A while ago now I bought myself a little pickup truck.
Not just any little truck, but an obscure model made by Jeep for a few years back in the late ’80’s and early ’90’s.
A 1989 Jeep Comanche.
I had no idea at the time what I was getting into.
I was just happy to have a vehicle that would be able to tow the boat and look good doing it. A vehicle that would not bleed me dry at the gas pump, but could still do what I asked of it.
This truck definitely fits the bill.
Actually, it doesn’t yet, but it will.
You see being an obscure little truck leads to certain problems. Things like difficulty finding replacement parts, reliable technical data, and aftermarket accessories.
As one of the folks on The Comanche Club forums signs his posts:
It all makes sense now:
The Spanish actually gave the Comanche their present name, using a word that comes from the Ute term Komantcia that refers to “enemy”
or more accurately to “anyone who wants to fight me all the time.”
Boy is that fitting.
Why is it that I don’t just fix it up enough to sell it off so I can be the twentieth person on my block with a Ford Ranger or a Chevy S-10?
Why do I keep finding myself crawling about underneath a truck that’s old enough to drink figuring out how to make things work with whatever I can scrounge up?
Why is it that I would rather restore this old workhorse to its former glory than to just buy something that is already shiny?
Why do I always have to go about these things the hard way?
I must simply be insane.
Oh well, you folks have fun hanging out and relaxing. If you need me I’ll be out by the garage.
Taking one of my tail lights apart to try to fix my fuel gauge.