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Canyonero
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Canyonero
Badge.
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Roof
They don’t build them like this anymore. Plaid interior and Sheep skin roof liner were all the rage in.... ah... anyways, little sheepskin left hanging in the rear.
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Interior
No animals were injured in the making of this story... we promise.
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Rear Quarter
A little ding and a pinch of rust that will buff right out.
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Driver's
No humans were injured or contracted viruses in the making of this story... we’re pretty sure. Bryan, haven’t heard from you in a while.
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Dash
Old school command centre.
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So what do you think? Tell us what you think we should make out of the big IH.
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Story and photos by Bryan Irons
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
It’s amazing what you can find in the local classifieds when running low on cash and standards. I’m talking about project vehicles; get your mind out of the gutter! While scrounging through the local online ads, I came across the title “1969 International Harvester Travel-all”. The $500 asking price drew me in to make a call and arrange a viewing with owner of this mythical land yacht. After some awkward chitchat, a time was set. At this point, I wasn’t really looking for another project, but I wasn’t going to pass up a chance at one either.
I’ll try to set the scene to my arrival to deliverance: It’s an old, dried up farming area, there are a few out buildings on the property that look to me like crack shacks. I pull into a long dirt driveway and see three people playing cards outside around a table in the back yard. As I exit the truck with my best pleasantries at the ready, I’m inundated with the smell of cigarettes, hangover and BO. I locked the truck and took my phone just in case. I’m pretty sure I told my family I loved them before I left.
After meeting/smelling the owner I quickly dubbed him "hammer-time Tim" and not for parachute pants. His minutes of sobriety this year could be counted on one hand. The lone woman, whom I assume to be his mom/wife/sister/whatever looks like a Betty Ford dropout, and keeps glaring at me. The other dude, “Silent Bob” remains seated at the card table chewing a toothpick and just gives me the cool guy nod from his leather bomber jacket. I know I shouldn't make fun as its sad really, but after getting home, showering and changing my clothes, I couldn’t rid myself of the scent of hobo.
Time to look at the rig. For 40-years old, it’s straight as a grizzly bears dick. All the glass is in good shape and there is minimal rust other then the wheel wells and rockers on the driver’s side. Someone in the past put 6-inch thick sheepskin on the ceiling; I think a small herd had to be sacrificed for that tribute to 1974. The sheepskin didn't really match the red plaid carpet in the rest of the interior. No matter, it would all have to go to avoid any chance of contracting Hantavirus anyways. Overall, it's got a cool “old truck” style with a near vertical windshield and minimal gauges on the dash. The back seats fold down and make for TONS of cargo room, or a place to sleep. The frame is solid and I LOVE the big chrome emblems all over the place. It screams a mixture of old school big rig with a hint of flower power whimsy. Surprisingly, the roof is dead straight and solid too. It must have been fairly well optioned as the rear gate has power glass actuated by the key from the outside, but also has a latch from inside. The spiders and mice are going to have to get an eviction notice though.
Tim was busy slurring the trucks history to me as I tried to avoid his “aura.” As it turns out, it had a 455 olds in it and used to be street raced years ago. Inexplicably, or maybe I just could understand him, the Travelall was mothballed in 1979 and the drive train yanked. Tim didn’t have the resources, or motor control to revive the beast, so it had to go.
Hammertime, er, Tim had to go drop off some used Budweiser a couple times during our brief stay. That involved him turning around and pissing on the shell of a camper parked next to the International. He couldn't remember where in his stories he had left off after his “draining” and would start the 455 story over again for my amusement. Mmm Purelle.
I didn't even bring up a number with him, or even mentioned that I wanted it, but as he saw me head toward my truck, he stammered out "lowest I'd take is $275." Tim then followed me and stood on my running board like a puppy at the pound begging for a new home. I stayed silent as I tried to think of something to say. Suddenly "my brother has a tow truck, I could probably have it delivered for that price too" exited his mouth. Hmmm, I wondered what else I could get if I shut the hell up. "I have a bunch of other scout parts I can throw in too" wiggled its way from his teeth. This is getting pretty good. Who wants a Mentos?
As we parted, I told him I'd give him a call once I checked with my better half about cutting into her shoe budget. I think I was his only hope for refreshment money he had seen in weeks. I had this one in the bag. “Honey, have I told you how pretty you are?”
After endlessly groveling at home, I took Tim up on his offer and to his credit he delivered. Now I have a behemoth slumped in my driveway, an angry wife, an annoyed neighborhood association, and no certain direction to take this project.
So, what should we make of it? Cut 44’s, a big block and go muddin? Make a diesel tow rig out of it? Camping SUV on 35’s and a roof top tent? Lets hear what you have to say. Drop 4WDrive a message on our Facebook page and tell us what you think should happen to this 37-ton piece of Americana.