Škoda 100/110

Škoda 100/110/110 R
Škoda 100
Type	Small Family car (C-Segment), Coupé (110 R)
Manifacturer	Automobilový Závod, Národní Podnik - Mladá Boleslav (AZNP)
Production	1969 - 1977 (100/110) 1970 - 1980 (110 R)
Body material	Stalinium
Body Style	4-door sedan (100/110) 2-door Coupé (110 R)
Engine	988cc OHV engine (42 hp) 1107cc OHV engine (50-62 hp)
Layout	Rear engine; rear-wheel drive
Curb weight	circa 880 kg
Predcessor	Škoda 1000 MB
Successor	Škoda 105/120/Garde

The Škoda 100/110 emerged in the late 1960s as a subtle evolution of the iconic 1000MB, embodying the practical, no-nonsense spirit of Czechoslovak engineering. With minimal changes beyond updated bodywork, it was a car designed to serve the people without excess or extravagance—an affordable continuation of a trusted legacy in an era where resources were limited, but ingenuity was not.

Development

This was supposed to be a successor of 1000 MB. However Soviets said it's better than a Moskvich, and also than BMW's in that era, so this project was halted.

The development of the Škoda 100/110 wasn’t supposed to happen. In fact, Czechoslovakia was on the verge of creating something far more advanced—the Škoda Type 720. This car was set to be a game-changer, a leap into the future for Škoda, with features that would have made the Western bourgeoisie tremble in their overpriced Cadillacs and Lincolns. The Type 720 was envisioned to have luxuries such as air conditioning, power steering, hydropneumatic suspension, and even an automatic transmission. This wasn’t just another people's car; it was an ambitious project aiming to bring advanced technology into the hands of the Czechoslovak workers—an answer to the capitalist obsession with excessive comfort.

With engine options ranging from 1250 to 1500 cc, the Type 720 was set to compete not only with domestic models but also with the overblown creations coming out of capitalist West. Everything seemed promising—engineering was advancing, and prototypes were taking shape. The car represented a bold vision of the future, one where Czechoslovakia would be driving innovation, leaving those Western softies in the dust.

But then came August 1968, when the Warsaw Pact "liberated" Czechoslovakia from its brief experiment with reform. The invasion brought a sudden halt to the Type 720 project, as priorities shifted under the iron weight of political reality. The dream of a luxurious, modern Škoda with air conditioning and power steering? Crushed under the tracks of Soviet tanks. The workers were left with a rebodied 1000MB—the Škoda 100/110—because there simply weren’t any resources left to push forward with the bold Type 720 vision.

And so, the project was shelved, sacrificed to the shifting winds of political fate. What could have been a revolution in Czechoslovak automotive design was reduced to yet another casualty of Cold War geopolitics, while the people continued driving cars that, though reliable, would never reach the heights of innovation that the Type 720 promised.

Production

The production of the Škoda 100/110 began with an unfortunate stroke of bad luck, setting the stage for what could have been a disastrous delay in delivering this new model to the masses. In the early days of preparation, a significant fire broke out at the factory, destroying key sections of the production line and pushing the launch further down the road. This wasn’t just a minor setback—it was a major blow at a time when the demand for new cars was rising, and the pressure to replace the aging 1000MB was mounting.

In the face of this misfortune, one might expect a capitalist manufacturer to throw up their hands, declare bankruptcy, and let the insurance companies sort it out. But in Czechoslovakia, where the collective effort of the working class was always the driving force behind industry, there was no time for despair. The workers banded together to rebuild and restore production capacity as quickly as possible, embodying the resilience and determination typical of a system designed to serve the people.

The fire delayed the official start of mass production, but it couldn't stop the inevitable success of the Škoda 100/110. Once the factory was repaired, the workers pressed on, manufacturing the new models with a sense of urgency and pride. What had initially been seen as a catastrophe turned into yet another example of how socialist industries, driven by the spirit of cooperation, could overcome even the harshest obstacles.

When production finally got underway, the Škoda 100/110 quickly began to fill the roads of Czechoslovakia and the broader Eastern Bloc. Despite its origins being marred by misfortune, the car became a symbol of resilience. It wasn’t a flashy, high-performance machine like those that American teens would buy only to crash into lamp posts; it was practical, reliable, and built to last. In fact, the delay caused by the fire didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. When the car eventually arrived, it served its purpose as a faithful, everyday vehicle for the people—a true reflection of socialist resolve.

