The essential Burt Reynolds car movie guide

I was at the Big Lots store this weekend and picked up the Burt Reynolds DVD’s of Hooper and Cannonball Run II for $3.00/each. I hadn’t watched either of them for awhile, but these mindless, big budget car movies were always among my favorites.

If you are into cars, car culture, and entertainment purely for entertainment’s sake, these films from the 1970s/early 80s are essential for your DVD collection.

Here’s a little synopsis of some of the best (and worst) Burt Reynolds movies featuring the big three: car chases, car jumps, and car crashes.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ = "Golden Moustache" Rating System.

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Are traditional auto enthusiasts a thing of the past?

Is it the end of the road for the traditional auto enthusiast?

Being around car people my whole life, I’ve learned to appreciate cars with all five senses. There’s no room for technology for technology’s sake, but if someone comes up with something that runs better, or looks better, or drives better, or sounds better, or smells better, or feels better, that’s progress you can believe in.

Take that last one—feels better. I’ve always thought that driving a low, wide, fast, loud Corvette, for example, feels good. And driving a tinny, gutless, cheap Chevette, well, doesn’t.

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Fuel-powered Prop Rod tether cars were forerunners to today's remote control vehicles

Go to the toy section of any Wal-Mart, and you’ll find a huge selection of remote control cars and trucks. Some play music. Some go off-road. Some come with another car to race against. The choices are limitless.


Back in the 1950s, remote control cars like the examples we have now were pure science fiction. But that doesn’t mean kids didn’t have some great choices when it came to self-propelled vehicles.

The hottest ticket of them all was the popular Cox Thimble Drome Prop Rod. These one-cylinder rockets were meant to run in circles while tethered to a pole. They ran on a mixture of methanol, nitro methane, and castor oil, but you could buy the fuel already mixed from your local hobby store. Once the high-strung engine was running, a large propeller would spin behind the car, similar to a full-sized airboat.

1961 Corvette and a little orange pillow continue a tradition of memories

I still remember the day my dad brought it home. It was 1978 and I was five. I really didn’t think that much of it. It was kind of different than most cars we had around, but dad bought and sold lots of cars, so this one probably wouldn’t be around long either.

But then we started using it. Every weekend my dad and I would get in the ’61 and “ride.” We’d go look at used cars, or scour junkyards, or go to the car races, sneak tacos before dinner, or get lost on purpose. I was in my first street race riding in that car. It gave me my first rides at over 100 mph on the back roads in Nebraska. My dad would tromp it sometimes just because he knew I loved getting slammed back in the seat. I know for a fact that my scrawny butt has left a mold in the passenger seat of that car, because I rode in it more than anyone else in its history—including my mom!

If we weren’t cruising we were working on it. At first I just sat on the toolbox and watched, but then I started helping out. Over the years I spent a lot of time under the pancake hood; under the dashboard; under the car. I’ll bet between my dad and me, we bled a gallon of blood out of our knuckles working on that thing.

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Author gets all mushy during Corvette Z06 review

I guess I could do another review of the Corvette Z06, but what’s the point? If you like these cars, there are reviews in every car magazine or Internet website out there. What would you expect to hear? It’s freakin’ fast. You can keep the throttle buried around corners without skeetering out of control or tipping over. You can roast the rear tires all day long. Or until the tires wear out. Whichever comes first. When you drive it, you actually feel like you might be cool, even if you’re a scrawny, glasses-wearing nerd who can’t dance and can barely catch a ball. Not that I would know about that.

But I guess I don’t really need to get into all that. The fact is that when I drove this latest Z06, I loved it as much as any red-blooded American is supposed to love it. It’s an awesome car. I know it, you know it, everybody knows it.

But I’ll go as far as to say that the Corvette’s awesomeness goes beyond its track numbers. Cars that have similar performance, though few and far between, don’t always carry the same street-cred as the Vette, at least in my social circles.

Rat Rods!

Before I wrote this story, I punched the term “Rat Rod” into eBay and got nearly 6,300 hits. There were 2006 Cadillac STS-V seats, an ’86 Oldsmobile Cutlass Brougham, a set of ‘80s-style Keystone mag wheels, and a ’77 AMC Hornet included in the results.

Which goes to show, there is some confusion out there on what exactly a Rat Rod is.

