From the desk of Daniel “Pinecone” Verona

Every car is brought into this world with purposes. Multiple, sometimes countless intentions of function, form, and a method to convey each. But in the end, at the mercy of the general public, each will be remembered a certain way. Machines have identities, souls, and traits that the acute among us are all too aware of.

Holding this in my mind with each new automotive experience, I can say with utmost confidence that the 1982-1994 Pontiac Sunbird is one of the greatest vehicles ever created.

Now how might this piece of Government Motors™ retro iron be deserving of such a thing?

At risk of contradiction, it is not.

Polished up for Radwood gawkers or rotting in a Copart thumbnail, a Sunbird is a bare bones set of wheels, and from there it derives most – if not all – of the value it has left to society. As I learned not long ago, the virtues of such a car are as unexpected as plentiful. It is a machine of both limited function and endless opportunity. It is a shitbox. It is a simple car.

The mighty J-body sunny is not alone in giving this impression. The simple cars are everywhere, blending into the backdrop of suburbia until nostalgia deems it time for triumph. They are a divided, and divisive, bunch, with certain models being heaped with praise and flamed with hate more than they were ever meant to be. Machines not only carry the identity of their function, but that which we instill upon them.

What they all share is that special notoriety that comes from simply existing. Judging that innate “specialness” of a car is an abstract skill shared by most enthusiasts, but I never understood this variety of it until three months ago, when I first sat my ass on the ripped brown velour of a 1987 Sunbird convertible. The seats were clearly not designed to please the senses, and yet, the interior was an inviting place to be. Every surface and control was clean-cut, smooth, arranged with logic in a simple manner. Nothing was outstanding in quality, but in searching for that you have missed the point. Never have I driven a vehicle that felt so resistant to motion. Once the nonlinear clutch dislodges the car from its resting place, it responds the same to any amount of throttle at any speed. That single cam 4-banger has blessed you with forward velocity, and will have nothing more asked of it. For a light car, it somehow rolls like a truck in corners and jolts your spine like a yard kart over bumps. Driving is performed with information only from the speedometer and fuel gauge. The exhaust leaks, the windows whistle, the seatbelts stick, the pop-up headlights do not, and your proprioception knows that the front left tire is subtly flattening.

Someone call the BRZ boys, there’s body roll to be eliminated.

However, I stand by my initial claim.

This article was never about the Pontiac Sunbird, but the fact that, especially when issues arise, this variety of car holds onto your sense of attachment in a way that your weekend-driver rich boy toy simply cannot. Driving the Sunbird through the autumn foliage forced me to acknowledge its many, many flaws, however I could not help but forgive them all, because it is a breed of car that instills no illusions of grandeur as you stand next to it. This machine asks for no praise, no scrutiny, and will give its all when it is asked. Unconditionally. If it is working.

Perhaps even harder to explain is how this breed of vehicle is being lost in today’s world. Change is natural in these unprecedented times (that have continued so long that a new precedent has been set), but I ask is this worth it? Is there much good in change if one never recovers what positivity was lost in the process? I will let the philosophers bend that to their metaphors. In the automotive world, I can say with certainty that in this day and age we, as a society, have abandoned the virtues of the simple car. The attitude crafted for each vehicle becomes more convoluted, and saturated with words that lack meaning. Screen-cluttered interiors fight for attention with pure excess. Even the most athletic modern vehicles have gained excessive mass, volume, and power never to be unleashed. And this occurs, somehow, while the experience we derive from them continues to suffer. The consumer and the producer seem to be giving up trust in each other, and we all know how those sort of relationships go.

At the end of my revelations, I was deterred from buying the Pontiac Sunbird by those with fatter wallets and stricter priorities than myself. Though this remains a regret of mine, I have picked up the slack with vehicles of similar traits. And I strongly suggest you do the same.