Through hard work and perseverance, the Škoda factory was able to recover from this setback, with production rolling smoothly thereafter. And while the bourgeoisie in the West might have seen such a disaster as a fatal blow, in Czechoslovakia it was merely a challenge to be overcome.

Škoda 100

The Škoda 100 series—a triumphant blend of pragmatism and stubborn Eastern Bloc resilience—was the answer to the transportation needs of real, hard-working people, unlike the bloated monstrosities rolling off assembly lines in the decadent West. While Americans were busy indulging their overfed egos with chrome-coated gas guzzlers that couldn’t make it a mile without sucking down gallons of fuel, the Škoda 100 delivered everything you actually needed in a car: reliability, simplicity, and the joy of feeling every ounce of that 42-horsepower engine’s might as you power through the rigors of socialist life. Because, let’s face it, power steering and luxury trims are for soft-bellied capitalists.

Simplicity is based. Notice the single rectangular dial.

Škoda 100

The base Škoda 100 was an unpretentious workhorse. Sporting a rear-mounted 988 cc engine producing a spine-chilling 42 horsepower, this car didn’t waste its time with unnecessary frills like air conditioning, electric windows, or even power steering. Because, as we all know, posilovač je pro sráče. If you needed something as trivial as assisted steering, you were clearly the type who spent too much time eating Big Macs and not enough time turning the wheel like a proper comrade.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, the bloated masses in their air-conditioned Chevy Impalas and Ford Mustangs had long forgotten the beauty of feeling connected to the road, too busy stuffing their faces with burgers to appreciate the purity of driving. The Škoda 100 was for people who understood that life wasn’t about convenience; it was about grit, endurance, and the ability to drive a car that didn’t apologize for making you work for it.

Škoda 100 L

The Škoda 100 L, with its slightly better upholstery and gasp a hint of chrome trim, was as close to bourgeois excess as we dared venture in Czechoslovakia. But don’t get too excited—this was a socialist version of "luxury," which meant you got cloth seats that wouldn’t tear after a few years, unlike the cheap vinyl in those American boats masquerading as cars. The “L” stood for “Luxusní,” but it should’ve stood for “Lidový” (for the people), because, unlike American sedans that needed an entire Saudi oil field just to make it around the block, the 100 L was a model of efficiency.

Sure, we let buyers add a basic radio as an option if they really wanted to distract themselves from the joy of driving. But that’s about where the extravagance ended. No automatic transmission, no power seats, and certainly no laughable gadgets like cigarette lighters or cup holders—the Škoda 100 L kept you focused on what mattered: moving forward, one communist-engineered mile at a time.

Škoda 100 L DeLuxe

Now, for those who truly wanted to experience the pinnacle of Czechoslovak automotive opulence, there was the Škoda 100 L DeLuxe. While Americans were swaddling themselves in leather seats and watching TV in their over-engineered, over-weight, under-efficient tanks on wheels, the DeLuxe offered something far better: a two-tone dashboard. Yes, dear reader, that’s right—two colors. Take that, American consumerism!

And if you were really lucky, maybe you’d splurge on an AM radio. But the true genius of the DeLuxe was its ability to still make you work for it. You wouldn’t get any of that automatic transmission nonsense, no power windows to break down when you least expect it—just the purity of driving, the occasional glance at your two-tone dashboard, and the smug satisfaction of knowing you were too tough for the American dream of cushy excess.

Škoda 110

110 L was just better...

Škoda 110

The Škoda 110 was designed for those who preferred the unadulterated experience of driving without the frills and unnecessary distractions that Westerners called “features.” This base model came with everything a driver truly needed—four wheels, a steering wheel, and a functioning engine. No power steering? Who needs it when you can build those arm muscles turning a classic manual rack and pinion? Air conditioning? Laughable—crank down those windows and let the fresh air of socialist progress flow in.

