Here is where the discussion of "late-model" performance begins. Ironically enough, it begins at the end of the muscle car era of American, automotive history. From one gearhead to another, you'll know exactly which "era" I'm talking about: from about '61 say, '62ish when Chevy manifested a dual-quad, 409 motor out of a 348 "W" block. And the story of the 348, one I would not go into in this article, is an intrigue in itself, going back further to 1958. Oh yes, the late '50s/early '60s all the way up till about, say, 1971-72, AKA the "golden era" of the American automobile, especially when the discussion at-hand points specifically to factory aesthetic and performance in America. But what about 1973, say to about '78? What's wrong with that? Do we simply not care about that "chunk" of auto history in America? Are we offended by the gas/oil "crunch" of the early/mid to late '70s? Well yeah, because in America--specifically America--we naturally tend to be what I like to call, "muscle car people." That's not meant to be derogatory; it's a compliment and a statement combined into one. It pays tribute to the American taste, like peanut butter and apple pie does. Here's what the commentary says about American consumers and their relationship with cars: we like those "big 'ol honkin'" Chevelles and GTOs from the mid '60s to the early '70s. We like and we are in love with these A-bodies, GM's midsize class, in spite of their oil leaks on the driveway, first thing in the cotton-pickin' mornin' when the air's most cold. We're not mad at that; as Americans we even cherish these design flaws. We like "big 'ol honkin'" supposedly "midsize" sedans with large-displacement V8s that carry hay and drag race all on the same day. So then, what happens around 1973?

Something tragic happens in the American auto industry during that decade, the '70s, that wretched and evil decade of low--VERY low--compression. The pioneer kids of the 1970s were therefore left with a Camaro and a Chevelle not worthy of those nameplates, and so it was those "pioneer" kids who first decided to go out and make a profession out of high-performance engine and transmission building, or at least when it came to converting those relatively "slower" production cars, like the Camaros, Chevelles and Novas, into hi-po cars that realistically could run up-and-down Van Nuys on pump gas, of ALL things. But why were the "young dudes" put in that position in the first place? Why else, but because American manufacturers like Chevrolet began to use a very strange and unusual formula for building cars: why not sacrifice horsepower, keep the big-ass engines because they still put out loads of torque, but still keep part of our concentration on robbing horsepower, a large part of this formula, for the sake of improving gas mileage? Proof that this is the formula: the proof is in the text, and the text clearly states that 1973 was the year in particular when Chevrolet took the "Chevelle," quarter-mile street fighter that it was, and magically converted it into a luxury cruiser. How? Well, the spotlight is also on strength and handling, because strength and handling become the key features of what has now fermented into a Laguna S-3. That is a correct statement, because Chevy's new engineering angle for that time became one of sturdier frames, stronger door posts and pillars, big-displacement V8s with the gas mileage of a scooter, or so the GM of the 1970s believed. But in reality, the Chevelle/Laguna of 1973 and forward became a flop, sales for the 1973-77 window only topping 1.7 million (Third Generation Chevelle -- Wikipedia).

But now we see the slow but steady heartbreak of every gearhead in America, because gone are the days of high-compression race cars that the average street racer could buy from any domestic dealership. Gone, long gone, are the days of big block/M-22 rock crushers in dainty, little Camaros that slipped-and-slid all over the concrete. But there is/was a solution to this dilemma of lower compression and higher gas mileage. And so somewhere overseas in Germany, for about the last 75-80 years prior, an automaker by the name of Porsche also created a "strange and unusual" formula for building auto; strange as it was, it was a formula that was proven successful. The place in Germany where this phenomenon occurred was in Stuttgart, the sixth largest city in the whole country (Stuttgart -- Wikipedia). Here's the Stuttgart, Germany scenario: Porsche introduces the very first 911, puts it into production in the fall of 1963. But by the autumn of 1963, Porsche had still not marketed any "trick" behind their "treat." That sounds downright silly when discussing the history and evolution of the Porsche 911, but the reason I make such strong statements about the very history of Porsche and the 911 is that the Stuttgart-based automaker did not actually produce a turbocharged 911 until 1974, though both Porsche and VW always seemed to be the innovators behind small-displacement technology before. Turbocharging, in itself, seemed to be an invention of the Germans, and it was turbochargers that made it possible for the German automaker to squeeze horsepower out of a sewing machine of a motor, making commentary, of course, about Porsche and VW's trend toward small engines. The first turbocharged 911 that was introduced in 1974 put out an amazing 260 horse. But now I know what the "muscle car people" of America and perhaps even Japan and Australia, along with certain portions of Europe outside of Germany, would say about the early variant of the turbo 911: they would simply complain that Porsche's advertised rating of 260 BHP is really not that impressive at all, because everyone who has a green thumb in automotive performance knows that a rating of 260 BHP is really not that big of a number. But here is where the Stuttgart "appetite" takes a bizarre turn: 260 BHP out of a regular production, 3.0 L (litre) engine is actually very impressive in the sense that Porsche has taken a certain platform which I like to refer to as a "mouse motor," and they have, by the 1974 sales year, managed to squeeze just enough power out of that "mouse" motor to make the lightweight machine itself do what it needs to do, given the 911s Euro-profile power-to-weight transfer (Porsche 911 -- Wikipedia).

