I'm not saying that a Mustang can't be powerful or tasteful, but I think it's important to understand the context. In contrast to the Ferraris and Austin-Healeys and Jaguars made in the 1960s, the Mustang was a simple blue-collar car that cost only a few thousand dollars and was available in every Ford showroom across the US. The Jaguar E-type sold over 70,000 copies over its 14-year run—a remarkable number for a car in its class—but the Mustang sold nearly ten times that number in 1965 alone. Ford sold a car that is regularly outperformed by nearly every other sports car of the time, although it's such an important vehicle because unlike those other cars, the Mustang really did sit in many American garages. It's not the best car made in the 1960s, but it's remembered by so many people that it doesn't have to be.

The Mustang was introduced in 1964 as a 2-door coupé and convertible and was available with a range of inline-6 and small V8 engines. 1965 saw major updates to the engine list and the car's sheetmetal was revised in 1967—although the size of the vehicle remained largely unchanged. 1971 saw a major increase in the size of the Mustang, and we'll limit our discussion to the 1964–1970 models with a focus on the convertibles.

Collectability: Fair. Because so many were made, the Mustang is a low-risk collectible vehicle. It's probably not worth the effort unless you have a nostalgic attachment to it or simply want something generically old and American.

So what are the talking points here?

(+) The Mustang is probably the ultimate American vehicle in terms of cheap parts and labor. I've said this before in other posts, but it's difficult to truly appreciate a vintage exotic vehicle until you try to find parts for it. Spending hours hunting for manuals and part numbers and warehouses is something that you can ignore entirely if you own a Mustang, and that's not true of the Jensen FF you just got a hot deal on.

(+) They're everywhere. If you have an itch to find a vintage Mustang in good condition, it's nearly trivial to hunt one down. Looking at the local Craigslist, I can count 17 1964–1970 Mustangs for sale. The same can't be said, unfortunately, for something a bit more interesting.

(+) It was optionable. The Mustang was one of the first cars to offer an extensive option list, and people often took advantage of it. Finding a unique vehicle is never a challenge when there were between 3 and a half-dozen engine choices available every year. This also means that although the inline-6 Mustang was cheap enough to get the car into everyone's mind, it was also available as a rock'em sock'em V8.

(+) It's quintessentially American. It's difficult (although not impossible) to look like a pretentious ass when driving a vintage Mustang. This isn't much of a concern here in the Pacific northwest, where practically everybody is either "cultured" or an "ass," depending on how you look at it—but I suspect that if you leave your nicely appointed 911 or heck, even a riced-out Civic in the middle of Mobile, that you're unlikely to get it back without confederate flags and key marks all across it.

(-) The market for Mustangs is horrifically predictable. Although this may seem like a good thing (because, some may say, it will keep your investment from depreciating) I really don't think that's the case—there's almost 0 risk that a well-known sports car from the 1960s will drop in value. Alternatively, I think that it's probably pretty unlikely that plebian (i.e., non-Shelby and non-racecar) Mustangs will significantly rise in value en masse.

Expect to pay: $20,000 for a solid 1965 convertible, or just over half that for a good hardtop.

What to look for:

• Convertibles, convertibles, convertibles. The Mustang hardtops are more affordable, but they've spent a long time languishing as cheap alternatives to the convertibles.
  
• Inline-6, V8, manual, automatic—it's all OK. You'll see prices swing as much as $5k for a 6-cylinder convertible vs. the V8, but they'll all hold their value the same. These cars are bought for the nostalgia (not the options) and the prices reflect that.
  
• 1965 saw a lot of mechanical improvements. Unless you're planning on cannibalizing your resale value by removing original 1964 equipment, it's probably best to get the upgraded 1965 mechanicals right from the start. 1965 gets you better engine choices, an alternator instead of a generator, and (gasp!) backup lights.
  
• Avoid vinyl hardtops and any other fantastically 1970s options seen on the late-1960s models.
  
• Buy a clean body and crap mechanicals over a crap body and good mechanicals. Parts and mechanics are cheap for this car and it's far easier to rebuild an engine than it is to strip a frame and paint it.
  

Photograph from Wikipedia Commons.

First, some background: the Austin-Healey 3000 roadster was built for around eight years in the early 1960s and was available as a four-seat (i.e., 2+2) roadster or a 2-seat roadster. All models came with a 3.0L inline-6 engine making between 120hp and 150hp and were fitted with four-speed overdrive transmissions. The 3000 was an evolution of the Austin-Healey 100-6 roadster, which looks quite similar to the 3000. Austin-Healey continued to produce the smaller Sprite roadster during and after 3000 production, but the marque was retired entirely in 1971.

Austin-Healey built around 11,000 four-seaters (chassis code BT7) and just under 3,000 two-seaters (code BN7). Some later models (the BJ7 and BJ8) were fitted with roll-down windows and an actual convertible top, whereas the early models only got a tonneau cover.

Collectability: Excellent. This is a fantastic car to invest in if you can afford the cover charge.

Here's why.

(+) It's gorgeous. There's really no discussion about this—it's a very very striking car. The two-tone models (red or light blue over cream) are among the best-looking vehicles ever made. Take another look at the shot at the top of this article.

(+) It's an old British roadster. For a group of people who spend most of the time in the fog, the Brits did an absolutely monumental job of delivering the world amazing sunny-weather roadsters during the 1960s. Cars like the Austin-Healey 3000, the Jaguar E-Type, and (to a lesser extent) the Triumph TR4 have all done a great job maintaining their value.