Inside, the 110 was refreshingly spartan. A simple dashboard with a few essential dials, a vinyl bench seat for optimal durability, and a gear stick that reminded you of what real driving was about. The radio was an optional accessory, of course, because why would you distract yourself with capitalist noise when you could enjoy the hum of the robust 1.1-liter engine? It was practical, efficient, and didn’t waste resources on needless embellishments.

Škoda 110L

Now, if you were lucky enough to find yourself behind the wheel of the Škoda 110L, you had truly made it in the world—or at least by Czechoslovak standards. The “L” stood for “Luxusní,” and oh, did they mean it. While Westerners were busy showing off their leather seats and plush interiors, the 110L offered thoughtful upgrades that spoke of understated elegance.

First, you got fabric-covered seats. Yes, fabric! No more sticking to the vinyl during those hot summer drives—this was a touch of class, offering both comfort and durability. The dashboard, while still maintaining its practical layout, had a slightly more polished finish. You may have even been treated to a glovebox lid, a feature that screamed, “I have arrived.”

The radio, which was an extra in the base 110, came standard in the 110L, because who wouldn’t want the occasional tune to accompany them on their journey? And the ultimate indulgence: chrome trims. These subtle metallic accents on the exterior gave the car a distinguished look, as if to say, “Yes, I live in a socialist republic, but I know luxury when I see it.”

Perhaps the pièce de résistance of the 110L was the inclusion of carpeted flooring. Gone were the days of plain, utilitarian rubber mats—now your feet could enjoy the softness of carpet as you drove, a feature that Western luxury brands could only dream of imitating in its pure practicality.

The Western Misunderstanding

While Western automakers were busy cramming their cars with gadgets, gizmos, and what they called "luxury" features, the Škoda 110 and 110L kept their focus where it mattered: simplicity, durability, and functionality. The West may have sneered at the idea of "luxury" being fabric seats and carpeted flooring, but they missed the point entirely. The 110L offered what most people actually needed—a reliable, comfortable car without the unnecessary excess.

In a world where Western cars demanded constant upgrades, special parts, and were filled with complicated electronics that broke down easily, the Škoda 110 and 110L were refreshing in their honesty. They didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. They were the cars of the people, built for real life, not for showing off on the boulevard.

Škoda 110 R

Škoda 110 R was (and still is) SUPER-BASED chick magnet

The Škoda 110 R—affectionately dubbed the "Škorsche" (Škoda + Porsche), a car that dared to flirt with the decadence of Western sports coupes, but with an unmistakably Eastern European twist. Built on the humble platform of the Škoda 110, this coupé represented a bold step into the world of glamour and performance—or at least what passed for such behind the Iron Curtain.

The Design: Eastern Bloc Elegance

The Škoda 110 R was a sleek, sporty coupé that broke away from the boxy, practical sedans of its day. It featured flowing lines, a low stance, and, most notably, pillarless windows, a feature that oozed sophistication. No more clunky window frames to get in the way of your aesthetic enjoyment—just a seamless open-air experience as you cruised (at modest speeds) through the Czechoslovak countryside. This design choice alone made it feel like a car that could hold its own against the flashy sports cars of the West.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves—it was still based on the Škoda 110, so while it looked fast, it didn’t exactly set the roads ablaze. With a “slightly” more powerful 1.1-liter engine that produced a dizzying 62 horsepower (a whole 10 more than the standard 110!), the Škorsche wasn’t built for raw speed. Instead, it offered something more refined—a leisurely driving experience with just enough punch to make you feel like you were behind the wheel of something special.

The Interior: A Touch of Decadence

110 R have also different, sporty dashboard with round Dials.

If you stepped inside the 110 R, you were greeted by an interior that made a deliberate effort to remind you that you were driving something more than just another utilitarian vehicle. Optional wood-panelled dashboards gave it an air of bourgeois luxury, a stark contrast to the hard plastic and vinyl surfaces of its lesser siblings. This wooden flourish was a nod to the decadent Western auto interiors, but in a way that didn’t stray too far from socialist sensibilities. It was elegant, but not excessive—a balance that few Western carmakers could ever dream of achieving.

And then there were the seats—supportive bucket seats that cradled you in place, because you never knew when you’d need that extra grip during a thrilling ride down winding mountain roads at speeds of up to 140 km/h (in theory). The seating arrangement was sporty but still practical enough for everyday use. After all, this was an Eastern European coupé, designed for the working class enthusiast.

