One man, Fritz, and a journey as a Trans Am Lover.
They say hindsight is 20/20, but in my case, it resembled more of a blurry mess fueled by Burt Reynolds and questionable life choices. Smokey and the Bandit didn’t just entertain me; it became my guiding force. I was lead onto the highway of questionable decisions in a sleek 1973 Trans Am.
The Fresher and Wiser Graduate
Fresh out of graduation, armed with the wisdom of a particularly slow knuckle dragger 🙂 , I invested my life savings into that car. It was a mechanical marvel, held together by equal parts duct tape, dreams, and a prayer. Let’s just say it expressed its displeasure in unique ways: It tried to eject me at inopportune moments or turning into a disassembled puzzle on the side of the road. I loved that car. Or perhaps, I just loved the idea of being the next Bo Duke, minus the good looks and functioning doors.
Then, in a moment of supreme self-preservation (or perhaps the crushing realization that ramen wasn’t a sustainable food group), I sold this four-wheeled nemesis to an unsuspecting soul. They probably thought they were getting a steal – you know, right before the car decided to play a real-life game of Frogger with a semi-truck. Poof! Trans Am totaled, dreams slightly singed.
Fast forward to a more sensible version of me: married, with kids who miraculously managed to avoid inheriting my automotive insanity. I convinced myself the Trans Am phase was a fever dream fueled by questionable music choices. That was until fate, a cruel mistress with a penchant for Smokey Mountain backroads, intervened in 2017.
The 1970 Trans Am ‘Smurf’
There she sat at Smoky Mountain Trader’s, a 1970 Trans Am gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Now, this wasn’t your grandpappy’s Trans Am. Sure, it had those ridiculously tiny back seats that would make a contortionist blush, and the interior looked like it exploded in a blue Smurf factory. But hey, a little black paint can work wonders (don’t tell the purists). However, there was one thing undeniably perfect: that stunning blue stripe that screamed, “Look at me! I’m a rebel with questionable taste in upholstery!”
Of course, being a sensible (ahem) adult, I decided a few upgrades were in order. Stock is boring, right? Nitrous oxide? I put the bottle in the trunk. Ear-splitting exhaust cutouts? Absolutely. Power windows? Why not, I gotta pamper myself during all this tempting-fate business. Because who needs a museum-worthy classic when you can have a fire-breathing monster with 550hp? Then add a 200hp nitrous kit that outruns its own shadow and offers the comfort of a dentist’s chair? Plus, if it ever tries to buck me off again, at least it knows it’s nothing personal. It’s just a Trans Am, packing more horsepower than a herd of angry Clydesdales, with a hint of nitrous for good measure.
Smokey and my 43 tickets
Oh, and did I mention getting pulled over 43 times that one summer? Yeah, turns out Smokey and the Bandit wasn’t exactly a documentary on responsible driving. Let’s just say I developed a personal relationship with several local police officers and learned the finer points of traffic law. Mostly by enthusiastically breaking them. But hey, at least I wasn’t bored, right?
If you’re on a journey as a Trans Am Lover, and Smokey and the Bandit brings nostalgia, then check out other articles that mention Smokey and Bandit.