Why do people tear apart perfectly good cars in the name of making them better? Why? What level of self-confidence do you possess that you somehow determined your concept of suspension, or your perception of suitable contact patch, and yes, your feelings on engine internals, are better than the instincts of a highly-trained and well-compensated engineer?

This question has been wracking my brain for days as I pour over listings for E36 M3s. So many of these magnificent cars have been gutted, both figuratively and literally, of any cohesiveness they once possessed as a new car. What I mean by cohesiveness is the feeling that every screw is still in the correct location and that when you open a glove box or move the shifter, each movement evokes a sensation that only a motorsports engineer could create.

Now, I have to admit in fairness that I’m living in a bit of a glass house at the moment. I have modified my cars, thrown out the stock parts and done what I felt was a  bonafide improvement. But as I would learn, the Becks-chugging geniuses in Bavaria, Zuffenhausen and Wolfsburg actually know a thing or two about vehicle dynamics. They just may have built an entire chassis around schematics and designs based in years of study and evaluation, giving them at least some credibility to sell you a car that is just what it needs to be. And nothing more, nothing less.

So, as I click on yet another classified ad that divulges yet another M3 loaded with Dinan equipment, slammed on TC Kline coilovers and riding on staggered 19″ BBS basketweaves, I start to wonder just how many more times we’re going to take what was once great (and still largely is) and improve it for the sake of saying, “I was here.”  If you want to make your mark and leave a lasting impression, become a street artist. But leave the E36 M3 alone.

I drive the E30 to work most days now, and it reminds me why I enjoy this car so much. It’s just so damn visceral, and despite the discomfort that comes with the rattles and bangs and clunks found in a car with 27-year-old door and window seals, the E46 stays in the garage more often than not.

This could be the reason I’m trying to unload it at the present moment, in hopes of accelerating the body restoration of the E30 with the influx of money left over from a potential sale and replacement with an E36 M3. Of course, this is all pure fantasy at this juncture as multiple planets would have to align in fairly dramatic fashion, but it hasn’t stopped me from turning my eye to what will be needed to complete the E30’s rehabilitation.

As some of you know, the original carpet went bye-bye after a poorly repaired front passenger floor revealed a water leak that, for years, allowed moisture to sit trapped underneath foam insulation. You can imagine that this not only led to a strong odor of mildew but it also to rust holes developing in the passenger rear floor. If I am able to pull my plan together and get the car to a body shop this summer, I will need this:

Carpet! Oh yeah. OEM, factory carpet for black interiors with all foam insulation still intact. Fun fact, it’s not supposed to come off in bunches like mine did. Apparently, when it stays dry, it remains one piece. This will need a basic steam cleaning but for the price paid, it’s totally worth it – especially with factory mounting holes and pre-formed to an E30 coupe interior layout. As my friends can recall, trying to corral a new carpet with no intention of conforming to the car’s interior is about as pointless as politely asking Lindsay Lohan to quit drinking. I almost slept on this thing the other night I was so psyched.

Now, my other purchase was equally necessary but a bit daunting as to how it will go in. The dashboard in my car suffers from the usual E30 cracking phenomenon, with basically the VIN tag all that’s holding it together. I did find a crack-free dash with some light sun fading issues from a friend who’s paring down his collection of parts.

I have no idea how or when this will get installed, but similar to the carpet, it’s a vital final piece to bringing this car back from the dead. Although I’m sure I should be knocking on wood as I say this, it feels  good to be thinking more about the E30’s cosmetics for a change and less about its likelihood of imploding on the way to work.

Sorry for the hiatus, folks – I needed to recharge the batteries after last week’s marathon posting sessions. Today, I want to submit the best find on Craigslist in the towns surrounding Providence, RI. And with a Porsche 928, a first-generation Taurus SHO and a Mitsubishi 3000GT VR4 to compete against, credit the sellers’ vernacular for this rig taking top honors. 

Enter the 1987 Toyota Land Cruiser. I don’t know much about these, other than they have legendary go-anywhere abilities while Toyota internals make them near-impossible to kill. A rugged inline six-cylinder pumped out 136 screaming horsepower, which had to lug around a four-wheel drive system and 4,200 lb. + curb weight. But this was never a vehicle made for speed – it was for all-out reliability combined with impressive off-road capabilities.

This example, however, has likely been dealt the worst that nature could throw at it. Body work with splotches of primer, painted surfaces clearly weathered beyond salvageability, and no mention in the ad as to its mechanical integrity, with only the front wheels of the Land Cruiser locked into a tow dolly as any indication to its operating condition. With 194,000 miles, my guess is she’s just getting broken in.

