Škoda 100/110

Škoda 100/110
Škoda 100 L owned by scum from UK
Overview
Manufacturer	AZNP
Production	1969–1977 1,079,708 produced (Sedan) 1971 - 1980 57,000 produced (Coupé)
Assembly	Czechoslovakia: Mladá Boleslav Czechoslovakia: Kvasiny
Body and chassis
Class	Small family car
Body style	4-door sedan (100/110/L/LS) 2-door coupé (110 R)
Layout	RR layout
Powertrain
Engine	988 cc Straight-4 1,107 cc Straight-4
Transmission	4-speed manual
Dimensions
Wheelbase	2,400 mm (94.5 in)
Length	4,155 mm (163.6 in)
Width	1,620 mm (63.8 in)
Height	1,380 mm (54.3 in)
Chronology
Predecessor	Škoda 1000MB
Successor	Škoda 105/120

The Škoda 100/110 was—or rather, unfortunately, remained—a small family car produced by a certain AZNP between 1969 and 1977/80 (note the characteristically schizophrenic end of production), serving as a modernization of the Škoda 1000 MB, a model that itself had barely survived five years on the market. Over the course of its rather bleak existence, approximately one million units were manufactured, after which it successfully went on to contaminate road networks not only across the Eastern Bloc but also, regrettably, the Western one—announcing its presence through its unmistakable mechanical racket, profound technical obsolescence, and a layout best described as deeply unsettling.

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.

First things first: the Škoda 100/110 should not merely not have existed - it represents a failure of intent, planning, and historical restraint.

Second: Its development began, inexplicably, a full year before its predecessor, the 1000 MB, even entered the market.

Third: What in the actual fuck?

Chronologically speaking:

The 1960s brought Czechoslovakia a brief, dangerous illusion of sanity: a political thaw that culminated in 1968. With it came reforms, those existential threats to national industry, including the ultimate capitalist heresy: a vaguely functioning market. When the Škoda 1000 MB entered the public bloodstream around September 1964, it was presented as modern. Technically, this was not an outright lie. Its pressure-cast aluminum engine block was a world first in mass production (Czechia mentioned🔥🔥🔥🗿🗿 ).

Unfortunately, everything surrounding that achievement was a monument to stubborn backwardness. The design dragged decaying 1950s tailfins into a decade that no longer wanted them. The engine—objectively clever—was installed at the rear, a decision whose consequences would haunt drivers, mechanics, and accident statistics alike. Cooling was provided by air. Regression as fuck, by the way. From the moment it appeared, the 1000 MB was already obsolete. Replacement was not optional; it was inevitable. The planned successor was to be the 1250/1500.

Internally known as Type 720, it was meant to be a clean break: a four-door sedan with a front-mounted engine, rear-wheel drive, and features bordering on ideological treason—air conditioning, power steering, and other comfort-oriented deviations from socialist asceticism. It was, in short, a normal car. This alone sealed its fate. After 1968, the project was quietly suffocated and formally pronounced dead by 1973.

Meanwhile, a contingency plan emerged: a “modernization” of the barely launched 1000 MB. Its purpose was strictly temporary—to buy time, not decades. The prototypes, designated Škoda 717, were an unfiltered expression of desperation. Initial examples were literal clay sculptures. Subsequent running prototypes overheated with alarming enthusiasm. Eventually, even the planners admitted defeat and returned their hopes to the 720.

Then came August 1968. Five fraternal armies arrived to restore order by force, and the 720 was officially rebranded as bourgeois deviationism. The already-failed 717 was promoted by default. To underline the mood of the era, the newly constructed factory burned down in 1969.

What followed was not resilience but survival by irritation. Fueled by improvisation, anger, and selective appropriation of existing 1000 MB components, the factory was rebuilt—quickly, cheaply, and without reflection. And so, against reason, history, and good taste, a “new” car emerged: the Škoda 100/110 —a vehicle that looked almost identical to the one it was supposed to replace, yet carried with it the full weight of political compromise, technical stagnation, and the quiet acceptance that this was as good as it was ever going to get.

Production

First variant of 100/110 was actually its predecessor: 1000 MB mod. 1969

Production did not begin with the 100/110 at all, but with the 1000/1100 MB, its direct predecessor, in August 1968—a statement that sounds absurd and is, in fact, entirely accurate. The explanation is simple and deeply unflattering: resources were scarce, planning was nonexistent, and improvisation was elevated to doctrine. Before the “new” car could be built, the existing MB production lines first had to be reworked so that the workforce—nominally employees, functionally inmates of the system—could learn how to press roof panels and body sides suitable for the forthcoming 100 and 110.

