1967 Pontiac Firebird 400 6.6l on 2040-cars

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1939 Pontiac Ghost Car commands $308,000 at auction

For the 1939 World's Fair, Pontiac built a Deluxe Six bodied in Plexiglass. Part of the Previews of Progress pavilion in which General Motors' Futurama showed off what was to come in the world of autos, the 'invisible' Pontiac is credited as the first transparent car in America. And there were no shortcuts taken with its body: the Plexiglass form was fabricated by the company that brought the material to market in 1933, Rohm & Haas.
The see-through sedan was sold at RM Auctions' St. John's auction in Michigan on July 30, fetching $308,000. Not bad appreciation for a domestic oddity that cost $25,000 to build when new. You can check out the high-res gallery of its innards, including copper and chrome metalwork and white moldings and wheels, and get the exhaustive details on it after the jump.

Celebrate the summer solstice by building the Pontiac Solstice shooting brake GM never did

Happy summer solstice, everyone! To celebrate, we have a particularly unusual eBay find connected to the Pontiac Solstice sports car. A seller has leftover inventory of fiberglass hardtops designed to turn the Pontiac Solstice roadster into a shooting brake. The seller says they came from a since-closed Indiana company, and they're clearly inspired by another aftermarket part and even a GM concept that never saw the light of day. We'll start from the beginning: the stillborn Chevy Nomad concept. It was a concept that came out about the same time as the original Solstice concept, and it was clearly based on the same platform, featuring a small two-door body and a long nose. It also had unashamedly retro Nomad wagon design cues and cues from the original Corvette. The car never saw production, but clearly people were interested in having a wagon-like sports car. That brings us to the next bit of history with an aftermarket hardtop developed by German company EDAG. We saw a prototype in person, and the overall shape seemed to fit the car — and the wraparound window design certainly seemed Nomadic. Besides the unique look, the hardtop and its functional hatch made the Solstice roadster's miniscule cargo space far more usable. It doesn't appear many of the tops were sold, though. These tops on eBay look very similar to the EDAG tops, though it's not clear if they're a direct replica or something similar. Being that the parts are leftover inventory, the seller notes that some of the tops may be missing pieces for installation, so only those who are handy with bodywork and fasteners, or who are able to lean on someone who is, need apply. Even with some extra work, if you really want a Solstice shooting brake, this is likely easier and cheaper than commissioning a shop to custom-build a roof for your. If you're interested, check out the link. They're $499.99 apiece, and the seller will also provide a set of seals and gaskets for the top for an extra $125.

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.