In the early fall of 1986 I was living the life I thought I wanted. I was a young lawyer in a small law firm, I had a nearly-new car (the VW GTI), an apartment all by myself in a 1920’s era building with the most fabulous black and white subway tile bathroom in the world, and a steady girlfriend. Everything was going well except for that last part.
I had not dated a lot, because, well, I don’t really know. Or maybe I do. I had grown up in a zone of fairly intense conflict between my parents (a zone which perpetuated long after their divorce). And however unlikely it may seem for a lawyer who engages in fights with, for or against people all day every day, I try to avoid conflict in my personal life. But when I was introduced to a girl from my hometown (a set-up by our mothers, actually) we were both pleasantly surprised that our mothers’ enterprise could turn out so nicely for both of us. It was pretty good at first – she was an attractive nurse with a good sense of humor and was fun to be with. I remember her car very well, of course – a 1978 Cutlass fastback sedan in that awful pale yellow and light brown trim combination so popular on GM cars of the time. I hated it. But as time went on, things started to stagnate – as they often do. She had “tight specs” as a friend of mine used to say, and I never really felt like I could truly relax around her, and just be the real me instead of the me I had been trying to project as a young professional. When things finally ended early that fall, I wasn’t really happy about it – but I wasn’t really sad about it either.
When we don’t have to answer to anyone, we tend to go back to our defaults when it comes to behavior. My default was buying cars – something made worse because it was fall. Spring and fall still bring out something in me akin to that state in pets that people call “heat”. Only I go into heat over cars. It was right then that I heard that the brother of a law school classmate was selling his truck. I had seen it before – it was a worn-but-straight 1963 Ford F-100 Flairside. No, it was not a “Stepside” – those are Chevrolets. I called the guy and went go have a look. It was a six with a granny-low-4 speed, and painted the color I still call “park bench green”. The truck no longer fit his life but I decided that it would surely fit mine.
Pickup trucks had always been one of those things that I never took seriously. I saw them around and liked many of them. But when it came to regular transportation, I knew that the ones I liked were crude things with few creature comforts. Nobody I had known growing up in the suburbs had a pickup until my neighbor and mentor Bill came upon a dull, faded red Studebaker Champ sometime in the mid-to-late 1970’s. But a truck of that general sort would be a fabulous counterpoint to the civilized, respectable and sporting car I drove most of the time.
I had it all worked out in my mind. I could drive an old pickup on those glorious fall days, to smell the leaves and stop at places to buy big things that needed to be moved home – scenes implanted in my imagination from so many light truck brochures. The GTI was plenty engaging, but old pickups were the kind of things a guy really DROVE. This old F-100 was a piece of machinery that would require some effort and elbow grease, just the thing to shake off the mental grind of air conditioning, computers and telephones that accompanied day-to-day lawyering. And maybe the real trigger was that the ratty old F-100 was exactly the kind of purchase that would have generated one of those disapproving looks from my recently-former girlfriend. But I no longer had to suffer her reaction, and could do what I wanted do with no consequences. And I wanted a pickup truck. This pickup truck.
I never knew the truck’s full history, but the seller told me that he had bought it from a fireman. It had certainly spent some time around a welder, because there were two of the most intense bumpers I had ever seen on a vehicle. It had apparently been used for some heavy work, because there were extra leaves in the springs so that bumps in the road only caused the truck to skitter around on the surface rather than undulate in any way. With the right tires it could have probably kept up with a stock F-350 in its ability to haul loads.
Not my truck, but one in far better condition. Mine had a similar level of luxury.
The steering was of the classic Ford truck kind. The free-play in the steering was perhaps 1/3 of the turn of the wheel, so that the process of driving was more herding a blind cow than steering a motor vehicle. This was still a couple of years before the Twin I Beam independent front suspension that Ford trucks would become known for, so it used the old I beam straight axle with two (ungodly stiff) leaf springs. Then there was the shifter. Something in the shifter mechanism had broken so that the long shift lever would swing in a wide arc from side to side in any gear, with nothing that resembled anything like a shifting gate. The trick, as it was explained to me, was not to chase that lever halfway across the cab for gear changes, but to do it with a mere flick of the wrist: Twist left and push either up for 1st (on those rare occasions it would be needed) or back for 2nd, then twist the wrist right and straight forward for 3 and straight back for high. With about three minutes of practice, that method worked really well.
