1958 Chevy Apache pick-up truck, December 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
When I was 39 years old I let Jim know that for my 40th birthday I wanted an old truck. I wanted a truck that was about my same age. Something big, bulbous, and roomy. I wanted a truck that would remind me of my grandpa, who when he wasn’t riding a horse was bouncing up the dirt road in his old pick-up, on his way to the saloon.
I learned to drive in my sister’s VW bug when I was about 13, but I honed my skill in Dad’s 1971 Chevy pick-up when I was 16. Mom and Dad went on a long trip to Lake Powell that summer, and never suspecting that I’d attempt to drive a stick shift that didn’t even use first gear (except to pull a camper up a hill), they left the key behind. My friends and I went off-road, down ditch banks and in the rolling sand dunes of Albuquerque’s west mesa, in that pick-up. We got it stuck but were able to get a tow out of the hole I’d plowed into.
And so the one thing that called to me as my 40th year approached was a good ol’ truck. Jim eventually found one, although I believe it was not until after I’d turned 41. The find was worth the wait.
It had belonged to an old farmer from around these parts named Mr. Tenorio. Everyone knew Mr. Tenorio, and everyone knew his 1958 Chevy Apache pick-up with its original forest green paint.
For a couple of years I was in old-truck heaven. Manual steering, unwieldy stick shift, doors that only closed after slamming them with all your might several times. This baby required muscle. I remember once taking my friend Anne out for a spin. We rounded a corner and her door flew open. The truck didn’t have seat belts.
Jim and I used the pick-up two seasons in a row for selling apples, chile, and other produce at the local Growers Market. Our booth was one of the most festive; someone who was making a promotional video for our little village asked if she could film us, and I know the appeal was that 1958 Chevy Apache and the red and yellow apples and green chile all laid out in produce baskets in the truck’s bed.
Last week we sold dear Mr. Tenorio’s truck. For the past three or four years it has sat unused in our driveway, its green body rusting away bit by bit each day. I might have liked to hang on to it forever, but Jim and I are letting go of all the stuff we’ve accumulated over the years that we no longer truly need or want.
We sold the Apache to a young Chicano from a town south of here. I didn’t meet him, nor did I watch the truck pull out of the driveway. I was certain this was the right thing to do—we had no plans to fix up the truck to its former glory, and Jim got the feel that this guy did—yet…. I didn’t want to know exactly, down to the last tattoo, what the new owner looked like. And I didn’t want to have to say anything to him or to the Apache.
I said my goodbyes later. I noticed the pile of dead cottonwood leaves that had accumulated since fall between the truck and the juniper bushes. The driveway had a lot more room. The house seemed empty. Funny how something outside the house could make the whole thing look slightly vacant. Mr. Tenorio was gone.
-Related to post WRITING TOPIC – MEMORIES OF CARS
I’m both heart-broken over the loss of such a gem, and applauding the lighten-our-load mentality that led to its sale. I suppose the great thing is, you can always re-find a truck like this if you start to miss the Apache too much. I’ve personally pined for an ’84 yellow Volvo Wagon for years. Whenever I see one, the old feeling stirs. It’s the repair bill that scares me off.
The Minnesota State Fair has a fleet of really old pickups (I’m certain older than your Apache) that they keep running. They’re a wonderful light green with vintage lettering on the side. Perhaps I can get QM over there to take some shots for redRavine.
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The upkeep of these old gems is high, and even with someone like Jim, who was at one time a professional car mechanic, it’s a real timesink to keep them updated. Even something like putting in seat belts—well, it’s a labor of love, truly, and we found out that we didn’t have what it took to get it there.
I also think there was this side of me that romanticized that past, and also felt that the truck represented a particular life—farming, agriculture, pastoral living. The truth is, I’m not a farmer. So in some respects, it was a coming to terms with that reality.
I’d love to see the Minnesota State Fair fleet, Teri. I bet the paint job is wonderful.
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p.s., why an ’84 yellow Volvo Wagon? So specific…figure it must have some significance.
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I once bought a 16-year-old car (a fabulous old Mazda) with only 35,000 miles. I thought I had really hit the lottery. Wrong. The little old lady who owned it hadn’t taken care of it, and I had to replace every rusted piece in quick order. I didn’t have any of Jim’s skills, so off to the mechanic I went.
