I consider myself a forward looking person. I try not to dwell on the past too much. There’s still a hope that the best thing that I will do in my life is still ahead of me. Those who know me probably have it figured out that it will involve some type of concrete aggregate mix and a two-axle self-dumping trailer. That current fantasy aside, when I was a lot younger, I remember being attracted to a time and place I was never part of. Maybe, the place I want to be existed or maybe it didn’t, that doesn’t matter. And just for a while at least I thought I had found the vehicle to get me there.
Since I was a young boy I’ve had a bit of an interest in surf culture. An upbringing in the British Columbia mountains of course was less than conducive to ever learning how to surf. I longed for the world that I saw in the 1966 Bruce Brown documentary Endless Summer. I liked the music, the style, the sun and the general coolness of it all. Since this was a fantasy I can put myself where I wanted to be and that place is Surf Rider Beach in Malibu California in 1966. Maybe Dick Dale and the Del-tones or the Ventures are playing on the transistor radio. Since my mad board-riding skills would be doing the talking for me, Daddy-O, I wouldn’t need a boss set of wheels, my old 59 Willy’s wagon would be good enough to get there. I’d be rolling slow and cool as long as there was room in the back for my board and that’s all I’d need man. I’m going to have to be 17 years old and my best friends from High School are all there with me. Naturally we are way too busy “shooting the curl” and “walking the nose” to be bothered with girls but if some Sandra Dee, Patty Duke or maybe Judith Durham lookalikes were there that would be bitchin’ and we could maybe all have a soda from my cooler while waiting for the next big wave.
Switching back to 1980s reality from 1960s dream. I had a trusty little mini truck to drive but that was about practicality rather than any deep desire to own one. I figured that I wanted to take on a project to have something more unique. I remember having the Advertiser out and occasionally phoning promising ads. A Karmann Ghia for $400 sold before I got there. A 1974 Bronco for $1200. Just missed that one by a few hours. And finally, I test drove what may have been the last of the original Dodge Power Wagons built, as it had a 318 where a flathead should be. It was in beautiful shape, but that guy was asking nearly $3,000 and I wasn’t that desperate to be cool. One day I saw an ad for a Jeep and a 1966 Chevy short box. Turns out I knew the seller and when I went to look instead of a CJ type Jeep there was an engineless 1959 wagon. Price wasn’t much so I got a tow bar and brought it home. I’m honestly not sure what year it was when I even acquired this. I see that I towed it home with the old GMC stepside. I could already picture my first off-road expedition with a canoe and some fishing gear replacing the surfboard of my fantasy world.
Once I got it home there were a few issues that imposed a bit of reality on me. The biggest one was all the missing pieces. I believe I had read some advice in some ridiculous magazine or other that says when you go to restore a car make sure there is no rust. I got that part right. The old red wagon was plenty solid. But it was missing an engine for one and some interior stuff and the master cylinder that Willy’s cleverly put on directly under the floorboard was going straight to the mat. Also there were very large tires on the back and small ones on the front. And a note written on the headliner about a night spent buried in a mud hole. All of which had me concerned about the condition of the Dana 30 front axle and that was even before thinking about the nonstock power that had been under the hood.
Tracking down the engine was easy enough. The previous owner had pulled it out and sold it to another person I know. I bought the engine back. As can be seen in the photo this is obviously not a flathead Jeep motor but a 283 small block Chev. After a bunch of fun with clutch alignment it went back in there behind the T-90 3 speed. Here’s where I started noting more missing parts that I would need beginning coincidentally enough with the starter. I was saving nearly all my money for school and I hated to shell out for parts.
I’m old enough to absolutely know that everything was better when I was young, and it would be pointless to try and convince me otherwise. One exception to this bias would be involving the difference in gathering the information as to how to make a 283 Chev work correctly in an old Willys at the library as compared to using Google today. That’s a lot better nowadays. I kind of like fuel injection as well. And I guess new ambulances. But other than that things were better then.
So each step required a bit of learning and a bit of research. And a bunch of the parts required scrounging. And money which I didn’t budget for my cheap project. Progress was a bit slow. Someone convinced me that the solution to all of the peculiarities of an old vehicle like this was to put it on a more modern chassis. So he and I bought a wrecked K-5 Blazer’s frame and running gear and he kept the seats while I took the rest. I started prepping the Blazer chassis but once again started noticing how many parts I would need to make it all work even if I went with that most Canadian body mount solution known as the drilled-out hockey puck. And then I changed my mind. I would retain the stock Willy’s stuff. Any dreams of going off-road in the old Jeep were certainly seeming to be way in the future.
