Category Archives: Rattles + Squeaks

MGee whiz

B that way

B that way

We happened upon this very presentable MG-B the other day in our supermarket parking lot.  It’s a ’73, one of the last that had chrome bumpers; later ones had to wear federally-mandated energy-absorbing ugly rubber snouts.  It made us nostalgic for our first car, a ’68 MG-B, the model year was the first in which the B, introduced in 1962, came equipped with shoulder belts.  Ours was blue and had wire wheels and was pretty snazzy when we bombed around Europe that summer when revolution was in the air.

What a breeze to drive!

What a breeze to drive!

Yes, the appeal of an open sports car piloted by a craven youth, pumped up on Gauloise cigarettes and the camaraderie of  student uprisings was an intoxicating mix.  It was a dream come true for a kid barely out of his teens — actually still in his teens at the beginning of that summer — but something of an illusion because, truth be told, the car was not very good.

Sweet, sweet '67

Sweet, sweet ’67

We should have realized something was up when we went over to the London facility where left hand drive, US safety standards-compliant (shoulder belts, etc.), MGs were delivered to Americans who had pre-purchased them.  It was both exciting and frightening to contemplate finding one’s way around London in a brand new sports car that we’d be driving on the “wrong” side of the road.  But gratification was delayed for reasons never explained.  We arrived at the appointed time for delivery and waited. And waited. And waited.  After three hours, our new “B” was presented and off we went to who-knows-where in those wild and wooly pre-GPS times.

Nice rack! (sorry)

Nice rack! (sorry)

We were loathe to drive it much around London since it was impossible to park even back then.  The matter of driving on the “wrong” side with a left-hand drive car made things especially daunting but, soon, we made our way across the channel — pre-chunnel, this was via ferry — and got to open up the car on the Autoroute.  No speed limit back then so, hot damn!, driving 110 mph with the top down proved to be both an exhilarating and enlightening experience.  Our wind whipped ‘Jewfro’ stood up on end as we charged through central France on our way to the promised land, La Côte d’Azur.  On the way, at breakneck speed, we learned an important lesson: the faster one goes the more fuel (premium) is consumed.  The ‘B’ was fitted with two SU carburetors, the pre-diluvian BMC B-series 1,800 cc motor that dated from the mid-1950s. It  churned out 95 hp and mileage was supposed to be around 25 mpg. The problem is that at full throttle, fuel intake rises precipitously and the tank held under 12 gallons so we had to endure costly fill ups every 120 miles or so.

C'est "C" bon!

MT-B GT: it’s a hardtop with a sort of back seat. Photo by Feral Cars Field Scout Amy Treco

That was our fault, not the car’s.  Deeper into our trip through the continent, a red light came on the dash; the owner’s manual led us to believe this indicated unequal pressure in the brake lines.  Losing one’s stopping ability in the middle of the Apennines seemed a tad reckless even for those of us for whom speed limits seemed pointless. Off we went to a local Innocenti (BMC’s proxy in Italy) service facility where the mechanics appeared amused about our talk of la pressione non è uguale tra i freni anteriori e posteriori. Because UK and European market MGs didn’t actually have a brake pressure inequality warning light, this was alien territory to our Innocenti innocents whose company we enjoyed in beautiful Orvieto.

As close to a biplane as you can get while staying on the ground

As close to a biplane as you can get while staying on the ground

Ultimately, we gave up on ever having a brake pressure warning light to which any heed was paid and, indeed, life was the better for it.  After Italy it was on to (then) Yugoslavia/today’s Croatia.  Less than 100Km north of Dubrovnik we chugged to an involuntary stop on an incline as we attempted to wend our way to Czechoslovakia.  This was the first notable instance of electrical failure, a trait that would become a hallmark of this otherwise very nice blue MG-B.

