My name is Steve and I love my Pinto. I know, you're thinking I must be a total loser with a repressed death wish to drive the biggest firebomb in automotive history. But I live this way so you don't have to. So what if driving a baby blue Pinto in L.A. is the most effective birth control known to man? So what if I instinctively reach for gauze bandages when I hear skidding tires behind me in traffic? As the ultimate junkyard shopping cart, my '79 Pinto can't be beat. When its huge glass hatchback yawns, there isn't much I can't stuff in there and drag home to the El Monte cat ranch. Scope it out for yourself. The cavernous hatch swallowed this 727 Hemi TorqueFlite like Oprah popping a Twinkie. Sharp Pinto spotters will know this is a three-door Runabout with the optional '77-and-up all-glass third door and 47 cubic feet of cargo capacity. Pinto station wagons may have greater capacity, but their massive lift gates and limited angle of attack make loading a hassle. The cavernous hatch swallowed this 727 Hemi TorqueFlite like Oprah popping a Twinkie. Shar When the 9-inch rear axle in my Nova exploded, I loaded the works into the Pinto for transportation to the repair shop. With the hatch closed, prying eyes aren't prying fingers. When the 9-inch rear axle in my Nova exploded, I loaded the works into the Pinto for trans Here's the Flying Scot flathead six from my '59 Rambler American on its way to the machine shop (did somebody say birth control again?). The Pinto's rugged leaf-spring rear suspension and 13-inch Pep Boys radials laughed a hearty guffaw at this insultingly puny load. Here's the Flying Scot flathead six from my '59 Rambler American on its way to the machine Enjoyed this Post? Subscribe to our RSS Feed, or use your favorite social media to recommend us to friends and colleagues!