The Wheels: A Rare Indulgence

One of the most striking and aspirational features of the Škoda 110 R were the optional alloy wheels. In a land where steel wheels were the norm, these lightweight alloy wheels were a rare symbol of decadence, a touch that could make the average worker feel like they were driving something closer to a Porsche. Sure, the performance gains were minimal, but the psychological boost was immense. With these wheels, the Škorsche looked ready to take on any Western roadster, even if it might lag behind in a race.

The Price: Double the Fun, Double the Cost

Can you see that pillarless windows? Super swag in communist Yurop.

Of course, all this "luxury" came at a price—literally. The Škoda 110 R cost nearly twice as much as the standard Škoda 110. For many, this price tag put the car firmly in the realm of fantasy. It was a coupé for those lucky few who could afford to indulge in a little automotive extravagance, and who wanted to flaunt their success in a system that prized egalitarianism. Owning a Škorsche was a statement—you were someone who appreciated the finer things in life, even if those finer things still came with a socialist twist.

A Symbol of Socialist Excess?

In many ways, the Škoda 110 R was a fascinating contradiction. It was a sports car in a land where practicality was king. It offered the illusion of performance and luxury, but with the heart and soul of a modest family car. It was both an aspiration and a compromise, a flirtation with Western decadence but within the constraints of socialist reality.

While Western car enthusiasts might laugh at the idea of the "Škorsche" competing with real Porsches, those who owned a Škoda 110 R understood something deeper. It was a car that represented a dream—the dream of style, of freedom, of owning something that transcended the everyday drudgery. And in that sense, it succeeded, not by Western standards, but by offering a taste of what could be, without ever fully crossing the line into the world of capitalist excess.

Škoda 110 LS

110 LS was basically Škoda's factory sleeper...

The Škoda 110 LS—a perfect blend of practicality and a touch of sportiness, designed for the man who enjoys a bit of performance but has embraced the realities of family life. In essence, the 110 LS was essentially a Škoda 110 L, but with the heart and soul of the sporty 110 R. It took the best of both worlds: the roominess and comfort of the sedan, and the engine and equipment of the coupé, creating a car that could handle family duties without sacrificing driving pleasure.

The Engine: Family Man with a Need for Speed

The Škoda 110 LS was powered by the same 1.1-liter engine as the 110 R, delivering 62 horsepower. This was a significant upgrade from the standard 110 L, giving the LS a little extra pep when accelerating. Sure, you weren’t going to win any races against actual sports cars, but for a family sedan, it was more than enough to give you a feeling of control and excitement on the road—especially compared to the more pedestrian options on the market.

Yep. It's got wood trim. Luxurios...

The Interior: Practicality Meets Style

On the inside, the 110 LS came with the same elevated interior trim you’d find in the 110 R. This meant better upholstery, often fabric rather than vinyl, and the possibility of that coveted wood-paneled dashboard that made you feel like you were behind the wheel of something a little more special than your average family car. It had all the functionality of a standard 110 L, with its spacious cabin and room for the kids in the back, but with an extra dose of refinement and style that made driving feel just a little more indulgent.

Exterior: Subtle Sporty Flair

While the 110 LS maintained the traditional four-door sedan layout of the 110 L, it borrowed some styling cues from the sportier 110 R. It didn’t have the pillarless windows or coupé silhouette, but it still carried a sense of understated elegance. Chrome trims, optional alloy wheels, and a slightly more aggressive front grille hinted at the performance lurking beneath its family-friendly exterior. This was a car for the man who wanted to feel a bit like a racer, but still had to fit a car seat in the back.

The Perfect Balance

The Škoda 110 LS was the ideal solution for someone who needed a practical car but wasn’t ready to give up entirely on the fun of driving. It was a car that allowed a man to feel responsible, but also indulge in a little fantasy of being behind the wheel of something more exciting. In a sense, it was the grown-up version of the 110 R—a car for the man who had traded in his racing dreams for a mortgage and kids, but wasn’t quite ready to let go of his inner enthusiast.

