The Mustang

Here it is. The 1965 Mustang. Restoring an old car came about in a roundabout way. My wife's (well, technically at the time girlfriend) grandfather had a bunch of Mustangs stashed away out in a barn in mid-Michigan. Six of them, various years, various stages of condition. I had actually never seen them.

At one point, her brother, now my BIL, bought one, another '65, which left five. When he died, I wasn't aware of what was happening, but they were offered up first to the kids. My wife's uncle took a '67 fastback, but there were no takers on the others, so they were offered up to the grandkids. Coincidentally, there are four grandkids, so they each got one. We got the last one. The runt. My wife wasn't sure, but I was nudging her along and said at worst we turn around and sell it. One simply does not turn down a free '65 Mustang, even when one knows very little about how to fix it.

But I have learned. A lot. Fortunately, my brother-in-law is there to help immensely, and my father-in-law runs an import car business with a full garage. Handy, that.

Anyway, after years of fits and stops and starts, this summer I put forth a big push to just get it done. This photo shows the body loaded on a trailer to haul to a body shop, where it will get some new quarters and fenders and probably doors, along with various other bits and pieces of new metal and patches to get rid of the rust. Especially in the cowling. They don't call them Rustangs for nothing. I had new floors put in last year.

Meanwhile, the engine - a good 'ol Ford straight six - is in my garage. I've stripped it down as far as I can go, and am waiting additional expertise to finish it. Then it's off to the machine shop for some boring, etc. And somehow I think I can get this all back together by next summer. We'll see.