My ask at the time was fairly simple: chrome bumpers, bench seat, automatic transmission on the column. After a lifetime of stick shifts and bucket seats, it was time for a cruiser.
So I started looking around without a real destination. I’d know it when I saw it. It even got to the point where I was just surfing the local Craigslist by year: 1967, 1968, 1969….
I reached out to the seller and got the full story: It was her mom’s car and, sadly, both of her parents were no longer with us. Estate sale. She was in a hurry to sell, too, as the car was stored at her parent’s old house, and it was also on the market.
My wife and I made the drive over and found the car as described. But the seller was embarrassed: The hood wouldn’t open, and the engine wouldn’t start. Likely the battery had died. She had already called AAA.
I climbed beneath the front bumper and figured out how to manually pop the hood. Easy. Together we waited for the AAA driver. The new battery immediately brought the car back to life.
I took the wagon for a spin around the neighborhood and found it to drive like a dream. It was exactly what I needed: chrome bumpers, bench seat, automatic on the column. Relaxing.
Sold.
We enjoyed our years with the wagon, and it got more attention than I ever imagined. “No, sorry, no tail-gunner seat, but cool to hear that you shuttled your kids in one just like it–and, yes, of course you can check it out.”
But lately the wagon’s been sitting and, due to the fact that the garage is full and the wagon’s like 19 feet long, it’s been relegated to the driveway. And that hasn’t been good for it. I finally convinced myself that it was time to sell.
Bring a Trailer has served us well in the past, but I know that option also involves the vigilance of constantly defending your car to the rest of the group, and to be honest, I just didn’t have it in me. It’s been a year.
So we put it on eBay Motors. We sold our Civic Si that way six years ago, and it went smoothly.
After spending a full day cleaning the wagon, we did a full photo shoot–got lucky on the sunset lighting, too. That evening, I started assembling the listing. That’s when I realized that the Premium package only offers space for 24 photos. Now to whittle them down, and I fully admit that I posted the photos that revealed the blemishes: the rust, the known issues. It was a good car, but I wanted to be up front that it wasn’t a perfect car.
I launched the auction that Saturday night, and soon after got my first bid–pretty sure it was Jordan, who used to work for us.
And then came the spam:
“I’m interested & I’ll like to buy it asap & i will be sending a check from my bank to you via USPS delivery,reply me back with your name and address phone number to send the check out and will also arrange shipment through shipper after check clear in your bank & you have cash at hand..”
eBay flagged that one right away.
I got some more legit inquiries, too, and they all received a similar reply: Bid and let’s see what the auction brings. Soon after, we hit reserve. So, we’re really selling it–assuming all goes through.
Some background here: I’m bad at selling cars–not like I can’t do the process, but I’m more of a keeper. That Civic Si that we sold? We had owned it for 15 years. My Porsche’s been with us nearly a dozen years. In two weeks, I’ll celebrate 22 years with our Miata.
The wagon auction ended with a slight bidding war, and I’d call the hammer price fair. The next day I heard from the buyer: He’ll be by the following Saturday at 10 in the morning. He must be local to us, I thought. Maybe Orlando or Jacksonville.
That Saturday morning, just before 10 o’clock, he confirmed that he was nearby. He rolled in with a big truck and an even bigger trailer. The kicker: He had just driven 16 hours straight through from Ohio.
He quickly looked over the car. I can’t remember if he even popped the hood. We signed the paperwork, and he handed over a stack of crisp bills. He loaded up the car and headed out. I left for the bank.
And that was the entire process. By noon, I was back to my usual.
Am I sad to see it gone? Yeah, it was a cool car. But there’s something about no longer feeling guilty when it rains.