In a way, it is sort of hard to pin down a definition. Typically, a Rat Rod is a, home-built ‘50s-style hot rod that was constructed from vintage parts. They’re often channeled roadsters from the 1930s, but they can also be sedans, trucks, coupes, wagons; anything that “might” have been around 50-60 years ago. That’s not set in stone, though. A ‘20s car or a ‘60s car could all be accepted as a Rat Rod if the modifications are right.

One thing’s for sure—an ’86 Olds Cutlass isn’t a Rat Rod.

Why would anyone want an old "gas guzzler" over a new hybrid?

Just rambling here.


With all the cash for clunkers talk in the news, all the discussion about the environment and hybrid cars and energy conservation, etc., etc., etc. I thought I’d throw a question out there that may or may not be relevant.

Why would anyone want an older car over a new hybrid?

I’ve got a 13-year-old daily driver. It gets about 25-mpg on the highway; less in the city. It uses more gasoline than a Toyota Prius. I will assume that it emits more carbon waste into the atmosphere, too. So in those two measures, the hybrid wins. Hands down.

Now, like I said, my car has been on the ground for 13 years. That means in 13 years, no raw materials, no pollution from a manufacturing plant, no waste from converting raw materials into car parts has occurred. None. On a percentage basis, I have to wonder how much fuel my car will have to burn before it catches up with all that went into building an entire auto plant and producing a new Prius from the ground up. I mean, every Prius out there is still using gas and electricity, so when you include the toll of production and use, how long is it going to take for an older car to out-pollute a new hybrid?

1994-1996 Impala SS has enthusiast following in Kansas City

“Lord Vader, your car is ready.”


That was the headline for a popular print advertisement promoting the sinister new 1994 Impala SS. With it’s blacked out trim, large (for the time) 17-inch wheels, and Corvette-derived 350-c.i. LT1 V8, the ’94 – ’96 Impala SS performed as strong as it looked. And this was at a time when real performance cars had been basically regulated off the radar.

The Impala started as an upscale trim option in 1958, but the “SS” option in 1961 is where our story begins. When equipped with the famous 409-c.i. V8, a ’61 SS was capable of quarter miles in the 15’s. Performance and popularity of the Impala SS grew throughout the 60’s, but the SS disappeared after the ’69 model year. As the 70’s wore on, governmental regulations and gas shortages transformed the Impala to more of an affordable family car, while the up-level Caprice added a little luxury to the mix. The days of indulgent performance were gone. By the 80’s, the Caprice was the consumer’s choice, while the Impala, which had been relegated mostly to fleet applications, finally faded away.

Scale model car kits are fun, educational, and rewarding

After my granddad died, and my dad was cleaning out the “junk” from his old room so he could eventually move my grandma into an apartment, I watched helplessly as he loaded boxes of old model kits and parts into the truck headed for the city dump.

I was seven, and although I always thought model kits were neat, I never realized how much I liked them until I saw such a great stash headed for the trash. Dad gave me a couple of old junker models and boxes to keep me out of the way, and I’ve loved them ever since.

The models I’m referring to are 1/25th-scale kits. The earliest examples, and as it turns out the first that I ever had any experience with, were from about 1958. They were called “annuals”, because they came out with new versions every year to correspond with the actual new cars in the showrooms.

They were essentially made from the same molds as dealer promotional models, which were sold or given away as assembled toys at new car dealerships. Obviously, kits had to be put together, but they were also made out of a more durable styrene plastic that didn’t tend to warp as bad as the promos did. Often, they came with extra decals and customizing pieces that could be glued on to build something Barris-esque. As time went on, the hoods opened up to reveal the engine, and more parts were included for more realism.

Old Time Radio is a great way to melt your commute away

“Her sweater was cut in the shape of a ‘V’. And she liked capital letters.”

“His brain was just big enough to drop through the hole of a Life Saver.”

“When she walked in it would give you a warm feeling. Like a melted cheese sandwich.”

Where can you get a steady diet of brilliant gems like these? In the hard-boiled world of Old Time Radio (OTR), of course.

I didn’t grow up in the 1940s, but I was given my grandparent’s 1947 Philco Model 48-1256 when I was a kid. Back then, there was an AM station in Kansas City that would still play OTR shows on occasion, and there was something about hearing those broadcasts coming out of that radio that really appealed to me.

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When you’ve shopped at the Legends during the summer months, you may have noticed the unmistakable scream of racing engines coming from Kansas Speedway, even on an off weekend. Chances are it isn’t Dale Earnhardt, Jr. shaking down the AMP Energy Chevy. More likely, you’re hearing a bunch of hot, happy people taking part in the Richard petty Driving Experience (RPDE).