The little 223 cid six was the one part of the truck that needed absolutely nothing. It never failed to start quickly and never gave me a moment of trouble. I adjusted the tappets once (They may or may not have needed it, but it had surely been awhile and it was a fun way to spend some time) and sprayed the carb linkages, but that was it. I have owned a few vehicles that have had engines of legendary durability, and that little Ford truck six was one of them. Actually, I don’t think that truck ever required anything but a tune-up (mostly because I wanted to do one), a used tire (because I ran over something) and a battery (because one got stolen). That old Ford truck made me a fan.
The flat tire happened the one day I decided to drive the truck downtown for a court appearance. I don’t know what I ran over, but one tire was definitely flat when I came back. Another tire was laying in the bed but it was then I discovered that I lacked a jack. Did you know that most tow trucks cannot get into a parking garage? I do now. Fortunately, a service guy with a jack and a lug wrench was all I needed.
In the rear parking lot of my office. The street behind is the first block of W. 36th Street in Indianapolis. Not visible in this picture is the house to the left of the two-tone brown one on the far side of the street – that invisible house is notable for being first owned by Louis Chevrolet in the early 1920s.
Other than the flat surfaces (that had succumbed to surface rust) the green paint was decent outside and fabulous inside. A blanket on the seat covered the torn vinyl and it was good to go. The blanket fit really well because there were no seat belts to get in the way. It may seem odd that a guy who spent his days immersed in the after-effects of auto accidents would be so sanguine about a truck wherein the only restraint system consisted of gravity, but not everything in life makes sense. I did not buy this truck for lots of driving, but for short hops or deserted country roads (never mind that finding them required traversing a lot of congested city streets). But I know, I know – they call them “accidents” for a reason. Fortunately, I never experienced a situation where the seat belts would have made anything better.
The heat worked, as did the lights and wipers. The only real issue was the classic Ford front cab mounts that were getting a little soft with rust (really the only rusty part of the truck). This was easily recognized by the front of the cab that had settled down a bit, which caused the front sheet metal to look like it was pointed ever-so-slightly slightly uphill. I had seen far worse, and was OK with it. The unanticipated side effect of this body misalignment was that it caused the steering column to poke out a bit so that the turn signals would not self-cancel. It also put a bit of pressure on the choke cable so that there was a periodic need to punch the choke knob back into the dash after it had slowly migrated towards the driver’s knee. As I think about it, there was also the speedometer with the wildly gyrating needle that never came close to indicating an actual speed.
What my truck could have become with sufficient infusions of elbow grease and cash.
I made several friends with the truck, as everyone who has ever owned a pickup truck has learned. In fact that was how I first saw the truck, when its prior owner had been asked to help one of my roommates move. The only mishap in moving came from the wooden bed. It was in generally good shape, but there was a gap between the front of the bed floor and the front panel behind the cab. One day I smelled something burning. I pulled over and looked underneath to answer a question that had been asked the day before – what had happened to one of the arm covers on a friend’s couch after we moved it into his new house. “Hey Tim, remember that missing arm cover? I found it. Burning on top of my muffler. I don’t think your wife wants it back.”
The only real problem I had driving the truck was that it was physically exhausting. All week long I would look forward to a weekend of errands or a place for a scenic drive. It was a thrill to leave the world of 1980’s plastic and slide into the pickup where everything you touched was metal or Bakelite. Someone had fitted radial tires to the wheels, which may or may not have been the cause of the highest effort steering of anything I have owned to this day. Parking was really unpleasant and required the kind of upper arm strength I wished I had more of. A co-worker borrowed it and upon returning told me that he was now a graduate from the Charles Atlas School of Truck Driving. This may have been a sign of kingpin woes, but I had no intention of trying to improve this truck the way I had tried to improve some (or perhaps all) of my previous old vehicles. Trying to wrestle with that wheel during a shifting maneuver was always a fight, and it became clear that my city life was not what my truck was made for. By the time I would return home from any errands that involved parking, I would be wiped out with no urge to go near the truck for the next several days.
