It looks ridiculous. Honestly, if you saw a 1970 Plymouth Superbird for the first time without knowing its history, you’d probably think some bored teenager in a garage went overboard with a jigsaw and a massive sheet of aluminum. That giant rear wing sits nearly three feet off the trunk deck. The nose is a weird, sloped beak that stretches the car to almost 18 feet long. It’s an aerodynamic fever dream.
But here is the thing: the Superbird wasn't built for aesthetics. It was a tool. Specifically, it was a blunt-force instrument designed to lure Richard Petty back to Plymouth and dominate the high-banked superspeedways of NASCAR. It was one of "God's own prototypes"—a term often used by Hunter S. Thompson to describe the wild, overpowered, and slightly "too much" machines of the era. These cars weren't meant to be refined. They were meant to survive at 200 mph when tire technology and suspension setups were still, frankly, terrifyingly primitive.
Why the Superbird Exists (And No, It Wasn't Just for Looks)
In 1969, Ford was beating the brakes off everyone with the Torino Talladega. Richard Petty, "The King," looked at what Plymouth was offering and basically said, "Give me an aero car or I'm leaving." Plymouth didn't have one ready. Petty left for Ford. To get him back, Plymouth had to do something drastic. They took the Road Runner—already a solid muscle car—and handed it over to the rocket scientists.
Literally.
Chrysler used actual aerospace engineers to figure out the drag coefficients. Most people think the high wing was just to clear the roofline for "clean" air, which is partly true, but there’s a persistent myth that it was that high just so the trunk could open. While the height does allow the trunk to swing clear, that was a happy accident. The primary goal was getting that horizontal stabilizer into the cleanest air possible to keep the rear end from lifting at 190 mph. If the back end lifts at those speeds, you aren't racing anymore; you're flying, briefly, before a very spectacular crash.
The nose cone was another piece of engineering wizardry. It added 19 inches to the car's length. Because the Road Runner it was based on had the aerodynamics of a brick, the nose cone smoothed out the frontal area, allowing the car to cut through the air rather than pushing it. It was so effective that NASCAR eventually had to change the rules to neuter these "Aero Warriors" because they were becoming too fast for the tracks to handle.
Driving a Superbird on the Street is Kind of a Nightmare
You’d think owning a legend would be all sunshine and tire smoke. It’s not. Driving a real 1970 Plymouth Superbird in modern traffic is a lesson in anxiety.
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First, there’s the visibility. Or the lack of it. You’re navigating a car that is nearly 18 feet long with a nose you can’t see and a wing that bisects your rearview mirror. Parallel parking? Forget it. You basically need a spotter. Then there’s the cooling issue. Those tiny nose inlets were designed for high-speed ram air on a track. In stop-and-go traffic on a July afternoon? That 440 Super Commando or 426 Hemi is going to get very cranky, very fast.
The interior is surprisingly basic. Despite the exterior theatrics, the inside is just a standard Road Runner. You get a bench seat (usually), a "Beep-Beep" horn that sounds like the cartoon character, and a Hurst pistol-grip shifter if you’re lucky enough to have the four-speed. It’s a weird contrast. Outside, you look like a sci-fi villain. Inside, you’re sitting in a taxi cab with a very loud engine.
The Myth of the "Sales Flop"
You’ll often hear that the Superbird was a massive failure because they sat on dealer lots for years. Some dealers even supposedly took the wings and noses off just to sell them as regular Road Runners.
There’s some truth there, but context matters.
NASCAR required Plymouth to build one car for every two dealerships in the US to meet "homologation" rules. That meant about 1,920 cars. In 1970, most people wanted a Chevelle or a Charger, something that didn't look like a prop from a B-movie. The Superbird was polarizing. It was expensive to insure and hard to park. But calling it a "flop" ignores the fact that it achieved its only real goal: Richard Petty came back to Plymouth in 1970 and won eight races with it.
The Engine Options: Choose Your Poison
If you were buying one of these off the lot in 1970, you had three choices. Most went with the 440 four-barrel. It was reliable and had enough torque to restart a dead planet. Then there was the 440 "Six Pack," which used three two-barrel carburetors. It was a beast to tune but screamed when you floored it.