One year later, the factory burned down. It was hastily repaired, hastily modified, and only in August, 25th 1969 did true series production of the Škoda 100/110 finally begin—ironically, in Mladá Boleslav plant, which was burnt down.

In 1971, the range was expanded with the Škoda 110 R Coupé, a highly exclusive two-door vehicle whose primary historical function was to serve as the era’s officially sanctioned attraction device. Produced in Kvasiny, it was reserved for the most privileged of the privileged, thereby ensuring its near-mythical status among everyone else.

Although the 100/110 was conceived strictly as a temporary stopgap, reality intervened. The final sedan left Mladá Boleslav in March 1977, while the last 110 R coupé exited Kvasiny on 31 December 1980. The model was supposed to be replaced by the Škoda 900 (Type 740), featuring a conventional layout and, presumably, a lesson learned. Instead, it was succeeded by the Type 742—once again with the engine mounted at the rear.

Models & Trims

The Škoda 100/110 range was offered in several variants, which—given that it originated in a country where only the left side of the political spectrum officially existed—was something of an anomaly. Choice, after all, was ideologically suspicious.

Škoda 100

Škoda 100

The base model. A car for the poor—although the poor in question had to be relatively affluent. With a price hovering around 55,000 Czechoslovak crowns, it represented a significant financial commitment in a country where the average monthly wage was roughly 1,500 crowns. In terms of equipment, the car was brutally honest. It provided exactly five items: an engine, a chassis, wheels, doors, and an ashtray. Nothing more. Nothing less. Comfort was unnecessary; the socialist citizen was, by definition, an übermensch.

Škoda 100 L

The “L” stood for Lux or de Luxe, a term used here with admirable ideological flexibility. Luxury, in this context, meant a decorative trim strip on the front and slightly raised polyurethane seats upholstered in artificial leather. That was the extent of the decadence. Any further demands would have been counter-revolutionary.

Škoda 100 L DeLuxe

Effectively identical to the 100 L, differing mainly by production year and marketing optimism. The name suggested progress; the substance did not.

Škoda 110

Škoda 110

Mechanically identical to the Škoda 100, but fitted with a larger and marginally more powerful engine. This was presented as a meaningful upgrade and, by local standards, technically was.

Škoda 110 L

The same logic as the 100 L, applied to the stronger engine. Decorative trim, marginally less punitive seating, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing you had purchased the “better” version—on paper, at least.

Škoda 110 LS

Here, the regime briefly lost control of itself. “LS” stood for Lux Super, and the specification bordered on the obscene. Headrests. A twin-choke carburetor. A wood-effect trim strip—wood. Additional chrome. In some cases, even a radio or a cigarette lighter. This was luxury not as the West understood it, but as socialism cautiously tolerated it.

Škoda 110 R

The ideological peak of the entire range. Essentially an 110 LS reinterpreted as a coupé, with two doors, a frameless window design, and—most shockingly—a tachometer. This alone elevated it into the realm of aspirational objects. It was faster on paper, sportier in posture, and functioned primarily as proof that even behind the Iron Curtain, someone occasionally remembered that cars could be desirable.

Specs (Škoda 100)

Early variant of 110 L

Engine

If you are Czech, you have heard this engine your entire life—usually from a distance, sometimes from the shoulder of the road. If you are European, you have likely encountered it unintentionally. If you are American, you are blissfully unaware, and for once history has been merciful.............

Mounted at the rear, because lessons are for cowards, sits an inline four-cylinder engine with an aluminum block and a cast-iron cylinder head—a combination that even today causes mild confusion overseas. Displacement is 1,107 cc, outputting 48 unfiltered, state-approved socialist horsepower, measured generously and delivered reluctantly.

These 48 horses do not so much accelerate the car as they slowly convince it to move. The sprint from 0 to 100 km/h (62 mph) takes roughly 20 seconds, assuming the engine is healthy, the carburetor aligned with the stars, and the driver has accepted their fate. Top speed is quoted at 135 km/h, which in practice requires a long straight road, a tailwind strong as stage 5 tornado, and a complete disregard for self-preservation.

Fuel is supplied by a Jikov 32 BST-3140/3171 carburetor, a device that combines simplicity, unpredictability, and the charming ability to go out of adjustment if you look at it wrong. Fuel consumption averages around 7.5 liters per 100 km, though this number is largely theoretical and heavily dependent on how often the throttle is floored out of frustration.

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

Drivetrain

Transmission

Power travels through an ideologically pure single-plate dry clutch into a four-speed manual gearbox with reverse. First through fourth gears are fully synchronized, which is frankly suspicious behavior for a car of this origin. Reverse, however, remains a spiritual experience.

