So last weekend I finally dug into that crusty 1974 Mazda pickup sitting behind my uncle’s barn since forever. Been itching to see if I could wake this old girl up.
The Disaster Phase
First thing? Dragged it out using my buddy’s Jeep. Took us three hours just yanking weeds wrapped around the axle. Opened the hood – mouse nests everywhere. Gross. Poked the frame with a screwdriver – went straight through. Rust city. Felt like I’d bit off way too much.
Getting My Hands Dirty
Started ripping stuff out:
- Dumped rotten seat foam right in the trash can
- Hacked out mangled wiring with rusty wire cutters
- Whacked the exhaust pipe with a sledgehammer until it fell off
Found four dead spiders in the glovebox. My gloves stayed super glued to my hands that whole day.
Fighting With Bolts
Tried loosening the engine mounts. Bolts wouldn’t budge. Sprayed half a can of WD-40 – nothing. Ended up grinding them off with sparks flying everywhere. Almost set my garage curtain on fire twice. Drank two beers just dealing with those four stupid bolts.
That Magical Moment
Three weekends later? Slapped in a junkyard carburetor. Crossed my fingers. Cranked it – choked twice… then ROARED to life! Smoke poured out everywhere. Neighbor came running thinking my shed was burning down. Engine sounded like marbles in a tin can but hey – it ran. Grinned like an idiot covered in grease.
What’s Next
Frame patches? Gonna involve duct tape and prayers. Bed’s still full of holes big enough to lose a dog in. But hearing that engine? Worth every busted knuckle. More updates when I stop smelling like exhaust.
