Friday, January 27, 2006

1996 Buick Riviera

From the time that I was very young, cars and trucks have been a part of my life. My first foray into the world of tinkering with vehicles began at the tender age of five when my father gave me five dollars to pull out the rotted, moss-covered oak boards that made up the bed floor of his 1952 Chevrolet pickup truck as we began its restoration. From this moment on, I was hooked. Any opportunity I could find to get my hands dirty with any vehicle my family owned, old or new, was a source of great joy to me. Luckily for me, my father was a cool dude who had all sorts of interesting machines, both big and small. While other kids my age were earning an allowance by raking leaves or doing dishes, I was doing it by greasing cables or oiling the chains on the tracks of an ex-Army Corps of Engineers 1955 Byers 20-ton crawler crane my father purchased to take down a small building (how else was I supposed to afford my first mountain bike?). While other kids sat inside after school and watched cartoons every day, I was busy wire-brushing hanging rust off of the 1935 Ford dump truck my father and I restored when I was in middle school. And, while other kids went to camp that summer when I was twelve, I helped my father pull a 1937 Packard Super Eight touring sedan from a barn in Lynnfield, Massachusetts that is now seven years in the making for us.

Of course, our antiques weren't the only neat vehicles we had; the daily vehicles that my parents owned during my childhood were also far more interesting than those of the average family. On weekends my father would take me fishing in his copper over cream over copper 1987 GMC Sierra Classic pickup. While other kids were showing up for elementary school in mid-80's Ford LTD Country Squire station wagons, I was privileged enough to be dropped off in my mother's baby blue on baby blue 1979 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, and later her triple yellow(!) 1985 Cadillac Eldorado, complete with wide whitewalls and real wire wheels! It's this being brought up around such a wide array of interesting vehicles that makes me simply unable to drive a "car of the masses," if you will. I realize I may be coming off as a bit of a snob here, but it's not my intention at all so hear me out. I know this may sound ridiculous to some of you, but I have spent many a summer evening idling down the crowded strip at Hampton Beach or crawling up the Southeast Expressway in Boston during rush hour with a Taurus or Corolla-owning friend of mine and seen the same car that I was riding in on at least three if not all four sides of me. Now I can't speak for any of you readers out there, but I, personally, would go absolutely fucking bonkers if I were just a two to four-character paint code away from being exactly like everybody else. Enter my 1996 Buick Riviera.


With cars like this, why would anybody want to drive something so bland as a Civic or a Camry? When the final evolution of the Buick Riviera hit the market in September of 1994, it was billed as the first production car to go straight from concept to production, and it's easy to see why. The lines of the car are like nothing else on the road, and the car is to this day still years ahead of its time. In keeping with the proud and storied history of the nameplate, the last-generation Riviera is a radical, love it or hate it design that I and many others find to be bold and beautiful yet sophisticated, much like the outrageous "boat tail" Rivieras of 1971-1973. Certainly a high note to go out on for the car that General Motors chief stylist Bill Mitchell conceived in 1963 when he wished to cross the performance of a Ferrari GT with the style and comfort of a Rolls-Royce.

I was taken back by these cars right after they hit the streets in 1995. My father has worked at an auto body shop for over a decade now, and this is where I first laid eyes on one of these gorgeous machines. An old lady had gotten into a fender bender with her then brand new '95 and had brought it to my father's shop to be fixed. One day after he picked me up from school, we drove over to the shop to grab a few tools he'd left behind earlier in the day. When I walked inside the shop behind him I immediately froze when I saw it. Just a day out of paint and freshly washed and detailed was this absolutely stunning champagne-colored Buick Riviera with a tan leather interior sitting in the center of the shop, shiny and perfect in every way. To this day I am still impressed by the styling of these cars, but the impact it had on a ten year-old me in a time when cars as a whole were very bland and unexciting was infinitely larger. I nearly wore a rut in the floor with all the times I walked around it, examining its outrageous lines from every angle possible. Immediately I asked my father what it was and he told me, and it was then that I decided that one day I would have one of these big beautiful luxury-sport coupes; little did I realize that it would come a lot sooner than I thought.

