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Junkyard Gem: 1989 Pontiac Sunbird SE Coupe

General Motors built the fantastically successful J-Body cars starting at the dawn of the 1980s and continuing well into our current century, on five continents. The Pontiac Division's version of the J started out being called the J2000 and the 2000, then got the Sunbird name originally used on the Pontiac-ized Chevy Monza starting in 1983. Here's a once-slick-looking 1989 Sunbird SE Coupe, found at a Minneapolis-area boneyard way back in 2016. The best-known of all the J-Body cars, here, was the Chevrolet Cavalier, but Pontiac far outdid even the most blinged-up Cavalier Z24 when it came to elaborate taillights. Because this is Minnesota, the car is a patchwork of various layers of junkyard-obtained rusty body parts. One fender has TURBO badges from a Sunbird GT. The other side has the correct engine badges for this model. That engine is a 2.0-liter, single-overhead-cam straight-four from an engine family originally developed for the Opel Kadett D. This one was rated at 96 horsepower when new. This one has the automatic transmission, so it wouldn't have been very much fun to drive. Check out that cool parking brake handle, though! And, hey, is that a full can of Colorado Cool-Aid in the foot well? You'd think a proper Minnesota Pontiac would at least be full of Grain Belt cans. It appears that Higley Ford in Windom, Minn., had this car on the lot at some point. Windom is closer to Sioux Falls than to Minneapolis. This final mileage total looks good for a car living in Tinworm Country. Pontiac built this generation of Sunbird from the 1988 through 1994 model years, though it was really just a facelift of the first-generation cars. Starting in 1995, the Pontiac J-Body became the Sunfire, and production continued until the J platform itself got the axe in 2005. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. In the 90s, fun will become the exclusive province of the rich. To which the Sunbird driver replies, "Bullish!" Related Video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings.

Watch as Hot Rod goes from El Paso to LA the hard way

There are few things simultaneously more romantic and idiotic than taking a road trip in a beaten-down heap of a car. Trust us. We know. David Freiburger and Mike Finnegan of Hot Rod Magazine fame recently undertook an epic trip from El Paso, Texas to Los Angeles with the express goal of doing so for under $1,500, including the purchase price of a vehicle, food, lodging, repairs and, most importantly, fuel. With this in mind, the duo settled on a 1972 Pontiac Catalina for a lofty $650. Hilarity ensues.
Realizing that no one actually wants a Catalina sulking around the shop, Freiburger and Finnegan put the car up for auction on eBay Motors the instant they had the title in hand. By the time they rolled into Hot Rod HQ, the vehicle sold for a little over $500.
The video is part of a new series called Roadkill that should document similar adventures. Keep your eyes peeled for more calamity-soaked clips in the near future. In the meantime, hit the jump to check it out yourself.

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.