1995 Pontiac Firebird Formula Coupe 2-door 5.7l on 2040-cars

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Junkyard Gem: 2001 Pontiac Grand Prix GTP

For General Motors, the W platform just kept giving and giving and giving for decade after decade, serving as the basis of Buick Regals, Oldsmobile Intrigues, Chevrolet Monte Carlos, and many, many more models. The final and most powerful Pontiac W-Body, the sixth-generation Grand Prix GTP, rolled off assembly lines for the 1997 through 2003 model years. Here's one in a Northern California self-service wrecking yard. GM bolted the supercharged 3800 V6 into vast numbers of cars during this era, providing a deep reservoir of cheap blowers for unwise high-boost projects. 240 front-tire-charring horses, complete with a Roots-type blower scream from the Eaton supercharger under the hood. I see plenty of blown 3800s during my junkyard travels, from the Bonneville SSEi to the Oldsmobile LSS. Depressingly, GM stopped putting manual transmissions in the Grand Prix during the 1993 model year, so '01 GTP owners had to take the four-speed slushbox. This one came close to the magic 200,000-mile mark, but fell 25,000 short. The interior took a beating during its life, ending its time on the road with shredded upholstery and dirty panels. Seven-band graphic equalizers were all the rage during the 1980s, but GM kept the tradition alive into our current century. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Grips the pavement like ... a shopping cart on wet linoleum? Featured Gallery Junked 2001 Pontiac Grand Prix GTP View 21 Photos Auto News Pontiac Automotive History

Drive plays Smokey, Bandit with turbo Trans Am

The modern trend for powertrains can be summed up with the simple maxim: cut displacement and add forced induction. Whether you are looking at the just-introduced 2016 Chevrolet Cruze or a BMW M3, this adage holds true. However, Pontiac's attempt at the idea goes all the way back in 1980 with the Firebird Trans Am and its turbocharged 4.9-liter V8. Drive's Mike Musto takes out a 1981 example to explain what makes this largely forgotten muscle car so special, and it certainly isn't performance. While a 4.9-liter V8 might sound like a lot in the modern world, keep in mind that only few years before the second-generation Trans Am was available with up to a staggering 7.5-liters of displacement. Turbocharging of road cars in the early '80s was quite archaic by today's standards, and the Firebird only managed around 200 horsepower with this mill. Without much go, the turbo Trans Am made up for a lack of power with lots of show. As Musto points out, the famous flaming chicken adorns practically every surface you can see on the coupe, and boost lights on the hood illuminate when the turbo is spinning. Musto still finds a lot to like about the turbo Trans Am. He even calls it "Burt Reynolds as an automobile." Find out why the coupe is so special in this entertaining clip.

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.