Corrosion was my other enemy I didn’t have good access to a red wrench at my house, so every rusty bolt came off the hard way with soaking the rust in penetrating oil, tapping and heating with the propane torch around the nut, further slowing my progress. It was a bit frustrating as I was a good enough FIAT and Courier mechanic and could do major repairs quite quickly. But of course, I had all the parts and a Haynes manual to follow in both cases. I just didn’t really comprehend that restoration was a different animal altogether.
Most of the friends I was hanging around with were into cars somewhat but were not into working on them. So, the Willy’s project was a solitary pursuit. As university students they didn’t have cars at all and just borrowed family cars or rode with those of us that did. I had one friend who had some pretty interesting ideas about choices of a good fishing and hiking vehicle. His first attempt at an off-road vehicle, a Lada Niva seemed to not be a success. I barely remember riding in it, but I do remember being able to almost feel the driveline vibration as it drove by on the highway, I don’t think he missed it but even it was at least running, as the Willy’s project dragged on. Luckily I could do all my outdoor activities with the Courier. You think I would learn from that. No matter what you see on the YouTube if you have to go 100 km from civilization in the cold and your choice is a 2-wheel drive mini pickup or a Lada Niva take the mini truck unless you really want to work on your emergency mechanical skills.
Between work and all the trouble and fun a young man can get into I only had limited time to work on this project. I had three non-functioning vehicles parked in a nice line at the back of my parent’s acreage. Plus a Blazer frame and some miscellaneous parts. They were nearly always away so it wasn’t a big deal, but I really wasn’t trying to be a car collector. It was just happening. After a summer of only limited progress the project got shut in for the winter as it was time to go back to the coast. And since I went back mining the next summer one winter turned into two. At this rate this project was going to take a while and a rethink as to my approach.
Postscript;
So, of course I never did really pursue my dreams of wearing a Pendleton shirt and hanging out at the beach. Never got down to California, never owned a surfboard. The damn Willy’s never really ran right, I met a genuine blonde California girl in university and occasionally annoyed her with surf questions when I’d had a few too many at beer night. She didn’t know how to surf. University, career, wife, another career, kids, house, RRSPs, creaking knees…… I’ve gotten to be middle-aged and sedate. If my life was a day, dusk is now nearer than dawn. The cashiers at the Safeway ask if I need help packing my shopping out to the car. Typing this story tired me out so much that I may need a nap.
But that’s not how the story ended. It couldn’t.
A few years back I ended up near the ocean and there was one thing I was determined to do. Rolling in a rental Hyundai instead of the Willy’s. The Boss Martians on the iPod rather than Ventures on the AM dial. The pretty girls watching from the beach and drinking my sodas were of course my wife and young daughters. I spent more time falling off than riding. There was more pain than I’d anticipated from hitting the bottom. The waves were only 4 feet high.
The picture is with a telephoto so you can’t really make it out. But I’ve got a pretty contented look on my face.
Next week I think I will go mining again and learn a lesson that took only one more questionable purchase to actually hammer home.
Man now I got this amazing theme in my head:
Thanks for this COAL – I enjoyed it and could relate a lot to it.
I grew up in LA, right near some of the famous beaches known for world class surf. Some days in high school, I’d cut class and hang out at Redondo or Manhattan Beach, where the surf and the girls were first rate. In the 90s, my high school’s parking lot was littered with tired, old VW bugs with surf racks and diesel Benz wagons faded to the shade of brick or moldy graham cracker.
I moved to northern CA in my late 20s, and ever since, I live by the more rugged beaches of the Bay Area. I have a more modern equivalent of the beach wagon in my Winnebago converted VW Eurovan. It’s like taking a mini house to the beach! I use it mostly for local cruising and hauling around my musical gear when I play the local pubs and breweries with my band.
Times change, and what’s hip and cool evolves, but regardless of what music is on the radio or what clothes are in, there’s something very timeless about hanging out near the water in a ratty, old surfmobile.
Good surf rock, to my mind, is one of the most stimulating and, somehow, mellow, sounds
one can encounter. Saw Dick Dale a few times, and he was the most impressive guitarist
ever. After the shows he would hang out and talk with fans as long as they wanted to.
A class act in every way.
In 1977, I had my first trip (age 30) to LA, including famed MUSCLE BEACH. Was heavily into Bodybuilding and toured the city with a friend in his 69 Buick Wildcat convert. Several other visits to LA, but in 85 Left 🎵 my 🎶 Heart 🎵in SAN FRANCISCO 🎵. Many subsequent visits found me driving various rentals. Usually Town Cars (in the days when you could reserve specific cars). One One occasion was told the only available vehicles were a Camray or a Taurus. NOT happy at all. Haven’t been back for years (health) but still remember great times and people (and piloting those Town Cars) in 🎵 MY 🎶city 🎵 by the BAY 🎶.