(+) It's a halo model. Admittedly, there were only two Austin-Healey models sold during the 3000 run: the 3000 and the Sprite. However, the 3000 was the top model, and this makes a difference.

(+) Parts aren't impossible to find. That doesn't mean they'll be easy to find, but parts for the comparatively popular 3000 are much easier to find than for older Austin-Healeys.

(+) Have I mentioned how good it looks? Seriously, people. What a great-looking car.

(-) The gold-rush has started. The Barrett-Jackson auction recently saw a 1962 3000 sell for $75,000, over twice the market value for these cars. I fully understand that one car doesn't stage the market for the rest, but I also know that a lot of people noticed the sale of that particular car. Expect prices to have jumped a good $5,000 per car already.

(-) 6-volt positive-ground electrics. For the love of God, why did they install these electrical systems on these cars? I go into further detail on 1960s British electrics in my article on the Triumph GT6+.

(-) You can't buy one if you're a mere mortal. You'll see why below.

Expect to pay: $35,000 for a good 3000.

What to look for:

• The BN7 two-seater sells for a premium over the BT7 four-seater. It's worth it if you can afford the extra $3,000–$5,000.
  
• Always always make sure the electrics are in good shape.
  
• If you're planning on driving this car in someplace like Seattle, the BJ7 or BJ8 models may be better choices than the older, less weatherproofed models.
  
• Don't be impressed by triple carbs fitted on later models—it's not worth a premium over the early twin carbs.
  
• Later models are better unless you know a great mechanic.
  

Photograph from Wikipedia.

The Nissan 240SX is, in my opinion, one of the most incoherently marketed sports cars of the last twenty years. Typically, auto manufacturers build one body and offer a handful of engines of varying power, cost, and efficiency. In contrast, the 240SX (based on the Japanese-market Nissan Silvia) was offered with a single truck engine, but in two different hardtop bodies: coupé and hatchback (and a convertible...but we'll skip that).

The 2nd generation model (coupé only) can be seen at the top of this article.

Even more confusing is that the 240SX was sold as both the Silvia and 180SX in Japan and the 200SX in Europe and Austrailia. And the 200SX sold in the US is a completely different car.

Name aside, what's confusing about the marketing for this car is that in a time of inexpensive FWD sporty cars (Mitsubishi Eclipse, Toyota Celica) and more expensive RWD GT cars (Toyota Supra, BMW 3 series), the 240SX was positioned as an inexpensive RWD car. Usually, I like this sort of thing—but the fact that the 240SX was fitted with the single-cam 3-valve KA24E pushing out a mere 140hp made the superior RWD handling sortof moot. The later twin-cam 4-valve KA24DE upped the ante to 155hp, but the Japanese-market Silvia was offered with lots of smooth car-based inline fours, including a few turbocharged models.

It turns out that the 240SX was popular enough to sell some 250,000 copies in the US. The first generation, based on the Silvia S13, was responsible for the vast majority of these sales (some 215,000) were first-generation 1989–1994 models (with a refresh for 1991); the second generation, based on the Silvia S14, sold in dramatically fewer numbers from 1995–1998, again with a refresh halfway through, in 1997.

Collectability: not good. Buy a Z.

(+) It's a drift prince. The 240SX is second only to the Hachiroku in terms of drift legend. When fitted with Japanese-market turbocharged fours, the Nissans are actually typically far more competent in turning expensive rubber into smoke and noise. The history starts with the AE86, and the 240SX is close behind.

(+) It's got handling for cheap. If you're big on RWD, short on cash, and absolutely have to have something Japanese, then the 240SX is the car for you. Admittedly, if any of those three points don't describe you, there are many better alternatives.

(+) Hey, torque! The KA24E and KA24DE engines were sold in trucks, but they were also sold in a handful of Nissan cars. And either way, they make good loads of torque low down in the rev range, and make the cars really drivable on public roads. In contrast to cars powered by super-peaky sewing machines, the 240SX can be driven swiftly without completely flogging the engine.

(-) It's got a truck engine. The most common complaint I hear about the stock 240SX is that it's fairly underpowered. Thankfully, there's a fairly ready supply of turbocharged SR20DET engines available from Japan, and can be swapped into 240SXs without too much difficulty.

(-) The 240SX isn't in a category that makes sense. Inexpensive sporty cars in the 1980s and 1990s were dominated by hot hatches and turbo'd fours. Similarly, GT cars were dominated by big power and lots of extra goodies. I absolutely love the idea of an inexpensive RWD car with solid reliability—but I'm in the minority.

Expect to pay: $2,000 for a straight 1990, up to $7,000 for a 1998.

What to look for:

• The right generation. If you dig on popup headlights, go for an S13. If you don't, the S14 is for you. They're essentially the same car with slightly different plastic and sheetmetal.
  
• Documented professional SR20DET engine swaps are probably acceptable, but anything done in a garage should be avoided.
  
• Watch out for flogged cars. The S13s, in particular, are often run as hard as Civic hatchbacks and VW GTIs.
  

It's the Toyota Corolla AE86.

This particular Corolla (AE86 is the chassis code used by Toyota) was built from 1983 through 1987 and was the last of the rear-wheel-drive models to which Toyota affixed the name. The rest of the Corolla line built during that time is completely uninteresting and is not the subject of our discussion here. What I'm talking about is the 3-door Corolla GT-S hatchback, seen above.