The summer of 2004 was quite an eventful one for me in terms of my car situation. After wrecking my 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme for the second time in as many months, I found myself looking for a new car. A local service center had a 1989 Oldsmobile Toronado for sale in their front parking lot which I bought with the insurance money from the Cutlass in order to get myself back on my feet, as I was not going to spend my summer bumming rides to the beach or wherever else I wished to go. Luckily for me, the summer was EXACTLY how long it ended up lasting me! Coming home on the highway from the bank where I keep my savings account one afternoon, I decided to see what she could do and roasted the transmission in it something awful on the highway, but not before reaching a top speed of 112 miles per hour! I ended up making it home in first gear, and spent the next two weeks almost constantly adding my own special cocktail of Lucas Transmission Fix and Hurst Hot Shift before telling my father what had happened. Under his advisement, and also due to the fact that the Toronado was already used and abused to begin with, I sat down to look for a new car. It just so happened that this all occurred on Thursday; the day when our local newspaper publishes all of the new classified ads they receive. It was there in the Cars for Sale section that I saw the ad:

1996 BUICK RIVIERA

Pearl white. $2500/bo

978-674-XXXX

It was too good to be true! A last-generation Buick Riviera was for sale in the next town over from me, in my price range, and wearing a very rare coat of Bright White Diamond Metallic in the first year the color was offered. When I called to inquire about the car, a young woman answered and we set up a time for me to come over and have a look. When I arrived at the house the following morning with my father and saw it sitting in the driveway, I was admittedly a bit skeptical towards it. The car was FILTHY, inside and out. It was covered in dirt, and the inside was filled with trash from McDonald's and smelled like cigarettes something awful. In the back of my mind I knew I'd be able to shine it up like a new penny, though. The woman that owned it informed me that the car hadn't moved from its spot since May (It was early September) due to an unexpected change of plans.

This Riviera was her car; it was her baby and she kept meticulous care of it until that fateful day in May when her husband suddenly passed away; he was only 42. From this point on, she decided for obvious reasons to start driving her late husband's late-model Mercedes SUV and the Riviera was put on ice. Having two young children, to be making payments on two vehicles and having them both registered and insured was no longer realistic for her, and this is when the decision was made that her baby would have to be let go. When I heard this, I knew that I had to own this car, not only because it would fulfill a dream of mine that I've had since I was ten years old, but also because I knew she might have at least a little piece of mind knowing that selling it to me would mean that the car would be saved from a fate of ridiculous stereo systems, pulsating neon tubes, performance exhausts, and 20-inch rims. So Maria, if you're out there, I'd like to let you know that your baby is still in good safe hands and I would never even dream of letting it go; I owe it to the both of us.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

To Recap

Given the extremely short time that this blog has been up, I was amazed to see that other people besides myself actually take the time to read it. Feedback has been more or less positive, but there have also been two recurring questions: what exactly determines which heading your junk falls under, and what exactly do these categories mean? So, to clarify:


Mac's Permanent Fleet is for cars and other vehicles that I would never ever consider parting with.
Current Rides are cars and other vehicles that I'm currently playing with that could end up as part of my permanent fleet, but will most likely find their way to the open market.
Past Rides are cars and other vehicles that have already passed through my hands.


And yeah, I know the page for my '96 Riviera isn't up yet; it's kinda been on the back burner after its blowing a head gasket meant I had to scramble to get the Cadillac that hadn't been on the road in a year and a half legitimately registered and insured, tuned up and inspected. Just now am I even looking for engines for the damn thing. I want my baby back, and I promise a page will be up for it soon. Tomorrow, even.

Coupe DeVille Custom Exhaust (Hanger)!


Last night, after driving in and out of the townhouse complex where my friend Scott lives and hearing it scrape across the top of every speed bump, I decided to finally make it a point to re-hang the exhaust on the big red sled.


Muuuuuuuch better.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

In Praise of Land Barges, Part Two

Stealing the show in the parking lot of one of the area's many Cambodian insurance agencies, the Coupe DeVille and a 1971 Pontiac Catalina are a pair of standouts in a sea of modern-day generic crap. I know people that know the the old lady that owns it, and have already mentally prepared at least a temporary spot in my future fleet for this fine machine whenever she wishes to part with it.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

A Late Night Rinse



Here in New England, the powers that be decided long ago that spreading tons of salt on our roads would be the best way to keep them clear of snow and ice. This is indeed an effective method, but is also completely unforgiving to automobiles. As a result, it becomes a necessity to rinse the salt from a car frequently in order to prevent it from turning into a pile of orangey-brown dust in five years, which is why I feel awful to have to drive a car that survived the first twenty-seven years of its life virtually rust-free. Freshly sprayed, the Coupe DeVille looks almost brand new sitting in the bay at St. Hilaire's 24-Hour Car Wash. She really does clean up nice.

