Everyone has their vices. Be it gambling, attention, sugar, alcohol, smoking, love, or countless others, some things in life can hold you in their grasp and refuse to let go. For me, it’s cheap cars. I’m drawn to them like the proverbial moth to a flame and cannot resist their Siren Call. Checking Craigslist, FB MarketPlace (since it came to be), Cars.com, eBay, Autotrader, etc. has been an affliction and daily affirmation for me, in the spirit of Stuart Smalley (hey, he became a U.S. Senator, ya know!).
Every morning from the college days of the late ’90s until this morning, I wake up, brush my teeth, grab a coffee, and immediately hit email/ my various site searches (some automatic). There are cheap broken cars everywhere that owners are fed up with and are unloading out of their lives after some type of mechanical malady and disappointment. Be it a lack of repair facility connections, parts costs, space limitations, time crunches, or money (the biggest reason), these cars all represented an ownership, repair, and future rescue/sales opportunity for an Ambitious Young Wrencher SWG from Way Back Then until the Here And Now.
And I ain’t changed y’all. The older I get, the more shitbox rescues go under the belt and the knowledge base increases with each example. The important note regarding an increasing skill set is to remember that there are literally 8-year-old kids that can fix any car better and faster than you ever can or ever will be able to. Remember to remain humble, always. “Just because you’re friends with Peter, The Bishop, Laurence and Mark, and write occasionally for this fancy website doesn’t mean that you know jack, son!” –said to Inner Self anytime Self feels like he’s reached Kicking Royal Ass status with a wrench.
What follows is the story of how my Summer of ’24 started off with bravado and confidence in my abilities but ended with me nearly getting shot and marooned in Appalachia.
Lucky 7 Slots
Friday, May 3, 2024 started like most Fridays do around here, with a subtle electricity in the air due to the knowledge in the back of my head that the weekend was just about to start. I was up, caffeinated, and ready to knock out an honest day’s work as quickly as possible in anticipation of get my swerve on that evening; hopefully with a tasty Stanley Tucci Negroni. Suddenly my eye was drawn to a vehicle that it is typical never drawn to — a Jeep.
As you may recall from my last tussle with the seven-slotted kind, I am not a Jeep guy. Nothing about them interests me much, and their usual 4×4 drivetrains are just added mechanical complexity that is not needed for the flat coastal plains of The Cape Fear.
Yes, they work great for beach usage/fishing/camping on the Carolina Beach North End, but I’ve never really found the time for such leisure activities; there are too many cars out there to fix instead of wasting that Precious Shitbox Time on something frivolous like camping on a beach!
It was a 2002 “WJ” Grand Cherokee in a metallic sandstone that they used in barely differing shades on the entire model line, with that gray plastic lower body cladding that ages wicked poorly in the sun to a lighter, parched-looking gray after enough summers pass. My good friend Mercedes Streeter did a fantastic deep-dive on this model recently; it’s a great read. “Hey, that’s the same Jeep, in the same color that my little brother Mike used to drive in 2004!” I said to myself while clicking to open the ad.
I was fully expecting the verbiage on the condition of the Jeep to include something about a busted engine, transmission, rear end, electrical issue or other deal-breaking maladies that would end my perusal of the ad and move on with my daily search. Nope.
“Runs fine, 102K. $800”
It was at this point in time that my entire summer would change dramatically. The following action started a whirlwind of cascading events that almost culminated in my untimely demise. Over a frickin’ ‘02 Grand Cherokee at that! I immediately sent the seller a message, and was on my way to check it out the following morning, bright and early. Note: this meant no Stanley Tucci Negronis on Friday night since my old ass simply cannot recover from drinking hangovers like I used to. Old Man Fail. Dammit.
That beautiful Saturday morning had me standing in front of the cheapest, cleanest, rustiest, lowest-mileage Grand Cherokee in all of The Cape Fear; it was a perfect candidate for Gossin Motors Backyard Shitbox Auto Rescue. The seller and Jeep were both from Upstate NY (Rochester) and had just moved to Wilmington. The seller stated “Dude, it’s like frickin’ paradise down here compared to back home, yanno?” (said in the heaviest Upstate NY accent you can imagine). I told him that I too was from that same region (Utica, NY) and found Coastal Carolina just as beautiful as he did, only 26 years earlier.
