They’re like U2: Love them, hate them, or don’t know anything about them. Of twelve cars owned in fourteen years of licensed driving, this is by far the longest and most intense relationship.
I’m a lifelong gearhead. But, growing up in lower Michigan created a chasm in my knowledge of anything import. Detroit iron is/was the rule. Subaru fever hasn’t reached my homeland, to this day. If kid-me thought about SAABs at all, I interpreted them as yuppie cars, without the BMW/Mercedes status, that my parents would never consider owning. Kind of a weird VW. Hence, of little interest.
SAAB 900 in “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead”
The Lumet film “Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead” features a SAAB 900. I was eighteen when the film was released, and remember thinking the SAAB to be a terribly ugly old car. Why would Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s sociopathic finance executive drive that thing?
About five years later, I start as a salesman at a Ford/Jeep/Chrysler/Dodge outfit. I’m quickly on my way to becoming an encyclopedia of product knowledge, and can fly through Ford’s web-based certification processes.
At my one month mark, Frank transfers in from some other franchise. I’m becoming halfway proficient at transitioning ups (people who wander onto the lot) into sales. He gives me his ups, and I do his online training. If Frank had another brain, it would be lonely. But, he has a god given knack for pegging people to the car they want, even if they don’t know it. Like watching Cupid shoot an arrow.
My trusty rusty J10
I’m driving a clapped out ’82 Jeep J10 (the pickup based on the Wagoneers). 55 feels like 105. Fun, but not for a 50 mile daily commute. Frank says something along the lines of “you should be driving a SAAB; you are a total SAAB guy”. It’s obviously a thinly veiled insult. Between the lines is “SAABists are pedantic know-it-alls, impossible to sell, and too nerdy to buy bimmers”. Somehow his comment resonates. His summation of my character isn’t too far off. If I must be painted in such light, at least the guy is accurate.
Being the new guy, with no established clientele, at a rural dealership, I have plenty of time for googling. I try to keep it automotive related, lest the sales manager think my job is reading The New Yorker. After thorough research, the SAAB classic 900 (1979-1993), seems ideal, considering my $3,000 budget. If I’m going to jump into SAABdom, might as well start with the icon of the breed. The car is nerdy, but for all the right reasons. Practical and thoughtful Scandinavian design.
Finding a non-rusty 5-speed (a requirement, the auto is a 3 speed slushbox) in Michigan proves to be a challenge. These cars were thin on Midwestern soil, even when new. After a couple weeks of intense craigslist-obsessive-behavior, I find one in Berkley, MI. A banker had purchased it on eBay, and the seller (an outfit famous for misrepresenting old Range Rovers), had conned him, regarding its condition.
My SAAB shortly after purchase. Not much has changed visually, other than wheels and euro headlamps. I ripped the fog lights off on the bottom of a steep hill, shortly after this was taken.
A black 5 speed 3 door, with the 2.1 liter non-turbo and tan Bridge of Weir leather interior. It has 100,000 miles, and is cosmetically clapped out. But, it has good bones, no rust, and the price is right.
I’ve come to know Dave pretty well. I should request some sort of frequent customer discount.
The next seven years cement my love affair with this car. It requires an active relationship. Seasonal visits to the mechanic, for whatever I can’t handle, seem to be a rule, rather than exception. The amount of work and money I’ve poured into it is pretty extreme, considering its actual value. Some parts are becoming quite difficult/expensive/impossible to source. But, wrenching has become a meditative process, and daily driving this old car is still less than the monthly note on a new car. Plus, guessing whether it will start (or not) is an adventure!
I’ve given up on trying to make it perfect. I’m embracing splits in the rear seat seams (already had them re-stitched once, not doing that again). I was pretty upset when my dog attempted to eat his way out of the car through the headliner, which I had already reupholstered. Now, it’s a fun anecdote of life with dog.
Bad dog.
Exterior paint is single stage enamel. It is a treat to polish; I now loathe clearcoat. The interior bits are pretty easy to pull apart. I’ve taken apart the dash so many times I could probably remove it while blindfolded. Overall, the car is a good ten-footer. I’ve never cleaned the engine bay. I have a (probably unfounded) aversion to the idea. Like I don’t want to wash away whatever oil is holding vital components together.
My latest project involved adding an iphone charger/aux input to the factory radio.
While working in car sales, I hung around the service department way too much, and got to know some of the body guys. Hood was painted for a box of donuts + cost of materials.