These cars were originally made famous to the masses in the Initial D anime, although they've always had a reputation as being lightweight pocket rockets. They have a substantial cult following in Japan (and a growing following in the US) and are generally well-regarded both by boy-racer types and more serious track-going types. By far, the biggest group to embrace the AE86 is the drifting crowd, a sortof Japanese-hooligan sport of trying to go around corners while making as much noise and smoke as possible.

Collectability: Average or slightly above average. This is the ideal car if you want to throw cheap mods at a cheap car.

(+) Cheap cars, cheap parts, cheap mods. Because they're Toyotas, these cars are everywhere—and so are replacement parts and upgrades. Getting into AE86s is about the cheapest motorsport fun you can have—short of, perhaps, a 1982 Camaro...although it's not likely you'll be having very much "fun" with that. Every mechanic on the planet has seen a Toyota 4A engine at some point or another, and getting deep-discount deals is the norm.

(+) It really is reliable. Yes, you can get an early-1980s Jaguar for around the same price as a Corolla, and yes, it will be a whole lot more car. However, the Corolla is a stupendously solid design, and it's not at all unreasonable to expect that these cars will run well even when they've been handed some serious abuse.

(+) It's light. The AE86 handles fairly well straight out of the box and goes fairly quickly despite the fact that it's barely making over 100hp. With a few (generally cheap) suspension modifications and perhaps a small diet (read: throw the interior away) the AE86 is very tossable on a track. It also means that it gets great fuel economy and, as an added bonus, won't do much damage when you inevitably pilot it into someone's rose hedge.

(+) It's respected on the track. The AE86 has been around long enough that even old-school racer types tend to respect it. Show up at a road race in a marginally-trashy-looking AE86 and you're likely to get the approving nods that you wouldn't get if you rolled up in, say, a Fast-and-the-Furious-style MkIV Supra. I've seen a Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 get eaten alive by a souped-up AE86—and that's impressive.

(-) They're all old and abused. Chances are good that if you're looking for an AE86 by now, it's been bought by some teenager and beaten to hell. Not many old people bought these new and drove them to church on Sunday, and nobody has really ever forgotten about one in a garage somewhere. Most of these have been used as daily-driven commuter cars or, worse, as some kids zoom-mobile.

Expect to pay: $3,000 for a solid GT-S that's only marginally abused.

What to look for:

• Mods are OK, but be sure to verify that they've been done correctly. Lots of hamfisted kids have worked on these cars.
  
• Rust generally isn't a problem. Toyota worked out its paint kinks by 1983.
  
• Buy only the GT-S, which came with the DOHC 4A-GE motor. The GT-S also only came with a 5-speed, so you don't have to worry about hunting for non-automatic models.
  
• Don't buy anything from anyone under the age of 22. This is a general rule but applies doubly to this car.
  
• Light body damage is OK. Pull it into shape, sand it, and throw a mild (mild!) bodykit on it.
  

The Chevelle was Chrevrolet's bread-and-butter midsize 2-door and 4-door car from its introduction in 1964 until the name was phased out in the late 1970s. The Chevelle shared much of its underpinnings with the Buick GS and the Goat and suffered through at least three different (and all universally boring) body styles. In typical Chevrolet fashion, some Chevelles (specifically, the Chevelle SS model) were stuffed with ludicrously large engines. The Chevelle SS was one of the purest muscle cars ever made, in that it was an otherwise awful American midsize but was fitted with enough horsepower to make God crap his pants. Chevelle SS' were designed primarily to fly as quickly as possible down a quarter-mile stretch of road, with the secondary goal of making non-SS Chevelles fly as quickly as possible off of showroom floors.

The SS is different enough from the rest of the Chevelles that they warrant the following breakdown:

Collectability (all except the SS model): Terrible. It's a terrible car.
Collectability (SS model): Quite good. Well above average in the muscle car arena. I'll limit my discussion to the SS models from here on out.

(+) When people say "muscle car," this really is what they mean. The Chevelle SS really does embody everything that a muscle car stands for: it's fast, it's loud, it turns like a moose, and it's embarrasingly American. People seem to love the in-your-face defiance with which the Chevelle was designed—it's something that anyone from Europe or Japan would think is brash and unnecessary, and that makes Americans love it even more.

(+) It really does go like stink. At its peak, the Chevelle was rated for around 450hp, although do remember that horsepower measurements were generally marketing ploys before around 1973 or 1974. Nevertheless, if you strap a Chevelle to your back at your local drag strip, it's pretty likely that you'll be the one getting a kiss from the Budweiser girl as hundreds of inebriated dragracing fans make asses of themselves in the stands.

(+) They're easy to fix. The Chevelle is not an Italian supercar, obscure 1960s German sports car, or Czechslovakian peoplemover. Parts are everywhere, and they're cheap and well-made. Plus, your mechanic won't give you the look that says, "you want me to work on what?"...like the time you brought your Saab in.

(+) They're heavy and American. When it comes to sports cars, this tends to be the kiss of death—but the Chevelle isn't a sports car, it's a muscle car. Being heavy and American is a positive thing in that they're really quite durable and will probably stand up well to repeated trips to the drag strip.

(-) It's a crap car. This is a really difficult one to get around. It's clumsy and I strongly suspect that it can't go around corners without scraping its door handles on the ground. I'm not sure who penned the car, but it looks to me like an overstuffed Camaro.

