Hemmings Auto Feed

October 22, 2022, was on everyone’s lips in Wildwood earlier in the month. As The Race of Gentlemen wasn’t unfolding, folks with hopped-up Model As and other sorts of traditional hot rods (that is, the kind that look like they did in the ‘50s and before) were looking for one more place to go fast before weather brought the driving season to a near-complete halt. For those who lived in or near New England, Campton, New Hampshire, was that place.

Held on private land and advertised almost exclusively by word of mouth, the Jalopy Hill Climb started in 2021 more or less on a whim, when Alan Johnston decided to try and get his ’39 Ford pickup to the top of his brother’s mountain/sand-and-gravel pit, which happens to include a steep dirt road and spectacular views of the White Mountains. The flathead-powered ’39 made it and spawned the idea of inviting other cool old (pre-’62) cars to attempt the feat themselves.

There are no clocks and it’s not side-by-side racing, but it’s enough of a challenge to make for a very satisfying accomplishment once you get to the top. Plus, once you’re there, you get to circulate among awesome cars and cool people, while watching other participants roll in. Folks who came without cars could get to the top via an Army-surplus 6×6 truck that periodically went up and down.

Everyone wants their hot rod to be low, but roads like these along with steep inclines gave an advantage to the earlier-style cars with better ground clearance and more cart-like suspension. It looked like a blast, and I’m determined to go back with something from the Hemmings fleet to attempt the mountain itself!

To build his 1939 Ford pickup, which was the first “jalopy” to climb the hill and the impetus for the whole event, Alan Johnston started with a 1935 Ford frame and a 1942 Ford cab. The truck did double-duty as the event sign, too.

When this 1931 Ford roadster was hot rodded in 1951, it received a 331-cu.in. Cadillac V-8 for power—quite the high-end touch in those days.

This Model T roadster is the handbuilt creation of talented panel-beater Steve Pugner, who took his first shaping class under Gene Winfield at the tender age of 17.

Rob Hanser’s 1930 Ford Model A/V-8 coupe was built with a self-imposed rule of no-post-1950 parts, for a true period experience.

Word was that this Ford Model A pickup truck had been converted to tractor duty by means of a commercial “Doodlebug” kit, back when it was just a used-up old Ford. The Jalopy Hill Climb was a good place to stretch its legs.

Okay, so the hill wasn’t that steep or slippery. Driving a 1950s-vintage Jeep CJ-3B up the hill almost seemed like cheating, what with the tall stance and 4×4 drivetrain.

Bill, Leah, and Axel Neergaard almost never stopped moving, as young Axel was a huge fan of racing Dad’s 1930 Ford Model A roadster up the hill. The A/V-8 was originally assembled over six days and has another two days invested in post-shakedown revisions.

Lisa English’s 1929 Ford roadster with its distinctive 1935 Ford pickup grille is another veteran of The Race of Gentlemen. It looks good from every angle and sounds equally great.

Shaina “Mrs. Pugs” Pugner is Steve’s wife, and he built the body for her Model A speedster himself as an engagement gift. She’s had it at TROG, on the roads, and now up the mountain—mechanical brakes and all.

It doesn’t take much to put together a proper period hot rod and start having fun. This fenderless ’30-’31 Ford roadster with a V-8 engine was on loan to the driver, and she never seemed to stop smiling while wheeling it up and down the hill.

Gabby Goodwin’s 1929 Ford roadster is deceptively simple. The dropped-and-chopped Model A still features four-cylinder power, but with some mild hop ups. She says the gow is a sweet and satisfying machine to drive.

The legend “MERCURY 255CI” on the hood lets the world know that this 1934 Ford cabriolet (long ago relieved of its door windows and folding top) has the vaunted four-inch-stroke crankshaft in its flathead V-8.

Alden and Isaac English are the sons of Lisa and Eric English. The whole English family is well-known throughout the northeast for Eli’s shop, Traditional Speed & Kustom. The teenaged boys built this pickup, the Home School Hot Rod, entirely by themselves with only guidance from Dad.

A V-8 was still a year in the future when this 1954 Plymouth convertible was built, but the six-cylinder flathead proved up to the task of motorvating a full load of passengers to the top of the mountain.

“Exuberant” is the only way to describe the way this ’32 Ford five-window coupe went up and down the hill. You could tell the driver was trying to wring every bit of speed out on each run.

This butter-yellow Model A coupe with later wheels and headlamps looked a lot like well-kept, inexpensive transportation, circa the late 1940s. It ate up the hill climb like it was a drive in the country—probably because a lot more roads looked like this back then.

Combining the cowl and windshield of a slant-window Fordor sedan with a set of coupe quarters permitted the creation of a rather convincing 1931 Ford Model A three-window coupe, a styling idea Ford toyed with but never produced.

Who says four-door sedans can’t be cool? This 1934 Ford, built in an early ‘60s style, looked every bit as impressive as its two-door equivalent might have and in some ways it was better. Imagine rolling up with in this filled with friends.

Although it looks like a survivor from the 1950s, this is actually a fiberglass-bodied car built on a budget and with a lot of ingenuity and an eye for period detail. Power comes from a 283-cu.in. Chevrolet small-block V-8 backed up by a Camaro T-5 transmission using a custom shifter echoing an old Hurst Indy unit.

