2003 Saab 9-3 Linear Sedan 4-door 2.0l on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Junkyard Gem: 1987 Saab 900 4-Door Sedan

Saab sold the original 900 in the United States from the 1979 through 1993 model years (followed by another few years of Opel Vectra-based 900s), and most of the 900s you'll find today are the higher-end models with 16-valve engines and/or turbochargers. Last year in this series, we saw a 900 Turbo and a 900 Turbo Convertible in Colorado car graveyards, and now it's time to take a look at a used-up Colorado 900 with the base 8-valve engine and few extras. The cheapest new 1987 Saab available here was the base three-door hatchback with 5-speed manual transmission, which had an MSRP of $14,395 (about $39,497 in 2023 dollars). If you wanted a new 900 with four doors that year, the price of admission started at $14,805 ($40,622 after inflation). That's the car we've got here. The engine is a 2.0-liter SOHC slant-four, the direct descendant of the engine originally developed in partnership with Triumph for use in the Saab 99 and Triumph Dolomite. The Triumph TR7 used members of this engine family as well. This engine was rated at 110 horsepower and 118 pound-feet. The naturally-aspirated 16-valve version in the '87 900S made 125 horses, while the 900 Turbo had 160 horsepower. The automatic transmission cost an extra $430 (about $1,180 now); most 900 buyers chose the five-on-the-floor manual. In fact, I have never documented a junked 1979-1993 Saab 900 with an automatic. This one came close to the 175,000-mile mark during its life. The paint is somewhat faded, but the interior looks good for a car this age. Its owner or owners took good care of it. The body has a few dents but no rust worth mentioning. If it had been a 900S or a 900 Turbo, it would have had a better chance of avoiding this fate. Saab's innovative technology for 1987 starts at around $15,000 and goes up to the $20,000,000 Viggen (the fighter plane, not the later hot-rod 9-3 that borrowed the Viggen name).

Saab has ruined all Swedish cars for me

It's easy to dismiss my hatred of all Swedish automotive manufacturers as a simple result of bad experiences. I mean, we're all products of our own experiences, some we learn from, others we don't, and some we need to be hit over the head with time and time again. I've been hit over the head too many times with Saabs (and one lonely Volvo), and as a result, I can't bring myself to buy a Koenigsegg. It started with a 900 Turbo sedan. You know, the ugly duckling sister of the beautiful two-door coupe that spawned the Aero, which managed to look stunning from the front, and like a child with a full nappy (diaper) at the rear. I bought it at an auction (mistake number one) for $6,500 (AUD) because as a bloke in his early twenties, I wanted to be noticed – and a greasy-haired bespectacled musician driving a turbocharged Swedish luxury car was my way of standing out. On the drive home I noticed two things: one, it handled like it was on rails – it just gripped! And two, the turbo wasn't working. I took my new wheels to the mechanic, who promptly told me a custom exhaust system would solve the problem – mistake number two. During the fitting, Mr. Shonky's Repair Shop managed to fry some computer thingy. I won't try to remember or understand what it was, but he did tell me that it should have been replaced and that I would have to pay for it. I agreed. Mistake number three. Twelve months later I had spent more than double the original purchase price on repairs, and the turbo still wouldn't work. I sold it for about $4,000, and moved on to something more sensible. But the beautiful handling and quirky design had left an itch that I just couldn't scratch. Many cars and motorbikes later, I sold my Mazda RX-8 because it was too perfect. You know those cars that have spotless paint, an unmarked interior, low kilometers, and you're just too damn scared to park it anywhere? Yep, it was one of those. I would spend 30 to 40 minutes trying to find a vacant spot with vacant spots on either side, and even after leaving the car I would walk back to check if anyone had parked next to me. If they did, I moved. Not a low-anxiety vehicle. So I bought my second Saab – this time a 9-5 turbo wagon – from an auction. Wasn't that mistake number one? This one had reasonably low kilometers, and was even on LPG (a fairly common conversion is Australia – just not on Saabs) and only set me back $2,200. I drove it home, and low and behold, the turbo worked!

Are orphan cars better deals?

Most folks don't know a Saturn Aura from an Oldsmobile Aurora. Those of you who are immersed in the labyrinth of automobilia know that both cars were testaments to the mediocrity that was pre-bankruptcy General Motors, and that both brands are now long gone. But everybody else? Not so much. By the same token, there are some excellent cars and trucks that don't raise an eyebrow simply because they were sold under brands that are no longer being marketed. Orphan brands no longer get any marketing love, and because of that they can be alarmingly cheap. Case in point, take a look at how a 2010 Saturn Outlook compares with its siblings, the GMC Acadia and Buick Enclave. According to the Manheim Market Report, the Saturn will sell at a wholesale auto auction for around $3,500 less than the comparably equipped Buick or GMC. Part of the reason for this price gap is that most large independent dealerships, such as Carmax, make it a point to avoid buying cars with orphaned badges. Right now if you go to Carmax's site, you'll find that there are more models from Toyota's Scion sub-brand than Mercury, Saab, Pontiac, Hummer, and Saturn combined. This despite the fact that these brands collectively sold in the millions over the last ten years while Scion has rarely been able to realize a six-figure annual sales figure for most of its history. That is the brutal truth of today's car market. When the chips are down, used-car shoppers are nearly as conservative as their new-car-buying counterparts. Unfamiliarity breeds contempt. Contempt leads to fear. Fear leads to anger, and pretty soon you wind up with an older, beat-up Mazda MX-5 in your driveway instead of looking up a newer Pontiac Solstice or Saturn Sky. There are tons of other reasons why orphan cars have trouble selling in today's market. Worries about the cost of repair and the availability of parts hang over the industry's lost toys like a cloud of dust over Pigpen. Yet any common diagnostic repair database, such as Alldata, will have a complete framework for your car's repair and maintenance, and everyone from junkyards to auto parts stores to eBay and Amazon stock tens of thousands of parts. This makes some orphan cars mindblowingly awesome deals if you're willing to shop in the bargain bins of the used-car market. Consider a Suzuki Kizashi with a manual transmission. No, really.