Roadster with removable top

Roadster with removable top – best of both worlds

A truck driver, attracted, one tends to assume, to the allure of an on board glamorous companion, stopped to see how he could help.  He whiped out a pocket knife and did a whole wire stripping number on the spark plug wires and scraped the breaker points in the car’s ignition system.  The car roared to life and we were back on our way to adventures in the land of Dubček and socialists gone gooey, pre-Soviet invasion. Our MG-B with UK plates made everyone assume we were British — they were oblivious to the left hand drive and our Yank origins.  “Hey, English, want change money?” was a recurring inquiry.  It was embarrassing to explain that we weren’t English and that we didn’t want to change money because there’s not all that much to buy with it.  On a dark, moonless night in Prague we drove up a street looking to connect with groovy Czechs at some bar or club and soon realized that the street ceased to exist but the tram tracks continued.  Our MG-B was high and dry, hung up on the above ground  tracks while, of course, there was an active street car, with bell clanging insistently, stuck directly behind us.  Before long, a small crowd had gathered and were kind enough to pick the MG up, six or seven on a side, and carry it off the tracks onto a surface that connected to a passable street.  Again, not the car’s fault but certainly something notable from a geopolitical point of view.

Best of both worlds

Nice rack! (even sorrier )

About three days before Soviet forces deposed Dubček and installed a puppet government, we found ourselves in West Germany when the MG-B came to an all too familiar halt on the side of  a four lane highway.  It was a re-run of our Croatian experience on a certain level but the cause was an accelerator pedal cable that had snapped, the pedal flush to floor.  Soon, a US Army vehicle pulled up and a grinning kid jumped out.  Wouldn’t you know it?  He was a helicopter mechanic from a nearby base.  He fixed the collapsed accelerator pedal with some — yes! — bailing wire and we were back on our way.

Falling in love again..

Falling in love again..

The car survived the streets of Hamburg, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Oslo, Amsterdam and back to Paris from which it was dispatched to the New World and a rendezvous with its ever hopeful  owner. Back in New York, things were going well with the car except for the time when it was started and flames shot out from under the motor.  Luckily, the firemen were busy doing something more worthwhile than saving a flaming MG.  The conflagration diminished in short order and the car continued to charm and vex.

Rubber noses aren't funny

Rubber noses aren’t funny (Amy Treco photo)

We drove it out to California — Berkeley, natch — and made a side visit to Madison to pick up a new set of points, condenser, ignition coil and rotor though we admit that we didn’t go there in the MG.  It was stuck on the side of the road in the Wisconsin Dells, 50 or so miles away.  Our trip to Mad City was in the chase car we were fortunate to have accompany us out west.  It was a VW bus, slow as molasses but, taking into account MG breakdowns, it registered a higher coast to coast average speed that the car whose corporate motto was “Safety Fast.”  Glad we didn’t have to test the former and, as noted, the latter only pertained intermittently.

Survivor!

Survivor!

Later, after another cross country trek, It broke down in a snowstorm in the middle of the wilds of New Jersey, necessitating a knock — how cliché! — on the door of a farm house since cell phones were decades away.  We’re honest when we tell you that absolutely no shotguns were involved in that episode. Ultimately, an exhaust system that detached in the middle of New York’s Columbus Avenue and some touch and go overheating adventures manifested during bumper-to-bumper jaunts to Jones Beach actually began to help it sink in that this wasn’t really such a good car.

It seemed like a consummate act of disloyalty to abandon and/or sell the car that had failed you on numerous occasions over the course of its short history.  In the end, reason, of a sort, prevailed and the blue MG was traded in on for a blue 1970 BMW 2002.  While the ink was till drying on the 2002 purchase agreement the MG showed up back in the new vehicle area at the BMW dealer.  Seems the used car manager realized the car had its — how shall we say? — shortcomings.  Our salesman was instructed to raise the purchase price of the BMW to compensate for precipitous and instantaneous depreciation of the MG that we had traded.  I took this as a sign that it really was right to get that glorious MG out of our lives.  I held my ground and threatened to walk since the contract had been unilaterally broken by the dealer and I was certainly in the legal right. It was not my concern that they had bought a pig, albeit a good looking one, in a poke (which must be some kind of dark garage).  A deal is a deal and so it was; the MG-B was, kicking and screaming, out of our lives.