It turns out that the “Runs” part of his ad was a little ambitious as the engine did not currently run, but would “with a little love.” Hooking up my Li-Ion jump pack to the dead-flat battery did result in the engine spinning via the starter, so at least it wasn’t seized (I’m sure DT would/will probably chime in here and argue that the mighty AMC/Jeep 4.0 I6 with only 100K upon it would rarely be seized outside of gross neglect. Maybe a cracked head between cylinders #3 & #4, but not a full-on seizure. No sir!) [Ed Note: Exactly! -DT].
With an electrical power source hooked up, I was able to supply power to the various computers onboard, and with them alive and juiced up, read them for codes with my cheap-ass scanner.
Pro Tip: Always bring a cheap scanner when buying shitboxes. You never know if someone is going to roll you for your $3K Snap-On Super Scanner, plus it makes you look like you have money, which hurts negotiation. Oh, and also show up in the worst-looking car and clothes possible. Do I have a nice suit and a semi-nice Jag? Yes. Am I going to wear it/arrive in it to buy this $800 Jeep from a stranger: Hard nope.
The scanner came back with a crank sensor code, which made perfect sense considering the symptoms and elements in play that morning. The seller did not seem to know this information, nor really care. He seemed to be of the mindset:
- It was an old POS, rusty Jeep (that he was probably given from a family member or such; limited emotional connection).
- It just stopped on him one day, so he had it towed back to his apartment parking lot and bought a used Ram 1500 that same day.
- The apartment complex management got tired of having it parked with bad plates in the same spot for long enough and started bitching at him to move it or re-register it.
- He’s trying to get a few bucks out of it and needs it gone since he just seemingly dropped bank on that sweet-ass Ram a few parking lot spaces down.
I offered him $500; he immediately accepted (I figured he would) and I was the proud owner of my second Jeep. But what to do now that I owned it with the apartment complex Karens having this 7-slotted wonder dead in their sights? Well, the clock indicated that it was Go Time (Go Time is similar to “Bo Time” but without the fried chicken; I live near a BoJangles). Buying that 4×4 machine for $500 was a no-brainer, considering the shape of the interior and the mileage, regardless of its rusty Upstate NY upbringing.
Speaking of northern transplants, the real reason for buying this Jeep was the very special person (especially to me) that I mentioned earlier in the piece: my little brother Mike. You see, Mike has a thing for Jeeps and has solely owned them for his entire life (with one exception of a C5 Corvette Convertible).
Mike owned this exact “WJ” Grand Cherokee when he was 20, in 2004, yet his was the 2WD Laredo base model. I actually drove him to the lot to buy it in ’04 and saw the gleam and sparkle in his eye and the smile on my brother’s face as he proudly took ownership of it.
His was a ’99 and was only a 5-year-old car at that time, so it was a very desirable vehicle in its prime. The entire time he owned it he loved it and his only lament was that it was a 2WD and not 4WD, which prevented him from taking his dog and then-girlfriend out camping on the sand dunes of Carolina Beach here in The Cape Fear.
I wanted this 4WD to finally check that box for him 20 years later. A short paragraph/ little background on my little brother is necessary here to explain my logic:
My brothers Mike and Tom caught lightning in a bottle in 2007 and had multiple chart-topping hits with their band “Gloriana.” They were asked to open for Taylor Swift on her “Fearless” Tour and toured the world with her for 2+ years. They beat Lady Gaga and Drake for an AMA Award (fan-voted), they won CMT, CMA, & Best New Artist awards, reached Platinum sales status with this song that you may have heard, and achieved various other accolades in their musical career.
Why am I telling you this; it’s a car website right!? Not a place for me to tell you how proud I am of my brothers, I know. Well, to truly understand the motivation for buying and selling any car, you really have to understand the motivation behind the buyer/seller and the context in which the purchase is taking place. In this case, I understood why the seller was selling and I also understood why my brother would be keen on buying it.
