My first pickup, acquired when I was just 16, was a single-cab 1971 Chevy C10. It was old, it was loud, but it always ran, no matter what. My dad had kept it around for taking junk to the dump and hauling whatever was too dirty or smelly to be around his nice truck, so it had multiple colors of primer and paint; overall I’d say it was an orangish camo.
Despite the looks, the smell of unburned hydrocarbons mixed with burned oil that stuck to you after driving it, and the general weirdness, I loved it.