Not so hot mess

Not-so hot mess

That’s the story of a first car, an MG, that provided, as they now say, some wonderful “teaching moments.”  These include to not go 110 miles per hour down a French Autoroute and expect to maintain your hairdo or win the Mobilgas Economy Run.  It’s also not a great idea to try to translate the English language owner’s manual (U.S. edition) into Italian while your car is on a lift and the staff is having a lunch with wine break. We also advise against driving at a high rate of speed in an East Bloc country on a road that turns into a trolley line.  We also recommend having both an on board fire extinguisher and several spare sets of critical ignition parts for inevitable need.

They tried, then they just kind of gave up

They tried, then they just kind of gave up

We also learned that when an MG-B, when it works, can be the source of great fun and excitement and lots of stories on which you’ll look back and wonder what the heck you were thinking.  OK, we remember: you were thinking “I must have a British sports car as soon as possible!”  That dream did come true and we survived it. We’re somewhat the wiser for the experience but probably not all that much.

We’re wildly nostalgic to see this ’67 MG-B that’s for sale in nearby Vero Beach, FL. You can get one for less than half the $12,900 asking price but it probably won’t be anywhere close to as nice.  If you’ve got a spare 18 minutes you might want to watch this mini-documentary about the rise and fall of the MG-B.  Get out the Kleenex.

If you’ve stalked a feral car and would like to submit a photo of it for posting consideration please send it to us:   info (at) feralcars (dot)com OR through our Facebook page.

 

 

 

 

BMW, PDA*

*Pre Douchebag Anschluss

Boxy lady!

Boxy lady! ’72 2002

It’s certainly not our place or intent to engage in wholesale character assassination and, we hasten to add, some of our best friends drive contemporary BMW automobiles. In fact, we like these cars; it’s some of their drivers with whom we have a beef.  We have no gripe with anyone’s choice of branded transport, Hummers excepted, but it’s a demonstrable fact that a significant percentage of BMW drivers tend to act in an anti-social manner.  To wit, we have a routine that takes us into a crosswalk everyday and invariably, BMW drivers speed up so as not to be inconvenienced by stopping to spare human life while drivers of other makes dutifully apply the brakes. We encountered such a person just the other day at a different intersection; he seemed lost in conversation on the phone which he held to his ear. (What? They don’t equip these things with a Bluetooth interface ?) He blithely barreled through the intersection, making a right turn on a red light, oblivious to the people attempting to cross the street.  When one of them had the temerity to bang a fist on his precious Bimmer’s hindquarters, its Bluetoothless pilot became infuriated, made an illegal u-turn and caught up with the outraged fist banger and verbally berated the, heretofore, imperiled pedestrian.  His actions and vituperous tone (“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BANG ON MY CAR!”) reflect a droit du seigneur attitude endemic to many BMW drivers. Those would be the ones who think that their “ultimate driving machine” exempts them from having to act in a quasi-civil manner.

Plain, not fancy

Plain, not fancy

Our crosswalk theory is borne out by actual scientific research which concludes that, yes, “BMW drivers were far less likely to stop for a pedestrian who had just entered a crosswalk” and another study which “found men between the ages of 35 and 50 driving blue BMWs were  most likely to be reported as having engaged in road-rage behaviors such as aggressive driving and swearing.”  The Urban Dictionary even has a definition of BMW Douche.   We’ll let you read that for yourself.