I parked it in my spot in the building garage (which I had not used since the GTI had been vandalized). That worked until the battery got stolen. Then I rigged a chain and padlock to keep the hood closed to unauthorized access. I was actually a little amazed that the truck itself never got stolen, because there was something wrong with the door lock cylinders so that the cab would not lock. The reason it was amazing was because my apartment building, just south of 38th and Meridian Streets in Indianapolis, was in one of those areas that was on the ragged edge of either the beginnings of some gentrification or a continuation of a long slide into the kind of place a person who could afford better would not want to live. After some early indications that the area was in the first category, it sort of shifted gears into the second. Which was OK, because I had reached the point where all of my friends were buying houses and it seemed like the thing for me to do as well.
The truck was a great help in moving once I bought a house. Remember all of those Truck Friends I had made? The good part about having Truck Friends is that most all of them were happy to return the favor when my own moving day came. The only place it failed me was in moving the television.
The apparent twin to my family’s long-lived Magnavox color television set.
My family got its first color television in 1970, with the aid of a discount obtained through my Uncle Bob, who worked for Magnavox. When Mom finally replaced it, I adopted the elderly-but-operable TV. It survived a move to my law school apartment, and then to my first solo adult place. It would have fit in the GTI for its third move, had I removed the legs, but I decided that it would be simpler to just heft it into the truck. The F-100’s suspension system that was so well suited to hauling things like anvils and wet sod weighted down by wrecking balls did a poor job of cushioning geriatric electronics. The sorry result was that my Magnavox color television expired somewhere during the short trip, at the age of 17. Which, of course, I discovered when the cable guy arrived for the hookup.
Happily, my little 1920’s bungalow had a 2 car garage out back, so I had plenty of room for my truck. After the move I took the F-100 on its one and only road trip – a trek to Fort Wayne to remove my big toolbox, workbench and other accumulated possessions from my mother’s garage, so that I could resume my life of recreational wrenching. I stuck to less-traveled roads and the old truck got me there and back just fine (though I had to punch the choke knob about every fifteen minutes). I expected that the pickup would give me a great outlet for my need to tinker and futz with things mechanical – something my still-under-warranty GTI did not really encourage.
I would have happily kept the truck in its semi-retired, occasional use state for years to come, but for a funny quirk in the car-hunting excursion through which I expected to replace my GTI. I found my next car about a year into ownership of the truck, and the seller was really interested in making my pickup truck part of a trade. He got my F-100 (with some instruction in the operation of the shift lever) and some cash and I had my next car. It is difficult to value things that make up a trade, but I certainly didn’t lose any money on the pickup and may have even made a little.
One side-effect of writing this series is that re-living my experiences with these cars has dredged up some fairly intense feelings about them – mostly good ones. It hits me that I never really developed much of a relationship with this truck. Is it because I was (finally) starting to develop the kinds of personal relationships that I had previously avoided for one reason or another? Or because I really didn’t drive it that much? I remember deciding at the time that maybe I liked the idea of this truck more than I liked the truck itself. Would I have liked an F-100 with stock suspension and better steering? Maybe. Or maybe I am just not a truck guy – or at least not an old truck guy. In any case, it seems the truck did three significant things during the year I had it: It got me past my first real breakup, it got me into my first house, and it got me into my next car. Things far more valuable than the old TV it cost me.
Didn’t see that coming, I didn’t think of you as an old truck guy either. But it seems like a interesting and productive experience, and you wisely didn’t tear it apart to fix the excessive truckishness.
And what a fabulous apartment building! Is it still standing today?
This was a car that I didn’t see coming either, but suddenly there it was.
