The F250 that I just sold blew up on the way home for the new owner. I wish I could feel good about the timing, but it sucks all the way around.

Well, sold the ‘68 F250 with mixed feelings today. I just wasn’t going to get around to fixing it, and I think it went to a good home. But I’ll miss it, it was in many ways “the perfect truck” for me, as far as specification, color, year, etc. goes. But realistically, I never would have gotten around to it. Sigh…

This is what a carport should look like. Reggie, Fireball, and Fergie. Old Yeller sits outside, knowing that come winter he will take the place of the two fair-weather machines. Or something like that, anyway. Bike is running OK, though the blasted carb is really a piece of junk. Time to try a different one, me thinks.

I met a potential contractor for our new house at our property on Friday. I was lamenting that I rarely get good deals because I put out some weird “sucker” vibe or something. He said “show up to a meeting in that truck and they’ll know you don’t have any money.”

My poor truck gets no respect–and it’s a perfect disguise (not that I have any money, in any case, but still).

I’ve got a lot of car-related tasks to do this summer, but rebuilding the front end of my truck has got to be up there on the priority list. The springs have sagged a lot, and there is a ton of slop in the steering. I think I’m just going to do it all while I’m in there…tie rod ends, bearings, discs, springs, shocks, king pins and bushings. I suspect at least some of the slop is in the power steering, but that project can wait for another day.

I’ve always liked pickups, and I became a Ford man by the Matchbox ‘69 Ford I had as a kid (a “kennel” truck–the kennel and occupants were quickly lost, though).

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