(-) It's not a Hemi. The point here is that when your girlfriend asks what you drive, you can't say that it's a "Hemi [Charger, Challenger, etc.]" or a "Porsche" or a "Mustang." Any of those answers would immediately be met with immediate understanding. You would have to tell her that it's a Chevelle, and then you would have to explain that it isn't the same as the Chevette that her grandmother used to drive. Very uncool.

(-) It's not worth it unless it's an SS. This seals its fate as an affordable collectible because you can't get close to the real performance of the halo model without shelling out halo-model bucks. Certainly, you can cheaply swap a 454 into a lower Chevelle donor chassis, but why the hell would you ever want to do something like that? If you're really set on 1970s American cars, you can do the same thing to a Camaro or a Charger or a Mustang or even a Continental, and if you've got any brains at all, you would take all that money and throw and even hotter engine into something that isn't such a crapbucket.

No matter what engine they put in the car, I'll always see the Chevelle as a typical and uninspiring American midsize that's had big balls lovingly hung from the rear bumper. It's a complete brute of a vehicle, completely devoid of taste, subtlety, and finesse—and for that reason, the line of people waiting to throw big wads of money at one is very, very long.

They're all probably Texans.

Expect to pay: between $20,000 and $50,000 for an SS in good shape (depending on the year), or less than $5,000 for anything that isn't.

What to look for:

• Matching numbers. I can't stress this more. If you're going to plunk down more than $15k on a Chevelle, the engine and transmission need to be exactly the units that came with the car originally, or swapped in shortly (less than a year) after initial purchase.
  
• The Chevelle SS really is the only model worth buying. Everything else will appreciate like crap.
  
• Avoid anything made after 1971. Emissions regulations strangled the engine output very quickly in the early 1970s. Ideally, you'd want a 1970 Chevelle SS, but if you've got the cash to buy one with matching numbers and without serious flaws, then you probably aren't reading this article.
  
• Automatics are nothing to be afraid of and likely constitute the majority of cars out there.
  

Now, the 959 wasn't actually built by Lamborghini engineers—you can tell because the engine is still a flat-six, and the block is still air-cooled (although the heads did get the water cooling treatment). And similarly, it's still got that idiotic rear-engine design that's worked so well for Porsche all these years. But you probably wouldn't be able to tell by the production numbers: whereas Porsche has sold bucketloads of cars like the 911 and the 944 (probably hundreds of thousands of the former), it built fewer than 300 959s. As you'll see by the performance numbers later, this really is a supercar.

So, what's the story behind this squashed-looking Porsche?

Well, the story begins in the early 1980s, when Porsche engineers finally realized that they were still selling a twenty-year-old 911 design. So in order to get things like 4-wheel-drive and a freer-flowing engine into the production model, the Porsche design team opted to fast-track the car into racing, where it would get enough use that the comparatively radical new design ideas would be fit for production in a few years. Porsche has always had a policy of racing only when it's necessary to make a better car for consumers (unlike, say, Ferrari, who sells cars only to support its racing habit).

What resulted was a sortof racing test-bed for all of the ideas Porsche engineers wanted to cram into their products in a few years. That meant things like four-wheel-drive, which had never before been fitted to a factory 911. Also came one of the world's first six-speed transmissions, and a hybridized air/water cooling system, necessary to keep the cylinder heads from melting. This car also featured four cams and sequential turbos, which netted the vehicle a respectable 450hp in roadgoing trim.

Porsche started toying with the car in Group B rally racing, but eventually tossed it at Paris-Dakar Rally when the opportunity arose. Group B rallying was canceled very shortly after the 959's introduction, although this didn't affect the 959 nearly as much as some other cars because of Porsche's product-oriented attitude toward racing. The 959 was never rallied under Group B, but Porsche built the car to match its requirements.

One of those requirements was homologation, in which Porsche had to make at least 200 959s in order to compete—and it broke slightly through that number from 1986 through 1988. These road-going cars were sold originally for around $200,000, although you couldn't buy them in the US due to crash and emissions restrictions. But that's OK from Porsche's perspective, since people who couldn't buy the 959 would be able to see the direct benefits from its development in the next-generation 911.

What resulted is a handful of cars with immense amounts of groundbreaking techology, all based on a proven Porsche chassis, and inside a beefed-up Porsche body.

Collectability: Excellent. It's a 911 supercar.

(+) Massive power, massive traction. Excluding the Ferrari F40, the 959 was the most capable car for sale in the late 1980s. This is doubly important for Porschephiles, since the grand company from Stuttgart has really only made one other ridiculously extravagant car, the Carrera GT.

(+) Big names and poster appeal. Jerry Seinfeld's got one. Bill Gates and Paul Allen both have one. Nick Faldo had a particularly bendy one. And, an awful lot of ten-year-olds had one pasted to the walls of their rooms.

(+) Racing roots. The 959 saw action in Paris-Dakar, resulting in some spectacular shots of these superexpensive cars riding on massive tires and lifted suspensions.

Fantastic!

(-) It's a squashed salamander-looking 911. The 959 looks something like the unholy offspring of a 911 and a first-generation Ford Taurus. It's got silly geometric curves brought on by the uprising against the angular box themes of the early 1980s, and someone has gone and cut entirely too many holes into all the bumpers and fenders. What's worst is that the 959 has completely ruined rear quarter panels, which are the 911s best design feature.