Yes, that building is still there, and this is a fairly recent photo from the internet. It got a name change recently and the immediate area seems to be on the upswing again, or at least was before Covid and such. It was a great old place to live for awhile, though I got tired of the 2 flights of stairs multiple times a day.
Good read!
Wow, so much here. Old trucks are like old brick buildings, seemingly permanent edifices, built to serve indefinitely. Long after their newness wears off they’ll still be functioning and making themselves useful.
Loose steering boxes and stiff kingpins are definitely part of the old Ford experience. Adjusting the steering box helps, but some of these Ford boxes are just loose, no matter what you do. A friend had that one- third -turn play on his 68 F350. He could deftly herd that truck so you wouldn’t notice. But I lacked the touch needed to bump that wheel just enough, when I drove that truck, I used both lanes.
“Truck Friends”, an excellent explanation for the process. I think most truck owners share the experience, especially with younger people. Fortunately as people mature they’re less likely to entrust their possessions to an open bed pick up, so they pay for moving or deliveries, rather than pester their busy friends. But not always, as I found this past summer.
” seemingly permanent edifices, built to serve indefinitely” – this is as good of a description of old trucks as I have seen. I think I got pretty good with the steering after a little practice.
I agree that an open pickup is really a pretty sad choice for a house move – really, I think my recent minivans have been more useful. The years have proved to me that while I may not be a Truck Guy, I am definitely a Van Guy.
Rebound relationships don’t always last. But this does sound like a good one to have had.
It sounds like your Ford had reached that point where everything worked just so but if you tweak with one item, all the interrelatedness would start wreaking havoc on everything else.
Using the phrase about being “in heat” over wanting a vehicle makes complete sense.
Looking back, that truck’s condition was almost perfection itself. It was not nice enough that I really cared much about it, but everything worked well enough that nothing required fixing and I was not tempted to start improving things.
Although this would have been so much better raw material for a car project than one I actually chose awhile later.
“… disapproving looks from my recently-former girlfriend. But I no longer had to suffer her reaction…
I can sure relate to that sentiment.
Pickup trucks – as we all know – are now usually just as luxurious and expensive as, well, luxurious and expensive cars and are often driven by what some malcontents might call people who are “all hat and no cattle”.
But that’s not fair.
I was a NYC non-car owner for many years but becoming a truck guy in retirement 50 miles West of Manhattan has enabled me to become involved in a form of outdoor life that differs sharply from my suit and tie, desk bound, key board tapping, computer driven past life.
Brush removal, hurricane damage and wind fall conveyance, buying trees, shrubs, top soil, mulch, and the inevitable furniture moving of neighbors, friends, church rummage sales, and one ex-wife are all activities I now happily dive into because as one ages, being part of a useful physical life is a good way to feel truly alive.
No hat, no cattle; just lots of tie downs and climbing on the tire to get into the bed to position or empty a load in the heat, the cold, the rain, and the snow. And a good opportunity to wear heavy gloves and a denim jacket over a red hoodie.
I think maybe the pickup and I just met at the wrong time. Had I bought it after moving to a house, I would have gotten much more use out of it than I did as a city apartment dweller, where the truck served no actual purpose at all.
No hat and no cattle – I love it, because it fits me too. 🙂
My Grandfather gave my Dad his 1963 F100 stepside after he retired in 1968…..The body rotted apart by 1971.
My Dad then bought two 1965 F100 stepsides via government surplus sealed bid.
They were former US Air Force trucks …..He drove them until the early 1990’s.
This story reminds me of the time about 20 years ago, when I went with my close coworker friend during lunch break to help him test drive a ‘66 Ford F-250 with a 289 in it, IIRC. My friend had a late model Ranger that he was upside down on and could barely afford, a wife and two small kids, and, though I did not know it then, his marriage was sailing inexorably into increasingly choppy waters. He was taken with this ancient, agricultural truck with a balky manual transmission that felt like rowing a baseball bat through a bucket of balls (to borrow a phrase), unassisted drum brakes that responded more like ‘hopes and prayers’ than an actual device intended to slow down the vehicle, and steering that was somehow both unimaginably vague and maliciously heavy.