This has been the case for (almost) every one of the 148 cars I’ve bought and sold. Used car sales are all about understanding people.
Based on what I noted above, my brother Mike is far, far beyond a semi-rusty $500 Jeep. His level of success left those types of cars behind a long time ago. But Mike loves that exact Jeep. That color. That drive configuration. The feel of it as it charges over road imperfections. The smell of the interior fabrics and adhesives. The snowflake-style design of the 16” wheels. The way the rear seat bottoms flip forward to access the tire jack and iron and to fold down the rear seats. The Chrysler stereo tone. The AMC I6. All of it.
I immediately took a few short videos and pictures and sent them to him, asking him if he wanted it for $500. “Hell yeah I do, broski!” was the response. Heard, Mikey. It’s on, little bro!
Let’s Wrench!
Well, the first order of business was to get it running. Luckily for me, there was an Advance Auto right across the street from where the Jeep was sitting and I happen to be a Speed Perks “Platinum” member (seriously, that program is fantastic and places them far ahead of their competitors when it comes to generous cash-back allowances). I hopped in my $220 Stratus and $55 bucks and 14 minutes later I had a crank sensor in my hand, ready to be installed.
The install job is not what you would expect, as you have to dismantle a few interior pieces and access the rear of the engine (where it mates to the transmission) from the driver’s footwell, next to the gas pedal! There is a small access port there that you fish a ratchet extension through to carefully unscrew and extract the bad sensor.
Pop the new one in, replace the knee bolster and a few trim screws, hook back up your jump box, grab the key and say a short prayer to The Autopian Gods/Deities and cross your fingers. [Ed Note: The crank sensor is a CLASSIC 4.0 failure. And a bear to do on XJs/ZJs, requiring 9 million socket extensions/u-joints/wobblies. -DT].
“Brapp-bap-bappp-baaa-poow!” That dormant, sleeping AMC I6 came singing back to life. The entire repair took me about 20 minutes. I ran to the DMV in the Stratus, made a quick call to Geico, and was driving it home that afternoon. That Jeep was rescued from possible demise at the teeth of the crusher for $55 and 20 minutes of work.
I smiled at my little brother’s good fortune, as he now owned a running, $555 Jeep.
Back At The Evil Wrenching Lair Under That Volcano In Wilmington, NC
Now that the Jeep was in my possession and running, I decided to give it a once-through. Every system was analyzed to the best of my ability, and overall the Grand Cherokee looked incredibly good other than the corrosion and scale amassed from its earlier life in Rochester. The best part of the inspection was that it had 4 new-ish brake lines that were corrosion-free, so that huge safety concern was off the table.
The worst part of the inspection was that the electric fan (a known weak point on these Jeeps) was not the best at pulling air through the radiator and it was running a little warm. Also, I found what appeared to be a leaky brake caliper in the right rear. There was also a bad window regulator and the alignment was atrocious. There was no way I was going to fight the steering wheel for 12 hours all the way out to Nashville. Time for some new tires and a fresh line-up. All these items are cake-walk repairs. Or so I thought.
First up was ordering some good tires. Walmart had a sale on some sweet A/Ts that week, so about 5 days and $400 later these were sitting on my porch:
The first thing to do once you get a set of fresh rubber is to ensure your alignment is true. Which, on a conventional steering-laden truck, is a bit more involved than a vehicle with a rack & pinion setup. (since there’s a drag link and pitman arm to worry about). I saw that the steering tie rod ends looked pretty bad so I picked up some replacements at Advance Auto and attempted to replace them before the alignment at my buddies’ professional shop.
No dice; the rust was so bad that all the rod-ends were seized. No amount of PB Blaster and yanking on them would budge them. Time for new steering rods from a southern truck.
That following weekend I went to my local Pick n Pull to try and find the parts needed for my upcoming trip. The steering rods were easily sourced from a clean southern truck in about 30 minutes.
