1964 Pontiac Bonneville Convertible on 2040-cars

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This 1927 Oakland is a minimalist hot rod

There are hundreds of American automakers that sprung up during the dawn of the automotive era, only to fold into obscurity or get gobbled up by what would eventually become the Big Four (yes, we're counting AMC here). Oakland is one such company, which was the forbearer for General Motors' Pontiac division. Sold until 1931, you simply don't see Oakland-badged cars anymore. Unless, that is, you know Brian Bent.
Bent drives a 1927 Oakland that still rides on wooden wheels. Its original wooden wheels, from the sound of it. That makes this anachronist and his Oakland the perfect subject for a Petrolicious video. Like many of the cars highlighted by Petrolicious, this old Oakland has had some work done to it, featuring a Pontiac flathead engine that's been pushed forward and a clutch pack built by Bent.
Take a look below for a closer look at this rare and fascinating Oakland.

Junkyard Gem: 1992 Pontiac Sunbird convertible, with extremely rad W25 Appearance Package

Radwood has sparked a revival in the appreciation of goofy 1980s and 1980s automotive fashions, from neon-colored tape stripes to excessive TURBO badging to ads featuring horrifying Nagel-style women with radio faceplates instead of eyes. I see a lot of discarded cars that would have been ideal to bring to Radwood, and today's Junkyard Gem is even radder than, say, a purple Mercury Tracer Trio or a teal Chevy Beretta GT or even the elusive Dodge Daytona IROC R/T (yes, there were IROC Daytonas): a genuine Pontiac Sunbird SE convertible with the W25 Appearance Package and Bright White Star wheels. The W25 package got you a white Sunbird with kicky script badging, white wheels, and — if you opted for the optional 3.1-liter V6 — these candy-cane-influenced red-and-white displacement badges on the fenders. Now this is rad! The white interior got dirty fast, especially if the owner left the convertible top down, and these wheels were tough to keep clean for more than a few hours. This one appears to have spent many years sitting abandoned with the top down, judging by the completely trashed interior. The base engine for 1992 was the good old Cavalier four-banger, complete with 111 horsepower. This 3.1-liter engine made a respectable-for-1992 140 horses, for plenty of torque-steery, tire-squealy fun. As a J-Body car, the Sunbird was a sibling to the Chevrolet Cavalier in 1992 (the J-based Cadillac Cimarron, Oldsmobile Firenza, and Buick Skyhawk departed before the end of the 1980s). Starting in 1994, the Pontiac Sunfire replaced the Sunbird, continuing in production all the way through the demise of the J platform in 2005. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Where (in Canada) would you test-drive your Sunbird? Related Video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings.

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.