Friday, January 13, 2006

In Praise of Land Barges

Show me a vehicle from today that has as much of a presence as a big seventies tank does. Of all the bad things I can say about the 1979 Cadillac Coupe DeVille in its current state, 'inability to be handsome and photogenic' is nowhere on the list.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

1977 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme


Old cars fascinate me. They constantly present me with new challenges and charm me in ways I never thought they possibly could. They come from a time when regardless of how opulent or utilitarian they may be, an extraordinary amount of attention was paid to quality and detail, and this faded red 1977 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme is no exception.

The only thing I like more than an old car is an old car with a story, and this car's is a bit more interesting than most. For starters, it is the 4,714th Cutlass off of the assembly line for this model year. According to the build sticker on the driver's door, it was made in September of 1976; so early in the run that its VIN number is not completely consistent with either solid 1976 or solid 1977 models. Research on a few reputable Oldsmobile sites yielded that it is a 1977 VIN number with the 1976 body designation for a Cutlass Supreme sedan (29 as opposed to 69). Another oddity would be the fact that although it is an ultra low-options car, somebody felt it fit to order the Rocket 350 V8, complete with the optional four-barrel carburetor. Although I'm not able to trace the car to its original owner, everything about it screams fire chief to me, right down to the colors. This car is red with a white steel roof and red cloth interior. It has manual door locks, manual windows, a vinyl headliner, AM radio only, and is air conditioning-delete. Steel wheels and the small Oldsmobile Rocket dog dish hubcaps are also suggestive of an earlier life of civil servitude, as does the fact that the car has traveled only 77,000 miles in all this time. In fact I'd almost be willing to place money on the fact that the first decade of this car's life was spent puttering around some rural town from boiler inspection to boiler inspection while not racing to the scene of a blaze. Oh the stories she could tell if only she were able to talk.

You're probably wondering how I came to own this strange car, and its story is again a bit more interesting than that of your average old clunker. Like me, after its initial life of being used as the local fire chief's car or whoever its first owner was, you should not find it too much of a stretch to picture an unshaven blue-collar guy from a blue-collar Pennsylvania steel belt town wearing his denim jacket and pumping his fist along to whatever Bruce Springsteen song happened to be on the radio at the moment. I'm talking as blue collar as blue collar gets. If The Deer Hunter were set in the late 80's as opposed to the late 60's, this would have been the car playing chicken with the old Brockway 360 as opposed to a 1959 Cadillac Series 62. Sounds completely plausible, right? Wrong. This car came from Idaho.

Twenty-nine years ago, this car was sold at an Oldsmobile dealership that probably had an inventory of only a half-dozen cars. It hardly ever left town and was meticulously maintained. Some time in the early 90's, an old lady who may or may not have been its original owner passed away and willed the car to her two sons who kept it in a barn for the next ten years. One day in late 2003, the car was pulled out of hibernation and put in the front yard of one of the sons with a For Sale sign on it for a nominal sum. They claimed with a new battery and fresh gas she would turn right over. After a few weeks went by, a price was negotiated, hands were shaken, and the old Cutlass ended up on a used car lot in a town called Lewiston. It ended up in the hands of a scary goth kid who used it as a daily driver for the next year and ten months. During that time he drove the car from Idaho all the way out here to a town in Massachusetts not far from my own where he lived with his aunt and uncle while attending college.

I came to know about the car when my friend Silvester, who lives about a half mile down the same road the car was on told me one night about an older faded red Oldsmobile sedan for sale in the neighborhood. He egged me on into checking it out that November night and now I'm glad he did. We called about the car on a Tuesday and was informed by the scary goth kid that he was moving out to Washington state that Friday and would not be able to take the car with him under any circumstances. Even worse was the fact that if the car was not sold by the time he left, he seemed quite sure that it his uncle would send it to the crusher in short order. It was then finalized in my mind that I would have to purchase this car no matter what, to save it from a cruel and untimely fate. An Oldsmobile Rocket 350 with 77,000 miles on it is barely broken in.