It is a driver’s car, but not a sports car. With its long-travel double-wishbone front suspension, and decent ground clearance, it’s capable on rugged terrain, but not at the cost of composure at high speeds. I’ve traversed some pretty extreme forest roads; never bottomed out. Stuck off-road only twice. I keep a tow strap, and both times it was able to be extracted by a Jeep. No drama, or suspension damage. Top speed is 117 indicated, and it feels reasonably composed at that speed.
Compared to new designs, the chassis doesn’t feel particularly rigid. In comparison, my girlfriend’s Honda Fit drives like a go-kart. But, it feels very solid and safe, without being frumpy (like that other Swedish brand). Removing the interior door panels and viewing the massive side impact beams reinforces this perception. Narrow tires, and front weight bias, combined with whatever wheel geometry SAAB baked in provide excellent and very predictable handling and traction in snow/slippery road conditions. With winter tires, this car feels much more composed at speed than a traditional body-on-frame 4×4 truck or SUV.
For the uninitiated, the gearboxes on these things are pretty bad. First time I drove it I thought it had a bad transmission. It feels imprecise, rubbery, and notchy, all at once. The synchros feel synchro-ey. Once you get used to it, it is OK. The ratios are adequately spaced. I always rev match and take my time to switch gears. With seven years of practice, buttery shifting is second nature. Quality synthetic gearbox oil has improved the feel. At least it doesn’t have completely shot synchros or pop out of reverse, like so many of them. I would not recommend these as a vehicle on which to learn stick, and you may not borrow mine for such purpose.
The 2.1 liter dual overhead cam engine has never left me longing for the turbo. Power is very linear and there is plenty of torque. Horsepower is around 140. The car only weighs 2,750 lbs, so acceleration is fine. Although, engaging the A/C compressor completely neuters it. Being of a somewhat large displacement for a four cylinder, there is quite a bit of rotational mass, so it isn’t near as creamy as say a BMW I6. But, it isn’t a coffee grinder, either. No balance shaft, but it is oversquare. Compression ratio is 10.5/1, and it breathes well. Redline is around 5,500 radical penny munchers, and I’ve unintentionally pegged it against the limiter at around 6,000 a few times. It doesn’t complain. But, it doesn’t sing like a small displacement Honda at high RPMs, either.
Like the rest of the car, the engine feels like a good compromise. It has fat torque at low revs, plenty of passing power a bit higher in the powerband, no turbo lag, and doesn’t it get wheezy when pegged. Average MPG is around 25. Pretty decent, considering I’m a fan of the Italian tune-up.
OK, thoughtful little things that I love:
The door sills are recessed into the floorpan, so you don’t get your pant legs dirty when you get into the car. The hatchback is simply enormous, and there is no lip at the bottom of the hatch opening. With the rear seats folded, straight and flat from the bumper to the front seats. More of a wagon than hatch.
There is a setting on the climate control to simultaneously blow cool air from the dash vents, and warm air from the floor vents. The instrument cluster is lighted from the front, instead of being backlit. The headlight wipers are appreciated in the road-salt-grime season. The rear window was designed as to be enveloped by a blanket of air while driving at speed. So, no need for a rear wiper.
The seats are ergonomically designed and uber-comfortable. Visibility is amazing (fishbowl on wheels). There is a map light behind the rear view mirror for, you know, actually reading a map. The glove-box light is green, as to not impede night vision.
I don’t think any other SAAB cc articles have mentioned the Toppola camper, which replaces the rear hatch. Ultimate SAAB accessory?
There are so many more interesting tidbits about these cars, like the way the hood opens, the way the powertrain is laid out, etc. Not surprisingly, curbsideclassicers seem to respect SAABs, and there is plenty already written:
Road & Track tests a 1979 900 Turbo
bringatrailer’s SAAB 900 writeup
Back in 1969 I knew a married couple who were coworkers of mine at Grumman Aerospace. They were the ultimate hippy stereotype, both had identical long hair and tie dyed outfits, both were engineers, and they came to work together each day in an older Saab 93.
The smell of the SAAB’s exhaust with its two stroke engine jogged my memories of my childhood days when I had a 1958 Johnson outboard and had to carefully measure oil into the separate gas tank. The smell and sound of the SAAB, and its bulldog appearance (all the mass up front with a little rear end) seem like a good example of form following function.
One day they came to work in a rental car. It seems their Saab was totaled in a head on crash with a much larger vehicle. Neither had any cuts or bruises or pains. A week later, they had a much newer Saab.
