2008 Pontiac G6 Gxp Coupe 2-door 3.6l on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Are orphan cars better deals?

Most folks don't know a Saturn Aura from an Oldsmobile Aurora. Those of you who are immersed in the labyrinth of automobilia know that both cars were testaments to the mediocrity that was pre-bankruptcy General Motors, and that both brands are now long gone. But everybody else? Not so much. By the same token, there are some excellent cars and trucks that don't raise an eyebrow simply because they were sold under brands that are no longer being marketed. Orphan brands no longer get any marketing love, and because of that they can be alarmingly cheap. Case in point, take a look at how a 2010 Saturn Outlook compares with its siblings, the GMC Acadia and Buick Enclave. According to the Manheim Market Report, the Saturn will sell at a wholesale auto auction for around $3,500 less than the comparably equipped Buick or GMC. Part of the reason for this price gap is that most large independent dealerships, such as Carmax, make it a point to avoid buying cars with orphaned badges. Right now if you go to Carmax's site, you'll find that there are more models from Toyota's Scion sub-brand than Mercury, Saab, Pontiac, Hummer, and Saturn combined. This despite the fact that these brands collectively sold in the millions over the last ten years while Scion has rarely been able to realize a six-figure annual sales figure for most of its history. That is the brutal truth of today's car market. When the chips are down, used-car shoppers are nearly as conservative as their new-car-buying counterparts. Unfamiliarity breeds contempt. Contempt leads to fear. Fear leads to anger, and pretty soon you wind up with an older, beat-up Mazda MX-5 in your driveway instead of looking up a newer Pontiac Solstice or Saturn Sky. There are tons of other reasons why orphan cars have trouble selling in today's market. Worries about the cost of repair and the availability of parts hang over the industry's lost toys like a cloud of dust over Pigpen. Yet any common diagnostic repair database, such as Alldata, will have a complete framework for your car's repair and maintenance, and everyone from junkyards to auto parts stores to eBay and Amazon stock tens of thousands of parts. This makes some orphan cars mindblowingly awesome deals if you're willing to shop in the bargain bins of the used-car market. Consider a Suzuki Kizashi with a manual transmission. No, really.

This massive 'Knight Rider' KITT model costs over $1,400

A new model of the famed Pontiac Firebird from the 1980s TV show Knight Rider is here, and it's massive. The shadowy flight into the dangerous world of this subscription-based kit by DeAgostini will result in a car that measures nearly two feet long, cost more than $1,400, and take you over two years to complete. For years, subscription-based model kits have been a tradition for hobbyists in Europe and Asia. Should you sign on, each week you'll receive a package in the mail that includes a few parts for the model and some literature on the subject. Usually there are additional collectibles and accessories, like a display case. The DeAgostini KITT kit, for example, begins with the hood for the first issue. The asymmetric bulged and scooped body panel comes with a several smaller body pieces and a small screwdriver. Issue two comes with the front fascia, KITT's red scanner light, and three of the six driving lights. Issue three gives you a tire, wheel and brake components for one of the four corners. And so it goes. When all is said and done, you'll receive 110 such packages over a span of so many weeks. In other words it'll take two years and one-and-a-half months to complete the black, 1:8 scale Pontiac. There are some discounted prices for the first few issues to get you hooked, but once you get settled in the regular price for each issue is ˆ10.99 ($13.36 USD). Here's a preview the 16-page pamphlet that accompanies the first issue. By the end, you should have a pretty comprehensive compendium of the Knight Rider series as well. The issues are available on newsstands, but subscribers get additional gifts — two 1:43 scale models, one of KITT and one of his nemesis KARR. And for an additional ˆ1.00 per issue, you'll receive an acrylic display case. As for the Knight Industries Two Thousand itself, the car appears to be incredibly detailed. As depicted on the DeAgostini website, the hood, doors, trunk and T-top roof panels all open. The red scanner lights up, the rear license plate rotates for three options, and there even seems to be a watch that commands the model to speak some of KITT's catch phrases. Knight Rider — or Supercar as it was called in Italy — told the episodic story of a former police officer, Michael Knight, who fought crime with his A.I.-powered car. As such, the TV car and the the model have a heavily computerized (by 1980s standards) dashboard and yoke steering wheel.

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.