I have lurked around on this forum every now and then and have just signed up.
I had an old green 3100 pickup in my life when i was a kid. We bought it from a friend of my grandfather, who used to drive it from his farm into town, loaded with tomatoes and apples. We used it pretty hard for a few years. It was what we used to haul all of the building materials up to our cabin site. I remember riding in the back with my older sister, perched on top of piles of chimney blocks, or shingles, or with the pieces of the cast iron cook stove all around us as we pounded up a very rough trail to get to the parking lot at the lake. As a 12 year old, I got really good at putting chains on to get us through the miles of mud holes, and then taking them off again once we got through the rough areas and back on dry dirt. I bought it from my dad when I was old enough, and after learning to drive the column shift, that old ‘51 Chevy was my daily driver. I was so proud to drive that old truck and I swore I would never sell it.
Reality slowly set into my 25 year old self and after the truck sat in my parents yard for a few years while was off to God know’s where, I reluctantly decided to sell it to the father of a friend who swore to take good care of it.
Fast forward 35 years, and I was returning a ladder to a friend. He wasn’t home, but his garage door was open, so I thought I would put the ladder inside. Well, inside was an old oxidized (looked sorta green) Chevy 3100. I phoned him later and asked about the truck. He said “oh that’s Heidi’s (his wife). She drives it every now and then and really loves it.” I told him if she ever wanted to sell it, I would be interested, and then let the matter drop.
Two years later, My wife and I were driving back from Boston after prostate surgery and my phone rang. Heidi had decided she was ready to sell that old truck, and if I was interested, it was mine. We agreed on a price, and a few months later we showed up to drive it home.
We had assurance that the brakes were fine, the tires were a little worn, but they were fine, and the “motor starts right up”. The motor part was at least accurate. I I was driving it the 4 miles home, the truck was practically swimming down the lane, and the brakes sorta worked the first time I used them, then mostly seized up. I got it home without wadding it into anything, pulled it into my barn and as time allowed, started tearing into it to address the issues I knew about.
I was shocked to find out I had a practically rust free truck. I had done the best I could, looking under it in their driveway, but to be quite honest I was committed to that truck and was taking it home regardless of what I found. There was one fist sized hole in the back of one inner fender and everything else was about as perfect as it could be. The “worn” tires looked like the originals, and were so cracked I don’t know how they got me from A to B without disintegrating from under me. I found out later that Heidi didn’t actually “love that old truck” but had gotten to the point where she didn’t even like driving it. No surprise there. No brakes and bad tires?
Anyway, after about 6 months of working on the truck as I could, which was really a few hours at a time until I was just too uncomfortable, it was ready to go back on the road. I had rebuilt the brakes, repainted the bed, replaced the wood, compounded the whole truck, and replaced the tires. The 6 volt system was upgraded to 12, and stainless trim replaced a bunch of the painted stuff.[img]
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