Well, today is finally the day. After years stalking on this thread I finally have something to contribute. Let me tell you a story.
It all started in elementary school with my best friend Richard. We built tree houses and forts, took apart bikes and remote control cars, leading us to eventually "modify" our parents Kawasaki Mule's.
Anywho, school and life eventually got in the way but something kept nagging at us, some grand adventure. Richard bought a Baja Bug with aspirations of running sections of the TransAmerican Trail (TAT). He planted this little seed in my head and I went crazy over it. Having hiked part of the AT alone, there is something marvelous about being out in the "unknown" alone. So, the search for a rig began.
Months went by and nothing seemed to hit until Richard sent me a link of a pile of rust in North Georgia. I was intrigued. Did I have the skill to fix it? Could i learn these skills well enough to be able to make this thing safe? As I moved down the list in deciding whether to buy this rig all signs lead me to the "no, just save up a few more bucks and buy something in better shape" option. But I knew I could just have Richard figure it out, after all he was an engineer-turn-social worker, he can fix anything.
September 10, 2019 I got a text. Richard had been in a single car accident and didn't make it. He was gone. The last thing he told me was to get it and to figure it out later.
Three days later I found myself driving alone to North Georgia.
What I found was nothing but a literal pile of junk. One red-turned-bluish 1979 FJ40 that had last been registered in 97. The dirt was halfway up the rims, everything had some form of rust, bondo, or the well loved mixture of both. Everything underneath had been sprayed with thick black paint which might be the only reason this thing is still being held together. The tank was leaking on the ground (which is funny because i think he tried throwing some fuel in it and giving it a whirl before i showed up).
After 3 hours of wrestling with it through PO's neighbor's yard (trees had grown around it and PO didn't want to cut them down), she was mine.
It all started in elementary school with my best friend Richard. We built tree houses and forts, took apart bikes and remote control cars, leading us to eventually "modify" our parents Kawasaki Mule's.
Anywho, school and life eventually got in the way but something kept nagging at us, some grand adventure. Richard bought a Baja Bug with aspirations of running sections of the TransAmerican Trail (TAT). He planted this little seed in my head and I went crazy over it. Having hiked part of the AT alone, there is something marvelous about being out in the "unknown" alone. So, the search for a rig began.
Months went by and nothing seemed to hit until Richard sent me a link of a pile of rust in North Georgia. I was intrigued. Did I have the skill to fix it? Could i learn these skills well enough to be able to make this thing safe? As I moved down the list in deciding whether to buy this rig all signs lead me to the "no, just save up a few more bucks and buy something in better shape" option. But I knew I could just have Richard figure it out, after all he was an engineer-turn-social worker, he can fix anything.
September 10, 2019 I got a text. Richard had been in a single car accident and didn't make it. He was gone. The last thing he told me was to get it and to figure it out later.
Three days later I found myself driving alone to North Georgia.
What I found was nothing but a literal pile of junk. One red-turned-bluish 1979 FJ40 that had last been registered in 97. The dirt was halfway up the rims, everything had some form of rust, bondo, or the well loved mixture of both. Everything underneath had been sprayed with thick black paint which might be the only reason this thing is still being held together. The tank was leaking on the ground (which is funny because i think he tried throwing some fuel in it and giving it a whirl before i showed up).
After 3 hours of wrestling with it through PO's neighbor's yard (trees had grown around it and PO didn't want to cut them down), she was mine.
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