My automotive journey is paved with memorable cars, but few hold the special place that my 1970 Plymouth GTX does. Following my previous reflection on my 1969 Plymouth GTX, which was a project car before I even had a license, the ’70 GTX became my second running vehicle and quickly eclipsed its predecessor in my affections. While the ’69 GTX holds a nostalgic spot as my first taste of muscle car ownership, it was the 1970 model that truly captured my heart and provided countless high-octane memories.
For a period of over a year, I was fortunate enough to own both a 1969 and 1970 Plymouth GTX simultaneously. Purchasing the ’69 in 1985 for $2,200 felt like a steal, even though it was far from pristine. Fast forward to 1986, and I added a near-mint, all-original 1970 GTX to my collection for $4,000. While parting ways with the ’69 GTX in 1987 for $2,500 meant a slight financial loss considering the money I’d invested, it was a necessary decision for a high school car enthusiast on a budget. The truth was, my preference for the 1970 Plymouth GTX was overwhelming. It wasn’t just a car; it was a companion for 24 years.
Owning two Gtx Cars during my high school years might seem excessive, and it certainly stretched my finances. However, the 1970 Plymouth GTX held a unique appeal for several key reasons. Firstly, it represented the pinnacle of Plymouth’s “fuselage styling.” This design philosophy, emphasizing smooth, rounded body panels, reached its zenith in 1970. While the 1968-1970 Plymouth GTX, Road Runner, and Satellite models shared similar body structures, the 1970 GTX stood out with its clean lines, devoid of any extraneous ridges or embellishments that could detract from its sleek silhouette. My GTX was a striking “triple FK5” car, meaning its body, roof, and interior were all finished in the vibrant “Burnt Orange” (FK5) color. As a two-owner, remarkably original vehicle in near-mint condition, it was a true gem.
Secondly, 1970 was the year Plymouth unleashed the Superbird. This limited-edition, high-performance muscle car, with its aerodynamic nose cone and towering rear wing, was the stuff of teenage dreams, albeit financially out of reach for me at the time. While the GTX lacked the Superbird’s outlandish aerodynamic additions, they shared the same fundamental body, making the GTX the closest I could get to Superbird ownership. The visual connection to this legendary NASCAR homologation special amplified the GTX’s desirability in my eyes.
Thirdly, and perhaps most significantly, 1970 marked the introduction of Plymouth’s optional “Air Grabber” cold-air induction system for the GTX. Muscle cars were known for their hood scoops, designed to channel cooler air into the engine for enhanced power. However, the Air Grabber system in the 1970 GTX was unique. It featured a driver-controlled switch that activated a vacuum-operated mechanism to raise a prominent panel in the center of the hood. This wasn’t just about performance; it was about street presence. The Air Grabber allowed GTX drivers to dramatically raise the hood scoop at will, a feature designed to intimidate rivals at traffic lights. While admittedly theatrical by both 1970 and modern standards, the Air Grabber added a layer of cool theatrics that resonated with my teenage self, and still does today.
My 1970 Plymouth GTX remained in my life for 24 years, eventually being sold in 2010 for $24,000 to an enthusiast in Australia. It was more than just selling a car; it was sending a piece of my history to the other side of the world. The odometer read 84,000 miles when I acquired it in 1986, and by the time it departed in 2010, it had clocked over 134,000 miles. So why part with a car that held so much personal history?
Two primary factors contributed to my decision. Firstly, a well-intentioned but ultimately disastrous interior “restoration” in 2005 irrevocably damaged the GTX’s original interior. Despite my efforts to rectify the damage, some aspects were beyond repair. The once pristine cabin became a source of frustration every time I sat in the car. Secondly, in 2005, I acquired a 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T SE. This pristine, original Challenger gradually filled the emotional void left by the GTX, a transition accelerated by the botched restoration.
Finally, in 2010, I added another dream car to my collection: a low-mileage, all-original 1974 Pontiac Trans Am Super Duty 455. With both the Challenger and the Trans Am in my garage, my muscle car desires were more than satisfied. The GTX, despite its history, became somewhat redundant.
Do I regret selling my 1970 Plymouth GTX? Not truly. The memories remain vivid, and I often reminisce about the good times we shared. But life moves forward, and so do automotive passions. My focus has shifted to modern marvels like my Dodge Demon and the Ford GT. These contemporary machines offer performance and technology that dwarf the GTX in every measurable way. Furthermore, the hands-on maintenance required by vintage cars, once a cherished hobby, no longer holds the same appeal.
I remain in contact with the Australian buyer, who continues to cherish the GTX to this day. For me, the 1970 Plymouth GTX is a cherished chapter in my automotive history, a testament to the enduring allure of classic muscle cars and the unforgettable experiences they provide.
