1970 Pontiac Gto Judge Excellent Condition!! Must See!! on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Fiero-based Zimmer Quicksilver was objectively terrible, but we'd totally drive it

Now here's something you don't see everyday. It's listed in our classified ads as a 1986 Pontiac Fiero, but as you can see, that description is a bit misleading. In fact, it's a Zimmer Quicksilver, which was indeed built atop the guts of a mid-engine Fiero coupe but was heavily modified by the Zimmer Motorcars Corporation at a facility in Pompano Beach, Florida. And the one you see here actually seems to be a pretty decent deal for a highly unusual car. We're not sure what was a more popular starting point for kit and custom cars in the 1980s and 1990s, but it would have to be either the Fiero or the vintage air-cooled Volkswagen Beetle. Fiero-based machines usually mimicked the design direction of any number of highly desirable Italian stallions, most commonly, we'd guess, the Lamborghini Countach. The Quicksilver is an altogether different animal, with over a foot of extra wheelbase added in front of the A-pillar to make for a dramatic, long and low silhouette that somehow still only has barely enough room for two passengers in its leather- and wood-lined interior. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. A stock 2.8-liter V6 engine from General Motors is mated to a three-speed automatic transmission that sends 140 horsepower and 170 pound-feet of torque to the rear wheels. Period road tests found the 0-60 run took a little over 10 seconds, which is terrible today but wasn't all that bad for the mid '80s. Best we can tell, only around 170 Quicksilvers were made between 1984 and 1988, which are, not coincidentally, the same years that Pontiac produced the Fiero. The 1986 Zimmer Quicksilver you see here is priced at $18,495 and shows well under 30,000 miles on the odometer. There aren't a lot of Zimmer Quicksilvers currently for sale for us to compare, but the ones we did find that had sold within the last few years suggest a little under $20,000 is a reasonable asking price. It could be a fun and offbeat addition to the garage, and if nothing else, you're not likely to see another one at your local car show. Related video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings.

Lutz dishes dirt on GM in latest Autoline Detroit

Bob Lutz sits down for Autoline Detroit - Click above to watch video after the jump
Autoline Detroit recently played host to Bob Lutz, and, as is always the case, the former General Motors vice chairman dished out some great commentary. Lutz was promoting his new book Car Guys vs. Bean Counters: The Battle for the Soul of American Business, and talk quickly turned to his role as it related to product development and high-level decision making at GM. While on the topic of brand management, Lutz revealed a few rather interesting tidbits about his former employer:
All Chevrolet vehicles were required to have five-spoke aluminum wheels and a chrome band up front, as part of the Bowtie brand's overall image.

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.