Nice cars other than x-fire

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The company Packard trusted to build its sports car dream also built its hearses. That detail alone tells you something about how unlikely the Pan American should have been.

Richard Arbib, a designer at the Henney Motor Company of Freeport, Illinois, had sketched a long, low two-seater on Packard's existing 250 convertible chassis. Packard president Hugh Ferry approved it, and Henney's craftsmen worked evenings and weekends for six weeks straight to get the finished car to the 1952 New York International Motor Sports Show. They chopped the windshield, sectioned the body four inches, channeled the frame, stripped the rear seat, and painted the whole thing in a custom DuPont shade called Green-Gold Metallic. The 327 cubic inch straight eight underneath produced 185 horsepower.

Standing among Ferraris and Pegasos at the show, the Pan American won the award for Outstanding Automotive Design. The Corvette would not debut for another 14 months. Only six were ever built

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Nothing about this car screamed for attention. Two small SS badges, a set of fender flags, otherwise identical to any other Chevy II rolling off the line in 1966. That was exactly the point.

Underneath sat a 327 cubic inch L79, lifted almost straight from the Corvette parts bin, with forged pistons and 11 to 1 compression squeezing out 350 horsepower in a body that weighed barely 2,800 pounds. That power to weight ratio put it in NHRA's A/Stock class, running the quarter mile in the low 15s straight off the showroom floor.

Drag racer Bill "Grumpy" Jenkins took one to the strip against Jere Stahl's 426 Hemi Belvedere, a fight that should never have been close. It was, running high 11s at nearly 120 miles per hour, an evenly matched duel nobody expected a Nova to win.

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he corporate giants in Detroit viewed American Motors as a harmless nuisance. They assumed the independent brand would strictly build economical grocery getters for frugal buyers. Then AMC abruptly stopped playing nice.

Engineers took their four seat Javelin, aggressively chopped a full foot out of the middle of the wheelbase, and welded it back together to create a vicious two seat sports car. At the time, only the Chevrolet Corvette dared to offer a strict two passenger layout in America. AMC brought a steel sledgehammer to that exclusive party.

Ordering the Go Package added thick racing stripes and dropped a monstrous 390 cubic inch V8 under the hood. That massive powerplant shoved over three hundred horsepower through a remarkably short and terrifyingly agile footprint.

It was a ferocious brawler that completely shattered every boring corporate stereotype. Detroit executives suddenly stopped laughing when this scrappy underdog started humiliating their premium muscle cars at the local drag strip.
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n 2004, Chrysler was famous for family minivans, not hypercars. But during the DaimlerChrysler marriage, a team of ambitious engineers decided to shock the globe. They unveiled the ME Four-Twelve, a carbon fiber spaceship built to humiliate the European elite.

By taking a 6.0 liter AMG V12 and bolting on four turbochargers, they created an absolute monster that cranked out 850 horsepower. The performance numbers were completely unhinged for the era. It could rocket to sixty in 2.9 seconds and reach a blistering top speed of 248 mph.

It was faster than a Ferrari Enzo and poised to threaten the mighty Bugatti Veyron. Best of all, Chrysler actually built a fully functional prototype ready for production.

So why did it die? Legend says Mercedes executives panicked. This American upstart was significantly faster than their prized SLR McLaren flagship. To protect their own prestige, the corporate bosses allegedly pulled the plug, quietly executing the greatest American hypercar that never was
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Picture rolling up to a red light in your shiny new Pontiac GTO back in the 60s. Next to you sits a plain Ford station wagon. No fake wood paneling. No flashy stripes. Just a boring steel box built for hauling groceries. The light turns green. That wagon violently squats on its rear tires and completely disappears over the horizon.

You just got gapped by the ultimate ghost car.

According to factory folklore, some brilliant lunatics figured out how to slip a terrifying racing engine into the mundane 1965 Ford Country Sedan. By checking the exact right boxes on the order form, buyers could demand the R Code V8. This was a 427 cubic inch side oiling weapon ripped straight from the Ford NASCAR program, cranking out an absurd 425 horsepower.

Because normal families wanted automatic convenience instead of a heavy manual clutch, almost nobody actually bought them. It remains the most unhinged factory sleeper Detroit ever created

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In 1970, Ford's marketing budget had one address, and it was the Mustang. Every ad, every poster, every magazine cover pointed straight at the Boss 429 and Mach 1 sitting in showrooms.

Meanwhile, quietly parked in the same lot sat this. The Torino Cobra ran a genuine 429 cubic inch big block, and with the Drag Pack option added a solid lifter cam, four bolt mains, forged pistons, and a Detroit Locker rear end built for the strip, not the street. Equipped that way, it could run the quarter mile in the 13 second range, quicker than Ford's own celebrated Boss 429 Mustang.

Ford only built 7,675 Torino Cobras that year, and just 1,475 got the full Drag Pack treatment. The Mustang got the magazine covers and the legendary status. This car just went out and beat it.