The RPDE is more like an amusement park ride than an actual driving school. The gist of it is that you go out and follow an experienced driver around Kansas Speedway behind the wheel of an old Sprint Cup-type car. You can go as fast as you are comfortable driving, as long as you stay within the boundaries set by the pylons on the track, and you slow down if the leader waves you off.

The first part of the day is spent in the classroom, where you learn the basics of the track and what the car is supposed to feel like. They also spell out the rules so you don’t go peeling out or something. This is the most boring part of the whole deal, but if you haven’t been to the racetrack before, or you are nervous about what you’re about to do, it will probably ease your mind a little.

The vicious cycle of Pixar Cars diecasts

These things are killing me!

At first, it wasn’t so bad. My son loved the Pixar Cars movie, so when they came out with a nice little Lightning McQueen diecast, and a nice little Tow Mater diecast, it made sense to grab ‘em.

He carried those two cars around everywhere; clutched tightly in his little hands. He loved them. So we didn’t think twice when they came out with the menacing Chick Hicks, or the Doc Hudson car. I mean, he was so into them, he had to have the whole set, right?

Whoa. The King. Red the fire truck. Fillmore. Sally. They sure were doing a good job covering the main characters. He could have a 1:60th-scale recreation of the most memorable scenes in the movie.

No, we don’t need that one—we’ve already got Lightning McQueen. Wait—that McQueen looks like he’s been on the dirt track. And that one is painted blue like in the dream sequence in the movie. And that one has its tongue sticking out. And that one has googly eyes.

Holy crap. We’ve got 28 McQueens, and they’re all different. How the hell did that happen?

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How a 1974 Buick Century can be more awesome than a Ferrari Enzo

What is the car that most people lust after more than any other? Lamborghini? Ferrari? Cobra or Corvette? Well, for most car fanatics, the make and model that brings the fondest memories is often your first car.

That’s certainly the case for me, as my ’74 Buick Century is the only car that I still have dreams about. Apparently, I still have the old Buick at the back of the garage, and I drive it every once in awhile just to keep things oiled up. Actually, I sold it more than 15-years ago, but the sleep-induced fantasy that I still have it squirreled away makes me sleep better.

I took a job at a full-service car wash when I was 14. It actually was a pretty hard job for a 115-lb kid, and it was a two-mile walk from my house. I also had to walk uphill, both ways, in the snow. Kids today have no idea …

Anyway, unlike most of the guys there who actually needed to pay the rent, I was working for one reason: to get some wheels. My dad and I always liked to troll used car lots and just look at what was out there anyway, so it didn’t take long to find a worthy candidate for my first ride.

Enjoying cars with your kids creates strong lifelong relationships

The only reason I bother doing this column is that I love cars. I place the blame for that affliction squarely on the shoulders of my dad. He forced me to do car stuff constantly. Against my will. He ruined me.

In fact, I am so screwed up, I am doing the same thing to my son. He’s only five, but he’s car crazy. He has been to races, car shows, auctions, demolition derbies, monster truck shows; I make him help me wash my car. I feel sorry for him.

But in all seriousness, I love it that he wants to do this stuff with me. I’d love him and be close no matter what, but it is nice to share something that I am really passionate about with my son.

The big flat. My apologies to Raymond Chandler.

It was rush hour in the big city. Thousands of little worker ants were marching their ways home from the amber mines to meet up with their wives, their kids, their mistresses. It’s a well-oiled machine—until the big magnifying glass of fate takes aim on that ant farm. That’s when you realize there might not be enough of you left to sweep up in a dustpan.

I was humming along on the 635 in a black Chevrolet sedan last night right there with them. The promise of a warm brunette, a happy kid, and a shot of whiskey kept me pointed north. When all of a sudden I heard it—the faint flap of trouble coming from the left rear size seventeen bologna. I made my way to the side to check it out, my hand caressing the .38 in my pocket. My inspection turned up snake eyes. All seemed quiet, so I slipped back behind the wheel and continued on my way.

The flapping sound lasted for about five more seconds when whatever must have been hiding underneath the tire disengaged and jettisoned out the back, making a lovely clonking sound as it departed. Everything felt normal. Must have been something caught in the tread. I continued on my way, overtaking a cab over Pete in the left lane of the busy six.