But my discussion of the evolution of late-model performance in America points to the famous automaker of Stuttgart, Germany, because Porsche and VW have shown us repeatedly over the years that better, more nimble performance comes from a small, fast-revving engine that weighs just enough, in regards to block/water weight, to cut through some of PCH's deadliest corners. So now we apply the very formula of Stuttgart to the stoplight-to-stoplight demands of America's quarter-mile. First, let's take a "field trip" from Germany back to the good 'ol United States. Back on the homeland, we deal with a well-known GM nameplate known affectionately as...Buick. Yes, you read the literature correctly: BUICK.

Buick becomes the target of high-tech performance because of their use of German ingredients to make a "muscle car stew," a recipe which of course led to the successful creation of something scary and fresh, something that American performance enthusiasts had never seen up until that time. Why not take a standard-model Regal and make do with what we have, kind of like GMC Truck did just a few years later? A little clarification on one thing, though: it's not to say, historically, that Buick necessarily used German engineers or even parts/accessories on the Grand National (GN) project; actually, the original GN that was introduced in 1982 was built by an outside, custom-auto builder in Auburn Hills, Michigan called Cars and Concepts. Most of the '82 GNs were ordered with the all-motor, 4.1 L V6 that put out 125 horse at 4 G, which is kind of weak, but at the same time we have to remember that this is the early 1980s, and in the early '80s it is kind of cool when an all-motor V6 in an RPO (Regular Production Order) passenger car puts out that much stock horsepower with nothing blowing air into it from the top or side of the motor's intake. But of all the Grand National cars produced by Cars and Concepts, only 2022 had the "Sport Coupe" package with the turbo 3.8 V6 that put out 175 horse, still not the most neck-breaking horsepower band in auto history, but relatively good for a hi-po V6 of antiquity.

But it appears that Buick's "mother of all invention," the turbo GN, did not really develop lean muscle until 1984, when the 3.8 turbo became the GN's standard powerplant. At this point, the "Turbo 6" was breaking, easily, the 200-horse mark, but how Buick achieved this horsepower victory is a thing of great importance, academic study even. Take note, if you would, of the introduction of a sequential fuel injection system and a computer-controlled spark system that needs no distributor. Interesting to observe how GM introduced so many of these electronically-governed instruments of late-model, engine tuning through early performance projects like the Grand National, because even the turbo V6's distributor-less, computerized relay pack spark system would eventually become the standard of GM's new, high-tech breed of aluminum V8 performance, the now notorious LS motor that became the essential mill of the modern Corvette. But long before the LS V8 became a hi-po milestone, Buick's turbo V6 utilized this notion of computerized spark timing, a dynamic of engine tuning itself that eliminated, for the most part, the horror of "flat" spots that would traditionally show up in the horsepower band of even the most "pro-built" performance motors. Apart from firing all 6 cylinders in the Regal's motor with a computer instead of a coil, the hi-po version of Buick's midsize muscle did, by 1984, become the "Grand National" car we all came to know and love. One, because in '84 the GN became standard-optioned in black paint with the "Turbo 6" insignia written everywhere, the insignia that would become etched into the minds of every Grand National/GNX enthusiast. Two, because of the fact that the 3.8 turbo became the standard engine of champions within the hood space of the hot-rodded Regal, and even at a mild rating of 200 BHP, Buick's turbocharged freak of nature, the Grand National, was capable of leaving the Buick showroom on Monday so that it could run a high 15-second pass at the dragstrip on Sunday, and it was exactly that "win on Sunday, sell Monday" attitude, the attitude that started the muscle car era in the first place, around which Buick built the Grand National (Buick Regal -- Wikipedia).