(-) It's still a Porsche. People who drive Corvettes don't say they drive Chevrolets, and people who drive Vipers don't say they drive Dodges. But people who drive 959s will have to say they drive a Porsche, because it's impossible to know what it is if they don't. Even with a better name, the 959 would still be just a 911 derivative—be it a very quick and very capable one.

(-) It's only got one side mirror. I understand there are aerodynamic reasons to shed the unnecessary passenger mirror—but come on. The only other 1986 I've driven that didn't have a passenger mirror was a Honda Civic.

Expect to pay: between $200,000 and a cool million.

These cars change hands so rarely that it's difficult to get a good bead on their prices. One was recently sold for $300,000 or so, and it's not uncommon for racing models to fetch much more.

What to look for:

• Solid and original mechanicals. Accept no modifications or hacks made by importers to get these things into the US.
  
• Tracks left behind by roaming celebrities. When in their natural habitat, it's not uncommon for celebrities for leave behind paperwork, small trinkets, or droppings.
  
• An appraiser and mechanic. A 959 costs more than most houses—make sure it's legit before you buy.
  

A bit about the car: the Lada Niva is a small 3-door, four-wheel-drive vehicle manufactured by AvtoVAZ, a Russia automaker. AvtoVAZ built this car from 1977 through the 1990s (sources aren't clear when production ended), but the Niva name was recycled fairly recently on a completely unremarkable small SUV.

The original Niva (and the only one this article addresses) is a really interesting little car. Early models feature a 72hp 1.6L inline-four mounted longitudinally, although some later cars featured a fuel-injected 1.7L engine. These engines drive a four- or five-speed gearbox, which mates to a two-speed transfer case, which then drive the front and rear wheels hung by an independent suspension and multi-link to a live axle, respectively. The interior is spartan and looks cramped, and I'm sure the build quality is typical of 1970s Russia.

AvtoVAZ sold the car in Canada for a few years, but it doesn't appear that the car was very popular there. Odds are good that the vast majority of Nivas are available in Europe, where the car was sold in significant numbers over its comparably long lifetime.

Collectability: Poor...but what a great toy!

(+) It's a big-wheeled 4wd hatchback. This is really exceedingly cool. The only car that really comes close to this is the AMC Eagle, and it's completely uninteresting. The Niva looks buff in ways that traditional hatchbacks don't—and doesn't follow the quasi-Jeep route of the Suzuki Samurai (and countless others). I really, really like the way this little car looks.

(+) It's Russian. There won't be anything else like it on the road. Even though parts will be impossible to find here in the US, it's well worth the price of admission to have something this unique. My recommendation? Pay a machinist a few hundred bucks to make a custom adapter plate, and replace the engine with something common (e.g., 2.3L Ford four).

(-) It's got independent front suspension. This unfortunately makes the little Niva incapable of really hardcore offroading—but it's certainly more than good enough for cruising along back roads. It also makes lifting the body significantly more complicated—but again, this isn't really all that necessary for light trail use.

(-) Good luck finding one. Impossibly rare here in the US, odds of finding a Niva in even slightly-useful condition are fairly slim. And unlike more interesting vehicles never sold in teh US (e.g., the big Tatra pickups or JDM tuner cars) there's really no interest in moving lots of cars into the country.

(-) You'll have to do it all yourself. This would be a great little car for a mechanic or someone who doesn't mind getting themselves dirty fairly often. Even older unusual marques like Alfa Romeo or Triumph or Citroën all have a small following of mechanics and parts suppliers here in the US. With a Lada, you'll be on your own—and don't expect to find any maintenance manuals in English, either.

Expect to pay: $500 for a beater Niva up to $2,000 for one in really solid shape.

What to look for:

• Spare parts. If the owner has rebuildable engines, transmissions, or transfer cases, it's well worth the effort.
  
• Rust will, as usual, eat these cars alive. Industrial Russian metallurgy wasn't fantastic in the 1970s, and these cars commonly have lots of rust damage.
  
• Really, inspect the entire car. If given the option, I'd spend at least an hour checking all the fittings, ensuring the fluids are free of other fluids and metal shavings, and really driving the car heavily. When finding a new transmission could be a multi-month process, it pays to make sure things are in good shape up front.
  

Photos courtesy of Rob Williams and from Wikimedia commons

But when I piloted BMW's X3 so-called Sport Activity Vehicle through eastern Seattle, the only thing that went through my mind was the question, "why would anyone buy this instead of a RAV4?"

And even after two months thinking about it, I still don't have an answer.

BMW has long claimed that their cars are geared (hee hee) for the "driver" type. They're well-engined, well-bodied, and well-hung suspensioned. Even cars out of character for BMW, like the X5, are astoundingly good vehicles compared with the competition.

But the X3 really isn't. The suspension tuning, steering feel, and chassis poise were surprisingly similar to that of the 2006 Toyota RAV4 that I drive nearly daily. I'm not really sure why this is, since the two vehicles really do have very different drivetrain layouts—but my spirited driving (and certainly most sane everyday driving) wasn't enough to elicit a serious difference in the way the two cars drove. This isn't supposed to be a testament to the RAV4 or an aspersion toward the X3, but it does show how narrow the compact crossover SUV category has become.

