I can’t say for sure whether the 1965 2-wheel-drive IH 1200 pickup that’s in the garage will become my backup daily driver or not. It is in the garage, on jack stands, with its hood raised. And Kate has become accustomed to parking her new Subaru wagon outside. So for now anyway, the 1965 owns the bay and is, at least in spirit, on its way to becoming a runner. But if it isn’t to be the parts truck, then what truck is?

Aaron, my friend and partner in old-truck crime, sent me an email the other day. The subject line went something like this: “Your New Parts Truck.” The email was heavily burdened with images of ancient wooden-framed trucks and automobiles that were so old that I certainly didn’t recognize them.  I thought Aaron was making a joke, but when I got to the last three images out of about 30 there it was.  

The truck is probably a ’63 or ’64 judging from its grill. It has a long step-side box. The hood and doors are missing, but the left-front fender appears to be in pretty decent shape. I can’t tell whether it is a 2- or 4-wheel-drive model or whether it is an 1100 or 1200. I suspect it is a 1200. It is impossible to tell though, because it is covered with all kinds of vegetation.

I looked at the photos with interest and, like a normal person, put it out of my mind. But the truck just wouldn’t stay there. I dream now, each morning, of how excellent it would be to secure this third IH pickup and all of its good parts. I find myself daydreaming about which engine and which transmission this old truck is equipped with and whether it has the 4.10 or 5.88 rear axle ratio.

So I just Googled its location and found the owner’s phone number … it’s not that far away. Should I go for it?

As I was leaving for work this morning, Woodrow, our year-old Cairn terrier, was nowhere to be found.

Iris, the addled Westie, was still asleep in the house; Lucy, the Westie who claims the alpha position in our pack, was playing with Bosco the kitten by the garage; Gus and Clover, sibling border collies, were off chasing rabbits in the tall CRP grass.

Woodrow is usually everywhere to be found, so I thought it odd that he wasn’t snapping at my heels when I climbed into the truck – odd, but not odd enough for me to be concerned. I was actually a little pleased at the thought that he might be off marauding some pesky rodent or snake, an action that had the added benefit of him not following me down the lane and up the road.

Woodrow, all 13 or 14 pounds of him, has recently decided that wherever the truck goes, he is supposed to go. He felt so strongly about this twice that he ate more than a half mile of the truck’s dust before turning back for home. We don’t promote this behavior, mind you. And he has been pretty good the past couple of days, deciding to stay when I ask him to stay. 

He completely outsmarted me this morning. As I made the turn onto the road, I caught a flash of Woodrow bursting from beneath the dense cedars at the end of the lane. He plainly wanted to go trucking. What he ended up with, though, was a couple hours of kennel time, which he never seems to hold against me.

Woodrow’s antics set the stage for my commute this morning. I mentally ran through all the good dogs that have graced my life, and it all reminded me of a fantastic Web site (www.GermanShepherds.com) devoted to German shepherds that I discovered yesterday. This is a comprehensive Web site with information about the breed, rescue, hard-core genetics, photos and much more. This site makes me want a German shepherd … but I think five dogs is enough for the time being.

I would be interested to learn of any and all comprehensive dog sites. If we discover enough of them, we will build a dog resource page right here at www.Grit.com.

 

In April – I think it was April – I bought another old pickup. My friend Aaron Perry noticed the old International Harvester on an auction bill and told me about it. I was scheduled to be out of town the day of the sale so Aaron bid on my behalf and won the prize for less than half my maximum price.

One might wonder why I would need another old Binder – my wife, Kate, certainly did. I told her I needed a parts truck to keep my Daily Driver on the road, and this new-old truck, a 1965 two-wheel-drive Model 1200, had all kinds of good usable parts, including a really nice box. 

The first time Aaron, his dad and I made the trip out to Lincoln County, Kansas, to retrieve the pickup, there had been so much rain all we managed to do was get really muddy while my 2003 Dodge got stuck a few times. We wound up using the come-along to winch out the Dodge and trailer, rather than loading the International. After about an hour and a half of trying to pull the IH truck off its hillside resting place, we gave up and decided to beat it back down the ½-mile-long mud trail that was the only way in or out of the field. The fact that it had started raining again played a significant role in that decision.

About five weeks later, we redid the road trip and managed to retrieve the old pickup with little more than a bit of sweat and 25 gallons of diesel fuel. It’s amazing what a warm sunny day will do for your spirit; it didn’t hurt any that the ground was dry, either.

A few weeks ago, I chased the remaining packrats out of the truck’s cab, removed the seat and cleaned the interior up a bit. With the loader-equipped Kubota tractor, I managed to back the truck into my shop. Within an hour, I had the beast up on jack stands and its wheels off. There the old Binder sat, until I was hit with a lightning bolt of motivation last Saturday.

My dilemma now is whether the truck is really a parts truck, or do I need a spare running truck for those days when my Daily Driver needs some repairs. Kate is pretty clear on the answer to that question, but I’m not so sure. What do you think?

 

 

 

Hank's International Harvester 1200 pickup.

I’ve always been a sucker for the lines of an old pickup truck. I don’t know whether it’s because I have been around them most of my life, or that I drove them, or that people who were important to me drove them. Now that I commute 20 miles to work each day in an old truck, I know that it isn’t just the lines that I love, it’s also the sound, feel, lack of intermittent windshield wipers, lack of air conditioning, and a bunch of other quirky things that encourage me to slow down and pay attention to the world around me, and think about things.

This particular truck is a 1964 International Harvester 1200 series machine with a big steering wheel and a tiny cab. It came my way last Christmas; a gift from my wife and daughters. Wow. I love the truck because of what it is and because it reminds me every day of how lucky I am to have a family filled with women who care about me. I drove a crew-cab version (with the turning radius of a loaded container ship) of this Binder for the county highway department summers during college. I like that it reminds me of the fun I had working with that cast of characters, and of whiling away warm summer lunch hours, in the shade, playing spades.

Plenty of folks complain that they dislike their daily commute; I don’t blame them. I, on the other hand look forward to the transition time at both ends of the workday. I am lucky that my trip is an easy one and that it passes through some lovely and ever-changing countryside. The commute helps me mark the seasonal progression and process memories associated with it. It helps me wind up to meet the day’s challenges and unwind when I have done all I can do. But, perhaps best of all, when wrapped in that noisy metallic cocoon of the old truck’s cab, the commute lets my thoughts lead me where they will.