How could I, as a car nut and General Motors fan, see a vehicle in this shape with such wonderful patina and these simple, elegant lines, from its perfect pair of waterfall grilles to the sculpted rear bumper and extensions, and beveled taillights complete with Oldsmobile Rockets, on a crisp fall afternoon in New England and not feel moved to action? To have had the opportunity to save this car and not taken it, only to find myself reunited with it months later at a local junkyard when I noticed a familiar-looking faded red sedan crushed under the weight of a rotted out early 80's Ninety-Eight Regency some kid stuffed into a telephone pole, was a scenario I was not prepared to wrap my head around. The Idaho title was signed over to me for the sum of $230 and she was all mine. As I pulled out of the long driveway with the car, its former owner gave me a nod and cracked a smile knowing that his car would live to see another day.

This very afternoon, due to space issues, a needy friend, and the desire to play with and save more cars from their untimely death, I transferred ownership of the Cutlass to my friend Dan. Another old car enthusiast, Dan will restore the car to his liking as he uses it as his daily driver, ensuring that it will be around for many more years to come.

Here's to Bribery

Saying I got this legitimately would be like saying the car would pass an emissions test if it were still required to. Got a burnt out plate light? Non-functioning emergency brake? Hanging exhaust complete with a few speed holes? Not to worry; it's nothing that a little coaxing from President Andrew Jackson can't fix.


Being completely unable to deal with the fact that the old girl was now a hundred percent compliant with official regulations, I felt compelled to attach this nifty period-correct Massachusetts red plate for her to wear up front. State law requires all cars to bear a front license plate if two are issued. Sure I could just leave my other Boston Bruins plate that belongs on the front of the car, but what's the fun in that when instead I could have a perfectly good red plate that expired in December of 1978?

Monday, January 09, 2006

Fuck.

Fuck, indeed. A lot has transpired since my feeble post shortly after the ball dropped in Time's Square on New Year's Day. Since then, my beautiful pearl white 1996 Buick Riviera, a car for which I had not even written a proper page for for its inclusion into my fleet section, blew a head gasket on the way to a Boston Bruins game I had tickets for on the Second. With just over 131,000 ticks on the clock, most would think me crazy to swap an engine into it, and to you I say fuck off. It is by far the best car I've ever owned and, after fourteen months and 16,000 miles of faithful, relatively trouble-free service, she owes me nothing.

Thankfully, since I am an automotive preservationist of the highest degree, or what some might call a junk man, I always have at least one automobile on reserve to be pulled out for just such an emergency. Also, because I am an unforgiving snob with an image to uphold, and need all the creature comforts one may find in the most modern of cars, I make sure that at least one of said reserve automobiles is a neglected luxury marque. Enter the 1979 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Weighing in just shy of three tons, the big red tank handles marvelously in the snow; no chains or sandbags required. Since she became my legally registered vehicle on January 4th, thanks to my buddy Rich who helped me wash the paperwork through the much more lenient state of New Hampshire, I've done quite a bit of work to the old girl in a short amount of time to make her a bit more roadworthy. Here's a breakdown, sadly without photographs as I have been rushing to squeeze all of this in between work and other things currently going on, of what's been done so far:

-Removed what were quite possibly the spark plugs the car left the factory with so many years ago, replaced with nice new AC Delco Rapidfires
-Changed distributor cap, rotor, ignition coil, and spark plug wires
-Checked timing, advanced twelve degrees!
-Replaced leaking fuel pump
-Un-deleted fuel filter some hack sliced out so many years ago
-New PCV valve and elbow
-Replaced enough vacuum and emissions hose to circle the world nine times
-New blower motor and blower motor relay (heat is a plus in January here in Massachusetts)
-Oil and filter changed

And still left to do:

-Change rear end fluid and rear cover gasket
-Re-hang exhaust
-Slip somebody a twenty to fudge an inspection sticker for me
-Do donuts in the local church parking lot next time it snows

Hopefully my beloved Riviera will be back on the road before not too long and I can then concentrate on putting the Coupe in the hands of its next loving owner, who will finalize its rightful place on the open road, continuing the new lease on life I have given it.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Happy New Year, all!

Here's to hoping 2006 is a whole hell of a lot more productive than last year was.