In 1987, the final production year of the G-body Regal, Buick introduced what became even a step further from the GN, the GNX, the Grand National built to "end all Grand Nationals." And Buick made sure that the GNX was the testosterone trip that they meant it to be, because now they were dealing with the new Garrett turbocharger which, apparently, was the bigger air supply of all the GN turbos, given that Buick themselves underrated the car at 275 horse with 360 ft lbs of turbo 6 torque. Other GNX-specific mods included Stewart-Warner analog gauges, a ceramic, turbo impellar with an industry-strength coated downpipe connecting the new intercooler to the motor, and a 200-4R auto with a stall converter (Buick Regal – Wikipedia). And with the radical output of the all-new, Garrett-turbocharged 3.8 mill, the hard uplift of reinforced traction bars in the rear and the turbulent launch of a stall converter, what Buick did in the late '80s is give the American performance enthusiast a blunt cry and a forewarning of the darkness that was to come just a moment later in the early 1990s. And the division of General Motors that was to initiate this "darkness" was the underdog, someone, the Jigsaw Killer himself.

And it was during the early '90s that this "Jigsaw Killer" of the GM world would make its first strike, the "underdog." Apparently there was a time in Western, auto history when Porsche--back to Germany again--reigned supreme in the small, sports car class. Apparently, there was a time when Acura built an NSX and Mitsubishi an AWD, turbo 3000GT. Apparently there was a time in American auto when General Motors had taken a retrospective look back to the Stuttgart of 1974, the Stuttgart that had produced the very first turbo 911 that became the beast of track racing in the land of Porsche/VW. GM must have journeyed in their minds to that symbolic "Land of Frooze" that was Germany, and from the "Froozles" that built the 911 turbo received the idea of what was to manifest. But let's stop, right away, this nonsense of calling the Porsche automakers "Froozles," because they're not Froozles at all; the "Froozles" were simply puppet people who walked humans on leashes. Actually, the Porsche engineers of Stuttgart were more like the "Doozers" of Fraggle Rock, small but underestimated. GM, who might've looked back to Stuttgart for an external resource of information, or Subaru for some All-Wheel-Drive pointers, also wanted to become, as an entity, a giant "Doozer" of sorts; they seemed to enjoy playing this part of "street-race underdog" in the realm of American performance.

During the 1991 sales year, GMC, the division of General Motors that built trucks primarily, along with some GMC-versioned "El Caminos," shipped a handful of Sonoma/S-10 small trucks to Production Auto Services of Michigan. Like Buick did with the Grand National and GNX a few years before, GMC contracted the third-party builder to turn what was an S-10 into a production, hi-po piece that had the characteristics of a high-end Porsche. It was like Stuttgart all over again, because the GMC Syclone was the first production truck of any size class to feature four-wheel ABS, and what would become the "SyTy" engine, a 4.3 L V6 with a Mitsubishi TD06-17C turbo, had the kind of radical, high-rev output worthy of Stuttgart or even Milan status. In fact, it was major, automotive publications like Car and Driver that compared the performance of the turbo 6 to an exotic; in a now-famous Car and Driver road test, the GMC Syclone was run side-by-side a Ferrari of the same horsepower class (GMC Syclone -- Wikipedia).