Better safe than sorry, just like the video ad in your write up.
The sound and smell of old two cycle engines still evokes memories, only now it is both of old outboard motors and hippy engineers working at a military industrial defense contractor.
I suppose you already know this, because you lived these years as a car guy. The brand carried a counter-cultural/intellectual aura, dating to the popularity of the 2-strokes amount the Vermont college professor wearing elbow patched tweed jacket type. This stereotype faded in later years, with the 900/9000 seen as more a yuppie-mobile, and the brand fading into obscurity/obsolescence as the GM years dragged on.
I feel like I could have written parts of the COAL myself, having owned a 1988 900 Turbo for several years in the 1990s. I loved that car, and hated it. I was in my 20s then, yearning for a distinctive, fun car, and wow, that Saab was so cheap! For a real European car! I couldn’t say no, so I because a Saab owner. A great car… when it ran.
Your list of thoughtful things you love brought back memories, of each one of those (except the headlight wipers, which I didn’t have). I still look back fondly on many of my Saab’s attributes. Just last night, in fact, I told my wife how I would occasionally get in the mood to drive aimlessly all night, and then pull over and sleep in the Saab’s hatch area. Flat and easily accessible, with a few blankets it made for a great bed.
And like you mentioned, another appreciated attribute was that stuff on the Saab was very easy to take apart… lots of exposed screws, clips, etc. Which, of course, often had to be taken apart.
And that of course, was part the downside, since the car required seemingly endless repairs – and being in my 20s, that was a time when I couldn’t exactly afford that sort of thing. When I began having transmission problems (reverse gear was going), I knew that I had to get rid of it, so I sold to someone who (surprise!) worked at a Saab dealership. Then I bought a Mazda.
Buying that Saab was a mistake, but a mistake I’m glad I made. I still love those 900s. They’re probably the most thoughtfully engineered cars ever made. I hope you enjoy yours for years to come.
I have spent many nights on the beach in the back of this car. I have an idea for a canvass with zippered windows, which would turn the hatch into the roof of a tent enclosure for the rear. My upholstery guy said he could make it happen for about $1,000.
Love these little wingless Cessnas, their barstool seating position, brilliant dashboard, those doors, all the other good bits you mention too.
I drove a small group of them 15 or so years back at a patient SAAB fixer’s workshop. Turbo manual, very nice indeed. Nat asp manual, perfectly fine (for go), and better round town than the turbo. Auto Turbo beyond hopeless below about 40 mph, and auto nat asp ok but pretty slow and then undergeared at speed. I fully intended to buy one from the selection.
Yet I didn’t. The auto’s being out, a manual it had to be, and I just couldn’t. You’re an honest SAAB fan – plenty of one-make types have a remote relationship with truth – in saying that that gearbag is pretty bad. Worse, according to that friendly (and also honest) SAAB man, even when rebuilt only good for about 70-90K of poor gearchanging before something big would need a pricey fix. If my job then had lots of top gear country work, I might just have done it: a gorgeous machine for such stuff. But it’d be mostly in the grind of the city, and images of me grinding (and snagging and wrong-slotting) in that grind stopped me.
Such a disappointment that such a well-thought-out car should have something so fundamental so flawed.
I’m glad there are folk out there like you who keep them running. Makes me daydream I will get one one day after all, and have the $ to pay for a permanent engineering fix for that box of gears….
Wingless Cessnas is a great descriptor. I used to fly Skyhawks, and the 900 really has that cockpit vibe. The seats, cabin width, the way the steering wheel mimics a yoke in placement, and the wraparound windshield all feel very Cessna 172.
Count me as another fan of these, always on my radar and object of desire. Never ended up with one of the O.G. 900’s but a couple of later ones. The charm of the older (through the early-mid 90’s) ones is undeniable, one drive or ride and it comes across very strongly. They still turn my head whenever I see one, sadly these days it’s as often in a junkyard as on the road but at least here in my corner of Colorado there is still a contingent of them as we had a local dealer until the end and the remaining local Saab mechanics shops are slowly expanding their repertoire of what they work on.