The mechanical fan to augment the sole electric fan in Mike’s Jeep was next on the list. You see, in the I-6 Grand Cherokee’s they used a sole electric fan for the non-Tow Package models and used both a mechanical and electric fan in tandem for the Tow Package-equipped models. The only issue is that getting them off is a huge pain in the ass. You need a very specific style of fan clutch tool, and even then, many forum posters indicate that sometimes an air chisel and excessive force is required to break the clutch nut free and access is very tight.
I wrestled and fought with three different Grand Cherokees in the yard for about two hours before giving up and just paying $80 for one at AutoZone. Not worth the trouble of bleeding and sweating and all that effort just to save $40.
I also found a set of sweet front tow hooks; check these bad boys out! I had the front bumper off this donor truck in no time and had ’em in my wheelbarrow ready to go home with me in short order.
While in the Jeep row, I remembered that the muffler looked original and was wicked rusted. No worries; this is where Pick ‘n Pull shines as a solution. Check this out:
I didn’t want to pull apart a door to get a used window regulator on the chance that it may be bad and all that work was for naught, so I just ordered a $45 new one online.
Whilst there in the yard, I also spotted what looked to be a good used caliper for $30 that looked fine to me. I even ensured the piston was not seized and had movement with a C-clamp. Easy, cheap solution for that leaking one on Mike’s Jeep and it saves my little bro a few bucks.
Unbeknownst to me, this decision would come to put my life in serious danger.
The Drive To Tennessee
Once the Jeep had its new mechanical fan and replacement caliper installed, I set my sights westward to take a few days off from my work here at The Autopian (Jason approved the PTO (I’m a freelancer so this is a joke)) to drive the entire East->West length of the Great Tarheel State to cross the Appalachian Mountains and into Central Tennessee to see one of my favorite persons.
I grabbed the Bluetooth adapter out of my Crossfire, packed a small bag (Sinatra-style), and hit the road with a huge smile and a ready sense of adventure. This did not last very long as vehicular/ mechanical calamity was about to strike.
The drive from Wilmington, NC to Fayetteville, NC is about 90 minutes northwest, which is the exact amount of time needed for another coffee and a bathroom break. Well, rolling into Fayetteville, GPS happened to place me on a path that goes through just about the absolute roughest part of town. I’m not carrying a gun across state lines, nor do I have a concealed carry permit, nor am I the biggest dude out there (175lbs), but there’s a tire iron next to my driver’s seat, and with two full sleeves of tattoos and the fact that I’m 6-feet-tall I like to think that I don’t look like an easy target. I wasn’t worried much about being in a dangerous neighborhood for a gas station break for about eight minutes.
But wait a minute, is that smoke I see coming from my right rear wheel? &$^@*!!!! The gosh-darn junkyard brake caliper seized and caught fire on the highway from Wilmington to Fayetteville! [Ed Note: As SWG knows, brake hydraulics are obviously best bought new/rebuilt, or if you can tell it’s been replaced recently, you can snag one from a junkyard. He took a risk here, and got unlucky! -DT]. The wheel was radiating heat like a campfire and the rotor was almost glowing. My cheapassery in trying to save my brother $40 came back to bite me in a big way. This is why the truck felt a little sluggish on the road: the frickin’ brakes were slightly on the whole time! I was wicked pissed at myself and at the situation.
Right while I’m at my most upset, I finish topping the tank off and pull the Jeep behind The World’s Sketchiest BP to see exactly how seized the caliper is. My plan was just to get that wheel in the air via the onboard bottle jack and try to spin the right rear tire by hand. If it wasn’t too bad, I figured I’d just eat/burn up the pads and keep rolling. If it was bad, I’d be looking at a parking lot caliper job; luckily I brought my tools.
The jack and tools came out and the Jeep started rising. At this point, a clearly-on-something young woman approaches me and asks:
“Do you have a dollar?”
“Do you have a cigarette?”
“Do you have a lighter?”
“Are you from The Treatment Center?”
[Ed Note: I want to be clear that we, at The Autopian, feel for people with illnesses like substance addictions, and we wish this person an expeditious recovery. -DT].