Upright citizen

Upright citizen

But we’re not here to beat up a sector of the driving public so reviled that their haters have a popular dedicated Facebook page. Our purpose is to celebrate BMWs which, in the past, were delightful, sporty, unpretentious, beautifully made cars, most notably the 2002 model, produced between 1968 and 1976.  The very basic “three box” styling was certainly unassuming  but its brilliant handling and feisty performance gave BMW a big boost with savvy consumers.  The idea was revolutionary and paved the way for the storied 3 series that built on the acceptance of the 2002. Revolutions often start with the best of intentions; the excesses that followed this one have put us in the bind in which we find ourselves today. We like cars, it’s the people who drive them with whom we have a problem.

Bangle buttless

Bangle buttless

It’s difficult to find unmolested BMW 2002s these day as they’ve typically been modified with flatulent aftermarket exhaust systems and fender flares to accommodate fat tires and trick wheels.  We, have, however encountered some original examples which we’re delighted to share as reminders of a time when BMWs — and their drivers — were celebrated rather than reviled.

Towards the end of their production 2002s were equipped with energy absorbing bumpers to comply with new new Federal safety standards; their inelegant placement tends to conjure up thoughts of Tonka Toys or a car made of Lego pieces.  The 3 series debuted in 1975 and, initially, carried on the same no-frills attitude of its predecessor. But as the years rolled by things evolved in terms of more convoluted styling, bigger motors, higher weight and they were crammed full of electronics. More importantly, they appealed to some drivers whose approach to civility could be characterized as ‘challenged.’  Pass the hair gel!

Bimmer's 'boingy' bumper

Bimmer’s ‘boingy’ bumper

To its credit, BMW did try to rekindle the spirit of the 2002 with the 318ti hatchback that was introduced in the ’90s.  It was shortened, decontented and equipped with a smaller 4 cylinder motor.  Unfortunately, it was a sales failure and discontinued, plausibly, because it had minimal douche appeal.

Just before the 'doucheluge'

318ti: They tried

We’re not trying to beat a dead horse and, certainly, the BMW ‘horse’ is alive and kicking with first six months sales in 2014 12% higher than last year’s. Arch rival Audi is not, however, above the fray.  Their current Nice Performance commercial speaks volumes without spelling things out too overtly.   BMW, for its part, cashes in on its storied 2002 heritage in this commercialto introduce the smaller 2 series.

We’d be remiss if we didn’t mention that members of the Baader-Meinhoff Gang who terrorized West Germany in the ’70s favored BMW 2002s.   Paranoid Polizei of the time considered anyone who drove a 2002 to be suspicious and the  BMW acronyn was perverted to stand for “Baader-Meinhof Wagen.”  This video explains the phenomenon most wonderfully and, then, dig this still from the film Baader-Meinhof Komplex.

Das verecht Banhof-Meinhof Wagen!

Die authentische Banhof-Meinhof Wagen!

Full disclosure, we drove one from 1970 to 1992 and it’s sorely missed.  Prices for good surviving or restored examples have skyrocketed.  You can browse here but we’d be surprised if you really found a bargain but one never knows.

 If you’ve stalked a feral car and would like to submit a photo of it for posting please send it to us:   info (at) feralcars (dot)com.  Include your name, location of the car and some thoughts about the vehicle and we’ll look into getting it posted

 

 

 

 

Falcon Rancheros of the world, Unite!

Business in the back, party in the front

Business in the back, party in the front

The inspiration for feralcars.com came after noting  just how many Ford Falcons have survived over the past six decades.   “Feral Falcons” posts on Facebook morphed into this site so our roots, it could be said, lie with Ford’s compact car. Many of those still-flying Falcons are Rancheros, the trucklette created by transforming the station wagon variant into a small pickup.

Haulin' little birdie

Haulin’ little birdie

The Rancheros car/truck concept debuted in 1957 and continued through ’59, based on full-size Fords and those, in turn, inspired Chevy’s El Camino. The Falcon-based Ranchero, however,  truly ignited the mini truck revolution in which Toyota and Datsun would soon play their part.

