Opinion: 6 classics that don’t match their mythology

Anyone who’s ever read a comment section online knows that there’s no shortage of “expert” opinion out there extolling the virtues and vices of our favorite rides. Much of it is based on second- and third-hand experience, or even outright hearsay. That doesn’t stop the momentum from building, though, and before long a car gains a reputation that may or may not accurately represent the actual ownership experience. After having 40+ cars pass through my often-undeserving hands, I’ve developed a few opinions of my own, often running contrary to conventional wisdom.

1963 Buick Riviera

I’ll concede I’m probably not the target market for a first-gen Riv. Floating down a perfectly paved freeway for hours on end isn’t what I’d choose to do behind the wheel, even if I knew of a such a road anywhere near me. But that’s what the Riviera excelled at, sort of. Its undulating ride was more disconcerting than cruise-worthy. It had the turning radius of a city bus, and its puny brakes may have set a postwar record for largest inverse relationship between horsepower and stopping ability. And don’t get me started on the numb power steering. While the Riviera was certainly attractive, as a driver, it fell miles short of Bill Mitchell’s aspiration to build an American Ferrari. I sorely wish that Mr. Mitchell had been able to pry some brake, steering and suspension mojo from the excellent C2 Corvette. Sleek styling wasn’t enough to forgive its ills, so I’m forced to say the Riviera is overrated.

1965 Jaguar E-type

The Series I E-type is undoubtedly a good-looking car, regardless of whether or not you believe the story of Enzo Ferrari calling it the most beautiful car he’d ever seen.  What is rarely talked about is how well the car drives, even by modern standards. It’s the opposite of the Riviera in that its chassis dynamics were commensurate with its good looks.

The Jag’s rack and pinion steering is delightful, communicative, and precise. Power assist isn’t even needed. The post-1964 all-synchro four-speed is a joy to shift, and its 4.2-liter dual-overhead cam straight six, while not rev-happy, makes good torque and more than adequate power. That said, I suspect its advertised 265 hp may have been a touch ambitious. No matter, at just under 2,900 lbs., it was good for 0-60 in about seven seconds. D-Type-inspired four-wheel disc brakes were good for the time, and while the car was set up more for GT-style driving than track-ready handling, if you could deal with the body roll, you could have fun exploiting the car’s power and near 50/50 weight distribution.

The car isn’t without its peccadilloes, particularly with regard to its electrical system. But ultimately, when you look at values of its more exotic competition relative to their performance and livability, The E-Type begins to shine. For that reason, I find this cat a bit underrated.

1971 Datsun 240Z

I’ve owned four first-generation Z cars, though I’ve never kept one for a long time. There’s a reason for that: of any car I’ve owned, the corner-cutting to achieve a bargain base price is most evident in a Z. There’s almost no sound deadening to be found anywhere in the car, from the floors to the lightly padded, vinyl headliner, and as a result the freeway drone is maddening. In addition to the gratuitous noise (I will admit that the actual exhaust note is pleasing), in any significant crosswind, the early Z’s freeway wander is downright scary. The BRE front spoiler helps, if only a little. Inside, the plastic quality is backyard kiddie-pool spec.

I suppose it’s not really the car’s fault—it’s so pretty, and it handles and performs so much above its class that you expect the details to be as nice as a Porsche 911. They’re not, so I’ve always considered the Z to be a bit overrated.

1979 Porsche 924

If ever there was a car for which I had low expectations, this was it. I’m a multiple 911 owner, and before this car, I’d never owned any flavor of transaxle Porsche—certainly not the one deemed to be the worst of them, the original Audi-powered 924. I bought the car for $2,000 to do a “2,000 miles in a $2,000 Porsche” story for the magazine that I edit, Porsche Panorama. It was a middling road trip story at best, mostly because the car gave me zero material to work with. Nothing broke, though if it had, I think I could have solved most of it on the roadside because of the car’s inherent simplicity. Was it a little buzzy and underpowered? Yes, but the car’s beautiful balance, solid build, and sturdy honesty made up for that. As did its attention to aerodynamics, which gifted the 924 a lack of wind noise and near 30-mpg thrift on 87 octane fuel. Subjectively, I also found it quite pretty. The 924 surprised me in the best ways, and since then, I’ve considered it the essence of an underrated car.

1975 BMW 2002

My 2002 was the exact opposite of the 924. The little Bimmer was a car for which I had huge expectations, most of which went unfulfilled, particularly in light of David E. Davis Jr.’s assessment that the BMW 2002 was the best way to get somewhere sitting down. It’s not that there weren’t any positives. The 2002’s driving position and outward visibility were top notch, but I found the car to be buzzy and underpowered in a far more egregious way than I found the 924. The lack of fuel injection combined with crude emission controls made for annoying flat-spots in the power curve. The car’s ventilation is largely theoretical—no face level dash vents at all, just ancient vent and quarter windows, and a sunroof if you’re lucky. The fake wood applique on the dash reminded me of a VW Scirocco. The steering that I expected to be super-quick was somewhat heavy and a little dead on center. Truth be told, by the time my 2002 was built, it was a fairly ancient design, and the injected 2002 tii was the spec that you really wanted. That said, I found the 2002 to be a generally overrated car.

1968 MGC GT

I actually had the experience of owning an MGC and a Datsun 240Z at the same time. Odd, because the C is the car that the Z wiped off the face of the earth. The MGC is the rare, six-cylinder version of the MGB that was deemed in-period to be an utterly inferior car to the Japanese upstart. I didn’t find that to be the case. In spite of their wildly differing reputations for quality, the MG felt more expensive in every way—the seats were covered in good-smelling leather, the chrome-ringed Smiths gauges looked nicer, and the whole car just felt more solid. As a freeway cruiser, there was no contest—the MG was somehow nearly impervious to crosswinds, something I discovered when I got caught in 65 mph gale-force winds on I-5 in between Seattle and Portland. With the overdrive engaged in fourth gear, it was also much more relaxed at speed than the Z. With its independent rear suspension, the Z was a better handler, but with the proper tire pressures (this is critical for the slightly nose-heavy MG), the C was no slouch either. On the whole, I found the MGC GT to be vastly underrated.

What about you—did your time in one of these cars dissuade you from the mythology that surrounds it, or confirm its greatness? Which car have you owned that provided the biggest contrast to how it’s perceived?

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