Ramblin' Man

Not a picture of my actual car, but close enough.

I bought my first AMC product in Fort Collins in late ‘72. Paid $350 for a plain-Jane former Colorado state Classic 550 four door three speed. That was ten times what my ‘51 Chevy panel truck cost so I was moving on up in the world of automobiles, that’s for sure. I drove that car hard, and at times fast. It had the 287 cubic inch V-8 and would easily surpass 100 MPH. I know, because at times I would floor it and get 115 showing on the moderately accurate speedometer. Since I was driving open roads out west I never had an occasion to be clocked by actual radar, so I have no idea what that baby would top out at. Which is fine, as the speeding ticket would have been substantial.

I was to remain a Rambler man for many years thereafter.

I moved back east and that 550 slowly fell apart. The driveline developed an disturbing vibration that kicked in above 65 miles an hour - odd, disconcerting vibes that sounded like bad news from down in the boiler room on a steam ship. I took it to the local AMC dealer who diagnosed it as a failing constant velocity joint between the transmission and the driveshaft.

AMC in their infinite cheapness had stuck with a design that was either an Rzeppa or perhaps a double Cardan CV joint, which unlike the universal joints used by most modern vehicles, consisted of a single U-joint at the front of the driveshaft which was contained within a torque tube and a splined connection where the driveshaft connected to the differential. This design was used on Fords in the 1930s but even cheap-ass Henry Ford moved on from that antiquated design by the time of the Big War.

So, rather than just replacing an inexpensive U-joint I had to replace the entire driveshaft, which, luckily, the repair shop had lying around in their junkyard. But that gave me fair warning - that part was going to fail, eventually, and I would be smart to procure another one lest I have to buy a new one at a not-inconsiderable expense.

Which leads me to the meat of this story. At that time I worked with and hung around a hard drinking, hard partying crew of lumberjacks and carpenters. They were characters and when they got a snootfull of whatever intoxicants they were imbibing they were known to raise a bit of hell.

Out in the country, on a large farm owned by a local doctor, one guy rented a tumbledown log cabin. That was a popular spot for drinking and carrying on, and Larry, the renter, owned a Rambler not dissimilar to the one I drove.

I only heard this story, I was not a witness, but knowing the principals involved, it rings true. One afternoon Billy, Paul and Lindsey gathered at Larry’s place while he was not at home. His car was there, but he wasn’t.

After a suitable level of intoxication was attained by all present someone, specifically who is lost to the mists of time and foggy memory, decided that perhaps Larry’s Rambler would look better as a convertible.

Splitting mauls were produced and after some consideration, the sedan lost its roof. Right down to the tumblehome. The entire greenhouse was sliced clean off. Well, not really clean, as splitting mauls don’t produce a neat cut in sheet metal, but the A, B and C pillars and all of the glass were chopped off the body. They gazed upon their work and were pleased.

These cars had a notably blocky silhouette and cutting off the top changed the overall design from a three box design to a one box design, with a considerably lower profile than when it left the factory in Kenosha.

After mulling the esthetics of their work, one guy, and I am pretty sure I know who, thought “You know what, this thing would look even better as a pickup truck!”

So more hacking and whacking and what do you know - the back portion of the unibody car was now freed from its original location.

Pretty cool, they collectively thought. But as luck, and fate would have it, while removing the the rear portion of the car the gas tank was ruptured.

Gasoline now poured out freely, soaking the remains of the vehicle and the surrounding gravel driveway.

Hmm, thought our main protagonist, I know what would help. He lit his Swisher Sweet cigar and tossed the lit match into the puddle of petrol. Whoomp! Up it went in a flash!

The drinking continued in the light and heat of the conflagration and much jovality was enjoyed by all present.

Eventually, the fire died down, and once the hulk was cool enough, our crew flipped over the charred hulk, and it was now wheels up, shining in the darkening evening light.

Larry’s work day was over and he returned home. Hey, guys, what’s going on? Where’s my car, and what is that burned out pile of junk in the driveway?

That junk and your car are one and the same.

Needless to say, there were some harsh words exchanged, but after a few beers, everyone settled down and they all had a good laugh.

What does all of this have to do with my Ramblers? After learning about the tragic fate of Larry’s Rambler I hied my way over to his place with my toolbox, unbolted the rear axle, and extracted the driveshaft and CV joint for future use on my Rambler(s).

Of course, I dragged that assembly around for years, never used it, and eventually bought AMC products with modern drivetrains rendering those parts obsolete. But I did have the adventure of climbing up on a burned out wreck of a Rambler and I did salvage some parts that were undamaged in the fire. And I got a good story out of the deal.

And, as far as I know, some of the people involved are still with us. Not all, mind you, time does have a way of thinning the ranks of those who live life to the fullest.