Dio's machina

Deus ex machina

We thought we’d celebrate Labor Day by offering a gallery of Falcon Rancheros, all caught in the wild.  While many are still hard at work, hauling whatever piles of detritus one may choose to toss in the load bed, we’re giving them the day off in recognition of their travails for the last 50+ years.

Distressed express

Distressed express

Ranchero was an integral part of the Falcon line through 1965 and a disproportionate number are still in service. We’re partial to the raw, un-restored, examples found in a condition  that seems to underscore plebian roots.   Let’s salute them on this day of the worker!

Ruffled feathers

Ruffled feathers

Falcon ranger

Snappy kestrel

After 1965 Ranchero was based on the larger Fairlane platform and, ultimately, forswore its working class origin, transforming into a muscle car that happened to have a load bed.  Fairlane yielded to Torino and this less-than-demure ’72 Ranchero GT with a bitchin’ hood scoop is a prime example of that  change in attitude.

Ranchero aggresso

Aggro Ranchero

Here’s a Starsky & Hutch era ’78 Ranchero that shares its platform with the LTD II/Thunderbird of the time. Aside from the fact that it’s a Ford built car based truck, its arriviste affect really has very little in common with that of the humble Falcon Ranchero that we celebrate today.

Blowed up real good

Snooty social striver

The basic Falcon Ranchero concept was revived by Volkwagen in the late ’70s with the Rabbit Pickup, built in Westmoreland, PA over a four year production run.  We encountered this diesel powered 1980 example in rural Kelseyville CA the other day and its owner reports that he’s had 22 of these over the course of time.  The motor on this one has been swapped out for a relatively recent TDi diesel and yields mpg in the mid 40s.  How’s that for addressing the concerns of the working person?

Bauer = Ranchero auf Deutsche

Arbeit macht frei?

 If you’ve stalked a feral car and would like to submit a photo of it for posting please send it to us:   info (at) feralcars (dot)com.  Include your name, location of the car and some thoughts about the vehicle and we’ll look into getting it posted

 

 

Centennial celebration for ‘The Dodge Boys’ and us!

The Dodge Rebellion shapes up

The Dodge Rebellion: 100 years and counting

One hundred years ago this month, Horace and John Dodge stopped making parts for Henry Ford as they had done earlier for Ransom E. Olds.  They started building entire cars bearing their name and continued to do so, quite successfully, until they both died in 1920.  Their widows sold the company to Wall Street’s Dillon, Read & Co. which, in turn, sold Dodge to Walter P. Chrysler in 1927.  Dodge has continued as a mainstay of Chrysler’s stable of brands even as Plymouth, DeSoto and Imperial have all come and gone.  Our celebration of Dodge’s centennial coincides with a FeralCars.com milestone.  This is our 100th post since we got up and running ten months ago which equates to 20 minutes in Dodge years.

Coronet doesn't blow

Coronet doesn’t blow

Dodge has been considered Chrysler’s performance division since the mid-1950s and this ’69 Coronet with cast aluminum racing wheels and hood pins underscores that muscle car image.

Colony collapse? What colony collapse?

Colony collapse? What colony collapse?

Dodge’s analog to Plymouth’s cartoon-inspired Road Runner was the Super Bee.  We admit that the tail band and feisty bumble bee graphic on this ’69 Super Bee are goofy but muscle car  aficionados take this kind of stuff very seriously, especially when the Bee is backed by the sting of a 426 cubic inch Hemi V8.

R Crumb, your car is ready!

R Crumb, your car is ready!

Dodge’s post war offerings, essentially carryovers from pre-Pearl Harbor days, were on the dowdy and bulbous side as evidenced by this ’48 sedan, still plying the streets of old Havana.

Dartscape

Dartscape

Dodge’s compact size Dart was introduced in 1963 as a step up from Plymouth’s Valiant, much as Mercury’s Comet was to Ford’s Falcon.  Dodge fielded Lancer, a re-badged Valiant in 1961 and 1962 which didn’t have much of an impact but the stylish-for-its-size Dart that followed was a huge hit.

