I turn the ignition, pump the clutch until it’s firm, then — after two attempts and spewing gravel — spin backwards uphill until I reach a flat piece of ground above the house. I shift out of reverse and cautiously into first, then in the rain wind my way along the muddy driveway to the intersection where S waits to follow me. I use my hand to clear the fog from the windshield, realizing for the first time I have no idea how to work the heat in this old truck. In fact, I hope there is heat.
Accompanied by the whop, whop, whop of tiny wipers, the putter of the engine and a duet of rattling windows, I shift my way to the repair shop on Crescent Beach. The smell of gasoline and engine grease permeates the cab and probably now my clothes. I am thankful the island is small, the speed limit is minimal and I once owned a Datsun 510, which has given me the confidence to make a 30-minute drive in a truck with a bum clutch and poor brakes.
I think it’s still too early to say that buying a 1971 Datsun pickup was a bad decision. But I suppose its open for discussion. Why would two women without repair skills and limited financial resources buy an old truck they couldn’t fix themselves?
For reasons somewhere between utility, nostalgia and island character, I took a leap of faith, wrote a check for $750 and bought “Dotty” from an islander.
UTILITY
One of the main reasons S and I moved to Orcas was to work on our own property. We wanted to clear brush and downed trees from two acres of forested area and build a small studio shed there. We agreed a truck will help us more easily move brush to burn piles and haul lumber and building supplies. We figured we could always sell the old truck once the work is done.
Before we bought it, however, I asked the owner to drive it to the top of our property. The driveway to the top is good but begins steeply and has a switchback 300 feet from the entrance. I needed to be sure the Datsun could make it.
Over the nine years we’ve owned the property, we’ve never had trouble getting to the top. Any front- or 4-wheel drive vehicle can manage it; even the Mazda Miata makes it with some initial oomph. But I suspected it could be a problem for an older 4-cylinder vehicle; there isn’t a lot of room to build initial speed. A four-speed, 1971 Datsun pickup would need some initial speed.
It took some effort, a bit of spinning, (and frazzled the owner considerably,) but he drove all the way to the top. We both agreed that with added weight in the bed and my own experience with the driveway, the old Datsun would make it again more easily in the future.
NOSTALGIA
When I went away to college in my junior year, my parents bought me a four-door 1971 Datsun 510. It was well-used and hideous orange, but it never failed to get me home safely time and time again. After graduation, I drove that car from the Midwest to New York City, to Dallas and over a dozen road trips in-between. My father and friends repaired it many times – including the clutch. Eventually, I gave it back to my father who continued to use it several more years.
This pickup reminds me of simpler times, of my father and college friends and the promise of new beginnings.
ISLAND CHARACTER
The San Juan Islands certainly have their share of colorful characters who drive hand-painted VW buses and old Volvos. But there are just as many islanders who drive new Subarus and Hondas.
Still, there’s something distinctive about old things here. The fact is islanders are by nature practical and resourceful — maybe because they have to be. They seem to know how to make things work — or maybe just work longer.The powder-blue 1971 Datsun pickup is the epitome of this reuse-repair-recycle philosophy and island culture. At 40 years of age, Dotty certainly has some wear, but she still turns heads. And she characterizes what I’m trying to achieve now in my own life here, which is to live simply, take only what I need.
I SIGN THE REPAIR RECEIPT FOR THE CLUTCH, LOAD TWO 50 lb. bags of sand into the bed and — followed again by S — head for the property. At the entrance, I shift into first and gun the engine, hitting the first two curves easily, spinning out on the third. I back carefully down again, stalling the engine. I can see S watching me from the car. I get out, reposition the sandbags, start the truck and try again.
“Come on Dotty,” I say encouragingly. “We can do this.” But I’m wrong. Despite two attempts and the added weight, Dotty can’t be pushed beyond the first switchback.
I look down the hill at S — who has now what I would call a look of disgust on her face. I shake my head. “I can’t do it,” I say.” I drive Dotty back to Codfish Lane.
Better tires? More weight? Grade support? I don’t know yet how I’ll do it, but I believe I will do it. If island living makes you more resourceful, perhaps too it makes you more confident, certainly more instinctive.
Here I have the feeling that anything is possible – even if isn’t possible today. Everything moves in island time.
© 2010 Susan Anderson and “Away here.” Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author is strictly prohibited. Photos © Orcas Island Photos.
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