I respond in the negative to all the above and continue my efforts with the Jeep. About 30 seconds later, a young man in baggy clothes starts walking towards me in a very, very expedited, angry fashion. “You need to get the f*** outta here now, brah!” was what was said to this forlorn Jeep traveler with verve. I instantly shot back that I’m a non-world-famous auto journalist that was down on his luck and just needed a few moments to get situated with his Jeep repairs and that I’d be leaving as soon as I could. He then pulled up his shirt and brandished a pistol and let me know that there would be no further Jeep diagnostics on his BP gas station back lot/turf and to “stop f***-ing looking at me like that, brah”.
Not wanting to die over a (at this point) $665 Jeep, I immediately said some non-confrontational words and phrases to cool down the moment (it barely helped) and quickly threw the Jeep jack and tools into the truck and left as fast as humanly possible. I’ll admit I was quite shaken. This trip went south real fast, even though I was heading northwest. I needed real solutions that wouldn’t further endanger my life. What the hell had just happened?!
I decided to get the hell out of that part of Fayetteville, NC, and just drove with the brakes half-on for about 20-30 minutes to leave that all behind me until I could find a safe place to assess the next steps. That place was an AutoZone in Sanford, NC. I decided that there was no way I was going to make it to Nashville with burning, smoking brakes for the next 9 hours, so to just fix it semi-correctly while I still had daylight ( it was about 4 pm) in their parking lot seemed like the prudent move.
$90 and 12 minutes later I walked out of the store with a rebuilt caliper in my hand and the store employee’s blessing to throw it on in the parking lot. The only issue was that I only had the Jeep bottle jack and their parking lot was not exactly flat. Using every safety move I had (chocked wheels, never getting under the truck, using the wheel as a safeguard under the axle, etc), I had the junkyard caliper off (and returned to the counter for the core charge!) and the replacement caliper on in about 30-40 minutes. My hands were bleeding, the truck slipped off the jack at one point, and the line surely had air bubbles in it, but it was no longer seized. I had three other working brakes [Ed Note: Or at least the two fronts, which is enough in a pinch, as I know all too well. -DT] and was really running out of time to make it to Nashville at this point; it’s a twelve-hour drive. I really didn’t want to waste almost two days driving out there since Matt only gives me so much vacation time and I very much wanted to spend some Quality Time with my brother while out there.
Getting in the Jeep after washing my hands and thanking the Sanford AutoZone staff, I immediately noticed a HUGE difference now that I wasn’t driving with a rear brake caliper on! It really felt like there was a parachute behind me up until this point. This was now the fastest Jeep ever; I felt like it was a Trackhawk or such. Hell yes, let’s roll out to Cumberland County, son!
The next leg of the trip went great, with good tunes and decent eats from gas station stops and a smooth-running Grandest of Cherokees. This continued up until the TN border, where I stopped at the state line Welcome Center and checked my work on the rear-right caliper to verify no leaks or such.
It Gets Worse
Calamity struck again as the red-hot smoldering caliper had cooked not just the rotor but also the axle seal! I was slinging rear axle oil in a centrifugal spray throughout the wheel well and even creating a mist on the back glass (which smeared oil all over the rear glass when I unwisely attempted to clear it with the rear wiper).
This means that I was leaking out an unknown amount of a much-needed fluid every mile that I could not easily replace (you can’t just top-off a rear axle at a gas stop). I was in the middle of nowhere, and there was a good chance I’d burn up the rear axle and not make it. Not only that, but if I cooked the rear end bearings enough, would it just seize and cause me to careen off the road to my demise?! [Ed Note: The axle will whine and then make noise for many miles before seizure unless the leak is catastrophic (like a hole in the cover). -DT].
My mind raced: Should I just stay where I am and call local garages to replace the burned ale seal in the morning? What about hotels? It was dark and raining and I honestly did not want to pull a David Tracy and sleep in a Jeep in the middle of nowhere, especially after having a gun pulled on me a few hours earlier. I’m just going to chance it; there are cheap junkyard Gen 2 Grand Cherokee rear axles in every junkyard in America for $250. Let’s keep this adventure rolling.