Hill climbs were a bit old fashioned by the time the mid-‘60s rolled around, so this ’34 Ford coupe done in that era’s style seemed foreign on the dirt road, but nevertheless performed admirably.

Brian Lundgren is a high-school history teacher by day, and in his leisure time he’s built this Model A coupe in a way that makes it look straight out of the postwar ‘40s.

Even customs got into the act, like this taildragging ’50 Ford with fender skirts.

Technically the Jalopy Hill Climb is for 1962-and-earlier cars, but this ’66 Pontiac Tempest slipped in and nobody was complaining about it.

Leaving the splash aprons on yet removing the fenders and running boards was commonly done to Ford Model A’s like this in the era right around World War II. Properly removing the aprons involved lifting the body off the frame—not something everyone wanted to tackle back then.

Bob Berggren brought his Model T pickup gow job to last year’s Hill Climb, then went home and built this Model T speedster from a discarded 1926 coupe chassis, some century-old barn wood, and a lot of things he already had laying around.

Ghosted Mobilgas Flying Red Horse signs on the doors hint at this Model A roadster’s past as a service-station support vehicle.

Although it looks like a refugee from the ‘50s, this 1929 Ford roadster was actually constructed by owner Ron Wheeler from parts. The flathead V-8-powered car is another TROG veteran out looking for more of that type of fun.

The U.S. Army didn’t keep many of the 45-cu.in. Harley-Davidson WLA “Liberator” motorcycles constructed for World War II. The surplus bikes hit the civilian market, and many became bobbers like Alan Raymond’s.

An entire contingent of essentially stock Model A’s showed up at some point and reminded everyone that all that was required for them to get up the hill was second gear. They weren’t the fastest, but they didn’t struggle, either.

Denis Finnerty of Finn’s Garage has this Whippet-nosed 1930 Ford speedster for sale in the Hemmings Classifieds [https://www.hemmings.com/classifieds/dealer/ford/model-a/2606360.html]. It sports a 223-cu.in. Ford six-cylinder and a Mustang five-speed, plus a rarely seen parallel-leaf-spring chassis.

For those without a vintage car to pilot up the mountain, period ferry trips via Army-surplus 6×6 took folks to the top and back.

Date: circa 1980s

Location: Cincinnati, Ohio

Source: via Cincinnati State Archives

What do you see here?

The car had to stop right that instant. On the way back from an afternoon of pumpkin picking, I spied something unexpected, something that should not have made me as giddy as it did, something that required fuller examination than a quick glimpse out the window at 45 miles-per-hour would have offered. Most people wouldn’t have given a second thought to a Jeep FC-150 in multiple hues of paint and rust, sitting on four flats, seen in passing on the back row of a used car lot. Me, I had to act like I’d just seen Sasquatch handing out $100 bills and cake.

Getting up close to the FC-150, I found exactly what I’d expected to find: a truck that looked like it just got pulled from somebody’s woods where it spent the last 40 years after being worked to death as a plow truck for the prior 20. Likely it sat in the way of a logger harvesting in the nearby forests. It had the smell of old upholstery that had molded and mildewed then been forgotten even by the mold and mildew. If it rolled on its four wheels it would have been a miracle, and I’m certain not a single nut or bolt on it would have come loose without using every blue word and a torch. Probably the only salvageable things left on it were the Jeep Forward Control badges behind each door. I did not offer to buy it, largely because it was a Sunday afternoon and nobody was around for me to offer to buy it from.

Photo by Daniel Strohl

I walked back to the car not exactly disappointed, but wondering what it is about rusty heaps that puts such a spell over people like me and the guy who rescued it and the dozen of you readers who want to know exactly where I spotted it so you can try to buy it off the guy. I should know better—y’all begging me for that location should know better—after a lifetime of having rust flakes bigger than Corn Flakes fall in our eyes, of spending more time loosening bolts than there are daylight hours, and of all the various setbacks that come with trying to coax a little more life out of cars and trucks most other people would consider too far gone.

This isn’t just another lamentation about living in a part of the world where cars are prone to rust. Even the largely rust-free 1993 Silverado I recently bought fought me every step of the way when I removed the plow, thanks to a combination of 30 years of semi-neglect, the galaxy-brain engineers at Fisher who decided every bolt needed to be paired with an inaccessible nut, and the tire shop employee who didn’t bother reading the installation instructions and just winged it with whatever bent and raggedy old tetanus-infused scrap metal he had on hand.

Now plowless, the Silverado drives much nicerPhoto by Daniel Strohl

Yes, I’d be miles ahead if I just stopped bothering with anything showing a speck of rust and instead started out with projects from warmer and drier climates. Or I could just join the rest of the consumer legions and take out wallet-draining loans on new cars that I just trade in every three to six years on an even more costly new car. If I didn’t have to go 10 rounds with everything I own, I’d either have way more builds under my belt or way more free time on my weekends. I’d feel infinitely more accomplished. But that’s not in my—in our—nature.

