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What's driving the spike in air-cooled Porsche 911 prices

Classic car prices have been racing skyward in general, but prices for air-cooled (pre-1999) Porsche 911s are ascending like they're strapped to rocket boosters. It's been going on for years, and every year people are surprised by how outrageous it's getting: Classic Driver covered it this month, as did The Truth About Cars who included this example of a "scruffy" 1993 RS America with 215,000 miles asking $80K; Mike Spinelli at Drive riffed on it at length last year along with a host of classic-car-market observers; Porsche forums were at it two years ago; and let's not even get into the 993 Turbo, going for prices so high you have to lie down to look at them. Speed Academy has run a piece looking at why it's happening, one theory being that regular-guy owners are hopping on the runaway-price wagon without any good reason. As in the example of that high-mileage, scruffy 911 RS America at Bring a Trailer, the owner sees pristine examples valued by Hagerty at $170,000, and even though the average value is $93,238 he thinks something like, "Mine's got to be worth half of top dollar ..." The tide - even one rising on air - makes it hard to find decent prices. Then there is the flood of money into the market. In spite of articles that try to temper investors' outlooks on collectible cars, other articles in places like the Financial Times and the Guardian promote vintage metal as a safe place to put money and reap astonishing returns. Speed Academy thinks one side effect of high 911 prices is that responsible enthusiasts are turning their attention to cars like the BMW 2002, E30 M3, and E9 3.0CS, saying their prices are "sharply on the rise." The entire article is worth a read since it goes into markets far afield from pricey German steel, but incredibly, the entire piece was actually inspired by a 1997 Acura Integra R that sold for $43,000 on eBay. So while this could be the best time to get into the classic car market if you know what you're doing, it is certainly the best time to do your homework. Related Video:

Looking Back At Oprah's Free-Car Giveaway 10 Years Later

Molly Vielweber's Pontiac G6 appears unremarkable at first glance. It wears forest green paint, rolls on five-spoke aluminum wheels, and it has a sizeable scrape in the driver's side door, the scar of a decade's worth of hard use. You wouldn't notice it parked at a big box store or cruising on the highway. Pontiac made hundreds of thousands of G6s in the 2000s, and a lot are still on the road. It's unremarkable in every way except for the front license plate, which reads, "Oprah 6." But this is not just any G6. This car is a part of television history. Vielweber won her G6 10 years ago at a taping of The Oprah Winfrey Show, when Oprah kicked off her 19th season in dramatic fashion by giving all 276 members of the studio audience a free car. It was an unprecedented stunt that changed lives, generated controversy and ultimately failed to provide enough of a marketing lift for Pontiac, which would be shuttered just over five years later. September 13 marks the 10-year anniversary of the memorable event, which caught everyone, including audience members, by surprise. In a masterful display of showmanship, Oprah dialed up the suspense to match the enormity – and cost – of the event. First she gave away 11 cars, which would have been a landmark TV promotion by itself. But then she coyly announced: "I've got a little twist." Models circulated throughout the audience carrying silver platters loaded with white boxes wrapped in red ribbon. One contained a set of keys, Oprah implied, for another audience member to win the final car. "Do not open it. Do not shake it," she commanded the crowd. Finally, with the suspense built to a fevered pitch, everyone opened their box. They all had keys. "You get a car! You get a car! You get a car! You get a car! Everybody gets a car!" Oprah exclaimed. "Everybody gets a car! Everybody gets a car!" This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Everybody did get a car. But not everyone kept it. William Toebe attended the show with his wife, Jillaine, and he immediately thought of the tax implications, which stretched to $6,000 or more for some audience members. It was a tough reality for many in the audience that day, some of which had been selected based on their need for a new car. "That responsible part of me stepped forward and wondered 'where am I going to get the money to pay the taxes?'" he recalled.

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.