I was tooling around town with the kiddo in the Changli this weekend when we happened to pass this wonderful specimen, what looked to be a survivor, unrestored Subaru BRAT, a facelifted one that still had the incredible jump seats in the bed, making it somewhere between an ’83 and an ’86 car. I love these things.
It’s the seats that really make it for me: they’re such a wonderfully absurd loophole-jumping ploy, as they made the BRAT into a passenger car instead of a pickup truck, and as such weren’t subject to the cruel 25% Chicken Tax.
The lack of seatbelts is exciting, but even better are those terror-grip handles with their BMX-style rubber grips, designed to be held, white knuckled, as your shirtless, chain-smoking cousin drives like a maniac, splashing into the deepest possible puddles and potholes in the gravel roads behind your uncle’s property.
That drain hole in the middle there likely works for urine as well as rainwater, as I bet has been tested many, many times over the decades.