The X3's engine is typically BMW smooth, but doesn't have any of the fantastic noise that the 3 series cars have had (but have been slowly losing) since the early 1990s. Making 260hp, the powerplant certainly has plenty of pull—but it isn't incomparably powerful, and actually isn't even best-in-class as the aforementioned RAV4 is now available with a 269hp 3.5L V6. But to be honest, the 100hp the X3 offers over most 4-cylinder equipped small SUVs (Honda CR-V, Mazda CX-7, Acura RDX) doesn't really make much of a difference. The way these cars are typically driven, 170hp is generally more than adequate.

The remainder of the car is largely as expected from BMW. The interior is well-appointed with obvious controls (clearly, no i-Drive) and large, clear gauges. Trunk space is fairly limited, but not unexpected given the short doors and overhangs. The X3's looks are quirky and polarizing, and certainly aren't as elegant as the outgoing X5. In fact, the only really interesting point about the rest of this car is the panoramic sunroof, which features multiple sliding glass panels, allowing the entire front seats to be fully exposed from above.

So what's the deal? Unlike the Audi A3, which has enough classiness and kitsch appeal to justify its $35k price tag, the X3 doesn't offer a whole lot to set itself apart. And only the base stripped X3 models can be had with a base sticker under $40k. The only real people I can see actually buying the X3 are people who really want an X5 but either can't afford one, or who can't live with its size. For everyone else, there are numerous alternatives which will surely fulfill any commuting, kid-carting, IKEA-hauling, or trailer-toting duties this car will undoubtedly see. Buy a Mazda 3, a RAV4, or—if you absolutely must have the luxury marque—an A3. They'll all do just as good a job as the X3, and most as a fairly hefty discount.

But at the same time, new cars are occasionally produced with lineages that undoubtedly tie them to specific models of yesteryear. Take the latest Ford Mustang, for example, which tries very hard to look like a 40-year-old grainy snapshot taken of its grandpappy. And the same goes with the new Volkswagen Beetle, which serves up a heaping pile of nostalgia for everything we loved (and little of what we didn't) of the 1960s and 1970s.

And occasionally, there's a connection which crosses family lines—the redhead kid of the Italian parents...whose mailman happens to sport a fluffy orange mane. The connection I'm talking about today is that between the new BMW 3 Series (recognized by its internal E90 designation) and the faithful old Pontiac Grand-Am of a few years back.

This all occured to me as I was flipping through the press photos for BMW's newest folding hardtop—in particular, this head shot of the 3 series clad in rent-me brown shares so much in common with the older Grand Am that I, well, just had to write this article.

Pardon the quality of the Pontiac at right. It's difficult to find car photographs that aren't 3/4 shots across a fender.

But, just look at that. Pontiac and BMW have been grappling over those accursed kidney grilles for years, but neither has really let go yet. The headlights, too, share a widely spread and vaguely angry look. The similarity between the lower grilles is aboslutely uncanny, and the hood creases (although much less pronounced on the Pontiac) really only serve to reinforce the brotherly love here.

Now in the end, it wouldn't be unheard of for BMW to have poached a Pontiac designer sometime between the births of the Grand-Am and the latest 3, but odds are good that it hasn't happened. And similarly, the number of BMW designers (as controversial as they are) poking through old GM models for inspiration is also probably quite low. But there's still enough of a resemblance here to make me wonder who, exactly, is sleeping with who.

The most obvious example of this is the i-Drive system I complained about yesterday, although it's worse in the 7 than it is in the 5. This was back when the root i-Drive menu had something like six different directions to go—that's really complicated for me, and I've got degrees in that sort of thing.

But it doesn't stop there. The auxiliary guage displays, which occupy the spaces normally reserved for the odometer readouts, are controlled by a baffling buttons on an unexpected stalk on the left side of the steering column. Similarly, the gear selector and parking brake have been relegated to counterintuitive arms and buttons (respectively) that BMW has assuredly claimed are the way of the future—but which require damned complex motions to work through. And remember, this car was the first styled by controversial design brainiac Chris Bangle, so once again, BMW treats the well-heeled like their own little test mules.

Now in contrast, the engine is quite powerful (another 360hp 4.8L V8) and the transmission is actually impressive for an automatic, but the steering has a dead spot the size of Ohio right at the center. And even though the ride is exceptional, the choice of interior materials was really underwhelming.

This is a car designed by a list of required goals and specifications (quiet, powerful, gentle ride) but which lacked enough executive control to focus the final product. Sure, it meets all the basic requirements for a $75,000 luxury car, but it's overengineered in some spots that don't matter (say, i-Drive and the transmission) and underengineered in others that do (like the interior). BMW built this car specifically for this market, instead of building a deliberately designed car which happened to meet a market. There's a big difference, and it's what separates the mediocre 7 from the fantastic 5.

So, did I have a fun time driving the 750i? Sure. It's got butt massagers (!) and could keep up with the 325Ci and Z4 convertibles also participating in BMW's Ultimate Drive event. And in fact, it felt downright swanky to cruise through Seattle in a car that big. But please; for that much money, I want something coherent. Like an A8.

Photograph released into public domain by IFCAR

So what else is there not to like? Well, as I mentioned before, the styling is either very "yes" or very "no," and there's not much in between. The i-Drive too, while improved, isn't the sort of thing most non-nerds salivate over. The dashboard holds clever cupholders which don't work quite as well as you'd imagine, and well, ... i-Drive.

I'd still buy one, but I don't think it's for everyone. The cost of admission is really serious, but the folks in Munich give you a chassis worth every penny.

