There’s a type of Saab owner who never drifts into the brand by accident. They choose it – deliberately, almost stubbornly – because the cars feel right in the hands and right in the head. Arie Teeuw from Velp is one of them. Over three decades and more than 1.5 million kilometers in Saabs, he’s the kind of driver who can tell you where the steering wakes up on a Dutch B-road and which seat heater clicks first on a frozen morning ferry to Crete.
His current workhorse is a 2009 Saab 9-5 Sport Estate 2.0t Griffin with 272,524 km showing and another bridge holiday to Croatia already on the calendar. When AutoWeek’s cult-favorite “Klokje Rond” (Clock Around) column rolled the car onto the lift at Carrec Technocenter, everyone expected patina – and hoped for proof of Saab durability under pressure. What they found instead was something messier and more human: a faithful long-distance car that still goes from A to B, but is now asking for more care than it’s been getting.
Watch the segment: AutoWeek’s Klokje Rond episode on Arie’s 9-5 captures the day with unflinching honesty and a few classic Saab-owner smiles along the way:
“Saab Is It For Me”: The Man Behind The Mileage
Arie doesn’t hedge. He has owned twelve Saabs: five 900s (including two Cabriolets), three 9000s (one Aero), and four 9-5s spanning a 3.0 V6, two Aeros, and this Griffin Estate. The origin story is sweetly predictable: after a Hyundai Stellar misadventure in his younger years, he spotted a 900 T16S on a dealer lot, drove it, and felt immediately at home. That first turbo Saab rewired his expectations – ergonomic seats that don’t get old on an eight-hour drive, torque that arrives like good espresso, and that curiously hushed high-speed stability that makes the car feel unbothered by long distances.
His life with Saabs isn’t a garage shrine to static perfection; it’s a rolling diary of 40,000 km-per-year stretches, winter tires dutifully mounted, and occasional heartbreaks on ferries and mountain passes. He’ll confess to one fling – with a Citroën XM between Saabs – because even the faithful are allowed a poetic detour. But the arc bends back to Trollhättan every time. That ethos framed the day’s inspection: not a witch hunt, but an honest check to see if the car Arie trusts still deserves that trust.
A Griffin At Quarter-Million: What The Test Driver Felt Before The Lift
On the road, AutoWeek’s test driver didn’t sugarcoat the first impressions. The 9-5 starts and moves, but the vibrations at idle are hard to miss, rising and falling with engine speed until the entire dashboard drums in a low-frequency cadence. That points to tired engine mounts – possibly aftermarket items or units that have simply aged out. Steering straight-ahead isn’t crisp; there’s noticeable free play in the rack and a tendency to wander, the kind of subtle hunting that tells you alignment and bushing condition are overdue for attention.
Then comes the automatic transmission. Saab never built those gearboxes in-house; like many smaller manufacturers, they’re sourced and calibrated, and calibration is where the magic – or the muddle – often lives. In this car the shifts are hesitant and occasionally clumsy, which might have been “just how it was” when new, but now reads as tired coordination between engine and transmission. None of this strands you at the roadside. All of it, together, erodes confidence.
Key insight: The car still performs its basic mission, but stacked minor faults compound into a driving experience that feels older than the odometer alone suggests.
(Photo: AutoWeek / YouTube)
Under The Skin: Where Good Maintenance Ends And Wishful Thinking Begins
The lift never lies. Carrec’s Joep Schuurman popped the hood and immediately clocked brake fluid the color of old diesel, not the pale gold (“apple juice light”) or light green you expect. When the cap was removed, it split in two—a small but telling symbol of deferred attention. There’s creativity in the workshop to get Arie safely on his way, but brake hydraulics are not where anyone should be improvising.
Then came the oil leaks – plural. The engine’s serpentine belt side is wet, with hanging droplets and glossed-over covers. A multirib belt rarely breaks “just because.” It’s usually either a seized accessory or contamination from oil or coolant. Indeed, Arie had a serpentine belt failure in the past (complete with power-steering loss and Christmas-tree dash), and the new belt is already being attacked again by fresh oil. Finally, the oil drain plug is cross-threaded and skewed with a wrong-sized crush washer, a textbook example of how a small shortcut can turn into an expensive, constant mess.
Key insight: Oil on the belt is a double threat – one part reliability risk, one part safety risk. Leave it long enough, and you’re calling a tow truck from the shoulder.
The LPG Story: When Cheap Miles Come At A Cost
Arie’s 9-5 runs a traditional LPG system, the kind of old-school installation that made sense when fuel prices were spiky and annual mileage was massive. On this car, the LPG plumbing shows its age: weeping connections, residue tracing along hoses, and the sort of “seal it with whatever’s at hand” hardware improvisation seasoned inspectors can spot from across the bay. The physics of LPG don’t forgive half measures. Vacuum leaks trigger drivability gremlins. Fuel leaks are a safety red flag. And on Saabs—whose engine bays already run hot—the tolerance for anything less than clean, tight plumbing is low.
This doesn’t mean LPG is inherently problematic on a 9-5; thousands of Scandinavian and Dutch commuters proved the opposite for decades. But when your maintenance cadence slips, LPG magnifies every lapse. The day’s conclusion was simple and sober: make the LPG system right or take it off the worry list entirely. Compromise helps no one, least of all a car staring down another pan-European holiday.
Tires, Balance, And Trust: The Wheel-End Reality Check
If you believe in rituals, a pre-trip “balance and alignment” at a tire shop should be sacred. Arie did exactly that. Yet on the lift, the 9-5 told a different story. One front tire was worn to exposed canvas—an instant APK failure—and the wheels showed no clear evidence of proper balancing weights (one old weight was literally flapping loose). Alignment without healthy tires is theater; balancing without weights is wishful thinking. For a brand renowned for high-speed stability and a community that treasures touring comfort, this was the day’s most avoidable disappointment.