Part of it likely has to do with economics; a Rockefeller I ain’t. Part of it has to do with growing up in a Rust Belt state where we knew nothing beyond beaters with heaters. But then there’s also the sense of accomplishment when I finally get that bolt unstuck or when I replace the boogered-up repairs with the right parts. After a long afternoon of struggle, I can yell at that rusty heap one more time to finally say that I won, I beat it, and that I can overcome even the most belligerent pile of junk using the logic, patience, and tools earned from a lifetime of wrasslin’ with other clunkers one step away from the scrapyard.

At least, I can until I have to slam on the brakes at the sight of the next rotbox.

That said, what attracts you to cars and trucks that no Californian would touch with a 10-foot pole? And, to provide inspiration to all the rest of us perpetually smelling of PB Blaster, share your recent victories over your rusty, crusty, and frustrating project cars.

From its inception more than 130 years ago, France’s automotive industry has stood apart from all others. Sometimes it set precedents that all others followed, like establishing the front-engine/transmission/rear-wheel-drive layout (“Le Système Panhard“) circa 1892. Other times, it stood alone with unique requirements that no other country with an automotive industry has adopted. France’s vehicular use of selective yellow forward lighting between 1937 and 1992 was a key example of the latter, and the reason for it might seem as murky as the darkness it was designed to penetrate.

In the first couple decades of global automotive production, forward-facing road illumination was largely the same around the world: kerosene-fueled oil lamps (more useful as signals to others than actually lighting the path of travel) were followed by those lit using acetylene gas, and both were ultimately replaced by electric-powered light bulbs. As headlamps grew more powerful, regulations were introduced that mandated how much light could be thrown and where in an attempt to limit glare for oncoming traffic.

What was wrong with regular lights?

The ongoing development of lighting output and beam patterns soon began to differ between American and European automakers, as David W. Moore discussed in his June 1998 thesis for The University of Michigan Transportation Research Institute, titled Headlamp History and Harmonization:

The early developments regarding vehicle headlamps were similar for the U.S. and Europe. Bulbs, lighting components, and beam patterns were essentially the same (Devaux, 1970; Meese, 1972; Maurer, 1980). However, in the 1920s two different approaches to automotive lighting began to appear. Much of this can be attributed to the more rapid increase in the vehicle population in the U.S. than in Europe. There were also differences in the use of the automobile. Americans more quickly adapted to mobility provided by the automobile, cities expanded, people began moving to the suburbs, and industry developed outside of the center of the downtown area. Americans drove their cars more on the open roads and did more night driving. Europeans retained more of the focus on the center city area and daytime driving. It is generally acknowledged that these factors contributed to the two different approaches (Nelson, 1954; deBoer, 1955; Meese, 1972; Olson, 1977). The two approaches can be summarized as follows:

(1) Primary emphasis: Develop as much light as possible to maximize seeing ahead of the vehicle. Secondary emphasis: Consider the other driver and try to do something to minimize glare. (U.S. philosophy)

(2) Primary emphasis: Do whatever is necessary to minimize glare in the other driver’s eyes. Secondary emphasis: Try to make sure there is available light to drive. (European philosophy)

When did France mandate yellow headlamps?

By the mid-1930s, automotive headlamp performance had stabilized and advanced to the point that French legislators were moved to create a law that favored oncoming traffic over the vehicle operator. According to some sources, this decree was made in early November 1936, and it made yellow headlamps mandatory on new cars beginning April 1937; all roadgoing vehicles would need to be retrofitted with the new lighting by January 1939.

Moore explained this further in his paper:

In 1937 France legislated that headlamps emit (selective) yellow light (Jehu, 1954; Nelson, 1954). The French gave the following reasons for requiring yellow light: improvements in visibility under conditions of glare, and, even more important, reductions in fatigue under glare conditions. The yellow headlamp color was obtained by several different methods: a glass bulb with a different chemical composition, coatings on the glass bulb, a yellow headlamp lens, or a yellow filter. Because the yellow glass for bulbs reduced the emitted light intensity by about 18% (Jehu, 1954), this may have contributed to the perception of reduced glare from yellow headlamps. Many tests were run in different countries which failed to show any significant advantage in favor of yellow headlamps (Schreuder, 1976). However, within France, the mandatory use of yellow headlamps continued until the early 1990s.

What is selective yellow light?

The Daniel Stern Lighting website provides a clear explanation of what selective yellow light is, and why France mandated it: “By removing (filtering) the blue, indigo, and violet out of white light, we get selective yellow light.”

Stern goes on to explain the reason for this adoption: “This legislation was based on advice from the French Central Commission for Automobiles and Traffic, which in turn was based on experiments done by the French Academy of Sciences, concluding that selective yellow light is less glaring than white.”

The method by which this light was achieved varied depending on the prevailing technology of the day: Colored bulbs behind clear glass lenses gave way to halogen bulbs wearing yellow sleeves. An alternative was using a clear halogen bulb behind a Cadmium yellow glass lens. Motoring tourists visiting France from other countries in this period would cover their white headlamps with yellow filters or even paint the lenses yellow, lest they raise the ire of French road users and authorities.

What about the wartime theory?

Various sources posit this regulation was engineered to make native French civilian cars readily identifiable at night out of military concerns. Keeping in mind that it went into effect well before the outbreak of World War II, and that during the conflict automotive lighting was typically restricted at night to make vehicles less visible (and less of potential targets) to enemy aircraft, this seems a bit of a stretch.