Lancer on the loose

Lancer on the loose

Over its 14 year run, the Dart became synonymous with durability and reliability, thanks in large part to Chrysler’s unbreakable “Slant 6” motor.  Old Darts were symbolic of the anti-materialist “slacker” sensibility back in the pre-gentrification days that preceded today’s pretentious hipster movement. So resonant is the name that Fiat Chrysler recently revived it for Dodge’s contemporary compact which, truth be told, is based on an Alfa Romeo design.

Highway star

Highway star

We’re thinking that this very presentable 1970 Dart hardtop, photographed at speed on a busy freeway, may very well be piloted by its original owner, irony be damned. We offer a gallery of Darts, shot in the wild, as evidence of the car’s lasting presence. We’re especially taken with the tail-banded Swinger. Yes, that was an actual model designation for most Dart 2-door hardtops and, please, no key party jokes. Thanks to Feral Cars Field Scout “TV” Tom Vickers for the shot of the nice dusty ’63 convertible.

Dented Dart

Dented Dart

Red rocker

Red rocker

Humdinger Swinger

Humdinger Swinger

Drop top Dart

Drop top Dart

Dodge’s Aries was one of the famous Lee Iacocca- championed ‘K Cars,’ introduced in 1981.  With front wheel drive, seating for six and a thrifty 4 cylinder motor, these were a far cry from Dodge’s muscle car days but were extremely popular and profitable. They sold so well that Chrysler was able to pay back its government guaranteed loans in advance of the actual due date. Though on the drawing boards well prior to Iacocca’s tenure, Chairman Lee took much of the credit for their success, as one would expect.

OKcar

Just OK-car

Nice day for a white wagon

Nice day for a white wagon

Almost from the beginning, Dodge offered a line of trucks such as this ’67 step side finished in Creamsicle®-inspired vanilla and orange.  Since 2011, for some unfathomable reason, Chrysler-built trucks are branded RAM, rather than Dodge.  Horace and John would not be pleased.

Ram? Shram!

Ram? Schram!

Dodge was a huge player in the van movement (insert rockin’/knockin’ limerick here) of the ’60s and ’70s. This Family Wagon camper conversion by Travco from ’66 or ’67 features a non-OEM wooden bumper but is otherwise stock, observation deck-style roof and all.

Vantastic!

Vantastic!

Dodge supplanted the Dart with the Aspen (twin of Plymouth’s Volare) which was not a stellar effort.  A later iteration, yclept Diplomat, offered luxury pretentions, including a padded vinyl roof, fender-mounted turn signal indicators and a stand-up hood ornament.  Classy!  This ’78 Diplomat, so impressively preserved, is literally driven by a little old lady.  We’ve included a profile portrait of the Aspen on which it’s based.  Lipstick on a pig, anyone?

Très diplôme

Très diplôme

Aspen zone

Aspen zone

Lastly, we return to Dodge’s performance roots with a Challenger, dating from 1970.  It was Dodge’s (very) late entry into the “pony car” field that was pioneered by Mustang and, soon thereafter, Camaro.  We like everything about this un-restored example — the roof rack, the dent in the door and the dulled paint.  Truly, it’s a fitting final entry in this, Feral Cars’ centennial post.  Happy birthday to us and to Dodge.  As its Fiat overlords might say, cent‘anni!

Mid century muscle

MoPar muscle: never dull

Catch the Dodge Rebellion-themed commercials from ’67 with Dodge’s “it” girl Pamela Austin starring right here. 

While you’re at it, check out this ’67 Dart GT convertible that’s for sale in nearby Riverhead, NY.  It’s never too late to Join the Dodge Rebellion!

