The Circle of Bronco

Broncos come and they go. Or, as the philosophers say, when one Eddie Bauer door closes, another Black Diamond door opens.

- EZRA DYER

I sold my Bronco. I'm sorry I didn't let you know, but vehicles of this caliber rarely change hands in public. Frankly, the idea of the unwashed masses slobbering over such a singular machine at Pebble or Amelia fills me with revulsion. So I sold it to my friend Dave. The transaction price remains undisclosed, but it was a sum characterized by Dave's wife as "way too much" and by mine as "Didn't you spend more than that?"

Dave lives in Massachusetts, and he planned to fly to North Carolina and drive home. So the week ahead of the sale, I fixed things I'd want to fix before attempting an 800mile drive in a 1993 Ford Bronco with the wrong engine. Annoyingly, most of it was easy and made me mad that I didn't do it on my own behalf. The leaky transmission drain plug just needed tightening. Replacing the tailgate window motor was more involved, but not the finger-removing ordeal I'd built it up to be. Completion of that job allowed me to reinstall the hard top and have a lockable, (reasonably) dry interior.