When and why did France change its lighting law?

France maintained its yellow lighting requirement until the beginning of 1993, when it changed to “white” lighting in agreement with other European national vehicle regulation standards. It seems that, like those glare-reducing night-driving glasses you see advertised on TV, the benefits of selective yellow headlamps no longer outweighed the drawbacks.

As Valeo Lighting spokesperson Francois Paillusseau explained in this 1990 Top Gear clip, “A recent survey told us more than 50 percent of the French people are ready to go to white.”

In a reversal of what happened in January 1939, cars already using yellow headlamps were permitted to retain them, although new one cars built from that point on had to feature white headlamps; new auxiliary fog lamps were legally allowed to remain yellow.

Outside of some 1950s microcars and a certain rounded two-door with an air-cooled engine that sold 21,529,464 examples over the course of 65 years, German automobiles have not typically been known for their affordability. Thankfully, the passage of time tends to temper that trait, and some vehicles that were once out of reach of many enthusiasts can now be purchased for a small fraction of their original prices. We’ve rounded up a selection of classics and modern-classics that we feel represent surprisingly good value in today’s hot market. You may find an example or two of these on the various marque pages in the pages of Hemmings Motor News, along with suppliers of parts and services to bring them up to snuff or keep them in fine roadworthy condition. If you’re ready to enjoy the understated style, quality, and precise road manners that vintage German engineering offers, read on, and then peruse the Hemmings’ classifieds.

1995-’99 BMW 318ti

What to Pay: $1,400-$3,800

BMW’s last attempt at marketing a true entry-level, sub-$20,000 model in the U.S. came with the 1990s E36-generation of 3-series and its funky 318ti. This compact two-door channeled the spirit of the rare and stylish 2002 Touring with its hatchback body style and 138- hp twin-cam four-cylinder engine. Status-conscious Americans didn’t warm to this offbeat BMW even though it promised athletic rear-wheel-drive handling acumen in a segment dominated by front-drivers like VW’s Golf GTI. Special ti variants included the big-sunroof California Edition and M-fettled Club Sport, and they are the cars that tended to attract enthusiast owners who maintained them. While price guides peg 318ti’s as sub-$5,000 cars, classic.com suggests they’re gaining value with an average of $9,076; out of 19 North American auction sales between 2017 and 2022, eight broke the $10,000 barrier. Even still, a 318ti is a bargain since its likes will never be built again.

1976-’82 Porsche 924

What to Pay: $8,550-$23,000

It’s been dismissed and disparaged for decades, but the basic 924 has always represented a finely balanced, surprisingly practical, fun-to-drive-a-slow-car-fast type of sports car. A Volkswagen project that was designed, engineered, and ultimately marketed by Porsche, the water-cooled, inline-four/transaxle-driveline 924 2+2 hatchback coupe would be developed into a no-excuses performance machine as the 931 Turbo, the 944-powered 924S, and the subsequent 944 and 968 models. The original 2.0-liter, 95 to 115-horsepower 924 is both an approachable entry point into the marque and a great tool that keen drivers can enjoy modifying and use to improve their car-control skills. You’ll find 924 cars, parts suppliers, and specialist firms in Hemmings’ pages. It likely won’t appreciate much, but compared to a 911, the 924 is cheap to maintain and improve, and as the least expensive Porsche on the market, it offers a lot of bang for the buck.

1985-’93 Volkswagen Cabriolet

What to Pay: $1,650-$4,025

The specialists at Karmann had decades of experience hand-building Volkswagen’s low-volume convertible versions of the Type 1 Sedan and its front-drive successor, the Golf/Rabbit. VW’s second-generation soft-top shared crisp Giugiaro styling with the solid-roof variants but added the iconic reinforcing roll hoop and snug, triple-layer folding roof. While it entered our market in 1980 as the Rabbit Convertible, this model got a notable upgrade in 1985 when it was renamed Cabriolet and fitted with the Mark 1 GTI’s sprightly 90-hp 1.8-liter engine. VW’s 1988 facelift gave it modern monochromatic styling; multiple special editions drove showroom traffic. It’s believed more than 90,000 Cabriolets were sold here, and surviving examples are reasonably priced, although the best can command upwards of $10,000. Fans love fitting Cabriolets with performance upgrades to enhance their delightful dynamics while retaining their classic 1980s style.

2005- ’11 Mercedes-Benz SLK 55 AMG

What to Pay: $20,000-$25,000

Kicking yourself for not buying the 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupé that RM Sotheby’s sold for $135 million Euro ($134 million U.S. dollars) back in May at the Mercedes-Benz Museum in Stuttgart? Same here. Luckily, there are other fast, sporty Mercedes-Benzes available out there for a little less than the cost of a private island and a lightly used Gulfstream to fly you there. Take the under-the radar SLK 55 AMG, for instance. This unassuming, compact roadster boasted a lot of outsized features: a retracting “vario-roof” hardtop, a 355-hp 5.4-liter V-8 paired with a seven-speed AMG Speedshift automatic transmission, 18-inch AMG wheels, AMG sport suspension, disc brakes with six-piston calipers, AMG-tuned exhaust with four outlets, and more. It also boasted outsized performance: 4.3 seconds to 60 mph and a 12.7-second quarter mile when Car and Driver tested one back in 2005. The SLK 55 AMG was also the first Mercedes-Benz to receive the Black Series treatment, which raised horsepower to 400, lowered the car’s weight by 99 pounds, and shaved about a half-second off its 0 to 60 mph time. Only 100 were built, but the car wasn’t officially available in the U.S. SLK 55 AMGs stickered north of $60,000 when new, but today they can be found for $30,000 and less—much less for higher mileage cars.

