“Never race anything that you are afraid to push off of a cliff.” That bite of wisdom was given to me shortly after the only time I took my Dodge Mirada to an autocross and proceeded to attempt to beat the ever-loving hell out of the ragged-out Mopar. There is truth to that wisdom: There is such a thing as “too pretty” or “too perfect” to race. If you take a brand new car and proceed to flog it until you bend a connecting rod, you’re an idiot or you have more money than brains. If you bought a car that has done nothing but sit at car shows for twenty-five years and stuck nitrous on it hoping for the best…well, you deserve everything that happens next. If you want a successful race car, start low. Find the most complete thing you can that isn’t too pretty to hurt and isn’t too destroyed to fix, and get to work on making it fast.

I’ve got a bad relationship with Oldsmobile Cutlasses. I’ve owned two of them, both 1978 models, and neither had a good outcome: one was a parts car and the “good one” had a bashed front clip and a 260 V8 that blew white steam out of the exhaust like a volcanic vent. Then there was the ’86 model that an Army friend owned that was always on a shoestring and a prayer. And one of my ultimate sins, a 1972 model that I was paid to strip for it’s 350 and automatic. I should’ve handed the guy cash and kept the car for myself. The Cutlass that J. Malcom found here is a 1973 model, a one-year-only version of the Colonnade body Olds that has the cool rear bumper treatment. It’s also got a serious attitude complex and the battle scars of forty-five years of road use, and sounds the business as it moves out. Rocket 350? Only if there’s nitrous on board!