As your Apache was the farming life of yesteryear, my ’84 yellow Volvo is the road trip wagon. I will, at last, take my Travels With Charley road trip (see John Steinbeck). There will be several great classics in the backseat, a blanket to stretch out on at historic sites, I’ll be wearing really interesting glasses, and I’ll have a wallet full of money.
*Every time* I see a yellow Volvo wagon, this is what I see.
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yb, I really like this piece for its sense of color. I can see the original color of your truck, even though the great photos show only it’s faded glory. I also like the lost and found quality of the piece. Mourning the loss of an old treasure, but celebrating the new space in its wake.
I can relate to the vacantness inside your house, especially this time of year. The inside of my house always feels emptier, after the tree comes down and the twinkling lights and Christmas stuff get put away.
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A real beauty yb. They don’t make them like they used to.
I’m a firm believer there are certain times we are lead in a direction by forces we cannot understand or see. I think your time with the truck was over and it was meant for new hands to take the wheel…and I think Mr Tenorio would approve. I bet you are also meant to see your old friend again, looking fine and shiny. You just wait and see.
Mine was an 85 CJ7 Jeep 😉
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Ah, when I was in high school (late 1970s), Heather, my good friend Leanne got a used Jeep—white with the removable top, roll bar, very rugged (possibly a CJ7?). Her dad got her this car, and we felt he was about the coolest father in the entire world. I mean, can you imagine?, riding around during the warm months in your Jeep with the top down?
Yep, for a time I wanted a Jeep with a drop top and a roll bar. That fit my other sense of self, which had more to do with the rough edges. 8)
And as for seeing my old friend again, I *was* thinking about that. I even wondered, since the new owner lives in a very small town south of Albuquerque, that we might be able to cruise around and just hap upon the truck one day.
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breathepeace, it honestly didn’t dawn on me how there is that vacant feeling this time of year. The letdown after Christmas. Gosh, it just seemed so strange that looking at the driveway and seeing the empty spot where the truck had been, how it permeated everything inside and out.
And yes, there was a lost and found quality. I mean, I think the lost part was so evident, and the found piece a little more below the surface. Jim and I also felt so relieved that this particular guy bought the truck. A lot of people came to see it. We priced it nicely, and within 20 minutes of the ad going live, the first potential buyer came. But the one who bought it, according to Jim (since I never met him) was buena gente.
It does feel good, too, to let go of things. We have these beautiful vintage Mexican lights that were in Jim’s parents’ house before it got torn down a few years ago. We have old doors and interesting Army-issue bunk beds. Collectible things, things that are beautiful to our eyes and hearts. And yet, hanging on to them does take up space. It’s time to let them go.
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Ah, Teri, the road trip. When will you be taking one? And how long was Steinbeck on the road for that trip? It was across the entire nation, yes? Will yours be that long?
I would love to do a Travels with Charley type of road trip. No real timeframe or specific destination, although I’d want to stop along the way at homes of authors, places where artists were inspired…that kind of thing. I’ve never been to the deep South.
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ybonesy, check your email. I’ve sent you a couple of photos of the Apache from our visit in October. Enjoy.
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yb, I’m certain there is a sense of loss in the empty space in your driveway. But, I absolutely believe that you did the right thing. I’m sure that Jim has a way of knowing this was the right buyer. And, I was also thinking that you will see it again in the future! D
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Thanks, Bo, the photos are fabulous. I wonder how the Apache got those bullet holes!!
Thanks, diddy. It would be a thrill to see the Apache some day in the future. I also like hearing Jim’s description of the guy who bought it. BTW, the guy’s father was having a surgery, something pretty serious, in Albuquerque the day after the guy bought the truck, so Jim went to take him the title at one of the big hospitals. I hope his father made it through.
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As you know Ybonesy, my dad was a car collector. He had lots of old cars. When he died, we, his offspring, inherited them. I think most are at my brother’s house…not sure. Some got stolen and recovered but never heard what the final court decision was on that. I don’t care. I gave up on those old cars long ago. Like you said, “time sinks”.
There is only one vehicle in that collection that I kind of have an attachment to, and that’s my dad’s 1974 Ford F-100 long wheel base, 4×4. He bought it new. We used to do all sorts of exploring/bird hunting in it. The last quality time I spent with my dad was about 3 weeks before his death when we went quail hunting in the truck. I put it in compound low, took my foot off the gas and let it idle around the desert of southern New Mexico while we looked for birds.
