Smoking Tires On The Someday List

*Warning: this post contains references to dripping motor oil, shredding tires, and that oh-so-sexy smell of raw gasoline exiting tailpipes. In other words, get ready for a little car-p0rn0, GTD-style.

I was 17 when I bought my first real car: a 1987 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS. It was a beast of a vehicle, with a throaty (yet slightly underpowered) 305 cubic inch V8, twin Flowmaster exhausts, and of course, that great feature of 80’s muscle cars, T-Tops. Shortly after buying it, I discovered it was one of only 6,000 produced models known as the Aerocoupe. With a gently sloping rear window in the same style as the NASCAR racer of the same make and model, this made the car a semi collector item.


To say that I have many fond memories of that car would be a rather bland understatement of fact. I spent hours upon hours under that car, getting to know every bolt and screw in intimate detail. On Saturdays I would take friends out for a cruise to the local DQ, T-Tops off, the warm summer air doing its best to ruin the girls’ precise hairdos. Truthfully, I’d be lying if I said that only one adolescent fling took place in its back seat.

The car certainly had its share of flaws, including 1) a tendency to burn about a quart of oil for every tank of gas, 2) floorboards that were close to Flintstone style before an aluminum-clad intervention, and 3) those glorious T-Tops that leaked like a sieve when rain struck. But despite that, the car always had a certain, guttural romantic appeal to it. I suppose there’s just something about the throaty roar of Detroit iron that is irreplaceable in the mind of a teenager.

After around four years of ownership, I bought a Toyota pickup to serve as my “winter” car, since, needless to say, “Risky Business” (as the car came to be called) was near useless in snow. Shortly thereafter, at the behest of my parents (and my better judgment, financially speaking), I sold the car to a local mechanic, who promised to take good care of it. I can still hear that gentle, yet masculine thrum-thrum-thrum of the exhaust as that car drove off.

Ever since, I haven’t quite been able to let go of my desire for round two of mechanical challenge. But it always seems like other, more pressing priorities always took precedence. Get a job, have a family; certainly all very worthy tasks. But in the back of my head, the desire to feel that gut-tingling sensation of American-born acceleration just never went away. It lingered, clawing its way into my consciousness from time to time, mostly whenever I hear the familiar sound of a big block spewing half burned carbon through strait pipes.

Now what in the world, you may ask, does this little rambling story have to do with GTD? Well, you may recall that in my post GTD – 1 Year Later, I mentioned that one of my week spots was the blatant lack of a Someday / Maybe list. Well, it is a deficiency no longer. Behold my inaugural “Someday/Maybe” list:


So, anyone know of any 1987 Monte Carlo SS Aerocoupe’s for sale?