Hidden in the hills of western Illinois lies a trove of Mopars rusting away, and if it wasn’t for fellow auto archaeologist, an acquaintance I simply known as “Robby,” nobody would know these existed. Robby had become friends with the owner, who allowed us to wander through his horse pasture to the cars. Unfortunately, it had been raining most of the day and I ended up falling into what I hoped was mud!
Sitting along the creek was a group of Mopars. From what we were told, any cars that got abused and died got put out to pasture. The coolest were the ’70-72 Plymouth Barracudas. One had a ridiculous set of stripes on it proclaiming it an “AAR,” but it wasn’t an original. Doesn’t matter because it was all cool!
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