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By 1977, strict emissions laws and soaring insurance rates had completely choked the American muscle car era. Pontiac kept the performance dream alive with their 6.6 liter Trans Am, cementing its status as a massive pop culture icon.

Meanwhile, Plymouth slapped their revered Road Runner badge onto the humble Volare compact. Purists absolutely hated it. They mocked it as a pathetic sticker car that ruined a legendary performance nameplate. Under the hood sat a modest 360 cubic inch V8 producing just 195 horsepower.

But Plymouth engineers had a brilliant secret weapon. The Volare was significantly lighter than the bloated Trans Am. When these two rivals finally met on the drag strip, the results completely shocked the automotive world.

The boring little Volare clocked a quarter mile time of 15.8 seconds, absolutely smoking the iconic Trans Am by a full second. This underappreciated Plymouth proved that the late seventies still had a few lethal factory sleepers hiding in plain sight.

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By 1977, strict emissions laws and soaring insurance rates had completely choked the American muscle car era. Pontiac kept the performance dream alive with their 6.6 liter Trans Am, cementing its status as a massive pop culture icon.

Meanwhile, Plymouth slapped their revered Road Runner badge onto the humble Volare compact. Purists absolutely hated it. They mocked it as a pathetic sticker car that ruined a legendary performance nameplate. Under the hood sat a modest 360 cubic inch V8 producing just 195 horsepower.

But Plymouth engineers had a brilliant secret weapon. The Volare was significantly lighter than the bloated Trans Am. When these two rivals finally met on the drag strip, the results completely shocked the automotive world.

The boring little Volare clocked a quarter mile time of 15.8 seconds, absolutely smoking the iconic Trans Am by a full second. This underappreciated Plymouth proved that the late seventies still had a few lethal factory sleepers hiding in plain sight.

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That body style doesn't look familiar at all. Wow.

In 1976 the Road Runner name was switched to the 2-door model of the replacement for the compact A-body Valiant/Duster series. The new F platform was marketed as the Plymouth Volaré, and the new Road Runner became a trim and graphics package primarily. The standard engine was the 318 V8 with the 360 CID V8 offered as an option (with a two-barrel carb for 1976-'77 and single exhaust) producing 160 hp (119 kW) and only paired with the three-speed automatic transmission. Suspension parts were borrowed from the police packages.

In 1978 and 1979, the 360 was offered with a four-barrel carb and, for 1979, dual exhaust, bringing power up to 195 hp (145 kW). The standard engine for the 1979 model year was the 225 CID "Slant 6" six-cylinder. For 1980, the 360 was no longer offered, and the 318 was the top engine.

The Road Runner continued as part of the Volaré line until its discontinuation in 1980.

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In 1963, Ford was selling thousands of Thunderbirds with their famous, formal notchback roofline. The classic design was a massive hit, but Ford designers wanted to see what would happen if they injected sleek European exoticism into their personal luxury car.

They pulled a brand new convertible off the assembly line and handed it to fabricators at Dearborn Steel Tubing. These craftsmen ditched the folding top and sculpted a stunning, sweeping fiberglass fastback roof. They completely transformed the blocky cruiser into an aerodynamic masterpiece, calling it the Thunderbird Italien.

It toured the custom show circuit to absolute adulation. However, corporate rules strictly dictated that concept cars had to be crushed after their promotional tour ended.

Thankfully, Hollywood actor Dale Robertson absolutely refused to let it be destroyed. He bought the gorgeous prototype straight from the builders, saving the most unique Thunderbird ever created from the corporate scrap yard

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Ask an American gearhead about the Meteor and you will get a blank stare. That is not ignorance. The Meteor was never sold in the United States, not for one single year.

Ford of Canada built it because small Canadian towns usually had only one dealership, forced to sell both budget cars and mid-priced ones under the same roof. So Mercury-Lincoln dealers got their own exclusive brand, styled like a Mercury but priced closer to a Ford, sold only north of the border.

This particular one is a Montcalm, the top trim level, named after a French general who lost his life and his battle on the Plains of Abraham in 1759. Only 658 convertible Montcalms were built in 1965.

The car and the market it came from simply never existed south of the border. That is the whole story in one sentence: Americans cannot have nostalgia for something they were never allowed to buy
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Right after World War II, American automakers designed futuristic vehicles. While Ford and Chevrolet focused on big engines and flashy chrome, independent brand Nash Motors decided to build a cozy hotel room on wheels.

In 1949 they released the Nash Airflyte. Engineers tested it in a wind tunnel, giving it a radically smooth shape with fully enclosed wheels. The public quickly nicknamed it the upside down bathtub. However, the absolute best feature was hiding inside the spacious cabin.

If you folded the front seats backward, they perfectly aligned with the rear bench to create a massive double bed. Nash proudly marketed this as the Bed In A Car system. Dealerships even sold custom fitted air mattresses, sheets, and pillows straight from the parts catalog.

It became the ultimate vehicle for traveling salesmen avoiding expensive motels and families visiting the drive in theater. Nash proved that true luxury meant having a comfortable place to sleep anywhere you parked.

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