The previous part of this story can be found here, but if you’re just joining us the beginning is all the way back here if you’d like to catch up.
Alright, now for the sucky part.
There was something appealing to me about owning one of the first XJ Cherokees every made as well as one of the last. The fact that they were the same color was a bonus. My plan was to someday get the other Jeep back into health so that we could have a his and hers fleet, but for now we were having too much fun in the new car to bother much with the old. Add to that the hurdles of wrenching in an apartment complex parking lot and my basic grease monkey knowledge of car repair and the '84 just sat and sat.
We eventually moved to a rental house in the city with a back alley parking space I could stick the '84 in, while parking the '01 on the street in front of the house. I was to quickly find that city life (and city people) was not for me. And it would cost me my first Jeep.
Some neighbor must have called the city to report my “junk car” sitting back in our alleyway parking spot, for I received a letter demanding that I either pay them some ridiculous fine or dispose of the vehicle. I could understand the intent of such an ordinance, but it wasn’t as if my car was on cinder blocks with a tree growing up through the trunk. Grrr…anyways, long story short I could not afford the fine or queer registration category it would have taken for me to legally keep the car and had to make the decision to send it off.
To this day I refuse to live within the city limits, nor under the thumb of any home owner’s association. I still get riled up just thinking about it now. Meddlesome people, in whatever flavor they come in, may take it upon themselves to stick their obtrusive heads up their own asses.
As for me, lesson learned the hard way. 'Tis the gearhead project.