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Gordon Murray, F1-driven production and .. the Pontiac Fiero

Gordon Murray's design and engineering chops are unquestionable. But does his carmaking approach owe something to the short-lived Pontiac Fiero, a scrappy little car program that emerged from GM against serious resistance? Murray had a Formula One career that ran from 1969 to 1991, with stints at Brabham ('69 to '86) and McLaren ('87-'91), that resulted in several shelves' worth of trophies for the cars he was instrumental in designing. He moved on to McLaren Cars, the consumer side of things, where, during his tenure from 1991 to 2004, he helped design the McLaren F1 and the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, two cars that took learnings from his two decades in Formula One. What do all of these cars have in common? Three things: They are light. They were built in limited numbers. And they were (and are) exceedingly expensive—when the McLaren F1 debuted in 1994, it stickered at $815,000. Murray went on to establish Gordon Murray Design in 2007. GMD has created some interesting concept vehicles, such as the diminutive T.25 city car (94.5 inches long, 51.1 inches wide and 55.1 inches high), and the OX, a lightweight truck for the developing world that packs like an IKEA shelf and is working toward realization through a worthy crowdfunding campaign established by the Global Vehicle Trust. Now he has created a vehicle manufacturing company, Gordon Murray Automotive, that will use manufacturing methods that he developed under the moniker "iStream." Unlike a unibody, there are the "iFrame," a cage-like construction made with metallic components, and the "iPanels," which are composite. The panels aren't simply a decorative skin; they actually provide structure to the vehicle. Presumably this has something of the F1 monocoque about it. Going back to the three elements, (1) this arrangement results in a vehicle that can be comparatively light; (2) Murray has indicated that his manufacturing company will be doing limited-run production; and (3) to launch Gordon Murray Automotive they are going to be building a flagship model, about which Murray said, "With our first new car, we will demonstrate a return to the design and engineering principles that have made the McLaren F1 such an icon." Which seems to imply that it will be on the pricey side. According to the company's verbiage, "iStream forges an entirely new production method that defies conventionality with its Formula One-derived construction and materials technologies." It also sounds a whole lot like ...

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.