Power is sent to the rear wheels, which makes sense only insofar as the engine is also back there, plotting against you. Gear ratios are chosen to ensure the engine is always either screaming or doing absolutely nothing—there is no middle ground.

Chassis / Suspension

The Škoda 110 L inherits its suspension concept directly from the 1000/1100 MB, which is to say it does not possess a coherent chassis philosophy. Instead, it operates on the principle that if all four wheels are independently suspended, they should also be independently dangerous.

The front suspension uses a double wishbone (trapezoidal) layout with coil springs and a stabilizer bar. This gives the front axle a vague sense of responsibility and occasionally prevents it from doing something catastrophic before the rear axle gets its turn.

The rear suspension is where the real engineering crimes occur. Here we find swing axles with trailing arms, suspended by coil springs—an arrangement best known from the Chevrolet Corvair, a car immortalized as “unsafe at any speed.” The Škoda achieves similar results with admirable efficiency. Lift-off oversteer is not a possibility; it is a promise. Cornering too hard does not merely test traction—it tests your will to live.

In short: the rear suspension does not forgive, does not warn, and does not care.

Steering

Steering is handled by a worm-and-nut mechanism, entirely without power assistance. This ensures a direct, honest connection between driver and road, primarily by transmitting every mistake, pothole, and existential regret straight into your arms. Power steering was deemed unnecessary—only decadent capitalist weaklings lacked the forearm strength required to survive socialism.

Brakes

An area where Škoda accidentally did something right.

Unlike earlier MB models, the 110 L received front disc brakes, built under Dunlop license, while the rear retained drum brakes. This setup provides braking performance that is—by local standards—almost reassuring. The car will stop. Eventually. Usually in a straight line. Sometimes.

Body

The body measures 4.15 meters in length, 1.6 meters in width, and 1.38 meters in height, riding on a 2.4-meter wheelbase. These numbers translate into a shape that is aggressively angular, unapologetically dull, and aerodynamically hostile.

Interior and Equipment

Luxurious-spec interior

Despite carrying the 110 L badge - de Luxe, allegedly - the interior remains an exercise in disciplined deprivation, especially by American standards. Any notion of luxury is strictly symbolic and mostly external: a decorative strip on the nose and a small Š 110 L badge to warn observers that this was the better one.

Inside, luxury manifests itself in the form of raised polyurethane seats, wrapped in aggressively perforated imitation leather. These seats can fold backward by a full 90 degrees, transforming the cabin into a state-approved marital bed - proof that even socialism occasionally acknowledged biology.

Ahead of the driver sits a vast, thin, two-spoke steering wheel, closer in diameter to agricultural machinery than to anything designed for precision. It dominates the cabin like a command wheel on a ship that should never have left port. Behind it is a single horizontal instrument cluster, stretching across the dashboard with all the confidence of something that has nothing to hide - because it has almost nothing to show.

The speedometer is calibrated up to 160 km/h, a number chosen more for optimism than realism. Embedded within it are several smaller gauges - fuel, temperature, warning lights - present but barely legible, as if the car itself were reluctant to share bad news. This layout ensures that mechanical failure is never a surprise, merely a delayed confirmation.

The dashboard is flat, rigid, and unapologetically plastic, offering no concessions to ergonomics or comfort. Switchgear is minimal, logic optional. The floor is bare, rubberized, and easy to wash out—useful, given what ownership often involved.

As a final insult-slash-backup, should the electrical system give up - as it frequently considered doing - the engine could still be started manually using a hand crank. This feature quietly admits that even the factory did not fully trust the car to function as intended.

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 (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

What the fuck?!

Despite its fundamentally miserable existence, the Škoda 100/110 proved to be a surprisingly successful export commodity. This success was not the result of refinement, comfort, or modernity, but rather a combination of motorsport credibility and aggressively low pricing.

In competition, specially prepared versions of the car performed disturbingly well. Thanks to low weight, mechanical simplicity, and the complete absence of concern for longevity, Škoda’s racing derivatives managed to dominate—or at least seriously embarrass their peers—in a wide range of events. These victories were then weaponized for marketing purposes, allowing the car to be presented abroad as “proven in motorsport,” a phrase doing a truly heroic amount of work.

Pricing did the rest. In the Eastern Bloc, the 100/110 occupied the role of a lower-middle-class family car, aspirational but theoretically attainable. In the West, however, it was sold as a vehicle for those who had reached the absolute bottom of the automotive food chain. There, it was not competing with other cars so much as with used motorcycles, public transport passes, and the concept of walking.

In short, the Škoda 100/110 succeeded not because it was good, but because it was cheap, unkillable, and came with just enough racing pedigree to distract buyers from the reality of what they were actually getting.