Great story, I saw Endless Summer and On Any Sunday at the local library, they used to show films to kids on Saturday mornings.
I fulfilled my surfing dreams in Costa Rica, got up a couple of times and cracked a rib falling onto the board edge. The most awesome part of it was seeing how quickly my daughter took to it, all those ballet lessons really paid off.
“Also there were very large tires on the back and small ones on the front. And a note written on the headliner about a night spent buried in a mud hole.”
That’s hilarious! With that much size discrepancy, once you got yourself in a place where traction was low enough to keep the transfer case from binding up and dragging you to a stop, the back end would be trying so hard to pass the front end that you’d inevitably end up in the ditch or stuck in a mud hole. And so it came to pass.
I lusted after a Jeep Wagon for many a year, as it ticked all the right boxes. Eventually I bought a new Cherokee in 1985; not exactly a fulfillment of that desire, but a lot more pragmatic given that I was now a family man too.
We lived 9 blocks from the beach in Santa Monica. I loved swimming in the ocean there and body surfing. But for some reason, I never got the yen to get on a board. That finally happened when I was close to 60, when Stephanie suggested that my younger son and I take lessons in Newport, OR. I managed to get up a couple of times. But that was my only time. It just didn’t call me.
I hit my mid teens about a decade or two after the peak of surf-culture was the hot thing. As a tot I had been given a bunch of 45 rpm records from maybe 1959-60 that some older neighbor kids had tired of, and one was “Walk, Don’t Run” by The Ventures. I played that one A LOT, so I get the allure of surf music. Sadly, my location in northeast Indiana provided no other opportunities that were much related to surfing. Good on you for giving it a try in later years!
Oh, but I do so understand the allure of “The Project”. They all look so simple at the outset. Then you get into it, and everything gets complicated, time-consuming and expensive. Then the lack of forward progress eventually saps you of any enthusiasm to continue. Your choice of a Jeep wagon was probably as practical as possible, but that basic practicality only gets you so far.
You never told us what became of the Jeep – I presume it will be making an appearance in some future installment?
Just now I remember that I actually got a ride in one of these. On a family trip to California in 1965, one of my mother’s cousins owned a green one. It was undoubtedly several years old, but I thought it was the coolest thing ever – both when I was 6 years old and now.
I got up this morning and had to change out a noisy wheel bearing on my pickup. And decided to do the brakes since I was in there. At 3:00 I was having a nice drive in a fully repaired truck.
I’m sure that if I got up in the morning to change a bearing on the “project” by the end of the day I would still have a noisy bearing, I’d have broken off a brake bleeder screw, destroyed the headlight wiring and got a low level fungal infection.
If I ever decide to to a project again I will first read every COAL series in advance so I can talk myself out of it.
The Jeep will still be around in next weeks story.
A well-written tale of the endless project, if not the endless summer.
I for one have never been cut out for taking on a project car that could not be driven from day one. I know that people, other people, do that sort of thing routinely…but I’ve never been able to wrap my head around something without an engine and that needed to be pushed around before the insertion of one. So, I could see getting bogged down just like you did with the Willys.
My Willys may become a restoration project at some point. I’ve been collecting the bits it needs over the years. For now, while I’m still working, I’m happy that it will start up and let me take it for a drive when I want to.
Years ago (spring 1985 IIRC) I passed on a ready to reassemble WWII Jeep (in Desert Tan) that allegedly had all of the parts. Unlike you my parents didn’t have acreage where I could park a project. However, I do have the creaking knees.
This which you illustrated as Beach Wagon is exactly the same cartifact once made in Argentina by domestic AMC ika Rambler assembly plant , it was the Estanciera . Many of these are still survived in very good conditions.
Brazil had also its version but with different aesthetics in the grille and the rear`s,
yet with different names sort of a Wyllis or so
Another relatable story well told ~ my son has a 1964 (?) Willys Station Wagon, it’s on a 197? Chevy K series 4X4 frame and has some absurdly large V8 engine .
I managed to dodge the Jeep/Willys bullet several times, I’d loved the 1952 M18A Jeep we had on the farm in New Hampshire but never quite got one myself .
In 1963 my middle sister went gaga for surf and pestered our folks for a surf board for a long time, as we lived East of Boston, Ma. the main question was “where are you going to surf ?” .
Looking forward to the next chapter as always .
-Nate
Surf comes in odd places, a college roommate was an Italian kid from the NYC suburbs who avidly surfed the beaches of Long Island. He moved to Florida where I guess he still surfs. Oddly enough here in Bend Oregon, over 100 miles from the ocean you can surf on the Deschutes river courtesy of some underwater structures at the Colorado Avenue Rapids.