If you’ve stalked a feral car and would like to submit a photo of it for posting please send it to us:   info (at) feralcars (dot)com.  Include your name, location of the car and some thoughts about the vehicle and we’ll look into getting it posted

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bronco bust: OJ’s wild ride

Ride 'em OJ!

Ride ’em. OJ!

I have a confession to make.  Despite the fact that it lasted almost two hours and was witnessed by 95 million people, I completely missed the legendary OJ Simpson “low speed chase,” the 20th anniversary of which is upon us.  Yes, I missed it all — OJ in the backseat with a gun to his head while his pal Al Cowlings drove his (Cowlings’, not OJ’s but he had one, too) ’93 white Ford Bronco an average of 35 mph over 60 miles of freeways, followed by an armada of police cruisers while dozens of helicopters covered from above. I missed it when NBC interrupted game 5 of the NBA finals and when thousands cheered OJ from overpasses.  I missed it when ABC News anchor Peter Jennings put an “eyewitness” on the phone who told him “I see OJ and he looks scared,” followed by “..and Baba Booey to y’all!”  My excuse:  I was more than 4,000 miles away on the island of Huahine, in French Polynesia. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time! I’m talking about me, not OJ because, as we know, he didn’t do it and was, himself, the victim of tiny gloves. 

He looks scared, doesn't he?

Worst product placement,. Ever.

I still have a whole lot of catching up to do so I hold my own in cocktail conversations.  To this end, we managed to find a Bronco that generally fits the description of the OJ non-getaway car insofar as it’s white.  It’s an XLT monochrome model with a body-colored grill as opposed to the gleaming chrome front end of the creepy OJ truck.

Cops' p.o.v.

Cops’ p.o.v.

These Broncos were bulky brutes, based, as they were, on a shortened version of Ford’s big ass F-series truck platform. They seemed kind of stubby in a fat guy way and offered just two doors so, presumably, OJ had to wiggle into the back of Cowlings’ when he played his starring role in that mobile theater-of-the-absurd. The spare tire mounted on the swinging arm behind the tailgate was the view scores of cops got when they gave halfhearted chase to OJ exactly 20 years ago.  With not a whole lot of sport and very little utility on tap, Broncos made some kind of anti-style statement on behalf of celebrities and other arriviste types who were attracted to their macho demeanor. They were, typically, driven to high end restaurants where diminutive valets would relieve their owners of their ungainly steeds in the hope of a generous tip or crust of bread.

Without a Scout

Without a Scout

First generation (’66 -’77) Broncos were almost three feet shorter as they had been built to compete with International Harvester’s relatively diminutive Scout and Jeep’s eternal CJ. We really like this pristine green machine wearing Nevada plates.  Coincidentally, Nevada is the state where OJ Simpson is currently serving time in that state’s Lovelock (we don’t make these names up, folks) Correctional Center after having been convicted of robbery at gunpoint and kidnapping charges stemming from ill-conceived efforts to retrieve sports memorabilia that he claimed had been taken from him.

They made at least one that wasn't white

They made at least one that wasn’t white

Irrespective of OJ’s notoriety,  white was the most popular Bronco color but we did find a well preserved maroon (which Ford called “Cabernet”) example wearing New York plates. Sad that the textured fiberglass top seems to have come down with a chalky rash.

A bit tiresome

A bit tiresome

Ford quietly stopped building Broncos just five days short of the two year anniversary of the chase by which time a jury had decided that OJ was innocent.  Glad we got to clear all that up.

How now rust brown cow?

Cabernet cowboy

There was a time when OJ wasn’t a pariah, in fact he was a much sought after pitchman.  Here’s a commercial he did for Hertz in which he suggests you rent a FORD truck!  What a coincidence!

And the one you’ve been waiting for.  Stay with it after the “Baba Booey” for Al Michaels’ “totally farcical” pronouncement.

If you’ve stalked a feral car and would like to submit a photo of it for posting consideration please send it to us:   info (at) feralcars (dot)com OR through our Facebook page.