I drove until my eyes were closing and stumbled into a hotel in Knoxville at about 1 am. The Jeep was still rolling, regardless of the very concerning amount of axle 75W-90 that was dripping off the rear-right wheel well. [Ed Note: Just a tiny bit of leaky oil will look like a lot, as it tends to spread out far and wide. -DT]. No unfortunate noises were coming from the rear end and this traveler needed sleep. I’ll finish the remaining three hours to Nashville first thing in the morning, I hoped, assuming the Jeep could make it there with a very limited amount of rear axle oil.
The next morning I awoke with the daylight feeling refreshed, yet still anxious about the Jeep potentially grenading its rear end at 75 mph over the course the of last three-hour leg of this trip. I winced as I placed my suitcase from the hotel back in the Jeep and saw the wheel well-soaked with axle oil. I grabbed my awful hotel lobby coffee and just let it rip back up to 75 mph on I-40W. Balls are needed in this line of work. Let’s go, son.
Note: Before putting myself or others in danger, I shut off the music and rolled up the windows with a plan to stop driving and pull over as soon as I heard the rear axle start to whine.
Maybe it was the Good Autopian Karma I had amassed from rescuing Founder Jason on the side of the road a few months back, or from being the pizza delivery guy at the NC Meetup, or from helping Mercedes score one of her dream cars last summer or from assisting my buddy and badass journalist John Gustin with his review of Keven Hart’s cars last Fall, but somehow, some way, I made it to Nashville with a nearly-empty rear diff.
Praise Dana.
Fix it, Mikey!
Seeing my little brother/family is always a gift. We just picked right back up where we left off and he was over the moon about the Jeep.
The first thing we did was to bring the Jeep to a local shop for an axle seal since we didn’t have a press nor a lift so throwing a shop a few hundo to do the job correctly while we caught up was the right move. Check it out:
Mike was so pumped on the Jeep he immediately started thinking about building it his way, and we quickly both agreed that he needed a tow hitch from the Nashville U-Pull It the next morning. Remember the fan paragraph above? Well, non-Tow Package models like Mike’s did not come with the wiring harness, nor the bumper cutouts for a hitch receiver. No worries, we’ll find a solution.
That afternoon, we buttoned up the hitch install but only after running to Harbor Freight for an electric impact to remove the 22 years of NY State rust on the frame bolts.
Mike did great work with his dremel in cutting out a section of the rear bumper for the hitch receiver. We also picked up a replacement radio head unit out of a PT Cruiser since Mike’s had a blown channel and thus, no rear speakers.
We had a great dinner to celebrate our brotherly efforts and good fortune and hit Music City for a couple of beers to ring in the moment.
After the hangover subsided, I gave my brother a heartfelt bro-hug, got into my “Rugged Brown Pearl” ‘13 Chrysler 300 that Mike was storing for me in Nashville (I have waaay too many cars and limited parking), and headed back to The Cape Fear with a huge smile on my face of a job well done.
Didn’t See That Coming…Or Did We?
Mike immediately conveyed that he loved how the Jeep effortlessly bounded over Nashville’s broken pavement and how the forgiving suspension just soaked it all up. Minimal harshness from East Nashville’s pitted roadways transmitted through those thick sidewalled tires and steel springs and into the softly cushioned seat. The I6 pulled strong, the transmission shifted crisply; all was good in the world.
A few months after I left Nashville, temperatures were consistently in the triple digits, and Mike called me to let me know that the AC went out on the Jeep. After charging it back up with a few bottles of 134a and having it start blowing hot again a week or so later, Mike took it to a local shop for review. Their diagnostic revealed that the AC evaporator core was bad, and the entire dash would have to come out. This is a known issue on that generation of Grand Cherokee. In fact the guy in that hyperlinked video claimed to have done “hundreds of them.”
Not wanting to spend that kind of time, money or effort into a 22-year-old vehicle, my brother set his sites on a new Gladiator and with that, Project Salt Bath was resigned to the same fate as most of the other units from the production line at the Jefferson North Assembly Plant (in Detroit, Michigan) from ‘02.
