press, and Godfrey confirmed its contents Monday. Anderson was initially charged with criminally negligent homicide because there was no clear explanation at the time why the wreck occurred, according to court documents from the case. She pleaded guilty to a letter charge in 2006, and was sentenced to five years' probation. She also was ordered to perform 260 hours of community service, pay court costs and cover the costs of Erikson's funeral. "GM knew this defect caused this death, yet instead of telling the truth watched silently as Candice was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter," Hilliard said Monday. "It took 10 years for GM to find its voice." In a separate statement issued by the company, GM said it "cooperated fully by providing technical information that was requested to make a decision in this matter." The carmaker also said the issue in Anderson's case was for local law enforcement and courts to consider. "That's why we took a neutral position on Ms. Anderson's case," the company's statement said. "It was appropriate for the court to determine the legal status of Ms.

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.