Motor Trend gathered eight of Detroit’s newest performance cars for a single comparison test, and one entry completely upended what the rest of the segment was trying to be. Every other car in that lineup had spent years adding comfort and insulation on top of a potent engine. Plymouth’s Road Runner did the opposite, stripping everything back and betting that buyers wanted less. The magazine’s verdict is still quoted today, but the timing slips underneath the praise told a more complicated story. Read on for what the numbers actually said.
In its December 1967 issue, Motor Trend gathered the newest and most substantially revised performance cars Detroit had for the 1968 model year and put them in one comparison test. The lineup read like a roll call of the era: the Pontiac GTO, the Dodge Charger, the Buick GS 400, the Ford Torino, the Chevrolet Chevelle, the Plymouth Road Runner, the Oldsmobile 4-4-2, and the Dodge Coronet R/T. Seven of those cars were arguing about the same thing, which was how much performance you could wrap in how much comfort. One of them was not participating in that argument at all, and by the time the editors finished writing, it had rewritten the terms of the whole segment.
The Sentence That Still Gets Quoted
The magazine’s verdict on the Road Runner has outlived almost everything else published about that test. The editors called it the simplest, starkest, most brazenly pure non-compromising super car in history, and then explained why they meant it as praise. Super cars of the past, they wrote, had found it impossible to shed their inherited comfort and remove their fatty layers to live again. But the enthusiast demand for something basic kept getting louder until it could not be ignored. Plymouth reacted first, they concluded, with a forceful product and a sense of humor. That last clause is doing real work, and it is why the car is remembered.
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.
Subtraction as a Product Strategy
The strategy behind it was subtraction, which almost nobody in Detroit was willing to try. Plymouth started with a mid-range Belvedere, the plain one, and added performance hardware while deliberately declining to add anything else. Bench seat. Rubber floor mats. No carpet at the entry price. Minimal exterior brightwork. The base car had drum brakes at all four corners and a manual transmission as standard equipment, which was almost unheard of in a segment where automatics and bucket seats had become expected. Then Plymouth licensed a cartoon character from Warner Bros., fitted a horn that mimicked its call, and dared the competition to take the car seriously anyway.
What the 383 Road Runner Engine Actually Was
The engine was the crucial piece, because subtraction only works if what remains is genuinely good. The standard Road Runner 383-cubic-inch V-8 was not the ordinary 383 from the rest of the lineup. It received the heads, camshaft, valve springs, exhaust manifolds, and intake from the 440 Super Commando parts bin, which is why it made 335 horsepower at 5,200 rpm and 425 lb-ft of torque at 3,400 rpm through a four-barrel Carter carburetor. That torque figure is the number that mattered on the street, arriving low enough in the range that the car pulled hard from almost anywhere without needing to be wrung out.
The Spartan Equipment List
The rest of the specification followed the same logic. Standard equipment included a strengthened four-speed manual, 3.23:1 rear gears, heavy-duty rear leaf springs, eleven-inch drum brakes, and Polyglas F70x14 tires. That is a far more basic package than what rival supercars offered at a comparable price, and it was intentional. Every dollar Plymouth did not spend on sound insulation, trim, or upholstery was a dollar that either went into the drivetrain or came off the sticker. The 426 Hemi was available as an option for buyers who wanted to escalate, but the 383 was the car the concept was built around.
Quarter-Mile Numbers That Did Not Match the Praise
The road test numbers are where the story gets more complicated than the review’s enthusiasm suggests. Results varied significantly from test to test. One set of runs produced quarter-mile times between 14.90 and 15.55 seconds with trap speeds around 95 to 96 mph, which period testers described as mildly disappointing given how strong the car felt from behind the wheel. Another independent test of a similar car recorded a considerably sharper 14.65 seconds at 100.5 mph. That is a meaningful spread for what was nominally the same car with the same engine and the same gearing.
Why Period Testing Was So Inconsistent
Those inconsistencies were normal for the period and are worth understanding rather than dismissing. Manufacturers supplied press cars that were sometimes carefully prepared and sometimes not. Tire compounds of the era varied enormously in traction from one set to the next, and bias-ply tires on a torquey rear-drive car made launch technique the single biggest variable in any run. Track surface, air temperature, altitude, fuel, state of tune, and driver skill all moved the result. Magazines rarely corrected for weather or elevation. The practical consequence is that period quarter-mile figures should be read as a range rather than as a specification, and that comparing one magazine’s number against another’s proves considerably less than enthusiasts have spent fifty years assuming it does.
The Sales Figure That Settled the Argument
What settled the argument was not a timing slip but the sales ledger. Plymouth had projected modest volume for the Road Runner, on the order of a couple of thousand cars, on the theory that a stripped-out intermediate with a cartoon bird on the fender was a niche proposition. Buyers disagreed emphatically, and 1968 production ran to tens of thousands of units, far beyond what anyone at Chrysler had planned for. The rest of the industry responded within a model year or two with its own budget performance entries, which is the clearest possible evidence that Motor Trend had read the moment correctly.
Why This One Test Still Gets Cited
That is why this particular comparison test still gets cited. The magazine did not simply pick a winner. It identified a shift in what buyers actually wanted, articulated it in a sentence that has outlasted almost every car in the test, and did so before the sales figures confirmed it. The Road Runner was not the fastest car in that lineup on paper, and depending on which timing slip you believe, it may not have been the fastest in practice either. It was the one that understood the assignment differently from everyone else, and that turned out to matter far more than a tenth of a second on a timing slip nobody can reproduce today. Share your thoughts in the comments below.
Republished by Blog Post Promoter










