Škoda 105 S survival guide (for Americans)

What Škoda means in English

The brand Škoda has, surprisingly, built a decent global reputation as a “good value” carmaker. That’s now. Back then — specifically between 1976 and 1990 — it birthed something called the Type 742. A compact family sedan. With the engine in the back. Yes. They did that. On purpose.

What you’re dealing with here is a four-wheeled monument to compromise, built in a country where hope went to die. The 742 was supposed to be practical. Instead, it became a joke — a punchline on wheels. A rear-engined, rear-wheel drive car pretending to be modern, while falling apart faster than the regime that built it.

Today, Škoda makes passable cars like the Fabia, Octavia, Superb, and something called the Kodiaq — yes, they’re clearly addicted to slapping Q’s on the end of nonsense words. But in the United States? Nobody knows them. Except for:

• American intelectual class (IQ 75)
• weird car fetishists who get off on Communist trauma.

Yet somehow, old Škodas have started showing up on American roads. Not in museums. In actual traffic. And no one knows why. Maybe it’s performance art. Maybe it’s mental illness. Maybe it’s both.

So here you are. With one of them. And since no one else will help you, this is your manual for survival. Not for fixing the car — that’s impossible. But for understanding the sheer, industrial absurdity you’ve willingly brought into your life.

Type 742

For more boring informations, see Škoda Type 742

The Škoda 742 is what happens when you take a mistake and keep rebranding it until people forget it was a mistake.

On paper, it looked modern — a tidy little sedan with vaguely contemporary lines. In reality, it was just a reheated Škoda 100. Which itself was a reheated Škoda 1000 MB. Which itself was a cry for help on four wheels. So what you’re really driving is the final form of Czechoslovak engineering: the turd polished to a mirror shine.

Engine in the back. Rear-wheel drive. Trunk in the front, where God never intended it. The chassis creaks like a Soviet chairlift. And yet somehow, this thing infested Europe.

But here’s the twist:

Its rally version — the Škoda 130 LR — somehow managed to beat legends like the Audi Quattro, Renault 5 Turbo, and Peugeot 205 T16. All of them titans of the Group B rally class.

C Í T Í Š T U Č E S K O U S Í L U R O V N Ý C H 1 3 0 K O Ň S K Ý C H S I L ? ?

The 130 LR was so outrageously fast for what it was that Group B had to be cancelled in 1985.

Yes. A budget rear-engined car from a Communist country ended one of motorsport’s most extreme chapters. Because western people couldn’t cope with the humiliation.

And if that’s not absurd enough — the 742 also contaminated Canada.

Apparently, broke Canadians wanted a Porsche. So they bought Škodas. Close enough. Somehow, sales weren’t a total disaster. Models like the 120 GLS, 130 GL, 120L and the British-market Estelle made it to the West, where they were slightly better built and slightly less likely to explode on ignition.

However, in Communist countries, things were bit different:

While Western buyers got models like the 120 GLS or the 130 GL — cars that at least pretended to be modern — Eastern buyers got what you'd expect from a centrally planned economy: poverty, wrapped in beige paint. This does not mean that better trims were not available, but alas, in Czechoslovakia the average hourly wage was about 50 cents, which meant that versions such as the 136 GL were essentially unattainable.

PRICES OF ŠKODAS IN LATE 80'S

Model	Key Features	Price (Kčs)	USD ($)	Months of Salary	Picture
105 S	“S” for Sport Standard = four wheels, four doors and of course, ashtray.	56,000	~$1,867	22.4
105 L	“L” for LUX = Luxury, in the same way mold is a garnish = door handles, manual windows on both front and rear, ashtray, round dials, optional radio, and also: optional heated rear window.	58,000	~$1,933	23.2
120 L	Same as 105L but with bigger 1174cc engine and optional front headrests	64,500	~$2,150	25.8
120 GLS	120 L with different dashboard, steering wheel, but radion and front headrests are standard	71,930	~$2,398	28.8
135/136 GL	Top tier = optional alloy wheels, Dashboard and steering wheel recyclated directly from Škoda Rapid, wood-ish veneer, of course fake.	76,260	~$2,542	30.5

Škoda 105 S Itself

But let’s get back to the core issue here, namely the Škoda 105 S. This was the base model offered from 1976 to 1988, which means the industrious workers of Mladá Boleslav stopped making it two years before rear-engined Škodas were forever replaced by the front-engined Favorit. So what exactly are you dealing with?