My friend didn’t actually end up buying the truck (my warnings about advanced rust and his dad’s warnings about how much it would cost to feed its thirsty V8 brought him to reason), but this article gave me some insight as to what else might have been playing into his desire to own and drive something so simple, purposeful, and unapologetically misaligned with his daily life at the time.
I have always wondered how the conversation went after the guy who took it in partial trade for my next car got it home and showed his wife.
Great chapter, JP! You’ve helped me understand why I’m still in love with my ’02 Silverado. It’s the perfect blend of old school – 8′ bed, crank windows, rubber floors, vinyl seat – and modern daily driver-ability, with A/C, FI, and disc brakes. It’s not a great daily driver, but it always gives me a smile and a sense of satisfaction.
It sounds like your pickup hits the sweet spot. You remind me of how some pickups drove quite nicely. Before I owned this one, I once borrowed a 73-76 Chevy pickup to move a sofa I bought. It was a 350/auto and I found it remarkably civilized. But then my BIL the farmer always said that Ford trucks are for work and Chevy trucks are for driving.
My long-time girlfriend had a ‘76 Chevy Custom Deluxe with a 350 and automatic transmission, that had belonged to her recently-deceased grandmother and had received so little maintenance attention over the years it looked like it had been lowered simply because it’s suspension was so worn out. My girlfriend literally only ever put gas in it. It was the only vehicle I’ve ever been in that had the oil light come on (late one Friday night, I believe), and when I had her pop the hood to check the dipstick, it was dry as a bone. We nursed it to a gas station maybe a half mile away, and after putting however many quarts of oil in it, went back home. I told her she needed to take it to a shop and have it checked out the next day, but I don’t think she ever did – just kept driving it to school and back every day for the rest of the year.
That was the closest example I ever experienced of the old saw that ‘GM makes vehicles that run poorly for longer than most vehicles run at all’. She abused that poor truck, and the Chevy just kept on chugging along…slowly and noisily.
Forgot to mention that my Dad’s 65 F100’s suffered from the same cab mount rust out as the truck in this article which caused the sheet metal sag between the doors and front fenders….It also caused the doors to bind when opening.
The 65’s also differed from the ’63’s in that the twin I beam suspension was introduced in ’65 and the inner front fenders and cab floor were redesigned for ’65.
The 63’s had a 223 inline 6 and 292 V8 whereas the 240 and 300 inline 6’s and 352 V8 were introduced in ’65.
My Dad was a machinist and he fabricated new cab mounts to solve that issue.
My cab mounts were not as bad as most, certainly for a midwestern truck that was over 20 years old, so I had no trouble with doors binding. I do remember doing a little research and finding that cab mount sections being sold by companies that catered to Ford truck people, and that was one project that I figured I would eventually need to tackle.
At the time I was kind of sorry my truck wasn’t a V8 – a 292 wasn’t much of a performance engine, but it certainly would have made that lightweight pickup scoot.
As the owner of a ’66 F100 six since 1987, I have a few comments to make. 🙂
The #1 attribute of my truck, which you experienced in a shorter version, is its reliability. It has always started instantly no matter how many weeks it’s sat or how cold or hot it is. The engine has never needed anything in 35 years except for one water pump, one cam gear and few tuneups. That 240 six is still in rude health, with solid compression in all cylinders and it burns no oil.
Obviously I’ve had some transmission woes, but it appears that the reason mine went is because the guy who rebuilt it 29 years ago didn’t get all the needle bearings seated properly.
As to its ride, mine is really not hard riding at all. The difference is that you had a swb version with additional leaves on the back and that old style crude solid front axle. The the cabs on the ’63 and ’65-’66 look the same, they have a completely new frame and chassis underneath them. The ’65’s new twin beam chassis was used on subsequent generations with little or no change. It rides rather softly, if not exactly refined, but of course its load capacity is somewhat limited (technically), which of course I’ve ignore endless times.