​1973-’79 Audi Fox

What to Pay: $875-$4,500

Today’s “B9”-chassis Audi A4 can directly trace its lineage back to the early-1970s B1 Audi 80, sold here as the Fox in handsome Giorgetto Giugiaro-styled two- and four-door notchback sedan, plus wagon forms. A popular car in its day—more than 100,000 were imported!—the efficiently packaged front-drive Fox was hugely important for its parent company, spawning VW’s equivalent Dasher/Passat and sharing engineering and small-displacement SOHC four-cylinder engines with the A1 Golf/Rabbit and Scirocco. If you can find a 1978-’79 Fox GTI, you’ll have the sport sedan that introduced us to those three famous letters. Sadly, like the 100LS, few Foxes remain roadworthy today, and those holdouts trade hands for a pittance considering their historical significance. According to classic.com, just three Foxes have sold at auction since 2016: the outlier, an enthusiast-modified ’76 wagon used in a 2019 Audi commercial, brought nearly $14,000 in 2020.

1982-’86 Bitter SC

What to Pay: $15,000-$32,000

The art of coachbuilding limited-series-production cars with seven-figure price tags is the purview of ultra-luxury automakers today, but 40 years ago, there was a stylish, Opel Senator-based luxury-sports coupe that was within reach of well-heeled, but not necessarily filthy-rich, buyers. Today that car—the SC by Bitter—is genuinely affordable in comparison to the average new vehicle, and it offers real exclusivity. With 461 examples built over five model years and a fraction of those remaining roadworthy in America, you won’t fi nd a Bitter at every cars-and-coffee gathering. The SC has the benefit of using a largely standard Opel straight-six engine linked to a General Motors automatic or Getrag manual transmission, as well as an active international club, and some U.S.-based specialists. If you’re considering a Mercedes-Benz SEC or BMW 635 but prefer to spend less and stand out, consider taking the alternate route with a sweet Bitter.

​1970-’73 BMW R75/5

What to Pay: $6,000-$18,000

In 1969, Honda unveiled the four-cylinder CB750—a revolutionary machine that created the superbike segment. You know the names: Triumph Trident, BSA Rocket 3, Norton Commando, Kawasaki H2 Mach IV, etc. But the BMW R75/5… a 750 super bike? Well, in the words of Cycle World’s editors, circa-1970: “Kind of.” No one ever nicknamed a BMW “the widow maker,” but the R75/5 was more exciting than BMWs of yore. The iconic opposed twin engine remained, but it was lighter and more powerful with new alloy barrels, redesigned heads, and more. Telescoping forks replaced the Earle’s leading link front end and the frame was lighter, yet very rigid. The overbuilt BMW stuff was there too: an automotive-type dry clutch, a 200-watt alternator, an automotive-type starter motor, and shaft drive. Today, original superbikes are hot collectibles and prices often reflect it. With a little searching, well-maintained and reasonably priced R75/5 airheads (as well as their 500 cc /50 and 600 cc /60 stablemates) can be found. Additionally, they’re bikes you could still ride daily, thanks to their bulletproof design, ease of maintenance, and abundant parts supply. You can even rely on BMW dealer support.

1965-’67 Mercedes-Benz 200/230

What to Pay: $3,650-$12,000

Proving that even the vaunted engineers at Mercedes-Benz were subject to the whims of fashion is the existence of the heckflosse, or “fintail” cars of the late 1950s through mid-1960s. While the pointy backsides of these midsize sedans soon dated their styling, the engineering under that skin was state-of-the-art, with heavy focuses on occupant comfort, safety, and build quality. The 200 models, using gas or diesel four-cylinder engines, and the six-cylinder 230, offered an athletic European driving experience compared to the isolating, floaty ride of contemporary Cadillacs and Lincolns. Nearly one million fintail Benzes would be built over nine years, and they’ve long represented an inexpensive way to enjoy classic-Mercedes ownership. That the pages of HMN contain numerous well-regarded parts and restoration specialists— including the factory-sponsored Mercedes-Benz Classic Center!— to keep them on the road makes them virtually timeless.

Aerial combat advanced at an astonishing rate during World War I, and though it seems unimaginable today, there were no American-designed aircraft deemed suitable for battle in the skies over Europe. There was a U.S.-designed engine in the fight however: the Liberty V-12 or L-12.

The L-12 engine was America’s greatest technological contribution to the aerial war effort. Its initial assignment was powering the “Liberty Plane”—a version of the British-designed De Haviland/Airco DH-4 bomber produced in the U.S. by Dayton-Wright in Dayton, Ohio; Fisher Body Corporation in Detroit, Michigan; and Standard Aircraft in New Jersey. In addition to powering the DH-4 and a variety of other airplanes, over its long service life the L-12 powered tanks, high-speed watercraft, and land-speed racers.

