ETC
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
  • Image Credit: Murilee Martin
Most of the wrecking yards I visit while shooting photographs for this series are high-inventory-turnover pull-your-own-parts establishments in California and Colorado, and both regions have been Volvo 240 hotbeds for the last 40 years. During the last 15 years or so, however, the rate at which the boxy Swedes get junked has accelerated, driven partly by sheer age and partly due to the fact that many serious 240 fanatics have switched their allegiance to modern hybrid-electric cars.



The 240 was a sturdy machine, based in large part on the 1960s technology of its Volvo 140 predecessor. This one averaged more than 8,500 miles for each of its 30 years on the planet.



It will be crushed just a few miles from where it was sold when new.



Most of the 240s you'll see today are mid-to-late-1980s models with the B230 four-cylinder engine. These cars weren't as heavy as their blocky appearance made them seem (the 240 wagon weighed just a bit over 3,000 pounds, about the same as a 2017 Subaru Impreza hatchback).



It's not rusty, but the interior is well toasted by the harsh Colorado sun. There's a glut of good-running 240s for cheap prices these days, so a tired one isn't worth much.

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