Ryan’s article yesterday about the 1955-56 Ford truck nameplates reminded me of the aged ’56 Ford F100 I owned perfectly over 20 a long time back. It was almost nothing distinctive or uncommon- A small rear window, straight six, 3-on-the-tree, brief bed in a awful metallic brown. Her nickname was ‘Uncle Jesse’, following the previous gentleman Jesse Duke’s rig on a specified Television demonstrate, even nevertheless my Ford looked almost nothing like his. On a sunny working day in the park at Crusin’ Paso Robles in 1999, some talented kid who could not have been much more than 12 or 13 yrs previous provided to lay out flames on the front fender with masking tape, just for kicks (Those spontaneous and rad issues utilized to occur at Paso back again then, but I digress). The tape shapes arrived out so superior that I had the young person mask out flame licks all the way down each and every fender of the truck and proceeded to hand him all the pocket dollars I had. Back again home, a buddy of mine hand-striped the line perform out with A person Shot, pinstriped the taillights, and threw a Traveling Eyeball on the back, just for kicks. The ol’ F100 was still poop brown, but at minimum the black flames and white striping produced it glance halfway great.
A incredibly small although later, I achieved the woman who would turn out to be my wife. Right just before our initial real day, I realized the truck had no seatbelts so I rapidly ordered some JC Whitney ‘aircraft’ belts in poop beige and invested the night prior to our rendezvous installing them. We drove the F100 up to Petaluma in the rain, safely and securely buckled in, wipers going facet to side to the beat of the audio enjoying the taxi, just laughing and owning the very best time ever. Thanks Uncle Jesse.