There is music at the bottom of the post if you like classic rock start the music then read.
As I laid out the plan for restoring my 55, I couldn’t help remembering why it is I love old trucks.
19 years ago last summer I took my old 1957 Triumph Thunderbird chopper to a friends place to barter for his 1949 Chevy Three Quarter ton Pick-up. I got accepted to the Harley Training centre in Northern Alberta. I wanted to build custom bikes and custom vehicles. I had always been a gear head. I wanted to get out of the computer business. I was good at it but I never found it satisfying.
After a half hour of negotiating over a coffee. I owned a truck. A little gas down the carb and a jump start. I was rolling down the road shifting gears. It wouldn’t stay in bull low unless you held it there, The other three gears worked okay.
The interior had been reupholstered and the interior chrome had been redone. Inside it was pretty. Outside not so much. Headlight rings were dented the cab had a hole in where the box was rubbing. I suspected I was carrying a fair share of bondo. Didn’t matter it all felt right.
First thing I removed the old box, a friend and I welded up a flatbed. I made another trade for some dually wheels and tires, so I could carry more weight.
Moving day came and the truck was loaded with kids, dog, cats and furniture. Behind the truck was a trailer with more furniture and boxes carefully packed around my old Harley. I wish we would have taken more pictures. The old 49 looked like the opening scene from the Beverly Hillbillies. The only thing missing was Granny sitting in a rocking chair.
We set off early in the morning on an adventure, our new destination was a twelve-hour drive normally. On the way we drew more than our fair share of looks. I started thinking about the movie Grapes of Wrath. We were taking a chance and risking everything.
Eight hours into the trip, nighttime north of nowhere the headlights went dim. I pulled into a closed gas station and restaurant. I noticed no service bays.
I opened the hood, and looked around with a flashlight. The alternator mount was broken. My wife was following us in the Toyota 4×4. I told her we would have to pull off the mount and drive back a hundred miles to find a welding shop. That wouldn’t happen till morning. We made room so the kids and her could sleep in the Toyota. I slept in the 49 with the cats and the dog.
I woke up a few hours later and the restaurant was busy. Then I saw it, a flatbed with a welding unit on the back. I jumped out and started wrenching. I pulled the broken alternator mount and walked into the restaurant. At the back was a man wearing a welding beanie. I walked up with the broken part in hand, and he looked out at the truck full of furniture and the Harley, before I could say a word he smiled and said he would be happy to help.
The part was welded many thanks were said, the kids, wife and animals fed, the part replaced, alternator belt tightened we were rolling towards our destination.
Two hours later I could smell antifreeze. I looked down and the heater core was leaking. Antifreeze and animals don’t go together. I went out popped the hood again. I disconnected the hoses to the heater core, I used the saw blade attachment on the leatherman attached to my belt. I sawed through the pipe on the end of the heater core. I used that to reconnect the ends of the heater hoses so we could once again roll down the highway.
We made it another three hours and I developed an electrical problem the charging system had stopped charging. An hour later with my multimeter I found the problem. Someone had left the old firewall mounted voltage regulator hooked into the electrical system. I know my old chevy engines. I knew that the alternator had a builtin regulator. I cut the wires made a splice and we were rolling again. This time the voltmeter was showing a charge.
Only eighty miles to go the sky opens up and the rain comes down. I fired up the wipers for the first time since I owned the truck. Yup looking back should have checked that. Of course that ran twice then I heard a snap. The wipers were mickey moused.
One more roadside repair, I disconnect the wipers, so they move freely. I shift gears get up to speed and my arm is outside the truck moving the wipers back and forth, so I can see. It gave new meaning to wiper arm.
We arrived at our destination the rain had stopped. We unloaded the truck, the trailer, kids and furniture. The dogs and cats sniffing at every corner in the new house. Me, I collapse onto my mattress and sleep.
Was I mad about the truck? Nope it just made me bond with the old girl even more. That 49 would go on to move tons of lumber, firewood, building supplies and an old 11 foot camper that took my family on many camping trips. It was a sad day when I had to sell her. I still talk to the new owner who tells me that he starts her up once a year. I guess sometimes even old trucks get to retire.
That truck gave me and mine memories. Since all the kids and the wife are gone, that is what I have left. Now I have the new project my 1955 1st series 4×4. I am looking forward to working on her and making some new memories.
