Not looking - ish
How a simple trip to the beach ended up going a bit awry
This all started with an innocent trip to the beach with my fiancée, under no pretense of finding more cars. Perhaps we were discussing which pieces of driveway jewellery needed to be allocated to new owners, but that’s the extent of it. But when driving through the backroads of coastal South Carolina, you’d be hard pressed not to see classics tempting you from behind sheds and less-thanlevel trailer homes. Multiply those sightings by two when you aren’t looking for anything. It was then I spied something back in the woods with faded paint and loud graphics – a rare navy-blue 1980 AMC AMX! The reincarnation of American Motors’ flagship sports car in the late Seventies was a wellmeaning but poorly-executed exercise in malaise-era gaudiness-over-guts, but I had to check it out. Bright stickers and fender flares are my kryptonite, so I swung the Cruiser around and passed by. Repeat. Repeat again while I asked my lady to find a napkin and pen. In the parking lot of Morrison’s Burger Hut, I penned a note explaining I was an AMC fanatic and asked if the rolling Danzig concert was for sale. On my fourth pass, I dropped it in the battered mailbox.
The next day at work, my phone buzzed. ‘We’re interested in selling the AMX. Make offer.’ With my shirt padded with three hundred-dollar bills, the Ami and I raced back out to Hollywood, South Carolina.
Nick, the owner, and I started talking gardening to break the ice. After a brief tour of the grounds and some ice-breaking discussion about the four species of local bamboo, we stepped towards the beleaguered AMC.
Worth its salt
Upon seeing the car, I felt entirely conflicted. South Carolina’s caustic tropical salt air rots everything while the sun torches what’s left. The last inspection sticker showed the year 1995. The doors had been left open since Clinton was in office. In its 24 years of laying with its brake discs buried in sand, the rust was very well established. And so was the ecosystem thriving in the blue vinyl interior. But it was so period-correct and complete! Sensing my apprehension, Nick asked: ‘Why don’t you just take it?” He sent me home with a firm handshake – and three large clumps of bamboo hanging out of the Citroen’s sliding rear windows.
With truck, trailer, two hot cups of coffee and a breakfast hot dog we pulled into the driveway at the crack of dawn. Taking stock of the situation, all four brakes were locked up solid and frame was firmly in the dirt. After much
penetrating oil, beating, and prising, three of the four brakes were turning. Dropping the mossy hulk down on a set of vintage Crestline Mark II wheels with white walls was all the affirmation I needed that saving this car was the right move! With the AMX now on its feet, a quick yank with the Cruiser broke the last drum free and the mighty beast rolled for the first time in a quarter century.
Water way to go
Heeding service manual warnings to keep towing to 15mph and less than five miles with the propshaft in place, I went about unbolting it from the diff and securing it to the exhaust with bright pink duct tape. Without too much drama, the car was winched up on the tow dolly and we waved our goodbyes.
Since the morning was already spent doing weird things, the decision was made to stop in to a local farm specialising in goat yoga on a neighboring island. But then things suddenly got much less relaxing. It was my fault – I missed the entrance and continued down the remote gravel road. With nowhere to turn around, the Land Cruiser ended up with its nose butted up to brackish water. No problem, I’ll just back up. Well, the dolly wasn’t having it, jackknifing at each attempt. Sweating and looking back over my shoulder, a tow truck ominously crept up, waiting. After several failed backing attempts, I slowly walked over, tail between my legs. ‘I just figured you might want to know what’s going on over here,’ I tried to explain, my eyes on the .38 Special in the pocket of his overalls. ‘I’m glad you came over – the cops are on the way, but I’ll get my grandad to call ‘em off. We live here and last weekend, two guys lit a Chevy pickup on fire and rolled it into the marsh… happens a lot.’ After a quick introduction, it was established that the man’s name is Chance and he’s a fellow vintage BMW buff. We became buds quick and he snatched the AMX off the dolly. I popped the Cruiser in low range and whipped the truck and trailer around in the mud. Now loaded up and in the other direction, we parted ways. Finally back at the house, I started crawling around the mess I’d dragged home. This is going to be a massive project! But my outlay is minimal and it’s absolutely worth saving this bit of history.