By Glen Wunderlich

Looking back to the ‘60s, I recall how my friends and I always yearned for a vehicle that would simply start and drive, because we always seemed to be working on whatever we had. Woodward Avenue north of Detroit was where we’d spend our time and gas money – that is, whenever we weren’t wrenching on something. We lived today’s Dream Cruise from the Totem Pole to Ted’s Drive-In up and down the boulevard.

Fast forward 50 years to today’s marvels of engineering sans carburetors, leaded gasoline, and distributor points – heck, distributors themselves. Where once a 100,000 odometer reading was as rare as cruise control, today it means a low-mileage creampuff. (Are there even creampuffs anymore?)

However, simply starting and driving isn’t quite so simple; technology is in control.

It’s not that I have anything against technology other than all the buzzers, flashing lights and computers making decisions they have no business making. One example from my now-departed 1999 Chevy pickup, thank you, was the fact that I could not shut off my headlights, even if I tried. And, try I did. There was no magic trick like applying the parking brake; banging my head on the dashboard didn’t work either. I couldn’t take it anymore and all I can say is good riddance!

A new truck and accompanying “mortgage” made no sense, either. I wasn’t going to be tortured by technology and a paint job that belongs in Autorama. I had to have a truck and I wanted to be in charge of the lights. If I wanted to get a load of firewood, a few pinstripes from the trails weren’t going to prevent me from working. Some deer hair and blood would just add character.

Time had come to resurrect a beast that would satisfy my desire to be free from GPS, Bluetooth, plastic and computers. The 1966 International C 1300, 1 ton, all-wheel drive, that I had purchased in southern Ohio many years ago, was calling my name from the pines, where it lay dormant for over a decade. (Yes, shame on me!)

1966 International C1300, 1 Ton, AWD

My mechanically inclined friend, Mike, and I pulled it out of the trenches that had formed under its wheels with a tractor older than the truck itself. We drained and replaced all fluids, cleaned the carburetor and spark plugs and fired it up with a new battery. We soon learned the brakes were gone and the tires were no longer safe. Oh, sure there were other gremlins that surfaced, but these old trucks were meant to be worked – and, worked on. There is nothing in the owner’s manual that says take it to the dealer; rather, it’s more of a how-to guide to self-help.

Recycling white ash killed by Emerald Ash Borer

It doesn’t have power windows, power mirrors or power anything. To steer, two arms must supply the power – and, plenty of it. The dimmer switch is on the floor, where it belongs and the lights go on and off whenever I choose to operate the push/pull knob on the dash. Back to the future. Finally.