An L-12 at home in the front of De Havilland DH-4 at the National Air and Space Museum. The engine weighed about 844 pounds and produced approximately 400 horsepower at a maximum rpm of about 1,800.Photo courtesy Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum

The L-12 came about because Packard’s head of engineering, Jesse G. Vincent, recognized the need for a standardized line of aircraft engines that could be mass produced during wartime. The government assigned Vincent the task of creating this engine and teamed him up with Elbert J. Hall of the Hall-Scott Motor Company. The two met in Washington, D.C., on May 29 and, with the help of volunteer draftsmen, created detailed drawings and a full report by May 31. This original design was a V-8, but in their report Vincent and Hall outlined how the engine could be configured as a four-, six-, eight-, or 12-cylinder engine.

By July 3, a
V-8 prototype assembled by Packard was running, and a V-12 soon followed. Due to its superior horsepower potential, the 1,650-cu.in. V-12 was given the nod for mass production.

An I.D. tag shows the L-12’s firing order and reveals that this example at the Glenn H. Curtiss Museum was built by Lincoln on September 25, 1918.

Not only did the Liberty engine mark a great achievement for American aviation, it was responsible for creating a landmark car company: Lincoln. Henry Leland, who founded Cadillac, and his son Wilfred started Lincoln with a $10 million government contract awarded to build Liberty engines. The Lelands left Cadillac to form Lincoln because General Motors President William C. “Billy” Durant was a pacifist and initially rejected the government’s call for GM to build L-12s. (Durant later recanted and Liberty engines were manufactured by GM.) Production numbers seem to vary for output before and after the war but in total Ford, Lincoln, Packard, Marmon, and Buick produced 20,748 L-12 engines.

The L-12 was a liquid-cooled single-overhead-camshaft V-12, rated to make 400-plus horsepower. The deep box-section crankcase was two piece—upper and lower—and cast out of aluminum. The cases were joined by bolts around the case as well as by bolts on each side of the main bearings. The cylinders were individual with welded-on cooling jackets and the cylinders extended down into the crankcase for increased rigidity. The stroke was 7 inches while the bore was 5 inches and aluminum pistons on floating pins helped pump up 5.4:1 compression. The cylinders breathed through 2.5-inch valves (one intake, one exhaust) with exposed rockers and valve springs, while carburetion was handled by a pair of Zenith model US52s.

This De Havilland DH-4 at the National Air and Space Museum is a prototype — the first American-built version of the British designed bomber manufactured by the Dayton-Wright Airplane Company. It was used for testing and never saw combat.Photo courtesy Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum

The Liberty is a fascinating engine built with many advanced features. If you’re interested in some in-depth reading, a full report about the L-12 presented in 1919 to the Society of Automotive Engineers by Jesse G. Vincent, is available as a free download at jstor.org.

As Baby Boomers exit the collector car market, and at a time when performance EVs are reshaping the landscape, but 600-plus-horsepower late-model pony cars are still commonplace, will the hottest 1960s and ’70s American muscle cars dip from all-time high values? Or at least level off?

Coming in ninth of the top 10 most expensive cars sold at Mecum’s Monterey sale was this 1971 Plymouth ’Cuda convertible, which fetched $1.1 million (including fees). It managed to edge out a Monterey, California-appropriate 1973 Porsche 911 2.7 Carrera RS (one of the 1,308 Touring-spec cars, not a one-of-200 Lightweight)— once owned by the late actor Paul Walker, which sold for $1.072 million.

This would probably come as no surprise to muscle-era Mopar cognoscenti. A ’71 ’Cuda convertible with a 440 Six Pack, like this one, is like the Venus de Milo of B-bodies, second only to a ’71 Hemi ’Cuda convertible. (Speaking of top muscle car prices: One of those Hemi cars crossed the block at Mecum’s Indy sale in 2021 and the seller turned down a high bid of $4.8 million.) Plus, this particular example has a known history in Mopar circles as it was once part of Steven Juliano’s collection. Juliano died in 2018 after battling cancer and left behind an amazing 30-year stash of rare and unusual Mopars, Shelby Cobras, petroliana, and more. His treasure trove was auctioned at Mecum’s Indy sale in 2019 where this same ’Cuda convertible sold for $1.15 million. The car crossed the block again at Kissimmee in 2021 and sold for $962,500—a loss of $187,500. Earlier this year, it crossed the block yet again at Kissimmee where it bid up to $900,000, bringing us to the most recent sale, in Monterey, for $1.1 million. If you’re playing along at home, that’s $137,000 more than when it sold in 2021, but $55,000 less than what this car sold for in 2019.

To your average magazine editor, that kind of money would buy a few cars, a big 4K flat screen to put on the back wall of the garage, a nice stainless kegerator, and who knows what else. But on a percentage basis, those aren’t enormous swings—particularly for people with a lot of disposable income. Prices of everything have gone up sharply post pandemic and collector cars have been no exception. You’d assume, then, that this ’Cuda would’ve bid up even higher in 2022 than the $1.15 million it sold for in 2019. Perhaps it’s reached a plateau? Somehow we doubt it. Price guides show that these cars fell off a cliff after the 2008 financial crisis, but they have rebounded with interest since. (The sale of this car in 2019 contributed to that average.) This could probably be said about values of almost every popular, desirable American muscle car—a scary fall from their prior-to-2008 highs and a sharp rebound less than 10 years later.