And even if some manufacturers figure out how to make one or two really genuinely fantastic cars, the rest of their lineup tends to blow. Even BMW, which I respect a fair amount, has a few real stinkers in their product spread right now.

But the current 5 series—and especially the 550i—is an amazing car. I got a chance to drive one of these through the streets of Seattle yesterday, and I'm already trying to figure out a way to scrape up enough cash to run off with a 550i or, hell, just steal the car outright.

The thing is that the engine isn't all of what makes this car—the chassis is fantastically planted (and more than capable of handling the 360hp making its way through the flywheel) and the transmission, despite being an automatic, actually works. The binders are more solid than an A6's and the steering is better than any car this size I've ever driven.

And even though this car is laden with the usual bucketload of gadgets and gizmos, it isn't overcluttered like the S-class or the 7-series. All the toys really do work as expected to make using the car so much more enjoyable. Oh, and i-Drive isn't nearly as obnoxious in the new 5 as it is in the 7. I'm as big of a nerd as the next guy...but wow. All I want to do is change the station.

The only downside of the 5 is its fairly controversial styling—but I have to admit that I'm actually getting to like it. It's certainly a, ahem, talking piece.

The interesting thing about the 550i is that among the field of cars present at the event—the Z4 3.0si, the 650i, and a fair variety of 3- and 5-series sedans and wagons—the 550i is the quickest. Hot.

Occasionally, however, they catch a break. Probably the most famous was the Aston Martin DB5 chosen to be James Bond's gadget-car in the films Goldfinger and Thunderball. This was the first time that Aston got any serious publicity outside racing circles or the home field of Britain, and the DB5 is accordingly one of the few old Astons anyone can actually remember.

The DB5 wasn't terribly notable when it was first sold—it was, in fact, a fairly simple evolution of the DB4 involving a slightly larger engine (up to 4.0L from 3.7L) and a five-speed transmission. The DB4 and DB5 are otherwise nearly indistinguishable. The later DB6 is visually similar to the DB4/5, but has an entirely different chassis underneath the body.

All three of these cars used variants of the Tadek Marek inline-6 engine producing between 240hp and 282hp, with special models making over 300hp. Aston's rich racing heritage contributed to the solid brake feel and composed chassis to make the DB4/5/6 fantastic driver's cars.

Collectibility: Excellent. It's fit for a real-life James Bond.

(+) It's got racing heritage. Aston's attachment to zoom-mobiles running in circles for hours on end actually pays off in this case. Some of the most sought-after cars are 1950s and 1960s Grand Prix and Le Mans racers, and the DB4/5/6 were developed directly from the lessons learned around the DBR1 and DBR2 Le Mans cars. Ferrari, Maserati, Jaguar, and Aston Martin held the honors of the racing elite during those times, and there's absolutely no doubt that any road-going car of those marques has checkered flags in its history.

(+) It's a bona-fide exotic. The DB4/5/6 is powerful, startingly good looking, competitive, and temperamental. While newer Aston Martins may have become a bit more pedestrian and bourgeois, the older models have all the right heart and soul.

(+) It's a handsome devil. Aston put all the right proportionality and detailed trim on the DB4/5/6 to make it look astounding. The accents along the hood and tail, and lack of accents on the big heavy sides make the car look solid, while the enormous front end and exquisitely sunken scoop gives it the sort of powerful stance that only ever gets handed to exotics. The only minus is the somewhat noisy chrome front bumper. Let's take a look.

(-) The cost of entry. British. Exotic. Old. Expensive. As you'll see below, there's a hefty chunk of change required to just get started, and just try to find someone to service a Tadek Marek engine for cheap.

(-) It's not a barnstormer. In fact, the DB5 was the slowest car the Stig ever drove during Top Gear's Power Laps. These old Astons look phenomenal and make fantastic noise, but don't expect them to move like something new.

Expect to pay: $90,000 for an average DB4, DB5, or DB6. The rarer versions go for $400k, and one DB4 GT Zagato went for over $2 million a while back.

What to look for:

• Original everything. Make no compromises.
  
• You shouldn't really be taking any advice from me on this one. Anyone paying ninety grand on a used car should have it inspected by both a mechanic and a historian.
  
• ...ejector seats and hidden machine guns.
  

Photograph by Brett Weinstein.

But the minute you make this anonymous boring Firebird a 1977 Firebird with the Trans-Am package, clad in black with a gold eagle on the hood—you've got something irretrievably cool. Something shapeless and boring has been instantly turned into a badassmobile with enough street cred to keep you from looking like an idiot when you invariably do donuts off the side of the road. And the best part is that the car doesn't even have to be in good shape—as long as you've got the gold-on-black package, you're driving an icon. It'll instantly make anyone as cool as Burt Reynolds was when he was actually cool—and the more of a goofy moustache you've got, the more of a badass you become.

I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more screaming chicken.

Now, the Firebird has a long and illustrious history of being completely ripped off from its corporate sibling, the Chevrolet Camaro. Admittedly, both cars were really developed together—but the mainstream Camaro has always sold better than its odd-looking and brutish Pontiac twin.

