[BanjoDude]

Thanks for the well-wishes, guys. I suspect there are thousands of stories out there like this. In case anyone is interested, here is the more complete backstory on this one:

There are good days, and then there are epic days. Monday was an epic day.

My Grandpa was an incredible human being in so many ways. Imperfect as any of us, but incredible. He probably should have been an engineer of some variety, and perhaps would have, had he had the opportunity. He lost his dad to suicide as an early teen – the toll of the Great Depression - and he went straight to work as an auto mechanic to help provide for the family. He worked in that same shop for more than 59 years, and was honored by the state when he retired for running the longest continually-operating inspection station in PA history. During that time, my kid brother and I spent countless hours with he and Grandma – sweeping the shop, organizing inventory, playing with the old NCR cash register, pretending to check out imaginary customers, fishing, riding bikes and scooters around the paved drive, gardening, begging for quarters to buy a soda from the old Coke machine out front, pulling the rope on the old train whistle that stood tall above his shop so we could hear it scream, and any time he could take the time, learning how cars worked by watching him diagnose and fix anything that hit his door. His mind was a thing of wonder to me – it seemed like he knew everything there was to know about fixing anything.

He was a tough man in many ways with a binary sense of right and wrong, and his concern for doing things the right way was often misinterpreted as stubbornness – harshness, even. He could see solutions to problems instinctively, and found a way to use anything that had value – absolutely nothing went to waste.

Grandpa wasn’t the type to prize possessions, per se, but I think the pickup truck he bought nearly new in 1970 was his favorite thing. I rode for what is surely thousands of miles behind that old red dash – trips to Napa in Greencastle to pick up parts, house calls when a truck wouldn’t start, daily trips to the Shady Grove Post Office and often, a ride to Klein’s grocery to pick up a few things. Lots more time was spent in the bed with my younger brother, on our way to a pond to fish for bluegill and sunnies, or pulling the boat to Chincoteague to fish for puffers, sea bass and flounder. He didn’t have a lot of material things, but kept everything he owned in tip-top condition.

In October of 1997 I watched, heartbroken, as he sold his truck. I wanted it so badly, but it sold for $3,000 when I didn't have $500.

I have regretted that day since, and have repeatedly told my wife that if it ever came up for sale again, I would not let it get away a second time.

After 25 years of dreaming and a whirlwind trip to Pennsylvania with my brother and oldest son, it's now back in the Gipe family to stay. As it turns out, the man who bought it in 1997 has owned it this entire time - and has treated it with the same care as Grandpa. It looks and drives like a new one - and it still smells like my childhood the moment you open the door.