This sale was interesting to us because there’s been a lot of talk about interest in 1960s and ’70s muscle cars waning, in light of record high prices paid for trucks and SUVs, Japanese imports, and, of course, Italian and German sports cars, plus all the never-before-seen performance levels of new and late-model vehicles—electric and internal combustion. But this ’Cuda’s two seven-figure sales in a three-year span, while hardly typical because the car is so unusual, shows that muscle cars have legs— especially at the upper reaches of the market, where the most desirable examples live. There might be some ups and downs in the short term, but anyone holding out for the day when big-block 1960s and ’70s icons are affordable, might have a little longer to wait.

Pierce-Arrow built world-class automobiles from 1901 through 1938 and its name is as revered as Packard, Auburn, or Cadillac. But manufacturing cars of uncompromising quality requires significant capital, something the Buffalo, New York, manufacturer found itself short of in 1928. Having averaged a production of a little more than 5,000 cars the previous few years, Pierce-Arrow remained a known quantity to its well-heeled buyers, but with a factory capable of producing 15,000 automobiles per year, it could not quite break even.

The company was known for its large, powerful T-head six-cylinder engines that were expensive to produce, and by the late 1920s they lacked the cachet of straight-eight and V-8 engines from competitors. By 1928, Pierce-Arrow had a stunning L-head straight-eight in the works, but not enough money to bring it to market.

Enter Studebaker. In a marriage of convenience in the form of a merger that saw the Studebaker Corporation take control of more than 90 percent of Pierce-Arrow shares, Studebaker provided Buffalo’s finest maker of motorcars with some $2 million in much needed cash in 1928.

Photo by Terry Shea

For 1929 Pierce-Arrow introduced two new straight-eight-powered model ranges: the 133 and 143, so named for the length in inches of their wheelbases. Under their hoods was the all-new 366-cubic-inch straight-eight engine. Studebaker introduced its own straight-eight just a year before in 1928, with the same 3.5-inch bore, and the Pierce-Arrow engine is often—erroneously so—imagined to be simply a stroked version of that engine. But the Pierce-Arrow’s powerplant employed nine main bearings instead of Studebaker’s five. Studebaker did cast the iron Pierce-Arrow blocks in its Indiana foundry, though it used a higher-quality alloy than what its own blocks were made of. At 125 horsepower, the Pierce-Arrow straight-eight produced as much power as any other car on the market, save Duesenbergs. Although it had just a 5.07:1 compression ratio, the Pierce engine made a healthy 250 pound-feet of torque, giving both model ranges sufficient oomph for high-speed running.

Pierce-Arrow engineers also incorporated other innovations in their new engine, such as fitting a Lanchester vibration damper on the front of the crankshaft; a replaceable oil filter and mechanical fuel pump (in lieu of a vacuum tank), both features among the first in the industry; and a Stromberg two-barrel carburetor fed a split manifold, where one barrel managed the inner four cylinders and the other the outer four. Pierce-Arrows also utilized a hypoid axle for the final drive—the sort of thing that would come to Cadillac many years later. Shatterproof glass was sourced from the Pittsburgh Plate Glass company, another example of Pierce-Arrow engineering being ahead of the curve.

Photo by Terry Shea

The cars were restyled and more modern than previous efforts, yet still in line with the conservative looks Pierce-Arrow customers would have expected. Longer and lower than foregoing Pierce-Arrow offerings, the Model 133 and 143 were both a hit and available in many different configurations including the Sports Touring featured on these pages. With restyled bodies, the all-new engine and the extended reach of the Studebaker sales network, Pierce-Arrow sales achieved an all-time high in 1929, finding nearly 9,000 new customers.

By 1933, however, Studebaker was bankrupt, and Pierce-Arrow was sold to a group of Buffalo businessmen for $1 million, ending the arrangement with South Bend. Pierce-Arrow never fully recovered, ultimately going out of business as a car maker in 1938, but to the very end, the marque never relented on its promise of superior engineering.

Photo by Terry Shea

SPECIFICATIONS

Engine: 366 cubic inch, L-head straight-eight

Bore x stroke: 3.50 x 4.75 inches

Compression: 5.07:1

Horsepower: 125 at 3,200 rpm

Torque: 250-lb-ft at 1,200 rpm

Transmission: Brown-Lipe three-speed manual

Brakes: Bendix internal four-wheel mechanical drum

Wheelbase: 133 inches

Overall length: 203 inches

Shipping weight: 4,100 pounds

Photo by Terry Shea

Hot rodding is as much about reinvention as it is personal expression and craftsmanship, and there’s probably no better example of those tenets than this 1957 Morris Minor listed for sale on Hemmings.com. It’s gone through multiple incarnations before the seller settled on its current form: a van cut down to a roadster built for road racing with a massive win on the back and eye-searing green paint that would put all the Mopar High Impact colors to shame. Once the seller settled on this form, however, it appears he spent plenty of time refining it for the street and for road racing with a custom drivetrain and an extensively modified chassis. There’s no mention of how it does on the track, but it’s already proven itself an attention getter. From the seller’s description:

I’ve owned the car since the early 1980’s when it was built from a GPO Engineering van into the extensively modified open top machine that it is today, via stints as a 70’s street machine, an 80’s roof chopped van to its current guise as a corner burning road racer which first appeared in 1992. It has appeared in a number of magazine features & at numerous shows in the UK & in France.

