Ooooh late 60’s Mopar… come to thee. I came oh-so dangerously close to buying one of these in a ’69 vintage model back when I was a ludicrously young driver at the ripe age of 17. No doubt, it would have been quite a handful but luckily I was gifted with the passed-along knowledge (via my elders) of respectful know-how and a basic understanding of restraint and throttle control from behind the wheel… Well, that and the fact that making the monumental (and slightly mental) jump from a wheezing ’77 Pinto (my first car) to something of this caliber and size would have been, well… a bit much.
But like all 17 year olds at the time (when old musclecars were still relatively affordable) I just wanted to go fast… and make a shedload of noise all the while achieving said fast-ness. And oh deary me… what a noise. I remember mostly smiling and laughing during my initial test-drive of the ’69 I was drooling for… Who cared if it handled like a plank and merely thought about stopping when the middle pedal was pressed. All that mattered was its sheer presence – the way it looked at all hours of the day (menacing) and how ridiculously fast it went (in a straight line). The buttons were keenly pressed inside this petrolhead’s heart.
To this day, I still stop anything that I’m doing at any given moment (except driving) when one of these rolls/rumbles across my path in life. It just encompasses so much aggression and brutality within that beautifully classic Coke-bottled profile. One day man… one day.