It was the first vehicle I ever got on my own...
It sounded like a washing machine (and probably had about the same compression)...
It had rust holes in the body I could put my hand through, but the chassis was solid...
It was Spock's truck (my long-deceased best friend, a cocky little Border Collie/Coyote), I was his chauffer...
I was 17 when I brought it home, much to my Dad's consternation... back in 1987.
It was the biggest case of sellers remorse I've ever known, when I sold it in 2000.
I've *frequently* thought about the truck, and still miss it muchly.
I just got off the phone with an old friend, and he tells me that my old truck is still intact, and he's seen it
sitting on the property of the guy I sold it to.
I don't even know how to express what I'm feeling right now. Of all the vehicles I've ever owned, that's the one
that everyone knew as *my* truck. It was part of my identity, so to speak.
I gotta go check it out. I'd gut Earl in a heartbeat for parts to get my old burnt orange K10 back on the road.