The steering is new on the ’65-up too, but realistically, it’s still got lots of play, like all old American cars and trucks with slow-geared manual steering. Mine has a 1/4 turn of slop; a bit better than 1/3 turn, 🙂
Yes, the steering is heavy at slow speed. It keeps my upper body strength up. They should make a weight machine at the gym that replicates it.
I’ve kept my truck because I use it for work still, and because it’s just been so remarkably easy to keep running. I hear all the stories here (and elsewhere) about all the issues and repairs folks have with their old cars and I just can’t relate. Up until my transmission went last year, I went close to 15 years without an issue; nothing except the most minor maintenance stuff.
As to folks borrowing it; that ended decades ago. I did lend it early on, once to some young relatives who were visiting from Austria. They drove it all over Northern California, and loved the experience! And my SIL even drove it to work for a while when she was living with us in CA. But the last time I lent it to a friend to haul stuff, he scared himself with the brakes on Hwy 17. Admittedly, the master cylinder was starting to go, and you had to pump it once first (prime it?) before actually braking. he said “never again”.
For me, it’s been the perfect 200% solution to both a work truck and a vintage hobby vehicle. But I can see why it wasn’t quite the thing for you.
Until reading all about your truck over the years, I had assumed that not much changed but the suspension in 1965, but have known better for awhile now. A more compliant suspension would have made a lot of difference on mine. And I would definitely have found the F-100 more useful in later years when I have lived farther out in the older suburbs.
It seems that at any given time, there has been at least one vehicle in a Ford showroom that gives a salute to Henry Ford in being extra tough and over-built. In more recent years it seems to have been the Excursion (and associated Super Duty pickups), which have maintained value to an incredible degree. These F-series trucks were in that tradition.
Now I know why the Ford trucks of this vintage always looked like the front end was “broken” and pointing toward the sky!
I had asked myself that same thing as a kid, when there were a bunch of these running around northeast Indiana with their headlights pointing up into the air.
I had one old truck a 51 AL 110 flat deck, tough old thing it was rough with a lifetime of battle scars on it, zero ride quality, shocking fuel consumption, it relaced a Humber 80 estate and for carrying dirt bikes was just simply superior to the Humber or my mates SWB 56 Landrover,
A week ago I saw another old truck that captured my interest a 81 J1 Bedford 4 sale roadside V6 Holden engine 4 speed from the same rust plated already good rubber new springs etc and a phone number it looked like it had been there a while so I didnt rush to ring the number, a mistake as it turned out 3 days later it vanished, then again I have nowhere to store or work on it so a bullet dodged and I remember near new J1s rough riding noisy 1850s leftovers still in production in the 70/80s when I last drove one. That old Cornbinder I had was a better truck.
It gets harder to justify another car the older I get.
You have to tell me the precise age of that pendulum swing, I don’t think I’ve reached it yet.
Best justification I use for an extra car (in my case the Spider) is “it’s the antidote to golf”. I don’t play golf, but….
Er-ruhh…I see a speedometer and two blanked-off, white-painted circles on the dashboard. I see no gasoline gauge, no engine temperature gauge, no oil pressure gauge or light, no ammeter or voltmeter or “AMP” light, no turn signal or high beam pilot lights. Squack?
That very same thing dawned on me repeatedly, over several cars, before I stopped denying it and acknowledged I had outgrown(?) my car hobbyism.
That dash was odd, with the two unused circles – I don’t think I ever saw any factory installation using one of those areas. But the cluster contained a gas gauge, maybe a temp gauge and also lights for Gen and Oil.
Here is a close up
I think that’s a modern version with some extra gauges. Ford left lots of room for customization. What I believe is an original is below, with idiot lights and sans the tach and the 140 mph speedo.
Yes, the correct version is the one you showed Jim, like the one in my truck (below) with gauges for temp and gas and lights for ammeter and oil pressure.
I used one of the unused round “holes” to mount my tach, which fit perfectly.
The two unused “holes” were there for the HD trucks, which used one for a tach and the other for air pressure.
