Before I impulse bought a 1972 Ford F100, I had never owned a wrench in my life. In fact, I had never even owned a gas car. Only a compact electric commuter with 120 miles of range.
Then I got a marketing job at an electric vehicle charging company founded by a gearhead. Our warehouse headquarters was also his project garage, and if you stuck around on Thursdays you got put to work. My first oil change was on his old Land Rover parts-getter. The oil overshot the pan by a foot and ended up going directly down my sleeve from the wrist in a disgusting, greasy mess. But…I didn’t hate it…? (This confirms I have the same screw loose as most gearheads…)
I’d always loved the classic lines of American iron pickups from the 60’s and 70s’. Everyone time I saw one I would joke, “that’s my truck!” To the point that friends and family started joking when they saw one, “hey, Mia, that’s your truck.” But I never REALLY thought I would get one.
Then I found her. I went camping for my 32nd birthday in the redwoods, and half under a tarp was a turquoise, white, and chrome 1972 Ford F100 “Bumpside.”
My first ever photo with Aquamarie in 2021.
She barely ran, she leaked everything. Front end was half taken apart. Blown compression in at least one cylinder causing billows of blue smoke every time she started. One mirror, the other torn off by a redwood tree in a storm years ago. Shredded upholstery, no headliner. A hole where the radio was supposed to go and a bed like Swiss cheese.
I was in love.
This WAS my truck, and I had to have her.
After asking around, I found the owner: a 17 year old kid who had worked for free for the whole summer on a local farm to get paid with the truck. He had initially been excited about it, but, honestly, had been thinking about selling it to get something smaller. More sporty. I offered him a few hundred bucks on the spot. “I’ll go to the ATM right now, I’ll bring you cash.”
Aquamarie’s original passenger mirror had been torn off by a falling redwood branch in a storm, denting the door. But I loved her anyway.
He thought about it, but after a moment he shook his head. “I was hoping to get a little more. And I’m not sure if I’m going to sell it yet.” We exchanged information and asked him to please let me know if he changed his mind.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the truck after I left. I sent the pictures I’d taken of the undercarriage to my then-boss who was a giant gearhead. “It’s not terrible,” he said. I heard, “she’s perfect.”
Then, I got the best Christmas present, ever. Late December, the kid texted. “Are you still interested in the truck?”
I jumped in my little red Chevy Volt plug-in hybrid and drove back out to the redwoods. “Can I take it on a test drive?” He hesitated.
“The front brakes are sorta iffy.”
“I’ll drive really slow.”
She started with a giant cloud of blue smoke. I jumped behind the wheel, the first time I had ever driven a truck of any kind. I puttered slowly through town and couldn’t get the giant smile off my face.
When I got back, I counted out the $1,700 we had agreed on. His dad signed the title over to me. It was mine!
Now what?
Her interior was a bit rough with a cracked dash pad, no radio, no headliner, and warped or shredded vinyl.
It was Christmas Eve at 4pm in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t going to be able to get a tow. I couldn’t drive the truck home, but it couldn’t stay there.
I walked the two blocks back into town. Hadn’t I seen a gravel lot somewhere? Yes — there it was, just off Main Street. It was mostly empty but there were a couple RVs parked. A white pickup came bounding in kicking up gravel and a group of 20-something guys spilled out.
“Hi!” I walked up, waving. “Do you guys know who owns this lot?” They pointed across the street to a white-haired gentleman leaning on his balcony railing, looking out towards us. I crossed the street and waved up at him. “Hi! I just bought an old pickup truck but it can’t drive yet. Any chance I can keep it in your lot until I can have it towed?”
“Oh, is that right? What kind of truck?”
“A 1972 Ford F100. It’s turquoise!”
“Oh, really?! I have a ‘52 dump truck and a 1940’s Jeep I’m working on.”
“Wow awesome! You have them here? Can I see?!”
I made an instant Truncle. After the car tour and backstories of his different projects he said sure, I can keep my truck in his lot over the holidays. Call it $20.
I made a promise early on that I wouldn’t redo the upholstery until she was mechanically sound.
I just about skipped back to get my truck and carefully put-putted back to the gravel lot. As I pulled in next to the RV, I saw a sharply dressed couple in their 80s getting out of a Mini Couper. The man waved at me, “Hi there, do you know the area? We need a tow truck.”
“I don’t, but I just called around myself and no tow companies will come all the way out here tonight.”
“I know. And, this is so embarrassing because this has never happened before. But we were out on a date and the car just died, so I was hoping to get a tow back.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, you’ll never get a tow out of here. Probably not even a taxi. Where do you guys have to go"?”
“Well, we came from San Francisco.”
“I’m headed back towards the Bay Area now, I’ll drive you.”
And so that’s how I bought my truck and ended up on a road trip back with the coolest couple listening to stories about his service in the military as a fighter pilot and a test pilot.
I did eventually get my truck towed to the Bay as well, and then I needed to figure out what on earth I was going to do with it. But that will be another post.
Aquamarie in her temporary home at the office where my then-boss let me keep her until I figured out what to do with her. She looked great next to the vintage airstream conference room :)
