An Attempt to Explain

An Attempt to Explain

Photo Kevin Mueller

Exactly when thoughts first turned to ownership of a Ford Model A is unknown. Suffice to say that the seeds for this pipe dream were planted long ago, long, long ago. Well, with the passing of another birthday, and having survived the swirling disasters that was the apocalyptic year 2020, the pipe dream has become a near obsession.

The best explanation for the growing quest to acquire a 90 year old Ford, and to make it a regular driver is that ma was right. She said that I was born ninety and never seemed to age. There is also the possibility that I am at least a half bubble off center. Still, when it comes to vehicles that is old news.

The first truck I purchased with my own money was a well worn, battered old ’42 Chevy. Junk yard camouflage best describes the paint. You could park it in any junkyard and it blend in seamlessly.

That was in 1976. and it was my daily driver. That was the first vehicle that I cruised the Las Vegas Strip in, and it was also the first truck that I drove to the long forgotten town of Cerbat in the Cerbat Mountains.

After a New Years Eve drunk totaled my ’65 Pontiac Bonneville, for a few short weeks, my only transportation was a truly decrepit 1915 Dodge pulled from a barn along the Big Sandy near Wikieup, Arizona.

When my dearest friend and I were courting my daily driver was a ’46 GMC truck. When I had time off this was the truck that transported me along Route 66 on the drive from the ranch near Chino Valley to Kingman. This was the truck I took her to the movie in, and it was the truck we drove to Jan’s Soda Fountain in the Kingman Drug Store. On occasion we would drive another relic, a ’26 Ford touring car, on double dates.

In the first thirty years of marriage only two trucks, a ’70 Chevy and ’74 Ford, were manufactured after I was born. None of them were show pieces. All of them provided endless opportunity to keep my four letter word vocabulary active. Even though it seemed they were always needing work, not one of them left me stranded. One of them took us on a memorable zigzag trip through the center of the Colorado Rockies, to Wyoming and back home again without incident.

So, for my dearest friend, the quest to own a Model A, and to make it a driver, is quite understandable. On occasion she has encouraged pursuit of the dream (?). She has gifted me an array of Model A related books over the years, and on occasion has pointed out a Model A with a for sale sign.

Now the Fates have entered the picture. I can hear the call of the Sirens. In a rather bizarre series of coincidences of the type that are common and normal in my world, I came upon a Model A ideally suited for an envisioned project.

  • A vehicle that would suffice for a unique travel program
  • A vehicle that would become associated with the Jim Hinckley’s America brand
  • A vehicle that ensures attention where ever I go, which in turn provides sponsors of the aforementioned program value for their investment
  • A vehicle that is somewhat practical, especially for local area travel
  • A vintage vehicle that can be used for long distance travel, with patience, because of parts availability, ease of repair and available assistance
  • In a nut shell, a Model A Ford

The next steps are being taken. The quest for sponsors of this and related Jim Hinckley’s America programs. A suitable partnership to develop the programs. This year, perhaps, a decade old pipe dream become a reality. This year Jim Hinckley’s America moves forward by going back in time.

Did I mention that the car I have my eye on is in Michigan? Did I mention that if acquired the intent is to drive it to Arizona via Route 66?

Stay tuned. Dreams are being chased.