Of course, to take this vintage FJ60 into your ownership, you’re going to want to bring your high balls. Or make certain you’re balling at a high level. Or could it be a synonym for high rollers? “Oh, Stanley? Yes, he was quite the high baller. He even had his own butler.” I don’t know, but one thing’s for certain: all of you with low balls need not apply.

When you own an older car, the list of improvements you can make may appear odd to most consumers. Things like navigation, side airbags and interior vacuum cleaners just aren’t on my radar screen. But you know what I’m looking forward to most this weekend? Cupholders, an armrest and cassette storage.

A company from Wilton, Connecticut called Husco made an OEM accessory for 1980s BMWs that combined an arm rest with cup holder, and mounted directly to the factory console. In what can only be seen as a barometer for where most car shoppers’ priorities (or expectations) lay, not many E30s came equipped with this marvelous contraption. After some message board investigating, I found one for sale with a matching console that had the mounting holes pre-drilled. Believe it or not, I think this was pulled from a car that had this nifty piece installed at the factory, given the clean drilling job into the fragile console plastic. It’s brilliant, and I can’t wait to use it.

The next OEM accessory I found on eBay and is also an original BMW option. The Fischer cassette storage box was a must-have when rocking your Van Halen and Ace of Base tapes, perfect for the factory Premium Sound cassette deck a buddy gave me for free. It mounts below the armrest and required cutting out a mounting hole in the console, and each drawer pops open to swallow a cassette. I still have to wire up the deck, but once complete, the E30 will inch ever closer still to being a factory-correct, well-optioned car. Imagine – just being content to have a place to store your tapes. No need for a multi-pixel display capable of telling you the weather, your horoscope and what clothes to wear on Friday.

It’s amazing to think that options brochures once consisted of a few pages splashed with bolt-on accessories that required no wiring, just some washers and careful drilling. In my recent post, I mentioned how I found an original Honda CRX accessory in the form of a reflective center tail light panel; that $15 junkyard score turned into a $350 eBay home run. But you know what? I get it. I’d pay out the nose for a rare factory part from the 80s. Assembling this arm rest reminded me of just how ingenious car manufacturers used to be without the need for Wi-Fi connectivity and Bluetooth headsets. I could give a rat’s ass if it makes my life “easier” or “better”, a purely subjective sentiment. Whatever happened to being grateful just for something that was functional? 

Like the days of your parents making you wear L.L. Bean clothing while the cool kids wore Starter jackets that disintegrated after a few runs through the wash, it’s nice to arrive at a point in life where it’s more enjoyable to accessorize a vehicle with things that work rather than things that impress. 

A few weeks ago, I embarked on a hunt to fill some holes in my E30’s history. As reported here, I addressed the most glaring void by connecting with its original owner who offered a glimpse into what my car was before its sojourn into used-up car ownership. Though there are more pages to write, acts of kindness from some folks along the way have given me new hope for mankind.

First up is a BMW CCA member from Texas who sent a package today that essentially made my week. After some quick web searching, I stumbled upon a member of BimmerForums.com who maintained a collection of 80s BMW goodness unique to the Texas area. Among the items he kept was an original John Roberts license plate frame, the dealer that sold the 325is to its first owner. The dealership has since been absorbed into a larger chain and no longer exists, so this was quite the score. Even better was the “surprise” he included in the package, which was an original dealer badge in the shape of the Lonestar State. To top it off, he didn’t want a dime for it. Great to connect with a fellow CCA’er in another state, and to give the E30 some added character to its posterior.

As part of this quest for more information on my car’s first days, I’m in hot pursuit of photos of the 325is as it sat on the convention center floor at the Dallas Auto Show in 1987. Between posting on The Car Lounge and Reddit, I haven’t discovered any major leads. In reaching out the salesman that sold the car new, he had no recollection of the vehicle or the auto show. But I might have found a thread worth unraveling in the form of a communications manager for the Dallas Fort-Worth New Car Dealers Association, which is responsible for organizing shows in the downtown convention center. The woman could not have been nicer and seemed genuinely intrigued by my research project. She pledged to dive into the archives and see if any photos exist of the 1987 show and if my car is among those photographed.

All of this by merely sharing my story with perfect strangers to fill in the blanks about the early years of the life of a car, one in which they have no personal connection or stake. While I’m not sure if these individuals care more about my car or the journey I’m on, one thing is for sure: I couldn’t have even started this process without the help of some extremely generous and amazingly kind people.