Obsolete, always a gas hog (10 mpg), but it is brawny, can go anywhere, and fun to drive. Also it has a very distinctive exhaust sound that I think is unique to that particular truck. I think it is due to its big block 360 V8 engine. BTW, it is the only vehicle I personally rescued after my dad’s death. I rode my bicycle 60 miles across the desert to get it. I did not want it to get stolen.
And you know the kind of cars I like now…Modern, non-flashy, dull cars that you can buy new for a low price and drive them for 200,000 miles without a care other than routine maintenance. My main requirement is that a bicycle has to be able to fit in the truck without folding down the rear seat. I love my current KIA Rio, but would/will probably replace it with an equally dull car in the future.
Your Apache was cool. It was a fixture at your house. Hopefully it will have a good life with its new owner.
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John Steinbeck’s trip lasted three months, and he did a big circle of the USA. He started in New York, went north to Maine, and continued around the country counter-clockwise.
I don’t know when I’ll take my own trip; my endurance to be away from the comforts of home decreases by the year! After a week or ten days on the road, I’m ready for my own bed.
Steinbeck took Charley along to quell the loneliness. His wife also met him occasionally throughout the trip which helped the isolation.
At least I have the car picked out. 🙂
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The Apache was a true beauty! Thanks for both the description and the picture.
I had a favorite old car when I was about 35. An ancient mustang, brown – a color I’d never have chosen but the price was right. It had those small round windows at the sides, towards the back. Powerful engine. The car was a 1960-something. I bought it in 1983. Incongruous, this hot car, for someone who was a single parent working in a non-profit. (think, granola, long hair, jeans and boots). Such a hot car, in fact, that it was stolen from in front of my suburban apartment by teenagers wanting a joy ride. That thing could do 120 on the freeway. Which I discovered one night when I was angry at a boyfriend.
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Thanks, Jude.
Hey, your Mustang does sound kind of like a muscle car. 8) But I can definitely understand the appeal. Maybe a more elegant version of a muscle car.
Hey, that reminds me, I think it was a classic Mustang that my mother totaled one day when she went to visit my sister at the hospital. As I recall, it was my sister’s husband’s car, and my mom was driving it (not sure why). Mom wasn’t hurt, but the car was totaled. Ah, that was a hot car, too.
Teri, I know what you mean about trip endurance. I wonder if it would be easy (or easier) if one were traveling in high style, staying in very nice resorts—that kind of thing. I wouldn’t mind staying in places like the Mabel Dodge Luhan House or places that had a certain charm to them, although I’m sure there are many cities where the only game in town is a Motel 8 with bed bugs. Ugh.
Hey, MM, you hit the nail on the head with the word “brawny.” That’s what I mean. Not bulbous. Or maybe bulbous and brawny. But something solid. The 74 Ford sounds pretty solid.
And dull cars. I’m more the dull car type than the flashy car type, I think. Actually, I can’t think of any car that really fits me and vice versa. It’s kind of weird. Used to be small trucks (like Toyota SR5 with the extended cab) were me, but not anymore. I’m in a car identity crisis, I think. 8)
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ybonesy, I meant to get back to this post all day yesterday and am just getting to commenting. I totally remember the old Apache but I thought it was out behind your house. Was it really in the front driveway….my memory must be faulty! Like Bo, I was drawn to it like a magnet when I visited and took a few photographs. I’m really glad she sent you hers! Wonderful to have all the photographs and not need to hold on to the truck anymore.
I’m trying to let go of a lot more things this year, too, starting to purge again. Clothes and books are first on the list. It feels good to make space for the new. I didn’t remember the story of Mr. Tenorio and your 40th birthday present. A good memory. And the photographs you posted are classic!
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When I was 20, I had a 20 year old VW Bug. It was kind of cool being the same age. Her ticker went out a few years later, and thankfully, mine is still ticking.
That was a beautiful truck you had there.
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Thanks, J. Yeah, there is an appeal in having a vehicle about one’s same age.
QM, the Apache had been behind the garage, on a cement pad back there. Last summer we moved it to the front. That was the first time we listed it on craigslist. We set the price high, I think unconciously not ready to let go of the truck.
This time we set a fair price, a very good price. It moved fast.
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yb, I’m so glad I’m not losing my mind! I did have a visual of your truck in the back behind your house and passed it when I took a short walk. That’s a good strategy, BTW, about overpricing the things we aren’t quite ready to get rid of. Either they sell and prove us wrong, or we hold on to them until we decided to change the price and get things moving. 8)
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