My first-ever pick up truck was a 1976 Dodge slant-6 Adventurer, pretty much the same as the one pictured above, right down to the colour--except it didn't have a truck cap attatched to the back, like the one shown. I bought it for a grand total of $350 cash, in 1989.
It had an engine that you couldn't hurt if you repeatedly whacked it with a sledge hammer, but, the tyres were going bald, the body was so rusted out, you could see the pavement through the holes in the floor, reverse had a tendency to stick--which meant getting out of the truck with a heavy-duty flat-head screwdriver and a hammer, opening up the hood (bonnet), jamming the flat edge of the screwdriver in-between the gears and giving the end of the screwdriver a good whack with the hammer. The "tailgate" of the truck was a canvas web stall guard that I got for $10 at a horse tack auction (a device that is latched across the open door of a horse's stall, to allow for better air circulation and easier access.).
The muffler went two weeks after I bought the truck, and running the truck without a muffler caused the insulation under the interior of the floor to catch fire--bringing out the local volunteer fire department...cause I burnt my thumb trying to pull the insulation out. (the truck was saved but the insulation was a bit toasty, and I had the less than fun job of replacing it myself....which considering that my only tools at the time, were a screwdriver, a hammer and a spanner, and didn't have a clue what I was doing, was no mean feat, let me tell you.
The passenger door had a habit of refusing to close, and neither the heater, gas (petrol) gauge, nor radio worked.
It had the name of the original owners stamped on the rear bumper-the last large commercial brewery left in Albany, NY--who sold "Schaffer Beer"--whose family lived in our town, and were very nice people. I still can sing their jingle: "Schaffer. Is the. One-beer-to-have, when-you're-having-more-than-one." 
God, I loved that truck! 
No, really. I'd really adored that truck. Not as much as the 1987 5-speed Ford Ranger that I bought in 1999, but yeah. Despite every thing, I really did love that truck...when I wasn't cursing it roundly, under my breath...and sometimes aloud...while kicking the tyres.
Owning that truck was a genuine adventure--the name of the truck suited it very well. Besides the fire, there were the times when I had to play a little game called, "guess how much gas you have!" One time, I literally rolled into a petrol station, just as the last of the gas ran out! How lucky was that? Just as the engine cut out, I rolled right up to the pump--with a big grin of relief on my face, of course.
Another time, mum and I signed on to do this HUGE outdoor flea market in a resort town called "Windham" in the Catskill Mountins--about a 2 hour drive from our home. Well, we were, as you Brits say, "on our uppers," due to a combination of a repair mum just had to her car, and of course business expenses. On that morning our total net worth being about--I kid you not--seven cents. But, a lot of well-heeled New Yorkers (what we upstate New Yorkers call people from New York City) were expected to be there shopping for "country" bargains, and we had pleanty of good stock we'd just purchased from an estate auction, on the cheap. By then I'd had the gas gauge replaced, and had half a tank of gas when we left at 6am Saturday morning. By 8am, we were crossing the Rip Van Winkle Bridge over the Hudson River, and my gas gauge read about an eighth of a tank. "Never mind, ma." I said cheerfuly, as she looked nervously at the reading, "we'll make it, can't be too much farther now."
Ha! Wanna' bet?
I'd mis-read the map. Not a good thing to do, when you're low on gas AND funds, is it? Turns out, Windham was about a 45 minute driver further along than I'd expected...we actually rolled into the town, basically riding on fumes--and praying that there'd be lots of sales (and no one expecting any change)..and, there was a petrol station just two doors away from the boot sale/flea market! AND, lots of eager buyers--I sold a box of collectible coffee mugs, before I even finished unloading the truck! Talk about two very happy--and relieved, people--mum and I would laugh about our "narrow escape" for years after.
RIP VAN WINKLE BRIDGE OVER HUDSON RIVER
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It pretty much was the fist time I'd ever driven a standard transmission--every car I'd driven at that point, being an automatic. Now, most people, you say "standard" transmission, they automatically think a clutch and five gears--at least, here in the USA.
And...a gear shifter that is a stick on the floor, in most cases marked, where the gears are....erm--not my truck. My truck was a rare 3-speed, shift on the steering column--basically on the same side as the turn signal. So, for three days, after I'd registered the truck and put on the plates, I drove around an industrial estate, across the road where we lived, learning to drive with a clutch...and trying to figure out where the gears were, and which gear was which, and where the hell reverse was, as well.
My first trip out alone, I drove mum to work, as once again, her little Escort was was at the garage. Coming back through the little town where she worked, there's this tiny little hill on the main street--just a slight, gradual slope, really, with a traffic light at the top. Well, I got caught out having to stop in traffic mid-hill. Mind you, in learning to drive 3-speed stanard with a clutch, I never thought to do any learning on a HILL.
Oh dear. Did moi have just a few wee problems keeping the truck from rolling backwards into the car behind me--AND, not stalling out? Oh yes.
Afraid I was yelling a bit like a mad woman, trying not to panic, when I tried to re-start my stalled truck..using the clutch and brake and the shifter, all at the same time...which until then, I'd never been called on to do before, in my whole life. that was NOT a fun experience!
Since then, driving any standard has become a piece of cake, from a 5-speed ranger, to an International dump truck. But, that first experience with "hill driving," that was a bit scary, I admit.
Still, I loved that old truck. I finally was forced to sell it because an electrical part on the firewall kept making the truck go dead, and no mechanic seemed able to fix it...despite the part being replaced four times, the truck would just go completely dead without warning. After being stranded for the 10th or 12th time, I finally had to admit defeat, and sell it.
THE BOTTOM OF THE INFAMOUS "HILL"
