There is something about the noise a big-block Mopar makes that draws true believers of the madness we all suffer like that glowing blue light draws in bugs on a Southern porch. There’s a thump, that loping idle that even in the most benign forms, like a Plymouth Gran Fury or an overloaded Imperial, still indicates that power is generously supplied here. In a smaller car, that same noise is a warning, like the growl of an angry dog or the snort of a bull that’s about to show you how badly being hit by two tons of flank steak can hurt if you don’t start running.
The Coke Bottle era Dodge Charger might not have the legendary status of the 1968-70 cars, but the early ones still had the swagger of the musclecar era. What plushing up they had gotten for 1971 really didn’t do much damage to what was underhood. In the right forms, it was seriously aggressive. Hey, Richard Petty can’t be that wrong! And then, let’s talk about this particular machine. Exposed headlights, the wide Magnum 500-style wheels, the Hemi scoop with the struts…and that callout on the fender: 503. Eight-point-two liters of emotion…at low RPM, the calm, mellow type. Test that throttle pedal, let the revs climb and watch…you’ll see years of life disappear off of the tires like it’s a party trick. And with the beautiful scenes of Helsinki, Finland as the backdrop, it’s almost art.
I had read somewhere that no post 71 chargers rolled off the assembly line built the same there were so many options.