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- 440 Super Commando V8: The "base" engine. 375 horsepower.
- 440 Six Pack: 390 horsepower. The sweet spot for street performance.
- 426 Hemi: The holy grail. Only 135 were produced. 425 (underrated) horsepower.
The Hemi is the one everyone wants, but honestly? The 440 Six Pack is often the better drive. It’s lighter over the front wheels and feels more responsive for the kind of driving people actually do today. The Hemi is a racing engine that just happens to have a license plate. It wants to be at wide-open throttle, not idling at a red light in suburbia.
Collectors and the Modern Market
If you want one now, be prepared to pay. A "survivor" Superbird with original paint and a matching-numbers 440 can easily clear $200,000. If it’s a Hemi car? You’re looking at $500,000 to over $1 million depending on the provenance.
What’s interesting is how the perception has shifted. In the 70s, they were used cars. People cut holes in the hoods or raced them into telephone poles. Today, they are treated like fine art. But they aren't art. They are loud, vibrating, gas-guzzling monsters that represent a moment in time when American car companies were allowed to be absolutely insane.
The Superbird was a loophole on wheels. It was a way to bypass the spirit of the law to achieve a singular goal: speed.
Spotting a Fake: What to Look For
Because these cars are so valuable, "clones" are everywhere. Someone takes a 1970 Road Runner, buys a fiberglass nose and wing kit, and slaps some decals on it. There’s nothing wrong with a clone if it’s sold as one, but if you’re looking for the real deal, check the VIN.
The VIN must start with RM23. The "R" stands for Belvedere/Road Runner, the "M" for Medium price class, and "23" for two-door hardtop. If the fifth character is a "U," it’s a 440 four-barrel. A "V" means it’s a Six Pack. An "R" in the fifth position means it’s a true Hemi.
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Also, look at the rear window. On a standard Road Runner, the rear glass is recessed. On a Superbird, the factory had to install a flush-mounted window plug to help the aerodynamics. It’s a messy bit of bodywork if you look closely—covered in vinyl to hide the seams—but it’s a key indicator of an authentic car.
Actionable Insights for the Aspiring Aero-Warrior Owner
If you are actually in the market for one of these, or just want to appreciate them properly at a show, keep these points in mind:
- Check the Wing Mounting: On real Superbirds, the wing is braced inside the trunk with massive reinforcements. If the wing is just bolted to the sheet metal of the trunk lid, it’s a fake. The downforce at speed would literally rip the trunk lid off if it wasn't braced to the frame.
- Verify the Nose Material: Original nose cones were steel. Many restorations or clones use fiberglass because it's lighter and easier to work with. If you tap the nose and it sounds like a boat hull, it’s not factory original.
- Expect Imperfection: These were rushed through production. The fit and finish on the nose-to-fender gaps is usually pretty terrible, even from the factory. A "perfect" Superbird with laser-straight gaps might actually be too well-restored compared to how they rolled off the assembly line.
- Join the Club: The Plymouth Barracuda/Cuda & Road Runner Owners Group (BPRH) is an essential resource. The community of Aero Warrior owners is small and they keep meticulous records of known VINs.
The Superbird remains one of the most polarizing cars ever made. It’s a caricature of American muscle, a high-speed experiment that somehow made it into the hands of the public. It’s loud, it’s impractical, and it’s perfect in its absurdity.
To own one is to embrace the fact that you will be stared at, questioned, and laughed at by people who don't get it. But when you hit a straight stretch of highway and that V8 starts to breathe, you realize you aren't just driving a car. You're driving a piece of defiance.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts
If you’re serious about seeing these in person, your best bet is the annual Talladega Aero Warrior Reunion. It’s one of the few places where you’ll see dozens of Superbirds and Daytonas lined up together. For those looking to buy, start by scouring the Mecum and Barrett-Jackson auction archives to see real-world hammer prices for different engine configurations. Always hire a dedicated Mopar expert to perform a physical inspection before dropping six figures on a car that was essentially built to be a disposable race machine. Understanding the fender tag codes is your first line of defense against a "tribute" car being sold as an original.