Ain’t this hobby grand?

Saturday was a day of good feelings. The weather was holding, I was in a junkyard, and it was just me and the battered hulks of past machines. What made it better was discovering a new destination not on the internet, not in any phone book, and clearly off the radar of most.

This is a short post before bed, but one that depicts how vital it is to have some knowledge of rare parts and optional features on every day vehicles. Case in point: I spotted a silver 1986 CRX Si in largely original condition. What really grabbed my eye was the center garnish/reflective panel with the letters “CRX” emblazoned across the middle. This was an optional piece if you didn’t want the standard black trim that came on most versions of the legendary hot hatch.

Knowing it an accessory from the awesome 80s, I knew not every car would have them. Similarly, I recognized this was once a pristine CRX Si (an early example at that), and figured the odds were good that its owner splurged. So, for a very fair price indeed, I have a potentially rare bit of CRX kit that is now on eBay for $350. I also snagged a set of OEM E28 mudflaps that are already for sale and will hopefully be gone soon.

Got to walk around a junkyard and possibly make some money. Not a bad day in the office.

The 1987 325is I own has been through a lot. When I got it from Richmond, Virginia almost two years ago, it was – oh, let’s call it rough. Ripped, stained interior; mildew in the carpets; leaking oil from multiple places; coolant seaping here and there; and a horrendous whine from the rear end thanks to original wheel bearings that were long overdue for replacement. However, despite its sorely neglected condition, it came with a few pieces of the original owner’s manual – one that included the name and address of the first couple to bring this car home, when the odometer showed a lot more zeroes than it does now.

So, some might call this a bit on the creepy – I prefer eccentric – side of things, but I went to work searching for every combination of the names of the couple that bought it new from John Roberts BMW in Dallas, Texas. Chasing a number of leads, I started mailing letters. First one to a business address I found on Superpages came back in the mail marked ‘return to sender’; second one to the  home address listed in the car’s service manual never bounced back, but I didn’t get a response, either. I’d later find out my hunches had been right on the business address but that he had since retired from that venture.

One night, I finally punched in the owner’s last name and the words “BMW.” Amazingly, success: there was a user on the Roadfly forums with the same name who owned an ’87 325ic and an early 7-Series. Better yet, he was in the Virginia area which is where my car ended up. But something didn’t make sense: the other reference to the first couple that owned the car was on a swim team’s website from the Dallas area, and there was too much evidence that they still lived in Texas. Plus, the original owner’s wife had no paper trail in Virginia – so either it was a case of divorce or I had the wrong guy in VA (ironically enough, the gent with the same name was, in fact, a divorce attorney). Still follow me? Yes, that’s right: there are two people with the same name who are both active BWM enthusiasts, each of whom live in a state where my car has previously resided.

Let’s go back to the swim team website: the first couple’s name showed up as a testimonial to the positive influence the coaches and training had on their son’s swimming successes. There’s my next nugget: the kid’s name. So I Google that and get several good leads: all from Texas, all the same name, and a college email address that’s pretty easy to figure out (first initial, last name, schooname.edu). I send off a short email explaining what I’m trying to do and jackpot: a few hours later, I get a note from his father, the very first owner to ever turn a wheel in my 1987 325is. Turns out not only did he and his wife buy this car before they had kids, but they bought it straight off the convention hall floor when the auto show rolled through Dallas in 1987. That’s right: this is an actual show car. I don’t care how big or small of a metro you live in – it’s always super cool when you own a car that a dealer felt was the best way to attract people to the booth and move inventory.

The original owner and I went back and forth for hours. I basically spilled my guts, the gearhead equivalent of reconciliation, even showing him the original for sale thread and what his former pride and joy looked like when I got it (one word: bad). I found he, his wife and son were BMW fanatics, and owned several desirable Bimmers ranging from an early 535i to a V12 850. My mind = blown. But through it all, sharing with someone just how much blood, sweat and tears had gone into this thing – and knowing it meant the world to them – is likely one of best feelings I’ve ever encountered in my years of car ownership. It’s vindication that sometimes, saving a rough car is worth the risk and likely losses. But that’s not why you invest in car that cost less to buy than a new washer and dryer. You do that to preserve the memories, and give them another shot at living on. If I didn’t care about that, I wouldn’t have found a way to make this car actually enjoyable to drive on a daily basis.

And, in what may be the best part of all this, is the sign-off of the first owner’s email to me: “So nice to have made a friend.” Isn’t that what this hobby is all about?