In short, the Škoda 110 LS was the car for the family man who still had a bit of "Škorsche" in his soul.

Specs (Škoda 100)

It's simple, but undrivable for those stupid Americans....

Engine and Performance

Sure, your Western teen might be boasting about their 300 horsepower (or more!), but ask them how often they actually need that kind of force to sit in a drive-thru. The Škoda 100, with its 60 cubic inch (988 cc) engine, delivered a majestic 42 horsepower (31 kW)—just enough to hit 75 miles per hour if you really wanted to push it. But who needed all that speed when you could gracefully cruise along at a comfortable pace, saving fuel and, frankly, keeping your dignity intact?

American teens might have had their roaring engines, but ask them how much gas money they were blowing on those inefficient beasts. Meanwhile, Škoda 100 drivers were laughing all the way to the gas station, knowing their car barely sipped fuel. Why race when you can outlast?

Handling and Suspension

In the West, teenagers were out there recklessly losing control of their overpowered muscle cars, spinning out every time it rained. Not so with the Škoda 100. Its rear-engine, rear-wheel-drive setup made it a model of traction. You may not have been hitting 0-60 in 5 seconds, but you also weren’t crashing into a telephone pole trying to impress your friends. And let’s be real—what’s more important? Looking cool, or keeping your car in one piece?

With its modest curb weight of 1,700 pounds, the Škoda 100 didn’t need 400 horsepower to stay nimble. It was designed for actual driving, not just showing off in parking lots. And that soft suspension? Perfect for dealing with real roads, not the silky-smooth highways American teens were spoiled with.

Interior and Features

Western teens might have had their oversized, leather-clad interiors and absurdly large radios, but was any of that really necessary? The Škoda 100 offered a much more thoughtful, minimalist interior. No distractions. Just a sturdy wheel, simple dials, and enough space to carry what you needed—not what you wanted.

And let’s talk features. The Škoda 100 didn’t come with a tape deck or power windows, but why would you need those? You could just roll down your window and enjoy the fresh air the old-fashioned way. No power steering? Perfect—builds arm muscles. Plus, who wants the hassle of all those fancy gadgets that are just waiting to break down?

Timeless Design

While Western teens were slapping flames and spoilers on their cars to make up for their insecurities, the Škoda 100’s design was simple, practical and functional. The 13-inch wheels didn’t need flashy rims to prove their worth—they were durable, sturdy, and got the job done. No chrome overkill, no useless spoilers—just clean lines and efficiency. The Škoda 100 wasn’t trying to impress anyone; it was simply there to serve.

While Western teens wasted their time and money on unnecessary horsepower and gaudy design, Škoda 100 owners were driving a car that stood the test of time. It didn’t rely on excess to get attention—it was a car for people who understood the value of function over form, a car for the real world, not some Hollywood movie fantasy. And at the end of the day, who really won? The Škoda 100, of course.

Racing success

The Škoda 120 S and Škoda 130 RS, both underestimated by the West, brought a level of success to Eastern Bloc motorsport that embarrassed far more prestigious and well-funded Western teams. These cars, modest in appearance but fierce on the track, were a testament to the ingenuity of Czechoslovak engineers, who made the most out of limited resources to humiliate their Western rivals on the international racing stage.

Škoda 120 S

Škoda 120 S in Púchov, 1978

The Škoda 120 S, introduced in the early 1970s, was derived from the humble Škoda 100 series, a family sedan that no one expected to see at the forefront of motorsport. Yet, in a delicious twist of irony, this car found its way into national and international competitions, such as the European Touring Car Championship (ETCC) and various national rally events.

With a relatively simple design and a rear-engine layout, the 120 S wasn’t flashy or particularly powerful (producing around 120 hp in its race-tuned form), but it proved surprisingly competitive. It turned heads when it began outpacing cars from far more advanced automakers. Teams that had poured millions into their flashy Western machines were now being overtaken by what was essentially an upgraded grocery-getter. The Western reaction? Equal parts disbelief and embarrassment.

The 120 S was a symbol of pragmatism over glamour. Its ability to compete on the track, especially in rally events, caused Western manufacturers to take notice—though they were probably more inclined to laugh before the little Škoda roared past them.