It was the best picture I found for the round version as I don’t have that version in my truck and have never seen it personally. My version is the one below.
Outgrowing car hobbyism? That makes it sound like a juvenile activity or interest. The topic that interest in hobby cars can wane over time, would make an interesting area to explore on it’s own.
This was an unexpected – but completely understandable chapter in your COAL story. I’d known a few guys (a decade or two later) who bought an older pickup for similar reasons (i.e., girlfriend gone, always wanted one, useful to move stuff, etc.), so maybe this fits a larger pattern of behavior.
When I saw the opening picture, I wondered if it was the neighborhood where you’d worked & lived near Louis Chevrolet’s former house – so I’m glad you annotated the picture to explain that… good to see where that was!
Thanks, by the way, for coming up with that bit of trivia. I worked in that building for 10 years and lived 1.5 blocks north for 2 of them and had never been aware of the Louis Chevrolet connection.
I totally get it. I remember when I finally considered getting my first truck a few years ago, Mr. Shafer talked me out of the one I had my initial eye on:
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/uncategorized/cc-for-sale-1978-dodge-d150-custom-power-wagon-rider-on-the-storm/
For what I needed/wanted it for, he was right, it would have been completely wrong.
Earlier I could have had this one, which many thought I was crazy to not keep:
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/uncategorized/foreclosure-classic-1986-dodge-ram-pickup-not-exactly-the-cobra-in-the-barn/
At the time I did not see the need or have the desire for it.
In the end I got a far newer truck (but nowhere near new) with Mr. Shafer advising me that served me well for three years and then I finally got a new, new one last year that has been great for what it’s been doing along with removing (most of) the concerns I had with my first one. It’s shiny which is good and bad and as (or more) capable as any truck I’ll likely ever need. One day I’ll discuss them both here in more detail…
If I had the space or could justify it or more likely if the situation changed where very long drives in very bad conditions or higher speed crash safety were no longer a need/desire, then either of the first two trucks would today be extremely welcome in my driveway (if perhaps not quite as welcome in my neighborhood in general). I just realized they were both Dodges, hmm, interesting, that. But both would be excellent at the day to day and week to week tasks that are perfect for an older truck, especially as a non-primary conveyance.
I will confess that I have been getting the truck bug again, but it would have to be air conditioned and have power steering to make it suitable for occasionally normal use. Fortunately a crazy used car market is putting a stop to this idea.
I re-read my old post about the ’86 just now and in it I actually offered the truck to anyone who wanted it…nobody came. This is why perfectly good cars go to the junkyard.
Be careful, the crazy market may end one day. But the day of characterful old trucks available for a pittance I think is gone for good, now they are desirable again. At least your requirements put you in a later 80s or 90s truck that eventually will develop their own character…
If you’re not a truck guy, that was the best kind of truck. Use it for a while, then move it along. Luckily it didn’t need any immediate critical repairs to keep it on the road. A lot of people will pick up an old truck to use during a big home improvement project then sell it once it’s no longer needed.
My Dad bought a new step side Chevy truck in ’75 and kept it for forty years. It had a 350/auto, power steering disc brakes a/c and even an AM/FM radio. It was smooth riding but gas mileage was poor. This was the vehicle that my folks took their last road trip in, Southern Ca, Baja California, then onto Las Vegas Nevada.
Truth be told, I never really liked the truck due to the cramped driving position with the steering wheel in my chest. I felt that my ’66 F250 had much better cabin comfort, though I never liked having the back window directly behind the seat back. Along with the gas tank!
My current V6 F150 long bed, access cab, bought new, has been my perfect truck. Lots of bed space to carry stuff, a little extra space behind the very comfortable seats to stow stuff and allow the seat backs to recline. Rubber floor mats, crank windows, no cruise control, but air and auto. Rack and pinion steering, four wheel discs with ABS. It was these features that convinced me that the Ford was superior to the same year Chevy. Very quiet, rides like a Lincoln, and will get 20-21 mpg. when driven at the speed limit. Will even hit 100 mph. on a level road.