Meet the engine: František

Engine

Let’s start with the engine. You won’t find one in the conventional sense. Instead, there’s a cast-iron mouse with an aluminum head, known locally as František. And if you stomp on František hard enough, he might cough up as much as 45 horsepower — about the same as a lawnmower. And not only that. Even though the car is incredibly light — just 855 kilograms (or about 1,885 pounds) — the 105 S is a patience simulator. From 0 to 100 km/h (0–60 mph), it takes roughly 24 seconds. Its top speed is a blistering 130 km/h (80 mph), meaning you might occasionally get overtaken by kids on bicycles. All this is routed through a four-speed, thankfully fully-synchronized manual transmission, sending power to the rear wheels — which means the car has three pedals.

Body style & practicality

The 105 S was sold as a four-door notchback sedan, with an engine in the rear and a front luggage compartment. But the designers were feeling generous, so there’s also a tiny trunk behind the rear seats. You technically get two trunks. None of them are large, both of them are questionably useful.

Interior comfort

As previously noted, comfort is for fuckers. You have manual front windows, provided you’re the driver. If you’re heading to a party and, against all odds, have three girls in the back, well — tough luck. The rear windows don’t open. There’s also nothing for rear passengers to hold onto, unless you count some sad cloth loops stuck to the doors in place of grab handles. There’s a real possibility that rear passengers may lose consciousness, thanks to engine fumes seeping into the cabin due to the near-complete lack of interior insulation.

The upside? The cabin is actually spacious, because there is no safety equipment of any kind. The driver gets a horizontal speedometer, which also houses the oil temperature gauge and fuel level indicator. That’s it. As for the steering, don’t worry — power steering is just bourgeois pseudoscience, and of course, not present.

Rust protection

The car’s rust protection is practically nonexistent. If you leave it out in the rain, you'll soon discover it's not so much a car as it is a slowly dissolving sculpture. Exposed to salted roads or damp garages, the metal can develop visible rust within a few seasons — sometimes even before the first oil change.

Guide

Acquisition

Your car

In North America, only higher trims like the Škoda 120 L, 120 GLS, or the exotic 135 GLi (with electronic fuel injection instead of a tired carburetor) were officially sold. Finding a 105 S over there is like hunting unicorns with a fishing rod.

Still, recently a few of these iron-clad relics have been spotted in unlikely places such as Florida and California — likely imported by Czech exiles or mechanical masochists. So if you're serious about destroying your mental health and impressing absolutely no one, these are the places to go.

Pre-ride check

Before attempting motion, inspect the following:

• Check under the car for fresh oil, coolant, brake fluid, petrol etc.
• Confirm all four wheels exist, and that the lug nuts aren’t only finger-tight.
• Confirm you have all three pedals, and that none of them is stuck to the floorpan.
• Confirm your driver's window opens, because you’ll need it to breathe (see: "exhaust leaks").
• Confirm the handbrake still works (it likely doesn’t).
• Check that your rear passengers signed waivers, just in case they don't make it to the destination.

Starting the car

The choke is manual. Repeat: manual.

It’s not a button, or a switch, or a warm thought. It’s managed via the accelerator pedal — push it all the way down twice to activate the choke function. If that doesn’t help, you’ll need to open the rear bonnet and pull the carburetor linkage by hand. Yes, by hand. In the cold. Welcome to Czechoslovakia.

• Insert the key and turn. If you hear grinding, clunking, or silence, you’re close.
• When it fires up, let it idle. Or stall. Either is historically accurate.
• A little white smoke? Normal. A lot of white smoke? Also normal.
• If you smell fuel, you're still doing fine. If you see fire, maybe not.

In colder climates, bring a lighter, a prayer, and possibly a small exorcism kit.

Interior. Notice an ashtray in central part of dashboard and horizontal speedometer.

Correct driving

Driving a 105 S is less like piloting a vehicle and more like negotiating with a stubborn ox:

• Acceleration is theoretical.
• First gear is for crawling out of parking spaces and shame.
• Second gear sounds like a coffee grinder mating with a blender full of rusted nails.
• Upshifting must be done slowly and thoughtfully. You’re not changing gears, you’re asking permission.
• Braking should be scheduled in advance. Think of each stop as a minor project.
• Power steering does not exist — instead, enjoy a full-body workout at each corner.