More to come on this, for sure…

So, today’s news in Boston leaves me full of venom, spit and skunky beer aftertaste. Just when it seemed life has achieved some level of normalcy on a national scale – the stock market is coming back, unemployment is at least stable, spring is returning to New England – some shithead has to go and take a colossal dump in everyone’s breakfast cereal of choice. It’s enough to make me say, “Thanks world, but I’m becoming a hermit. I want my cars, my woman, some ammunition and a house in the woods.”

But we can’t do that. That’s not what Americans do. Instead, let’s inject some levity into an otherwise dark day and look at how another nation dealt with terror: the Japanese. Gigantic monsters, and fire-breathing ones at that. Captured in movies that similarly captured Americans’ attention, it seems ironic now that our own entertainment used to be terror in countries besides our own. However, if we’re taught anything, it’s that you should be well-equipped to bust out of dodge and have several vehicles to do so.

Big, black and bad-ass Japanese sedan ($5,000): Infiniti Q45

The original Japanese Q-ship. I have little doubt this brute could power through anything resembling a zombie apocalypse or Godzilla attack. Little to no protruding edges to get caught on reptilian skin or narrow alley-ways. A 4.5L V8 capable of vaulting the heavy-hitter to 60 in 6.7 seconds was no slouch by 1990’s standards, and the viscous limited-slip differential will certainly come in handy when dodging infidels.

Big Bird – or, winner-takes-all mobile ($45,000): 1978 Toyota Landcruiser FJ40

If I need a rig that can take months of abuse and unpaved roads, I’d want the motoring equivalent to a cockroach: the original FJ40 – fully restored and galvanized,  of course. I’m pretty sure they still drive these in Chernobyl, and until zombies start fighting with rust particles that can be injected into sheetmetal, the FJ40 will go anywhere and with little care or attention to the oily bits. Plus, throw a winch on the front end and it will take you over hill and dale to safety – or onto the next town in search of non-decomposing countrymen.

The Gentleman’s Express ($5,000): 1986 Honda VFR F2 Interceptor 

If all else fails, you’re going to need a bike. Jump over obstacles, squeeze between traffic, and outgun your assailants. The VFR isn’t the quickest bike around, but it’s well-suited for looking the part with its quintessential “We must go now” Japanese graphics. Used as Honda’s homologation racing platform with a raucous V4 engine, I can’t think of a better bike for leaving the end of the world behind and in style. Preferably, one would exit the island of fire-breathing monsters on one of these crotch-rockets while wearing a suit, wingtips, and with the emperor’s daughter clutching his waist.

Now, back to the reality of not being able to distract ourselves from what ails us; instead, we’ll face it – or them – with an unflinching gaze and the confidence of knowing we still possess the freedom to drive with joy and away from fear.

So, today seemed like a lovely day to explore a new-to-me junkyard that purportedly had a few E30s kicking around. It was, as they say, a bit of a goldmine. Not necessarily in the sense of parts found (but I did pick some goodies off of a 1987 325es – wish I had a truck, there were some beautiful sport seats I had to leave behind), but rather in knowing there is yet another boneyard local to me that keeps all sorts of forgotten rarities in the far corners of its marshy real estate.

One of the first things that caught my eye was a mid-70s Bronco. After reading this recent post on the Hemmings blog about a reader finding his grandfather’s long lost 1974 Bronco, I couldn’t help but wonder about the owner of this forlorn off-roader, sitting somewhere and daydreaming about his former pride and joy. It’s not too hard to imagine this rig cresting over some dunes with the hardtop removed and a sun-kissed gal hanging onto the roll bar.

This just made me sad. An absolutely gorgeous Volvo 140-series with seemingly completely original sheetmetal, mint bumpers and chrome, and all lighting intact. All it needed was a set of leather seat covers (and, well, wheels) and this swanky Swede would look perfect parked on the streets of Newport, which its parking sticker indicated it was last a resident of. Hell, the original keys were still with the car – hard to fathom how this example ended up here.

I’ve got to do some more research on this. It was a mid-90s Land Rover Discovery with the factory-applied “Special Vehicles” Sticker on both fenders and the rear gate. I seem to recall that this indicated some level of factory-equipped off-road gear like winches and auxiliary lighting, but I haven’t been able to confirm this – yet.