Though I have driven it on many vacation road trips, often 2-3000 miles long, I am not a truck guy. I could never like a truck as much as I like a favored car, though I’ve put 165,000 miles on my F 150. I have no desire for a new truck. Oh, and it’s Forest green with a grey interior.
Maybe I am a little bit of a truck guy.
Your and your Dad’s long-term ownership stories reminds me of a BIL who bought an 81 Chevy Stepside (6/auto) from his brother who bought a new pickup around 1990. Ken still has that 81, that has gone through stages of daily driver, suburban hauling tool/backup vehicle, and is now going through a frame-off refurbishment (he is not interested in a full resto) with some body parts sourced from the south.
I borrowed it a time or two in the early 90s and agree that the driving position in the old Fords was superior. Otherwise, the 81 Chevy’s driving experience was far more car-like.
Great read! And yes, as some have said here, this re-kindles my urge to get an old truck very much like the one you had. The subject often comes up in my house and it’s pointed out that it would be super-useful for hauling debris, landscaping materials, the weekly trip to the town dump (yeah, we don’t have municipal trash collection in my town), and snow plowing (I usually refute that last one by saying that something old and cool like this wouldn’t be suitable as a plowing vehicle). But then there’s the issue of parking something for weeks between use (and don’t I already do that with one car?) and shouldn’t I be simplifying at this point instead of adding?
And so yeah, reading about other people’s cool trucks is probably what I ought to be doing.
” reading about other people’s cool trucks” – I am coming to find that this is a pretty good plan.
“and it’s pointed out that it would be super-useful for hauling debris, landscaping materials, the weekly trip to the town dump”
I used that same reasoning when I got mine but then the last time it hauled anything to the dump after hauling fencing material home was in 2008.
Are the women folks on to us yet?
Yes, the women are and have been, on to us for decades now =8-) .
” … disapproving looks from my recently-former girlfriend. But I no longer had to suffer her reaction… ”
Yeah, I’m glad I got married and I’m gladder she’s gone .
Our first married tax return netted us $600 so of course I ran right out and bought a battered 1946 Chevy 1/2 ton rig, I doubt she ever forgave that .
Light duty trucks are nice, I too prefer them basic as I used them a lot as work tools from age 10 onwards .
The two round stamped parts of the dashboard were also used to mount a vacuum gauge with a red light in the bottom of it that came on if you lost the vacuum necessary for the optional vacuum assist brakes on the light and medium duty gas powered rigs .
My very first pickup truck was a rusted out 1959 Ford F100 flare side, 223 i6 and three on the tree, nice original blue U.S.A.F. paint but not much floor left, IIRC we paid $25 for it in 1967 from Andrews Air Force base .
It was only used a year or so before I got it and nursed it back to life if not full health .
I see many here like the rubber floor mats and manual windows, all good things but in snow / rain country they trap water underneath that will last all summer and cause floor rusting .
My current rig is a 2001 Ford Ranger base model, 2.4 liter 4 cylinder, 5 speed manual box, rubber floor mat, manual windows and vinyl seats .
It comes with A/C, P.S. and P.B. .
I wish it had an automatic tranny but it’s good exercise for what’s left of my knees .
Cheap trucks _ARE_ out there, you simply have to beat the bushes for them .
My truck was 18 years old with just under 100,000 miles , I put about as much into it as I paid for it ($2,400 IIRC) and now it’s a sharp looking and reliable rig that’s easy to drive when I’m in the mood which is more often than I expected .
Way back in the late 1950’s GM marketing did some research and discovered that of all 1/2 ton pickups sold, 80 % were not used commercially, why they began offering ever more accessories and loaded to the gills models .
I’m old now so the power steering, A/C (40* F WOOT !) are very important to me .
This truck steers nicely, no play anywhere, it’s got a *very* narrow track and short wheel base, I’ve had it up over 80 MPH unloaded, I don’t think it safe to drive at that speed , ever .
Swapping a cranky lady for a battered or rusted out vehicle may sound loony but it’s often good for your mental health .
-Nate