1967 Le Mans Convertible, 1 Family Owned For 45 Years, All Original Documents on 2040-cars

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Another Burt Reynolds Trans Am is up for auction

Fans of Smokey and the Bandit, your car has arrived. This Saturday, January 21, Barrett-Jackson will auction a 1977 Pontiac Trans Am clone that, while not originally in the movie, was owned and signed by the Bandit himself, Burt Reynolds. Not only that, but it packs many modifications that should make this Pontiac drive the way we all imagined it did. This is a Trans Am clone, not an original. The car was built by Nebraska company Restore A Muscle Car, and started life as a lowly Firebird Formula. However, the company brought it up to Trans Am grade and beyond. Under the hood is a fuel-injected 8.2-liter V8 from Butler Performance that Restore A Muscle Car says produces 600 horsepower. Coupled to the big V8 is a Tremec five-speed manual transmission. There's even Hurst line-lock on-board, so this Trans Am should be perfect for on-demand burnouts. The car also comes with QA1 coil-over suspension, so it should corner better than the original, too. The outside looks roughly like a stock Trans Am, but it now has 18-inch wheels styled after those from the movie car, and the shaker scoop says "8.2" on each side. View 5 Photos In 2014, a 1977 Trans Am owned by Reynolds sold for a whopping $450,000. That car wasn't an actual movie car either, and lacked the modifications of this one. However, it was used as a promotional car and was given to Reynolds, so it did have some history with the film. This upgraded car is listed in the Barrett-Jackson catalog as "no reserve," so it's going home with a new owner on Saturday, regardless of price. Related Video:

Baseball team to dress like Trans Am, complete with screaming chicken

Come to think of it, the Screaming Chicken actually sounds like the name of a minor league baseball team. Well, it isn't, but the famous logo of the same name that graced the hood of the 1970s Pontiac Trans Am will at least be making it to a baseball uniform this summer. The Lansing Lugnuts, a Single-A affiliate of the Toronto Blue Jays, will be rocking these special uniforms to honor the late Burt Reynolds and his film Smokey and the Bandit. By default, it will also be honoring the car the movie made famous: the 1977 Trans Am painted black with gold trim and, of course, the screaming chicken on the hood. This is a pretty good history of the emblem. So why the Lugnuts and Burt Reynolds? Although he claimed to be born in Georgia for much of his career, he admitted in a 2015 autobiography that he was in fact born in Lansing, Mich. After a few years, his family settled in Florida. Not exactly hometown hero stuff, but minor league baseball promotions have been made of more tenuous connections. The Burt Reynolds tribute night will be July 20, and if you want to get a screaming chicken jersey for yourself (I mean, wouldn't they be perfect for a cars and coffee?), the game-used jerseys will be auctioned off for charity after the game.

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.