The 1977 model in question here (specifically, the gold-on-black Bandit model inspired by the film Smokey and the Bandit) was largely designed for the 1970 model year and refreshed in 1977 and 1979. Over the course of the 1970s (through to its replacment in 1981) Pontiac offered a slough of 400+ in³ engines, including the SD-455 in 1973 and 1974, and the intermediate block 400 and the small-block Olds 403 available in 1977. Most of these engines were choked by increasingly strict emission laws and sales of the big iron dropped significantly during the fuel crises of the 1970s, so there aren't many around making huge power. A 301 in³ turbocharged engine was available in the last two years of production ... but that just seems wrong.

The rest of the car is typical of 1970s GM: vague exterior design, boring interior, live axle, and a whole bunch of automatic transmissions. Let's get to the ups and downs.

Collectability: Good. There will always be a market for screaming chickens.

(+) It's an icon. There were just two stars in Smokey and the Bandit: Bandit, and the Firebird. In proper livery, the Firebird Trans-Am is instantly recognizable as a movie icon—nearly as much so as a De Lorean DMC-12, which is damned impressive. Nobody except Europeans won't know what this car is all about...and who cares about the Europeans?

(+) It's a big American sports car. It doesn't turn, but with the right parts under the hood, it'll go really quickly in a straight line. And since the front end is built for monstrous 1970s GM engines, there won't ever be any question if the car can actually take that, say, 455.

(+) It's impossible for a Firebird look run-down. Cracked windows, noisy accessory pulleys, rusting body panels, maladjusted carburetor—it's all good. While a Merkur or an M5 look downright cheap with a primered panel or a missing bumper, a black Firebird is cool regardless of how bad it looks and runs.

(-) It's American. And it all falls down from here. The Firebird is racked with poor build quality, vague steering, uncertain suspension, and an endlessly horrific interior. Oh, and it's ugly. At least it's easy to find parts.

Expect to pay: $15,000 for a Firebird Trans-Am in really good shape, or $3,000 for a running beater base-model and $100 in black spray paint and a gold eagle decal.

What to look for:

• Trans-Am, not a Trans-Am, whatever. Buy one that runs well and slap a screaming chicken on it.
  
• Both the L78 (base) and W72 (Trans-Am) engine options are worth the money. The 403 is on par, but the 350 can't be beat for shear ubiquity of parts and upgrades.
  
• Don't be too concerned about originality. Unless you've got an original, low-mile 1977 Bandit car, new engines and other upgrades aren't going to affect its saleability.
  
• Despite the ad above, avoid the Turbo. Let this car have the big free-breathing engine it was designed for.
  
• Buy a CB. It's mandatory.
  

The Merkur XR4Ti is another eccentric little European car, and it didn't sell very well at all because at it's heart, it's a Ford Sierra. If you're a USian, you probably don't recognize the name—but don't rack your brain too hard trying to imagine what manner of exotic car it could possibly be. It's a big Ford Escort.

Ford (err, Merkur) didn't sell many XR4Tis because most Americans weren't willing to pay a premium for a big Escort with a goofy front fascia and two spoilers—which is funny, because the British were more than happy to pay for the Escort RS, which has a goofy front fascia and a ridiculous spoiler. It also made over 200hp and had four-wheel drive, so I guess it's forgivable.

But the Sierra (err, XR4Ti) isn't forgivable. It's a run-of-the-mill hatchback with foreign-sounding badges slapped all over it. Thankfully, Ford stuck a 175hp 2.3L turbocharged four-cylinder in the front end, which was fairly competitive when the XR4Ti was first introduced in 1985—but it's not enough to change the personality of the car. This is still a Ford Sierra. It took five years and just over 40,000 sales (a comparatively limited number) for Ford to finally axe the model in 1989.

Collectability: Poor. There's no market for rebadged Fords from the 1980s.

In fact, there's so little market that even though the XR4Ti was fairly rare, this is among the lowest-priced cars I've ever featured in a Collectibles article.

(+) The 2.3L turbo four was really popular. Turbocharged engines are generally rare and expensive to refit when they invariably break from abuse. The 2.3L Ford turbo engine from the mid-1980s is probably one of the top three most popular turbocharged engines sold, along with the Mitsubishi 4G63 in the Talon/Eclipse/Laser and Subaru's WRX mill. Ford sold the 2.3 in the Mustang, the Thunderbird, and a handful of other small cars during the 1980s ensuring a cheap supply of parts and a lively aftermarket community.

(-) That double wing. Who remembers the day-glo double- and triple-edged wiper blades that we so popular back in 1991? The wing on the back of the XR4Ti is a big plastic mass that's split into two connected spoilers. And it's even goofier than those wiper blades.

(-) Built Ford tough. Which is to say, it isn't. Ford build quality was monumentally poor during the 1980s, especially in interiors and engine accessories (think: power steering pumps).

(-) What, exactly, is a Merkur? Ford only sold the XR4Ti and the Scorpio under the Merkur brand and after just a few short years, the name was scuttled. There's probably more prestige in Chrysler's failed Eagle brand.

(-) There are no reasons to buy an XR4Ti. Unless you're a huge Merkur nut (and really, there aren't any) there are no compelling reasons to choose an XR4Ti over any other car out there. For your money you can have something interesting like a beat-up Fiat or maybe a CRX. Heck, 1970s luxobarges have more appeal than the Merkur.

Expect to pay: $1,000 for a solid XR4Ti.

What to look for:

• Damaged or sagging rear spoilers. Figure for at least a few hundred bucks to find and ship a replacement—presuming you'd want to fix it in the first place.
  
• You know what? Just forget it. There's absolutely nothing compelling about this car—even a huge car nerd can't get interested in it.