Whilst it is based on a 1957 Morris Minor Light Commercial Vehicle the only remaining unmodified parts from that are the scuttle & lower bulkhead, the outer door skins & the rear body sides. Everything else has been custom built over the last 40+ years. The original van body was cut down into a pickup with the windscreen surround chopped to give a low but usable screen. Door tops & rear sides of cab have been panelled over to complete the roadster look. The rear has a custom aluminium tailgate with twin fuel fillers & an opening aluminium tonneau cover with a high level Varis carbon wing. Fibreglass Morris Traveller wings cover the 8 x 18 rear wheels. The front end is a one piece fibreglass moulding incorporating a deep front spoiler, custom grille & driving lights & covers the 7 x 17 front wheels. Paint is VW Cliff Green 73 twin pack. There are fully functional carbon ground effects pieces on front & rear of car, a smooth bellypan with rear diffuser & fully ducted cooling & air feed for brakes, carburettors, oil & water cooling.

Inside it are two custom built upholstered aluminium bucket seats, carbon interior panels, a custom centre console with armrest, ancillary gauges & switchgear & a high power sound system. The vehicles is RHD. There’s a removable carbon tonneau cover over the passenger seat & a full fabric tonneau for the cockpit for when it’s parked. There is no roof!

The chassis is a semi spaceframe, based on the original chassis with new front & rear frame rails & an integrated 6 point roll cage which incorporates B/C post & scuttle brace & shear panels on the spaceframe. All is welded to the body, giving a very stiff structure for an open top car. The chassis locates a custom built rear suspension with coilovers, 3 trailing links, & a Panhard rod on a disc brake equipped Ford RS 2000 rear axle & a Lotus / Triumph front suspension with coilovers, Lotus Eclat discs & a custom built adjustable anti roll bar. A custom Ford Escort pedal box is fitted onto the bulkhead with remote adjustable brake bias control & a hydraulic clutch.

The unique powerunit is set back 12 inches from the original mounting position & offset 1 inch towards the passenger side to aid weight balance. It comprises of a 1340cc BMC A series engine mated to a Toyota AE86 T50 5 speed gearbox via a Dellow aluminium bellhousing & driving through a custom propshaft to the live rear axle. The engine is a replica Morris Engines XSP unit as fitted to 1968 Le Mans Sprite with a Works Weslake cross flow 8 port head, billet cam & custom made cast inlet manifold with twin 40 IDF Webers. It delivers 100hp at the rear wheels & enough torque to make the lightweight car very driveable.

This is a super turnkey hot rod that is immediately usable, it starts & runs easily & offers a focussed but fun drive. It has 30 years old paintwork so there are a few small chips & cracks, there is a very small amount of rippling in the flat body sides. There is no rust in the car (there isn’t much steel left in it) & all of the structural welding is in great shape. Full build details come with the car, together with copies of the magazines it has appeared in. It is fully street legal in the UK & has a Historic Vehicle registration document. The vehicle is located in the UK, so any buyer would need to arrange shipping – I can help with this, if required.

See more Morrises for sale on Hemmings.com.

While Ford did have its own turbine program, largely focused on powering heavy-duty trucks, it was General Motors and Chrysler that put significant and long-term investments into the engine technology for automotive use, often touting it as an engine that would power the cars of the future. Chrysler arguably came closest to implementing turbines in production cars with the 1964 Ghia-bodied Turbine cars that a select few in the public got to experience first-hand before most of the cars were subsequently scrapped, and the company spent far longer investigating turbines with multiple generations of its engine design spanning several decades. But let’s not forget that GM had its own multi-generation turbine program in the Fifties, that it too looked into using turbines to power big rigs, and that GM returned to turbines in the Eighties and Nineties.

But which automaker really sold the public on the potential for turbines? To decide that question, let’s look at how they both showcased their turbine programs. The body of literature between the two certainly far exceeds one promotional video from each, but that’s just what we’re going to highlight here today, starting with GM’s introduction of its bubble topped and befinned Firebird III gas turbine-powered concept car from 1958.

GM Firebird lll Gas Turbine Car Promo Film – 1958

Then from just a few years later, Chrysler’s pronunciation that “tomorrow is today” with the Turbine.

Tomorrow Is Today, Chrysler Corporation Turbine Car (1963)

Now, before anybody wonders where Rover fits into this comparison, yes, the company also spent plenty of time investigating turbine technology for automobiles, but I’ve yet to come across any more substantial videos about the Rover gas turbines than Pathe and AP shorts. If you know of anything longer that Rover produced, send it along and I’ll add it here.

Rover T4 GAS TURBINE CAR

That said, which is the most convincing and makes you wonder why we all weren’t driving gas turbine-powered cars over the last half-century?