2008 Gs Used 4.6l V8 16v Rwd Sedan Premium on 2040-cars

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Impala SS vs. Marauder: Recalling Detroit’s muscle sedans 

Impala SS vs. Marauder — it was comparo that only really happened in theory. ChevyÂ’s muscle sedan ran from 1994-96, while MercuryÂ’s answer arrived in 2003 and only lasted until 2004. TheyÂ’re linked inextricably, as there were few options for powerful American sedans during that milquetoast period for enthusiasts. The debate was reignited recently among Autoblog editors when a pristine 1996 Chevy Impala SS with just 2,173 miles on the odometer hit the market on Bring a Trailer. Most of the staff favored the Impala for its sinister looks and said that it lived up to its billing as a legit muscle car. Nearly two-thirds of you agree. We ran an unscientific Twitter poll that generated 851 votes, 63.9 percent of which backed the Impala. Muscle sedans, take your pick: — Greg Migliore (@GregMigliore) April 14, 2020 Then and now enthusiasts felt the Impala was a more complete execution with guts. The Marauder, despite coming along later, felt more hacked together, according to prevailing sentiments. Why? On purpose and on paper theyÂ’re similar. The ImpalaÂ’s 5.7-liter LT1 V8 making 260 horsepower and 330 pound-feet of torque was impressive for a two-ton sedan in the mid-Â’90s. The Marauder was actually more powerful — its 4.6-liter V8 was rated at 302 hp and 318 lb-ft. The ImpalaÂ’s engine was also used in the C4 Corvette. The MarauderÂ’s mill was shared with the Mustang Mach 1. You can see why they resonated so deeply with Boomers longing for a bygone era and also captured the attention of coming-of-age Gen Xers. Car and DriverÂ’s staff gave the Marauder a lukewarm review back in ‘03, citing its solid handling and features, yet knocking the sedan for being slow off the line. In a Hemmings article appropriately called “Autopsy” from 2004, the ImpalaÂ’s stronger low-end torque and smooth shifting transmission earned praise, separating it from the more sluggish Mercury. All of this was captured in the carsÂ’ acceleration times, highlighting metrically the differences in their character. The Impala hit 60 miles per hour in 6.5 seconds, while the Marauder was a half-second slower, according to C/D testing. Other sites have them closer together, which reinforces the premise it really was the little things that separated these muscle cars. Both made the most of their genetics, riding on ancient platforms (FordÂ’s Panther and General MotorsÂ’ B-body) that preceded these cars by decades. Both had iconic names.

2023 Grand National Roadster Show Mega Photo Gallery | Hot rod heaven

POMONA, Calif. — From an outsider's perspective, it would be easy to assume that the Grand National Roadster Show has always been a Southern California institution. After all, it celebrates the diverse postwar car culture of the region — hot rods, lead sleds, lowriders, and more. However, the show had its roots in NorCal in 1950 when Al Slonaker and his hot rod club showed their custom cars at the Oakland Expo. The GNRS moved to Pomona, California, in 2004. By then it had grown exponentially and seen about a dozen more car customization trends come and go. However, the show and its centerpiece award, the America's Most Beautiful Roadster prize, celebrate what is perhaps the first of those trends: the American hot rod in its purest form. Today, in its 73rd year, the GNRS is the oldest indoor car show in America. Annually it welcomes 500-800 cars, gathered into special themes like Tri-Five Chevys or Volkswagen Bugs. At this year's show, which was last weekend, a special hall was dedicated to pickup trucks built between 1948-98, including mini-trucks, groovy camper bed conversions, and resto-mods.  However, of all the vehicles presented, only nine are eligible for the America's Most Beautiful Roadster award. Winners get their names engraved on a 9-foot-tall perpetual trophy that was, according to The Ultimate Hot Rod Dictionary, the largest in the world when it debuted in 1950. Slonaker chose the word "roadster" initially because "hot rod" bore slightly negative outlaw connotations in 1950. Only American cars built before 1937 of certain body styles — roadsters, roadster pickups, phaetons, touring cars — are eligible, and they cannot have roll-down side windows.  Cars in the running for the cup cannot have been shown anywhere else before their debut at the GNRS.  Contestants for this accolade essentially build their cars to the a platonic ideal of a hot rod. This year the honors went to Jack Chisenhall of San Antonio, Texas, for his "Champ Deuce," a 1932 Ford Roadster. It's exactly what you picture when you think of a hot rod, but distilled to its absolute essence.  Other standouts included "Green Eyes," a two-tone green 1959 Chevy El Camino  with a heavily metal-flaked bed, "Blue Monday," a 1964 Buick Riviera lowrider, and a personal favorite, "Purple Reign," a purple and black 1951 Mercury. Cars may have started out as tools, but there aren't shows like this filled with custom refrigerators.

Car Stories: Owning the SHO station wagon that could've been

A little over a year ago, I bought what could be the most interesting car I will ever own. It was a 1987 Mercury Sable LS station wagon. Don't worry – there's much more to this story. I've always had a soft spot for wagons, and I still remember just how revolutionary the Ford Taurus and Mercury Sable were back in the mid-1980s. As a teenager, I fell especially hard for the 220-horsepower 1989 Ford Taurus SHO – so much so that I'd go on to own a dozen over the next 20 years. And like many other quirky enthusiasts, I always wondered what a SHO station wagon would be like. That changed last year when I bought the aforementioned Sable LS wagon, festooned with the high-revving DOHC 3.0-liter V6 engine and five-speed manual transmission from a 1989 Taurus SHO. In addition, the wagon had SHO front seats, a SHO center console, and the 140-mph instrument cluster with mileage that matched the engine. When I bought it, that number was just under 60,000 – barely broken in for the overachieving Yamaha-sourced mill. The engine and transmission weren't the only upgrades. It wore dual-piston PBR brakes with the choice Eibach/Tokico suspension combo in front. The rear featured SHO disc brakes with MOOG cargo coils and Tokico shocks, resulting in a wagon that handled ridiculously well while still retaining a decent level of comfort and five-door functionality. I could attack the local switchbacks while rowing gears to a 7,000-rpm soundtrack just as easily as loading up on lumber at the hardware store. Over time I added a front tower brace to stiffen things a bit as well as a bigger, 73-mm mass airflow sensor for better breathing, and I sourced some inexpensive 2004 Taurus 16-inch five-spoke wheels, refinished in gunmetal to match the two-tone white/gunmetal finish on the car. That, along with some minor paint and body work, had me winning trophies at every car show in town. And yet, what I loved most about the car wasn't its looks or performance, but rather its history. And here's where things also get a little philosophical, because I absolutely, positively love old used cars. Don't get me wrong – new cars are great. Designers can sculpt a timeless automotive shape, and engineers can construct systems and subsystems to create an exquisite chassis with superb handling and plenty of horsepower. But it's the age and mileage that turn machines into something more than the sum of their parts.