I was just thinking about Cruiser-itis, before there was an internet. If you are like me, you had a severe case of Cruiser-itis before you actually bought the vehicle. About 2000, I was searching thru newspaper classifieds, and Thrifty Nickle want-ads. Basically, there was a short verbal description of the vehicle, and a phone number to call, and only certain ads came with a photo. That meant that you had to actually travel somewhere if you wanted to simply look at a vehicle. Today's Craigslist is so much more advanced, relative to the old want-ads.
The first FJ40 that I followed up on was about as bad as they get in terms of condition, a '65 for $500. No surprises when I arrived there - most of it was missing or rotted. But, I had to actually take time away from my schedule, and drive across to an area of the metropolitan region that I'd never go to otherwise for really any reason, just to find out if it was a deal or not. About an hour-and-a-half for the round trip to see something parked on the street with a sign taped to the glass, I never talked to the owner, and nature reclaiming the vehicle for habitat. The second FJ40 was a sweet Chevota (even though I don't like Chevotas), but, again, I had to drive across town, skip dinner, etc., just to see what the rims were. The owner was with me on the test drive. My buddy came with, so the owner had his knees in his face as he squeezed into a YJ-jeepy rear seat, on the test drive around the block. He was asking &13,000, and I knew that I was about 10K short of that, lol... Cruiser-itis made do it.
Don't get me wrong, I was always impressed by shopping for vehicles, sold by individuals, at their houses. When I was a kid, I'd go with my dad to follow-up on a used car. You'd spend all kinds of time kicking tires and asking questions about the mechanicals that you can't actually see, dogs barking in the background. And, as you entertain your Cruiser-itis, you'd be taking up the precious time of someone who actually wants to sell the vehicle. I recall this one time following up on a essentially a GM parts stash, talking to an old-timer in his funky kitchen about some kind of backyard GM project that was steadily loosing its boyancy. It is strange going into someone's home and buying something, like a steering box, from a pile of parts that is clearly made a domestic scene disfunctional. If nothing else, you'd knock on the door, some kid would answer, you'd explain that you are responding to the ad, the son or daughter would scream out, "Dad, someone's here at the door," and you'd patiently be seated on the vintage sofa, next to the kids watching cartoons, eating cereal, waiting for the seller to greet you. Before there was a FleaBay...