These two old girls were shoved way, way back in the yard, next to several worthless mid-80s domestics. I have a suspicion these were both part of the same estate or garage at one time, and man – what a sophisticated couple this pair must have belonged to. The Rover 3500 is a rarity in the states in any condition, and it’s a shame to see it languishing in the forgotten corner of one of the sloppiest scrap yards I’ve ever stepped foot in. The Mercedes – I think a 220 coupe – conjured similar feelings of, “I wish I had a big yard and understanding neighbors.” Would have loved the vintage Rhode Island license plate off of the Rover, but the overseers had a policy against taking them. If my kids ever donate my cars to a yard after donating my body to science, I swear my spirit will become the poltergeist from hell.

Do you ever get the feeling that the owner of a car was once the cat’s pajamas? This Fiat X1/9 was in decent shape for mid-80s Italian Job, with a complete interior and mostly-there sheetmetal. What I loved were the stickers in the back window, which shows the owner was a Providence College alum and an Aerosmith fan – I’m sorry, but all I envision is some preppy dude who rolled around campus in a two-seat targa-topped coupe and got all the ladies, helped by the fact he had a buddy with a hook-up for great seats at live shows.

Check out the top of the trailer. At this point, I began wondering when I’d see a carriage and the skeletal remains of six horses.

A hopelessly rusty Triumph TR6 that housed a very clean set of bucket seats. The inspection sticker was from 1990, but its last owner had at least some intent to put it back on the road – you don’t just splurge on new upholstery without having faith it will run again. Unfortunately, I heard what sounded like a rattle snake (do we have those around here?) and saw, as some confirmation, good-sized shedded snake skins sitting on the console. I moved on quickly, which I guess is why those seats have remained with this boat anchor.

I tend to get nostalgic when I spot original dealer stickers, especially with cars like this Saab 900 convertible. How it ended up in Bristol, Rhode Island when it was originally sold at Bill Bryan Subaru in Winter Park, Florida, is maddening. I know, I know – why do I care? Well, it has something to do with knowing this car once cruised top-down 11 months out of 12 in a climate made for convertibles. All I can imagine is some ungrateful co-ed calling mom and dad long-distance complaining that Roger Williams University parking enforcement towed her car again, and, “You know, my boyfriend Todd has a new Civic and I’ll just ride around with him.” 10 years later, Todd is mid-level management at Enterprise Rent-a-Car, Jenny is selling cosmetics for Avon in Nebraska and this once-beautiful Saab sits, with original keys and remote locking fob (how expensive must THAT have been in 1989?), sinking into the mud.

That’s all for now. There’s a new yard in Brockton I’m itching to check out, but right now, I’m just itching from whatever I crawled through to snap these pictures.

Sometimes project cars are laughable. As in, this is a car that will bankrupt you faster than a jaded ex-wife who didn’t like you that much when things were good. A 1973 Citroen SM is not just something you stumble upon. No, there’s always a good story with anyone who has a mid-level exotic with de-tuned Ferrari internals sitting in their backyard. The spoils of an illicit poker game? A gift bequeathed to its owner from a long-lost eccentric Canadian uncle? All of it is about as believable as Joe Six Pack picking up a vintage Citroen for the price of a Vespa.

Although I’m not normally drawn vehicles of the front-wheel drive variety, the SM is an exception. It’s a big, heavy, exotic cruiser, chock full of innovation only seen in re-runs of the Jetsons when it was first introduced. Self-leveling suspension – well, I’m a sucker for it. At a young age, I watched a British family disembark from their Range Rover Country only after the air suspension had fully settled; from that point on, this sophisticated method of exiting and entering a car has been burned into my brain. Of course, repairing a hydraulic suspension will make your first mortgage look like a tip at Burger King, but let’s not dwell on the negatives.

Low-mileage is normally a plus, but when you’re talking about Italian/French hybrid exotics sitting in a backyard in Connecticut, it’s probably more an indication of when it last turned a wheel then an attempt at preservation. This is clearly an American model, thanks to its ugly US DOT-approved single-round headlights instead of the killer plexi-glass encased six-lens European variety. Our traffic safety officials are unforgiving-ly lame, as these are the same people who sealed the car’s fate on our shores by declaring it in violation of federal safety standards due to the varying height of its adjustable suspension. Bastards.

This is a project car of significant proportions. To do it correctly, you will likely lose your friends, house, job and any semblance of a relationship with your spouse. But they weren’t there when those smarmy Brits stepped mere inches onto the hot blacktop from their once-lofty perch, and they sneered – oh, they sneered – when they saw you extend your legs full-length to exit the rental-car Civic. Someday, you thought, as your flip-flop fell off from trying to exit the perilously-tall crapbox, you would own a car that could bring you down to earth while putting you above the rest.

That day is today.