My mother had a very keen awareness of just what kind of hooligan I was going to become the moment I got my driver’s license. She knew. From childhood, she had seen everything…the Mustang II incident, the Volvo burnout, the drift lessons in the dirt bike trail, all of it. She knew that I would be hell on wheels the moment I got turned loose. And she wasn’t having any of it. I wanted a Camaro, she wanted a Cavalier. I wanted a Mustang, she insisted it would be a four-cylinder. I said ‘Cuda, she said a string of phrases that turned “no” into a fourteen-word-long death threat weaved together with military-grade cursing. Happily, I was out of the house before I had my license. And when she found out that I was daily-driving a Monte Carlo SS around in a city more-or-less unsupervised, flames shot out of the phone.
I have this itch for a no-holds-barred demon of a machine. I want the manual trans, high-RPM, tire-boiling stupid fun of an absolute hellhound of a car. I last had a taste of that kind of life with the 1973 Mercury Comet…which means it’s been years since I’ve put a car to the test and it had the stones to actually be tested, not break, and come back for seconds or thirds. Socially acceptable? Nope. Don’t care one bit, either. It’s for my amusement and nothing more.So when I found this 1980 Pontiac Sunbird in the local ads, I might have whimpered. And might have checked my bank accounts. A Monza by any other name, the Sunbird is simple and straightforward: 350, four-speed, and sporting a Positraction in the rear end. Say no more, I’ve heard enough.
Wearing what looks to be a recent repaint, showing signs of a dispatched padded roof and an interior that is surprisingly clean, there isn’t a thing I’d change here. From the slot mags to the T-handle shifter, it’s perfect. $4,100 for a tiny little bit of speed? In this case, absolutely.