But apart from the many "hunting trophies" that the Syclone might have earned for itself, we must closely observe the technical aspects of the truck, because this is a technical article. First, let me start by saying that this morning, as I am writing this portion of my research, I have come to a revelation both as a writer and a car enthusiast: the Japanese automakers, ALL Japanese automakers, have officially earned my respect. What kind of turbo is it that has transformed a "pedestrian" Sonoma into one of the WORLD's fastest V6 platforms, who has re-taught GM the concept of "American muscle?" Who else, but the Japanese, and so Mitsubishi, supposedly the best production turbocharger of the time, provided the 15 PSI, TD06 unit that puffed much, much needed actually, cold air into the little Chevy/GMC 4.3 motor. And here is where GM and Mitsubishi seemed to get the point about forced induction, the very concept of forcing cold air into a motor at high volumes. Because when you bolted that TD06-17C unit on to a domestic, 4.3 liter V6, you made power that a lot of the larger-displacement V8s of the time couldn't. And this is not the talk of a "bench racer" who thinks that everything with stickers and an exhaust goes fast; if you don't believe me, the turbo 6 performance stats speak for themselves. It has actually been documented that the third to fourth-generation Corvette, between 1982-84, featured what was called the "L83 Crossfire," and during the 1985 production year, the 230 horse, L98 motor became standard. The beefier powerplant of the C4 'Vette, the LT1 350 rated at 300 horse, which was 50 BHP more than the L98 motor featured in the '91 'Vette, would not be introduced until the 1992 production year. The L98 small block that came prior to the LT motor was pretty good for the time, and for the given weight/aerodynamics of the C4 Corvette, it really was a platform that worked (Corvette -- Wikipedia). But when we look at the dimensions of the 4.3 V6, we're shocked to realize that those dimensions are actually identical to a 350 small block; the Bowtie V6 is basically a Bowtie V8 minus the extra two cylinders. In fact, close inspection of a 4.3 L motor shows that the cubic inch displacement actually comes out to 262 ci, again 350 minus the two cylinders (GMC Syclone -- Wikipedia). This means that Chevy/GMC actually ran a motor that was available in their mini trucks that functioned, ran as a "baby small block," a "mini V8" of sorts for the mini truck line of GM models. And when we put an LT1 350 side-by-side with a turbocharged, 4.3 V6, what we find are both similarities and differences. First we have to be honest with ourselves, a V6 that normally would put out a standard 130 horse now cranks about 280-85 with an intercooled turbocharger. On the other hand, a naturally-aspirated small block puts out anywhere between 185-230 horse with no form of forced induction, and without forced induction and all of the LT1 mods that same small block is running in the 300-horse range easily. But still, what does that say about the history of the modern small block? What does that say about the historic relationship between displacement and horsepower in American performance? What it says is that we're not living in the 1960s anymore. We are no longer living in an auto-building decade where extreme horsepower is the sole recipe to race track success. Instead we have developed a formula, through Buick's Grand National and GMC Trucks' Syclone, eventually leading to the SUV version, the Typhoon, a formula calling for "just enough;" in this case, "just enough" of a motor and "just enough" horsepower to move a lightweight car that weighed "just enough" to break itself loose. That means that instead of following the American manufacturers' formula from the '60s, a more turbulent recipe which called for aviation-profile fuel, sky-high compression ratios and a 4.56 rear diff, now we're following a "late-model" formula for high performance.

The "late-model" formula born from GM's Valley boy/girl, bubblegum-blowing, skate-action days was a formula born from the womb of the late '80s and early '90s, a formula which called for Porsche 911-like performance, while inheriting some neat stuff of antiquity from that "lost era" of muscular iron. In other words, Buick and GMC both created a stealth sports car that contained the "Jimi Hendrix," the "Slash" of all 6-cylinder engines available. But even though GMC Truck was the producer and innovator of the "testosterone mouse" of the 1991-93 sales window, that "testosterone mouse" was still a 6-cylinder. And so we "muscle car guys" lift up our Hurst cue ball shifts and our pitchforks angrily, wondering exactly what happened to the glory days of the centerlined drag car, or the full-sized sedan with the 427/4-speed option. We longed for a renaissance of the '60s, but couldn't find it. Spotlight then, to Chevy's LT1 motor.