Key insight: Tire condition and proper balancing are “day one” safety items. If a specialist misses them, change the specialist.
A Symphony Of Small Faults: From Parking Sensors To Seat Switches
Saabs are famous for ergonomic, orthopedic-grade seats and calm dashboards. That made the rogue parking sensors—beeping madly even when stationary—feel extra jarring. Power mirror adjustment and fold were inconsiderate, wiper blades squeaked and streaked, and the driver seat height switch is positioned such that you need a contortionist’s finger to reach it when the seat’s at its lowest. None of these on their own constitutes a catastrophe. Collectively, they tell a story of a car that’s drifted away from its “effortless” factory character, and of an owner relying on routine services that haven’t caught (or corrected) the drift.
Even the idle speed behavior—a beat too high at lights, buzzing through worn mounts—adds to the sonic clutter. Then there’s the steering wheel slightly off-center, the free play you feel at speed, and the interior creaks that make every short bump a small drum solo. The bones remain good; the harmony is gone.
The Verdict No One Wants—but Every Enthusiast Respects
At “Klokje Rond,” the final judgment is tangible: thumbs up, down, or in between. Joep’s “twijfelachtig” (doubtful) became one thumb down, driven primarily by safety and maintenance debt rather than a single fatal flaw. Brake fluid like tar, oil leaks attacking the belt, an APK-fail tire, a crooked drain plug—these are not philosophical debates. They are fix-it-now problems.
And yet, nuance matters. The 9-5 has covered nearly 300,000 km over 16 years, a distance many mainstream cars never see without terminal ailments. It still starts, runs, and hauls with the quiet dignity of a big Swedish wagon. The Saab story isn’t negated by one harsh inspection; it’s clarified. Durability is real, but durability still needs diligence.
Key insight: A well-kept 9-5 at 300,000 km can be excellent; a merely “serviced” one can feel fragile. The difference is attention, not luck.
What This 9-5 Teaches Every Prospective Buyer (And Every Loyal Owner)
If you’re eyeing a 9-5—especially a late, OG-shape Griffin—this car is a syllabus. Start with the engine mounts: Saab’s chassis is tuned around a calm, isolated drivetrain; worn mounts transform the car’s character and mask other issues. Inspect the serpentine belt path for the telltale sheen of oil and fix leaks at their source before a belt failure sidelines your holiday. Treat brake fluid as a service item, not a footnote; in a car known for its autobahn manners, fresh hydraulics are part of the promise.
If the car runs LPG, map the installation like you would a fuel system on an airplane: hose integrity, fittings, routing, and sealing are non-negotiable. At the wheels, assume nothing. Demand documented alignment and balancing and verify tread depth with a gauge, not a glance. Finally, drive it long enough to hear the harmonics—the quiet ride Saab engineered is the benchmark. If you’re hearing rattles, drones, or miscalibrated gearbox logic, budget to bring the car back to its original composure.
The Owner’s Next Chapter: A Low-Mileage 2003 Sedan And A Clear-Eyed Plan
Arie is not quitting Saab. He’s planning ahead. Parked at a friendly garage is a 2003 9-5 sedan with ~40,000 km – a unicorn that tempts any long-haul romantic. The logic is pragmatic: by the time he retires in three years, the current Griffin could be nudging 400,000 km. That’s a fine number for a farewell tour, but not the odometer reading you pick for the next decade of European wanderlust.
There’s a lesson in this for the community: thinking two Saabs ahead is often how you keep one Saab on the road with joy. Let the high-miler remain the honest daily that earned its battle scars. Let the low-miler become the grand-touring companion that reminds you why you fell in love with the brand. And in both cases, choose workshops that share your standards. Arie’s disappointment wasn’t with Saab; it was with service that didn’t meet the car’s needs. Knowing the difference is how enthusiasts stay enthusiasts.
Why Stories Like This Matter To Saab Enthusiasts
Enthusiast culture doesn’t survive on victory laps alone. It lives in truthful inspections, in the unglamorous photos of a leaking cam cover or a shredded belt, and in owners who show up anyway – with a Cabrio-driving friend for good measure – to let the cameras document both the beauty and the blemishes. Saab’s legacy is honest engineering for real-world use. A 9-5 Estate that has run hard and long, now in need of earnest catching-up, still honors that legacy – provided the catching-up gets done.
So take Arie’s day at Carrec as a call to action. If your 9-5 vibrates at lights, fix the mounts. If your brake fluid looks like espresso, flush it. If your belt is glossy with oil, solve the leak, don’t just replace the belt. If your tire shop forgets to balance your wheels properly, find a new tire shop. Saab made the car. We keep the promise.
The Wagon That Still Wants To Work
The AutoWeek crew posed a fair question at the start: “Is it a good car after 272,000 km and 16 years?” The truthful answer is conditional. Structurally and spiritually, yes – the 9-5 remains what it has always been: a big, secure, unpretentious machine that loves to cross countries with a steady pulse. Mechanically, today’s 9-5 is only as good as yesterday’s maintenance. Arie’s Griffin will be a good car again when the work is done—not because of brand mythology, but because the platform responds beautifully to proper care.
Cars outlive companies when owners and workshops choose to honor what the engineers built. On that measure, this 9-5 is still in the game. Give it the parts, the fluids, and the alignment it deserves, and it will give you back Swedish kilometers in the plural: quiet, disciplined, and—when the turbo leans in—quietly satisfying. That’s not nostalgia. That’s the deal.
