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Junkyard Gem: 2002 Pontiac Aztek

The General's Pontiac Division sold the Aztek for the 2001 through 2005 model years, and — despite enjoying something of a cultural rebirth in recent years — it is generally considered to be one of the worst cars of all time. The idea of using a minivan platform as the basis for a rough-and-tough-looking crossover with plenty of outdoor-lifestyle amenities wasn't the problem, since many vehicle manufacturers have printed bales of money using that formula. What doomed the Aztek was its hideous appearance and sticker price too lofty for its underemployed-at-the-time Generation X target demographic. Still, the Aztek proved to be perfectly suited for the outdoor activities that Coloradans love: hiking, camping, fishing, skiing, hauling mud-caked golden retrievers around, etc., and so you'll still find lots of Azteks on the roads of the Centennial State. Here's an Aztek Yellow Aztek (yes, that's really the paint color's official title) residing just a few rows from a '76 Checker Taxicab in a Denver self-service yard. Sure, it does look like a vehicle built to the specifications of a six-year-old who decreed a mashup between a Datsun F-10 and a Fisher-Price Little People Travel Together Airplane, but so what? There's a built-in air compressor to blow up your inflatable rafts and volleyballs, a tent attachment that turns the rear of the van into a camper, 12-volt power plugs all over the vehicle (years before this became commonplace on ordinary minivans and SUVs), and running-gear commonality with a jillion Ventures, Silhouettes, Montanas and Trans Sports. Buick managed to de-uglify the Aztek (somewhat) and sold it as the Rendezvous through 2007, but the Aztek never could win over many people with this face. I see plenty of Azteks and Rendezvouses in Denver-area wrecking yards, and I've documented a handful over the years. This one came fully loaded from the factory, with the Corvette-style heads-up display in full effect. The center console was a removable cooler, which was a great idea Â… except for the fact that this cooler holds five standard 12-ounce cans. Michigan residents tell me that this must have been intentional on the part of the Detroit-based Aztek designers, because Michiganders are expected to chug one beer out of a sixer as they walk from the liquor store to the car in the parking lot Â… which makes me extra cautious whenever I'm driving in the Wolverine State.

This classic Firebird restomod swallowed a Prius

It takes an unusual eye to look at a 1967 Pontiac Firebird and see the Toyota Prius hidden inside. But that's just the kind of eye that a creative mechanic known online as "Bill the Engineer" has. Bill is updating his old Firebird into a true classic for the 21st century and has documenting the changes over at Priuschat and EcoModder. The TL,DR version of the story: he's replacing the worn-out powertrain with the gas-electric hybrid one from a Prius V, because it turns out the two vehicles have almost exactly the same wheelbase. Bill, who's from Columbus, Ohio and doesn't want his full name used, said in his posts on the conversion project that he's made many memories with this vehicle since buying it back in 1979. Since then, a few moves, a few decades, and some time in storage meant that the car would no longer function as he wanted it to. As he wrote, "when it comes to mice in the vehicles IT IS WAR." His solution is to make new memories and making a greener vehicle, and so we wanted to ask him how things have been going. Bill's been traveling a bit recently, but told AutoblogGreen that he's now figuring out the next steps for this amazing and complicated project. "I always plan things out before I do them," he said. That's the only way something like this can work. ABG: I think we have to start with what gave you the inspiration for this project. Was it simply that you had the two cars and wanted to see them merged into one cool mashup, or was it something else? "One day my wife wondered out loud if the car could be converted into a hybrid... The rest is history." Bill: I have been the owner of my 1967 Firebird convertible since 1979 when I bought it for $750.00. I drove it for years and made many memories. Afterward it was in storage for many years during which time mice at their way into the car and trashed the interior and wiring. I started working on a conventional restoration but always ran into major problems with hidden corrosion, electrical issues and an engine on its last legs. The car was never going to be as nice as I wanted going the conventional route. One day my wife wondered out loud if the car could be converted into a hybrid like our two daily driver Prii. That got me thinking about how it could be done. The rest is history... ABG: It looks like you started in late 2014. Have things gone well since then, or has it been one hassle after another? What has been the biggest setback, and what were the biggest victories?

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.