2008 Mercury Mariner on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Translogic drives wood-burning Mercury Beaver XR-7

You read the title right, we're talking about the Mercury Beaver XR-7. No, Mercury never officially built a car called the beaver. This is the brainchild of upstate New Yorker Chip Beam, who owns and operates Beaver Energy, LLC. It runs on gases created by wood pellets fermented in a 2,400-degree furnace and fed to a supercharged Ford 4.6-liter V8.
By all accounts, it gets down the road just fine, and has pretty close to full power. The best part is, you can grow the fuel yourself and avoid patronizing big oil, if that's your thing. The only drawback that we can see to the Mercury Beaver XR-7 is the PVC pipe jungle occupying the space that would be the trunk under normal circumstances.
Still, if you're willing to smell like a mountain man and look like a bad Back to the Future knockoff, this ride is right up your alley. Click past the jump to see Translogic's take on this modified Merc.

Junkyard Gem: 1981 Mercury Cougar XR-7

The story of the Mercury Cougar involves more plot twists and unexpected digressions than that of just about any other Detroit car, with successive Cougar generations based on the Ford Mustang (1967-1973), the Ford Torino and/or Thunderbird (1974-1979), various Fox Fords including the Thunderbird (1980-1988), the MN12 Thunderbird/Lincoln Mark VIII (1989-1997), and the Ford Mondeo (1999-2002). There were wagon and sedan Cougars for brief periods, just to confuse everybody, and the rakish XR-7 Cougars sometimes lived on different platforms from their ordinary non-XR-7 counterparts. I think the Late Malaise Era Fox XR-7s are among the most interesting of the bunch, so I was quite excited to spot this tan-over-gold '81 in a Denver yard. I tried to count the number of screaming-cat badges on and in this car and gave up once I hit a dozen. The steering wheel, door panels, C pillars, center console, and — of course — the hood ornament all boast snarling felines. Earlier Cougars had emblems showing full side views of stalking catamounts, but the Cougar logo for the 1980s showed just the head. This car got the optional center console, which I hear is quite a rarity. You had to pay $174 extra (that's around $513 in 2020 dollars) for an AM/FM/cassette audio system in the '81 Cougar, but at least the air conditioning was standard equipment. Believe it or not, thieves used to steal these radios. Kumpf Lincoln-Mercury still exists in Englewood (as Landmark Lincoln), and the yard that now houses this car can be found just 15 miles up Broadway on the north side of Denver.  The padded landau roof hasn't fared so well beneath the fierce Colorado sun, but overall this car seems very solid. Sadly, only the Mustangs and (once in a long while) Fairmonts get much love from the Fox Ford crowd these days. Three Mercury "wire wheel" hubcaps and one from a Lincoln. The base engine in the 1981 XR-7 was the "Thriftmaster" 200-cubic-inch (3.3-liter) straight-six, but very few XR-7 buyers would have refrained from checking the box for one of the two optional Windsor V8s. I can't tell if we're looking at the 255-cubic-inch (4.2-liter) version or the 302-cubic-inch (5.0-liter) one here, but real-world drivers might not have noticed the difference between the 120-horse 255 and the 130-horse 302, anyway. The non-XR-7 Fox Cougars had five-speed manual transmissions as base equipment (which nobody wanted), but all 1981 XR-7s had automatics.

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.