Like any self-respecting guy with delusions of mechanical grandeur, I consider myself pretty handy with a wrench. Alternator/plugs/starters/belts/oil/awesome yet simultaneously useless cosmetic stuff? I’m your guy. Are you a co-worker that is having issues with their car? Yeah, I’m gonna say that’s your master cylinder.
But, I’ve hit a road block. Actually, more like a police spike strip. I’ve got some issues with my 60 that I’m never going to get to fixing. Every night, I pull into the driveway stare at Bruce, and he stares back at me. Then for kicks, directly through my soul. I tell him, “Sorry buddy. I’ll get to it when I get some time.” Lying to yourself only gets you so far, but it doesn’t get you very far in your sweet desert tan land cruiser. And it most certainly doesn’t get you down to the liquor store to pick up another bottle of brandy for your old lady.
The weather is getting crisp, the leaves are turning that golden hue, and a nagging melancholy reflection grows as long as the days do short. And there’s Bruce, drunk again sitting in the corner, flirting with your old lady. Much to your dismay and his chagrin, she’s flirting back. Clutching onto a Budweiser with one hand, malcontent in the other, it’s nearing closing time and he’s looking to pick a fight with someone, anyone. In comes Old Man Winter reading the Farmers Almanac and spouting off about el nino wind currents.
Not much any of us can do to stop what’s about to happen next. Bruce slowly saunters up, “Look boys, Lil’ ole Spring just decided to join us for a drink.” Staring at Old Man Winters, he slurs out, “You got your flowers yet, Spring? Maybe some a couple daisies for the lady here?”
Old Man Winters coolly sets down the Farmers Almanac and a hush falls over Dukes & Boots.
Bruce takes the last swig of the beer and chuckles, “I happen to know there’s two things you can’t do….Read….or Fight.”
Frankly, I can’t blame him. For the past six months, he’s been like an Ozark Mountain hellcat locked up in this zoo known as suburbia-hell. If he’s gonna pick a fight, so be it, but I’m not sending my son into battle riding a nag. So let’s get to the bolt breaking before Bruce loses his head gasket.
I’m looking for someone that knows their way around an FJ60 that can help with the following issues:
1. Exhaust Manifold Gasket Replaced: The exhaust manifold gasket is spewing lava directly onto the carb. I mean, DIRECTLY onto the carb. While that was fun to write, it’s gonna boil over. If that doesn’t happen, the exhaust has extra fuel vapor from a poorly tuned carb and is dirty dancing with 35 yrd electrical wiring. Sparks are in the air, but, like, in the worst way possible.
2. Speaking of carbs – Anyone around here still know how to rebuild them?
3. Lug studs – They were the worst then, they are the worst now. 4/6 on one wheel. 5/6 on another. Help.
4. Frame rails – I was somehow hoping that the rust on the rear frame rails was magically going to disappear, but it didn’t. I need to get those boxed in before this truck tries to kill me again in what I am slowly coming to the conclusion may be a murder suicide type thing.
Welp, that’s it for now. Let me know who and/or how much, and we’ll take it from there.
For those of you wondering, yes, I found Bruce and bought him back from the guy that bought him from me a few years ago. Charles, if you’re reading this, I hope your new life is treating you as well as it should. If it isn’t yet, have faith.
It’s coming full circle, people.
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