Captainkirk's Duster project

“Once you’ve hit Rock Bottom, there’s no where to go but up.” Unknown

A lot of things happened over the next 48 hours, but most of it was a blur. Call it shock; call it trauma, just don'’t call it late for dinner. Two guys stopped to see if anyone was hurt when they saw the li'’l red minx smoochin'’ with the telephone pole. I think they gave me a lift home. I say “think” because I just don’t know for sure. Anyway, I got there. I must'’ve looked a mess; bent-up specs, shiner in the works and all. Either Dave or Al (or both) drove me to the ER to be checked out. I had a shiner under construction, bruised ribs, a huge purple welt across my abdomen (from the seat belt) and a lacerated kidney, along with other miscellaneous cuts and bruises, but I was intact, at least. They released me sometime during the wee hours of the morning with a doctor’s note to stay off my feet a few days, although he released me to return to school Monday. After a few restless hours of tossing and turning, I woke early to call in to work. Old Mr. Toad was most understanding; if I may quote him; “ "I hired you because I thought you were reliable…; obviously you’'re not. Don'’t bother returning”." And you thought you had a nice boss! Thanks boss, I love you too!
At least I got to sleep in…….
Somehow I managed to get the car towed back to the MHP. I got a real good look at it in the daylight. They say everything looks better in the light of day. They were wrong. This car was toast. The radiator had been cored like an apple, the motor pushed back into the firewall. The brand-new (and absurdly expensive) Mallory distributor cap was cracked and broken, looking like some absurd dead octopus with it’'s black silicone 8mm tentacles splayed across the top of the motor. The distributor shaft was actually bent. The Hedman Hedders were "“hedded"” for the scrap heap, the tubes twisted and mangled and flattened closed. The right front wheel twisted out at a grotesque angle; I crawled under to check it and saw the tie rod sleeve was broken clean in two, leaving the wheel to flop about like a hand on a broken wrist. It was then that I saw the unibody rails were twisted and bent and I knew it was Game Over. I actually got a couple quotes over the next couple weeks, the cheapest of which was $2500.00; this just to make it driveable again. With no job and $300.00 as my life savings, it may as well have been $25 million. I began buying Auto Traders and looking for a suitable transplant patient…..preferably an A-body.

“Dr. Frankenstein, I presume?”
“It’s Fraaaahnkenschteen” Gene Wilder, “Young Frankenstein”

I found another job within the week, and got Dave to cart me around to work and school for gas money. I knew I had had to find another car, and fast. I answered an ad in the Auto Trader for a ’'71 Duster and went to look at it. It was a piece of work. The owner was a piece of work, as well. It was ugly, gold, rusty, and ugly, a real CrackerJack prize. It had a worn out, wheezing 318 with an auto trans (which I didn’t want), butt-ugly bench seats that were all duct-taped, filthy carpeting, with an 8 track, to add insult to injury. It would'’ve been like transplanting the heart of a young, vibrant football player into a doddering old man with one foot in the grave. He wanted me to buy it in the worst way, …practically pleading with me. He’'d come down a couple hundred bucks. He'’d throw in his stack of old Mopar magazines and a greasy old hat…. Excuse me while I puke….
There, that’s a little better…..

As much as I wanted a car, I did NOT want that one. It was just waaaaay too much work. I told him I’'d think about it and made the mistake of giving him my number. He must'’ve called 3 times a day for the next two weeks, until I finally told him I’'d found another car just so he'’d leave me alone. I could’'ve sworn I heard him stifle a sob as he hung up the phone. I kept looking.
Several extremely disappointing days later, I was almost getting desperate enough to call him and tell him the deal I’'d had fell through. Everything I looked at was a rolling scrap heap; and overpriced, to boot.
I was starting to search outside of the A-body box, looking for ‘Cudas and Challengers, but nothing doing. Everything I saw was worthless or too expensive, or both.

It was October now, and the frost was on the pumpkin (or would be soon). The days were shorter and the nights cooler. The trees had begun to change, showing their brilliant hues of scarlet, yellow and brown. Winter was coming; not yet here, but ambling down the road towards us, anyway. I knew I had to do something with the Incredible Hulk out in front, but the landlady beat me to the punch. I went in to pay October’s rent and she backed me into a corner……
"“Say, when ya gonna get rid of that car?”"
Say, when ya gonna brush your teeth, lady...……yuck!
“"Ummm, real soon”."
"“Have it gone by this weekend or I’ll have it towed and give you the bill!”"
Zieg Heil, Mein Fuhrer.

I got right to work on it. I stripped that car like a coyote working a deer carcass. I took off everything…; doors, fenders, rear end, seats, headliner……. HEADLINER, for Pete’s sake! If it came off, I took it off. If it didn'’t, I tried. I snuck around back of the trailer and removed a handful of the 5/16 cap screws and peeled the yellow sheetmetal back like a rotten banana and stuffed all the large parts under the trailer, safe from Broom Hilda’'s prying eyes. The smaller stuff I boxed up and stacked in my room.
I rented a cherry picker and pulled the motor. I’'d found a storage unit nearby big enough to shoehorn it into and keep it out of the elements…. Heated storage, no less! One of the guys from school hauled it and the cherry picker down there and we stuffed it in there like a fat foot in a too-small shoe. Aside from the Mallory, everything else looked intact.
And the search went on……………..