Don’t get me wrong, Mike was very grateful and thankful for everything that transpired to make his four-wheel drive “WJ” Grand Cherokee dream happen, but that dream just wasn’t the same when he was actually living it.
Sure, the machine was still the same one from his dream in 2004, but Mike had grown and changed and the rest of the world did too. That Grand Cherokee has a tape player; 190hp out of a heavy iron block 4.0L I6 is antiquated. The Gladiator now exists.
You Can Never Go Back
In “Desert Rose,” Sting wrote “I dream of fire…these dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire.” He also is riding in a baller S-Type Jag in the video. I’ve always found Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner to be a masterful lyricist with thought-proving lines that stick with you.
The expertly crafted “One Man Wrecking Machine” by Guster, tells the story of how after building a time machine, the protagonist comes to understand that “...there’s no point in living in your adolescent dreams.” It’s an excellent tune that aligns exactly to the theme of this piece. Do yourself a favor and listen to the song & lyrics twice, it’s that good; you’re welcome.
I said in the first paragraph of this piece that “some things in life can hold you in their grasp and refuse to let go.” Well, this also applies to our dreams, our ambitions and to our view of ourselves and of what happiness looks like.
May each of us have clarity of the moment along with the self-understanding and self-realization to know that some dreams are best kept in the past, with all of our yesterdays; always there and ready to serve as a warming recollection of a prior time and of life’s better moments.
That is where Mike’s dream with his old Jeep will always be for him; in the past, but always eliciting a smile each time that memory is recalled to his mind.
There are other dreams that can become actualized to thrive in this present moment and onward into the horizon. Chase those for all the tomorrows to come.
88mph into the future.
More Stephen Walter Gossin below.
- How I Saved A Once-$90,000 Mercedes SL I Bought For $1,900
- Why The Dirt-Cheap Broken Jaguar X-Type For Sale In Every Town Might Actually Be Worth Buying And Fixing
- I Took On A Bad GM Design In A Hail-Mary Attempt To Fix My Friends Broken Suburban But It Was Too Little Too Late
- What It Was Like Owning And Fixing My First Jeep After Owning Over 100 Non-Jeeps
- I Bought A 29-Year Old Buick With 68,000 Miles On It To Prove The Haters Wrong
- What I Learned Restoring A $600 Dodge Ram With A Burned Up Transmission And Ruined Interior
- How I Bought A Broken Version Of My Dream Car For $300, Then Nursed It Back To Glory And Let It Free
- Proof That A $700 Car Saved From The Junkyard Can Make Someone As Happy As A New Lambo Can
- How I Saved My Buddys’ SUV After It Died At The Most Embarrassing Possible Time
- ShitBox Showdown: The British Are Back In The Cape Fear
- Why People Cut Holes Into Their Cars’ Trunk Floors Even Though It Could Kill Them
- Even Cheap Cars Can Be Expensive: A Hard Lesson I Learned About The Repair-Parts Minefield
- I Spent $1300 On A Nissan That Lasted 3 City Blocks And 2.5 Minutes
SWG IS BACK
YAYYYYYY
Also, Jeeps are such crap, it’s unreal.
Love the Guster reference, my wife and I are huge fans. We’ll sing along (poorly) to anything from “Ganging Up On the Sun” or “Keep it Together” no matter where we are.
Also, another wonderfully written deep cut Guster track that is incredibly funny – “Doing it by Myself”
Oh and also – love the article! Got too excited seeing a Guster pitch. Seriously underrated band
Holy crap! I’ve neglected replacing that stupid crank sensor on my WJ because in my limited research the job sound like a blind PITA. I’ll think of your quest as I wrench on my Jeep. You’ve temporarily saved two WJ’s with this story.
Aaah, the memories of an old Jeep!
Also, very right about the 300 being underrated. I still miss my Mopar ’12.
And now, when you and Mike think of his old Jeep, you’ll also think of the “new” one that you bought and delivered to him at great personal risk that resulted in a weekend of brotherly shenanigans.
May it always bring a smile to your faces.
Good to see your words again; it’s been too long.
Really dug this, as always w/ SWG pieces.