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Is this '47 Chevrolet a rat rod or a sports car?

These days there are plenty of vehicles that blur the conventional automotive class structures. For instance, was the Honda Crosstour a wagon or an SUV? And what exactly was the Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet? Regardless, those line-blurring cars (or trucks) are out there, and though this one didn't roll off a production line, it's still quite the automotive head-scratcher. Hailing from Missouri, this epic creation is one part mad science experiment, one part 1947 Chevrolet pickup, and one part '95 Mercury Cougar. Add it all up and you get an awesome truck-sports-car hybrid, complete with an outrageous wing and a V8 to boot. And interestingly enough, it's up for sale . RELATED: Check out this Wild-Styled Lamborghini Rat Rod So how does it all come together? According to the listing, the Chevrolet truck cab (which had previously been chopped) was sanded down to bare metal and given a thorough shellacking of clear coat. It was then melded together with the front end of a 1995 Chevrolet S10 pickup truck, and set low to the ground on Bilstein suspension drop spindles. Stance achieved. But instead of fielding an engine from either of those pickups, it pulls its heart from a 2005 Chevrolet Tahoe SUV—a big 5.3-liter V8 heart, that is. It comes backed-up to a GM Turbo 400 automatic transmission. Towards the rear however is where things get really interesting. A Copper Pearl coated tube frame chassis both attaches the rear independent suspension (a la Mercury Cougar) to the racy spoiler, as well as secures the rat rod's rear-mounted radiator, fan, and fuel tank. I'm not quite sure why, but it just looks glorious. RELATED: Reports Say Mid-Engine Corvette Will Arrive in 2018 Inside the vintage cab, the Chevrolet furthers its racing proclivities (it's said to have won burnout and auto-cross events) with a pair of harnessed racing seats, a drift brake, a detachable steering wheel, and a tachometer with oil and temperature gauges, but oddly no speedometer. The shifter is a crescent wrench. And its shift boot? That's a Crown Royal Purple bag. All in all, this grin-worthy Frankenstein creation tallies up bits and pieces from four different vehicles (five if you include the Camaro wheels), which make it truly a mash-up of epic proportions. Internet, what do you think? Related Video: This article by Zach Doell originally appeared on Boldride. Design/Style Chevrolet Mercury Auctions Coupe Special and Limited Editions Classics eBay rat rod

Junkyard Gem: 1971 Mercury Comet 2-Door Sedan

When Ford introduced the original Maverick for the 1970 model year, Dearborn tradition required that a Mercury-badged version be created. That car ended up being the Comet, built from the 1971 through 1977 model years. Here's one of those first-year Comets in rough but recognizable condition, found in a Denver self-service yard not long ago. The Comet name had spent the 1960s affixed to the flanks of Mercurized Ford Falcons (1960-1965) and Fairlanes (1966-1969). Since the Maverick was the successor of the Falcon — sales of which went into an irrecoverable downward spiral once its sportier Mustang first cousin hit the streets — it made sense to move the Comet name over to the Mercury version. Nearly every American Mercury model ever sold was a U.S.-market Ford model with a different name and some gingerbread slapped on. Notable exceptions to this tradition include the 1999-2002 Mercury Cougar (mechanically based on the Contour but with a unique body) and the 1991-1994 Mercury Capri (an Australian-built mashup of Mazda components borrowed from the Ford Laser). The Comet was by far the cheapest Mercury model available in 1971, though it was considered more prestigious than its Maverick counterpart. The price tag on the '71 Comet two-door sedan started at $2,217 (about $16,505 in 2022 dollars), while the '71 Maverick two-door sedan cost $2,175 ($16,193 today). Meanwhile, AMC would sell you a new Hornet two-door sedan for one dollar less than a Maverick, Chevrolet had the Nova coupe for a dollar more than the Maverick, and Plymouth offered the Valiant Duster for $2,313 ($17,220 now). Toyota had a Maverick competitor as well that year, with the Corona at $2,150 for the sedan and $2,310 for the coupe. Having driven every one of the aforementioned models, I'd take the Duster if I went back in time and had to choose one (as a 1969 Corona owner, I'm not a fan of the 1971 facelift, though the Corona's build quality beats the Duster's). The build sticker on this car tells us that it was built at the Kansas City Assembly Plant (where Transits and F-150s are made today) and sold through the Los Angeles district sales office (there was a DSO in Denver, so it's a near-certainty that this car didn't start out in Colorado). The paint started out as Bright Blue Metallic (it's neither bright nor metallic 51 years down the road) and the interior was done up in Medium Blue Cloth & Vinyl.

Car Stories: Owning the SHO station wagon that could've been

A little over a year ago, I bought what could be the most interesting car I will ever own. It was a 1987 Mercury Sable LS station wagon. Don't worry – there's much more to this story. I've always had a soft spot for wagons, and I still remember just how revolutionary the Ford Taurus and Mercury Sable were back in the mid-1980s. As a teenager, I fell especially hard for the 220-horsepower 1989 Ford Taurus SHO – so much so that I'd go on to own a dozen over the next 20 years. And like many other quirky enthusiasts, I always wondered what a SHO station wagon would be like. That changed last year when I bought the aforementioned Sable LS wagon, festooned with the high-revving DOHC 3.0-liter V6 engine and five-speed manual transmission from a 1989 Taurus SHO. In addition, the wagon had SHO front seats, a SHO center console, and the 140-mph instrument cluster with mileage that matched the engine. When I bought it, that number was just under 60,000 – barely broken in for the overachieving Yamaha-sourced mill. The engine and transmission weren't the only upgrades. It wore dual-piston PBR brakes with the choice Eibach/Tokico suspension combo in front. The rear featured SHO disc brakes with MOOG cargo coils and Tokico shocks, resulting in a wagon that handled ridiculously well while still retaining a decent level of comfort and five-door functionality. I could attack the local switchbacks while rowing gears to a 7,000-rpm soundtrack just as easily as loading up on lumber at the hardware store. Over time I added a front tower brace to stiffen things a bit as well as a bigger, 73-mm mass airflow sensor for better breathing, and I sourced some inexpensive 2004 Taurus 16-inch five-spoke wheels, refinished in gunmetal to match the two-tone white/gunmetal finish on the car. That, along with some minor paint and body work, had me winning trophies at every car show in town. And yet, what I loved most about the car wasn't its looks or performance, but rather its history. And here's where things also get a little philosophical, because I absolutely, positively love old used cars. Don't get me wrong – new cars are great. Designers can sculpt a timeless automotive shape, and engineers can construct systems and subsystems to create an exquisite chassis with superb handling and plenty of horsepower. But it's the age and mileage that turn machines into something more than the sum of their parts.