This little bastard literally vaporized its Western competitors in 1977 Rally Monte Carlo in under 1300cc class. 130 RS achieved first two places.

Škoda 130 RS

If the 120 S was a punchline turned competitor, the Škoda 130 RS became a serious threat. Launched in 1975, it was quickly dubbed the "Porsche of the East" because of its nimble handling and lightweight design. In a further twist of irony, this Czechoslovakian car could go toe-to-toe with, and often beat, cars from brands like Porsche and Alfa Romeo, leaving their owners wondering how such a small, underfunded operation could cause them so much trouble.

The 130 RS competed with great success in both rallying and circuit racing. Most notably:

• In 1977, the 130 RS won the European Rally Championship i(Monte Carlo) in the under-1300cc class.
• The car repeated this success in 1981, cementing its place in motorsport history.
• On the track, the 130 RS claimed multiple victories in the European Touring Car Championship, with the pinnacle being the 1981 manufacturer’s title.

The simplicity of its rear-engine design, paired with its featherlight body (weighing around 720 kg), gave it the agility needed to compete against much more powerful, expensive, and technologically advanced cars. Western automakers and their drivers, used to thinking of Czechoslovakia as a place for budget cars, were constantly surprised by the 130 RS’s dominance on both rally and circuit stages.

Extended Homologation: The Legacy of Their Success

The success of both the 120 S and the 130 RS was so undeniable that the 130 RS received an extension of its homologation period, allowing it to continue competing well into the 1980s. For the West, this was an added insult: they not only had to keep facing this budget-built beast but had to endure it for much longer than expected. In many ways, this was a symbol of Eastern resilience and a clear reminder that expensive technology isn’t always the winning factor—sometimes, it's all about clever engineering and relentless determination.

Ultimately, both the Škoda 120 S and Škoda 130 RS became icons of motorsport, not just for their victories but for the way they embarrassed the West, proving that even from behind the Iron Curtain, Eastern Europe could produce world-class competitors.

Sales

The racing versions of the Škoda 120 S and Škoda 130 RS were purely competition cars, never available for sale to the general public. However, their success on the track had a direct and significant impact on the sales of their production siblings, namely the Škoda 100, 110, and 110 R.

Racing Glory Boosts Sales of Civilian Models

While Škoda 120 S and Škoda 130 RS remained exclusive to the racing world, their performances on the international rally and circuit stages worked wonders for Škoda's image. Motorsport success translated into commercial appeal for the production models that shared a similar lineage. The connection between these racing legends and the production versions, which were affordable and accessible, made everyday consumers feel like they were getting a piece of that winning heritage.

For example, the Škoda 100 and Škoda 110, family sedans built for the masses, saw a noticeable uptick in sales, thanks to the brand’s newfound credibility on the track. Buyers were attracted to the idea that Škoda, a brand from the socialist East, was capable of beating high-budget Western competitors in prestigious motorsport events. This elevated the desirability of Škoda cars as they became associated with both reliability and performance.

Similarly, the Škoda 110 R Coupé, a sporty two-door model, benefited from the success of the 130 RS, with which it shared much of its styling and engineering philosophy. While the 110 R was never as fast as its racing counterpart, the association with the 130 RS gave it an aura of performance that appealed to buyers looking for a more dynamic driving experience. This sporty image, coupled with the racing success, helped drive increased sales domestically and in key export markets, particularly in Eastern Europe and select Western European countries like the UK, West Germany, and Finland.

A Strong Brand Image in Socialist and Western Markets

The motorsport victories of the Škoda 120 S and Škoda 130 RS helped turn Škoda’s production models into symbols of Eastern Bloc engineering success. Despite being a product of a socialist economy, Škoda was now seen as capable of building competitive, robust cars that could outperform Western machines on the racetrack. This racing pedigree, combined with the reliability and affordability of its production models, made Škoda a more attractive brand for consumers who wanted practical vehicles with a hint of motorsport prestige.

In short, although the 120 S and 130 RS were never sold to the public, their track success had a tremendous halo effect on the sales of Škoda’s production models. These victories helped Škoda not only dominate its domestic market but also expand its footprint internationally, creating a lasting legacy that made buyers feel like they were part of a motorsport-winning tradition.

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