Here’s a local one I wrote about last year in one of the best colors…
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/curbside-classics-european/gas-station-classic-1986-saab-900-turbo-sixteen-candles/
I owned a used car dealership from the mid 70s to the late 90s. I was called by my peers “Mr Saab”. I sold Saab 99s, 96s, 900s and 900 Turbos. I never got involved with any of the GM Saabs post 93. The author has it right with Automatics being junk and terrible and the 5 speed being vague and rubbery as well as being aware of reverse popping out. Turbos were also notoriously troublesome and expensive to replace as finding a good one in the junk yard was almost impossible. I did enjoy driving one for myself, but finding a halfway decent one was a major task. Don’t forget this was when these cars were not that old! To the best of my knowledge the two best years for the 900 was 85 and 86. In 87 Saab went to the horrendous all plastic bumper. Most Saabs would rattle, leak oil, have drooping headliners, have noisy defective transmissions, weak fan motors, but very comfortable seats. I did enjoy them and made sure anyone buying one knew what they might be getting into. If they were particular I’d steer them away in the direction of a Toyota. I had about 3 or 4 96s, but never could find a 95 wagon. Boy would I love a Saab 95 Wagon today! Lots of memories with Saab. To own a 900 today, you must absolutely be in love the car. Great write up!
I would consider 1991-1993 to be the years to own.
The gearbox was updated with stronger pinion gears, the naturally aspirated engine was bored to 2.1 liters, and the fuel injection system was updated to Bosch LH 2.4.2. Turbo cars updated to a less laggy turbocharger for these years. And they lost the motorized seatbelts, with the addition of a driver side airbag.
The 2.1 liter motor also breathes better than the 2.0 motors. A 2.1 intake manifold can be bolted to a 2.0 turbo, for better breathing.
One of my co-workers in the Air Force had the ancestor of this car, based on when she had it hers was almost certainly a SAAB 99. It was part of the divorce settlement she hoovered from her husband when they got divorced. I only had a couple of brief rides in the vehicle but it was apparent that some of the required maintenance had been postponed. The poor thing ran but not very well. Rather than spending the money to get the SAAB back into shape Cathy instead traded it for an MGB of dubious provenance. The MGB had been “restored”, that is someone had applied a cheap and quick paint job, I remember that there was overspray on the muffler and assorted other locations underneath. The last I knew she was trying to find someone to replace the clutch in the MG so that she could sell it.
I have owned a couple of Saabs, including a 95 wagon (talk about love/hate)!, but never a 900, although I was very keen on the 99 predecessor.
At the time these were common, I lived in a small city in Vermont (population 7000) home to quite a few yuppie wannabes. (Most of the rest emphatically did not wannabe). I think the reason I steered well clear of the 900 was that for a while there were five (5) repair shops exclusively devoted to the repair of the Saab 900 in this one (1) small city.
One explanation for the alarming breakdown of these cars is that the 900 was built on a modification of the prior 99. Once the kind of power demanded by a self-respecting yuppie was installed, however, too many of the weak links not originally engineered to handle it became over stressed and broke.
I’ve had a soft spot for this shape since James Bond got one in 1981. Used to see a lot of beater sedans but the only ones I see now are the nicely-kept fastbacks and the odd beater vert.
Lovely shot with the taillights glowing in the sunset.
About the same time, our Dear Leader Prime Minister Macolm Fraser had one too.
Actually, old Mal-I-think-It’s-Time-That-Gough-er-y’know- Pissed-Off-Fraser had a good collection of motors in his life, including a Jowett, Lancias, BMW 3.0Si, Audi 100, Alfa 166. Ofcourse, had I been able, I wouldn’t have voted for him in a pink fit, but I’ll concede he had impeccable taste in cars. And, in a very different world, he liked very much to use the full capabilities of his steeds, including a govt-supplied V8 Commodore that the leader of Australia got into at Melb Airport one night in about ’79 and got home to Dunkeld – 170+ miles away – in a wee under two hours….
Don, I believe the continuation series of Bond was the start of my love with the car as well! It seemed the perfect car for him at the time (if a somewhat odd non-Brit choice, objectively) and thoroughly modernized the series.
You remind me again of the brief, torrid, unrequited love affair I had with a new 900 Turbo in 1985. I was in total love with the car, but eventually concluded that it was beyond my budget, at least equipped as my heart demanded. I would have insisted on the black paint and tan interior just like yours.
My life was probably better for not buying it (although the VW GTI I got was not exactly trouble free during my two year ownership, so could the Saab have been worse?)
I love the Cessna analogy – the car really did feel like a small aircraft, which should not be surprising given the manufacturer’s long history in aviation. Good on you for adopting this car and giving it a good, loving home.
Justaddoil,
I’m curious – do you, or have you ever owned, a Saab 9000 as well?
Where I grew up, in southern Vermont, those Saabs were all over the place. Then again, this was during the early 2000s.