Recycling

One of my first tasks, as a new resident in an unfamiliar part of the country, was to find all the self-serve auto wreckers in the area.  Back in Wisconsin, I had attained junkyard warrior status, pulling engines and transmissions in the dead of winter multiple times, completely stripping cars in one business day, and so forth.  Not only had I battled the elements and time, I had fought my greatest enemy:  rust.

Out on the dry Colorado plateau, rust is a laughable joke.  My Nissan is a "rusty" truck around here, with a few small holes in the bed sides.  Perhaps to a native to the southwest, it would be considered too rusty to salvage.  All I see are pristine cab corners, frame rails that still have spots of original paint, and the original 1984 exhaust.  I once had an old Toyota pickup, a Midwest native, that I loved dearly.  So much so, that I pop-riveted license plates all over the body, trying desperately to keep the old girl going.  I even ran an extension cord from my apartment to the parking lot to weld the cab back onto its mounts.  Desperate conditions call for drastic measures.

As I peruse the scrapyards along the front range, I marvel at the variety of vehicles available for me to dismantle.  Everything from Datsun Z cars to the humblest Bug is well represented.  In fact, I occasionally even come across something I can use, which was becoming difficult back home.  Today, I pulled the front valance and the gauge cluster from an '81 Datsun King Cab.  Only one fastener broke, all the others came out with ease.  I used to dream of life being so easy. . .

I really do love the idea of recycling car parts.  Too much gets thrown away (think whole vehicles) in our culture these days.  I like to think of myself as some sort of greasy, dirty eco-hero sometimes.  Mostly just greasy and dirty, I suppose.

-Jackson

The Nissan, near Horestooth reservoir.