Flashback again to the legendary Chevy small block, the V8 with the famous 4-inch bore. When it came to turbocharging a V6, GM was able to create a small motor that whipped after just a second, but when it whipped, it whipped hard. But something was lost in the smooth-and-quiet whisper of late-model, American performance, something that only a V8 could replicate: the throaty sound of a V8 itself. The problem was that even a lot of the late-model V8s did not sound or feel like a V8, and this was a running dynamic that would be resolved later by the LS motor that would be introduced in the late '90s. Here's where innovation kicks-in and history repeats itself: the LT1 350, like the turbocharged V6 of the same time, was good for the time. Following the formula of "just enough," the LT1 motor was not so much an innovator in terms of actual power output as it was in terms of equipment used. For example, tuned port injection was a key feature of the modern small block, and on the LT1 in particular, a reverse cooling system was used to cool the heads first, allowing the motor to run with higher compression than the previous generation of small block V8s (GM LT engine -- Wikipedia). In the '94-'96 Impala SS, the LT1 was actually de-tuned from the Corvette/Camaro platform. The main mechanical differences were in the heads and cam; the Impala LT1 used cast-iron heads, while the Corvette/Camaro LT1s were aluminum. The LT1 in the Impala SS, the same LT1 used in other B-model platforms like the Buick Roadmaster, was built with a camshaft that had a more low-end torque "profile." So while the actual 'Vette motor put out 300 horse, the Impala SS was rated at 260 with 330 ft lbs of torque, still substantial for a full-sized, passenger car. The other difference was in the motor's bottom end; the 'Vette LT1 had 4-bolt caps while the Impala's LT1 was only a 2-bolt motor. But again, 260 horse was a great rating during a time of a decade, a whole decade in fact, when actual brake horsepower, the power produced at the back of a motor, just wasn't of central concern like it was 25-30 years before (Seventh Generation Impala -- Wikipedia). The other dilemma was that GM introduced the LS motor just a few years after the LT1 had already phased itself out, and it was the LS block itself that would lead to the invention, from the late '90s into the Millenium, of the high-tech, muscle car in the electronic age of Internet-based America.

So where is the dilemma? The "dilemma" exists in the fact that the all-new LS block was such a radical departure from a conventional, small block V8. Not only dimension-wise, but also in the sense that the LS was an all-aluminum motor from the factory, or at least this was the case for passenger cars; the truck version, the Vortec, uses a cast iron block. All LS-series engines, however, are distinctive in that they use six-bolt bearing caps instead of a 2 or 4-bolt platform. Many of the passenger car LS motors use cast iron heads, though most of the performance-oriented platforms are all-aluminum. An all-aluminum platform is a rarity for any production engine, no matter from what country, which automaker, no matter how many cylinders. Several years ago on the aftermarket side of this industry, hot rod builders who possessed such money were inclined to buy aluminum heads through such suppliers as Cainfield or Edelbrock. But as time went on, the big manufacturers must have caught on to the trend, as they have many times before, historically. Why would a builder like Mercury, for example, want to use lower rooflines and less chrome by the late '50s? Because the hot rodders of that time were doing exactly those kinds of conversions on the 1949 models to make those particular Mercury models look that much cooler, because how dorky would a '49 Merc be without the top chopped and the chrome pieces shaved smooth? It would look like a downright utility vehicle. And so with the LS motor from General; why use a conventional block with conventional heads when an aluminum motor with higher-flowing heads just makes that much more sense? GM apparently figured these things out, and innovations such as relay pack ignition, along with a geometrically shorter, aluminum block that was just as strong as a Gen I or II cast iron block made for the standardization, at least in the GM world, of what became the LS platform (GM LS engine -- Wikipedia).

It seems, based on the research of late-model auto tech, that the man who lives in his garage every Saturday afternoon with KLOS and a six-pack of beer could really benefit by picking up some printed manuals or consulting Google on his outdoor computer or smart, mobile device. It seems as though the “Shadetree Mechanic,” including myself in this category, needs to learn to break past certain automotive traditions, but this doesn’t mean that we forget completely about these traditions either. Instead we have resolved, as an industry and as a congregation of enthusiasts, to make good of General Motors’ example by taking the “stuff of antiquity” from our car-loving past and incorporating it with the “stuff” of modern technology: turbochargers, superchargers, more advanced head porting and cam grinding, advanced, reverse-cooling systems or what have you. To quote some of those “good ‘ol boys” from my San Fernando Valley childhood, we would before just “build the shit” out of a motor. Now, in retrospect, we don’t “build the shit” out of anything; instead, we treat an engine like a living being with feelings and a personality, and if humans and animals need to breathe just to survive, then why would the 4-stroke engine of a car be any different?

- Sal Alaimo (11/6/10)