There's a pretty entertaining thread over on the HAMB about these stories, i thought I'd share mine and see what kind of adventures others have gotten themselves into.
Back in the early 80s (pre-internet, pre AutoTrader, at least in Iowa) I read a newspaper ad for a mid-60s Fairlane. I needed a SBF for a project I was working on, so I made the call. Great runner, should have no problem driving it the 80 miles home. I'm young and dumb. So I talk my father into going with me. Get there around dark, car actually starts and runs. No brakes, though. Go to the one place in town that has brake fluid, dump it in, hey, got pedal. Pay the guy, coax it out of the sunk-in spot it is in, and hit the road. BTW, no plates, so we had to pull the rear plate off of dad's Impala, and put it on the rear of the Fairlane and convoy it. About a mile into the trip, I hear something dragging. pull over, it's the steel portion of the fuel line (has a long piece of hose at the front). Dig around in the car, find some wire. Wire it up by wiring around the rocker...yep, major floor holes. OK, back on the road. At the first stop sign, make the turn, and the seat rolls back and backrest hits the rear seat...yep, floor gone at the seat mounts. Dig out the Impala bumper jack and rig it to support the seat from rocker to trans tunnel. About 5 miles in, the black plastic that is covering the busted-out rear window ceases flapping like a demented sail and parts company with us. Blissful silence! Winter in Iowa, big holes in floor, giant hole behind rear seat where glass USED to be makes for a brisk ride. Everything goes along pretty well for the next 20 miles or so until the muffler falls off.. So, I endure the incredible wind, cold and noise for our trip through a half-dozen small towns trying to keep it as quiet as possible. About 20 miles from home, here comes trouble....I see a car with a bar light coming right at us from ahead. I tuck the Fairlane up close behind the Impala so you can't see that there isn't a plate on the front of it, nor the rear of the Impala, bump it up to neutral when he's about 100 feet away, and hold my breath. Crap! it's a State Trooper. Now this is gonna be dicey, because my father works for the State Patrol as a dispatcher, and I know who it's likely to be because there's one that lives in this town. Annnd, he's a hard-line, no-nonsense-tolerated kind of guy. Our ploy appears to work, and we roll on home without further incident, other than no tag, no window, no floor, no muffler.
I wound up using the drivetrain out of the Fairlane, sell the mint grille and left (replaced) fender for a few bucks more than i paid for the car.
Nothing was ever said to my father about this escapade by the trooper in question, so I'm not sure if he recognized the Impala and gave us a pass, or just didn't think it was worth it on a cold night, or was just occupied with other business.
Lesson learned, I never again went unprepared, believed what a seller told me, or asked my dad (who probably qualified for sainthood) to engage in sketchy goings-on.
Shoulda walked, and have many times since, but like I said, young and dumb. Not so young anymore.
Back in the early 80s (pre-internet, pre AutoTrader, at least in Iowa) I read a newspaper ad for a mid-60s Fairlane. I needed a SBF for a project I was working on, so I made the call. Great runner, should have no problem driving it the 80 miles home. I'm young and dumb. So I talk my father into going with me. Get there around dark, car actually starts and runs. No brakes, though. Go to the one place in town that has brake fluid, dump it in, hey, got pedal. Pay the guy, coax it out of the sunk-in spot it is in, and hit the road. BTW, no plates, so we had to pull the rear plate off of dad's Impala, and put it on the rear of the Fairlane and convoy it. About a mile into the trip, I hear something dragging. pull over, it's the steel portion of the fuel line (has a long piece of hose at the front). Dig around in the car, find some wire. Wire it up by wiring around the rocker...yep, major floor holes. OK, back on the road. At the first stop sign, make the turn, and the seat rolls back and backrest hits the rear seat...yep, floor gone at the seat mounts. Dig out the Impala bumper jack and rig it to support the seat from rocker to trans tunnel. About 5 miles in, the black plastic that is covering the busted-out rear window ceases flapping like a demented sail and parts company with us. Blissful silence! Winter in Iowa, big holes in floor, giant hole behind rear seat where glass USED to be makes for a brisk ride. Everything goes along pretty well for the next 20 miles or so until the muffler falls off.. So, I endure the incredible wind, cold and noise for our trip through a half-dozen small towns trying to keep it as quiet as possible. About 20 miles from home, here comes trouble....I see a car with a bar light coming right at us from ahead. I tuck the Fairlane up close behind the Impala so you can't see that there isn't a plate on the front of it, nor the rear of the Impala, bump it up to neutral when he's about 100 feet away, and hold my breath. Crap! it's a State Trooper. Now this is gonna be dicey, because my father works for the State Patrol as a dispatcher, and I know who it's likely to be because there's one that lives in this town. Annnd, he's a hard-line, no-nonsense-tolerated kind of guy. Our ploy appears to work, and we roll on home without further incident, other than no tag, no window, no floor, no muffler.
I wound up using the drivetrain out of the Fairlane, sell the mint grille and left (replaced) fender for a few bucks more than i paid for the car.
Nothing was ever said to my father about this escapade by the trooper in question, so I'm not sure if he recognized the Impala and gave us a pass, or just didn't think it was worth it on a cold night, or was just occupied with other business.
Lesson learned, I never again went unprepared, believed what a seller told me, or asked my dad (who probably qualified for sainthood) to engage in sketchy goings-on.
Shoulda walked, and have many times since, but like I said, young and dumb. Not so young anymore.
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