Dad stood in his driveway in Savannah with the keys in his palm, bounced them twice and handed them to a young man in work boots. "Third gear's a little notchy when it's cold," he said. "Don't force it." Then he went inside to count the cash again at the kitchen table, which I'm told he did three times.
That was Saturday, May 9. Dad sold his 1998 Ford Ranger for $2,450. He's 75 now, his left knee has opinions about a clutch, and he'd mostly been driving his car for a year while the Ranger sat. He asked me to help him sell it "without some dealer laughing at me." Here's how it went.
Getting it ready
The truck is a regular cab with the 2.5 four-cylinder and the 5-speed, white, about 168,000 miles. Dad bought it in 2003 and has the receipts for basically everything since then in a coffee can, which turned out to be the best thing about it.
We spent one Saturday getting it presentable. Nothing mechanical, just cleaning:
- Washed and vacuumed it, cleaned the windows inside and out
- Pulled forty years of lineman habits out of the bed and the cab: a coil of rope, two come-alongs, a box of fuses for a truck he doesn't own anymore
- Topped off the fluids and checked tire pressure
- Replaced a dead dome light bulb ($4) and a cracked wiper blade ($11)
- Found the title. This took an hour. It was in a filing cabinet labeled "Insurance."
Total cost of getting it ready: $15, plus a lunch for me that Dad insisted on paying for.
The listing
I took twelve photos in good afternoon light: all four corners, the interior, the dash with the odometer showing, the bed, under the hood, and the rust. Every old truck has rust somewhere, and showing it in the photos saves a phone call. Then I wrote a short, plain listing:
Year, model, engine, transmission, mileage. "One owner since 2003. Runs and drives. Receipts available. Some rust on the rear wheel wells. Clean title in hand. $2,900 or reasonable offer. Cash only. Serious inquiries."
I checked what similar Rangers were listed for within 100 miles. Clean 5-speed four-cylinder trucks from the late nineties with high miles were asking $2,500 to $3,500, and small manual trucks have a following. We started at $2,900 to leave room.
The listing went up on a Tuesday evening. By Saturday we'd had nine messages:
Three asked "Is this still available?" and then disappeared after I said yes. Two offered to trade something: a four-wheeler and, once, a boat with no trailer. One wanted Dad to ship the truck to another state and send a code. That's a scam and I deleted it. One offered $1,500 sight unseen. One asked good questions about the clutch and the frame, then bought something closer to home. And one, the young man in the work boots, asked about the timing, the frame and whether the receipts were real, and asked if he could come Saturday with a friend who knows Fords.
He drove it, looked underneath with a flashlight, checked the frame and the fluids, and offered $2,300 in cash. Dad said $2,600. They settled on $2,450 standing next to the tailgate. Dad liked him. I think he liked that the kid asked about the coffee can.
The paperwork
In Missouri, the seller signs the title over to the buyer and fills in the sale date, price and odometer reading. We wrote a simple bill of sale, two copies, both signed. Dad took his plates off the truck; the plates stay with the seller here. Then Dad filed a notice of sale with the state so the truck was officially out of his name, and called his insurance agent to drop it from his policy. The buyer has his 30 days to title it on his end.
Dad counted the cash in front of the buyer, which was polite, and then again later, which was Dad. He didn't take any payment app, no checks, nothing he'd have to trust. Cash in hand, keys in hand, same moment.
Afterward he sat in his lawn chair in the empty spot on the driveway and said, "Huh." That was the whole speech. Twenty-three years with that truck. Then he asked me to help him find a place for the come-alongs.