Important safety tip: Keep windows open during driving. If not, engine fumes may fill the cabin, especially in the back. Rear passengers may lose consciousness, respect for you, or both.

Also, embrace the noise. There is no insulation. The cabin offers the acoustic profile of a metal barrel being thrown down concrete stairs. The dashboard squeaks, the engine moans, and the doors rattle — constantly. You are never alone in this car. Only deaf.

Maintenance

Yeah, this shit can happen when you pull the lever nearby your leg...

Maintenance isn't a task. It’s a lifestyle. A test of will. A spiritual journey.

• Check the oil often — the engine consumes it like a chain smoker at a funeral.
• Flush the cooling system regularly unless you like brown, molasses-like goo.
• Tighten bolts monthly, because vibrations will undo the car itself.
• Grease the steering linkages and anything else that moves (or used to).

• Brake fluid will disappear, but not necessarily through the braking system.

Engine access:

Here’s where it gets fun.

If something breaks and you instinctively pull the lever by your left foot, you’ll pop open the front trunk, not the engine. Congratulations: you’ve just accessed your main cargo hold, which opens sideways like a piano lid, because logic.

Can you see that black thing above door lock? Yep, that's the hood release. Also notice that absolute absence of any comfort features.

To access the actual engine, do the following:

• Open the rear door behind the driver.
• Next to the rear bench, you’ll find a small pull lever.
• Pull that, and lift the rear lid to expose the heart of chaos: the engine bay.

If something fails catastrophically — and it will — don’t panic. Most problems can be solved with:

• A hammer
• A lighter
• And hands unafraid of getting soaked in 10W-40 and fury

If you’re a beautiful lady afraid of tools, ask your boyfriend to do it for you.

If you’re not afraid of getting dirty, you’ll discover that the entire car only has five truly important moving parts:

• Front and rear axles
• The steering wheel
• The steering linkage rods
• The pistons
• The ashtray

Known issues

Let’s be clear: the Škoda 105 S doesn’t have problems. It is a problem.

Driving one is a unique experience, like dating someone who’s both emotionally unavailable and made of rust. Here are the things you can expect to go wrong — not if, but when:

First off, speed is theoretical. Yes, the car moves. But slowly. Painfully. A Škoda 105 S has the acceleration of an overfed turtle, and if you ever see 80 mph, you’ll be too busy praying to notice.

It hates winter. Cold starts feel like performing CPR on a corpse. The carburetor freezes, the throttle sticks, the windshield fogs from the inside, and the heater blows air with all the force of a dying pensioner’s last breath.

It hates summer. The cooling system is a rumor. In high heat, it’ll boil, overheat, and bake oil fumes straight into your cabin, giving you the full Czechoslovakian sauna experience — only with more fear.

The handling is best described as ‘accidental.’ The rear-engine layout makes it tail-happy even on dry pavement, and when it rains, it turns into a 1,900-pound drift missile. You’ll spin not because you want to — but because you existed near a curve.

Rust? Yes. Rust is not an issue with the 105 S; it’s a design element. Moisture doesn’t just attack this car — it moves in and starts a family. Expect the fenders, door sills, trunk, floorpans, and even the dashboard to start decaying within the first fiscal quarter of ownership. If you live in a humid state, congratulations: you’ve bought a slowly dissolving museum exhibit.

Then there are the fumes. The engine sits in the back, but thanks to the total absence of insulation and sealing, its exhaust seeps directly into the cabin. Especially the back seats. This means that if you drive with the windows closed, your passengers may either:

• Suffocate and die

or..

• Escape and never speak to you again.

The rear seats are not for romance. Forget roadhead. Forget cuddling. Forget talking. Anyone in the back will be too busy trying not to black out from carbon monoxide exposure to think about oral sex. Or breathing.

And don’t forget the noise. The 105 S has zero sound insulation. At highway speed, it sounds like you’re driving a shopping cart full of cutlery down an abandoned elevator shaft. You won’t hear your music. You won’t hear your passengers. You’ll hear existential dread in surround sound.

Finally, owning this car will destroy your social life.

People will stop inviting you places. Your girlfriend may leave you. Your neighbors will think you’ve lost your job. Your parents will stop mentioning you at family dinners. You’ll spend your nights alone in the garage, swearing in Czech at a car that’s actively trying to unexist.

But hey — at least you’re special.

No one else in your zip code is dumb enough to own one of these.