Beach Bummer

Sometimes the worst vehicles create the best memories

A wiggle of the temperature gauge caught my eye as the SUV sauntered into the sand. Did I see it move, slightly, off the comfortable middle point it’s been sitting at for months? Or was that just an illusion, manifested by the paranoia that comes with putting your family into an untested rig with 248,000 miles on the clock?

As fate would have it, both scenarios were happening on my first-ever off-road expedition. But I was so hopped-up on the endorphins that accompanied this trip that I chose to ignore the telltale sign of an engine with an unhappy head gasket.

The vintage-SUV “lifestyle”

Let’s rewind a bit: I bought a 1997 Lexus LX450, otherwise known as an 80-Series Toyota Land Cruiser, with the solitary purpose of driving it on the beach during our annual family vacation to Martha’s Vineyard.

Its acquisition is a tale as old as time: My heart got ahead of me, and I bought it without so much as a cursory inspection. A local shop had supposedly maintained it, and the mechanic brokering the deal assured me it was right as rain. After performing a fair amount of deferred maintenance in the rush to prep it for its island sojourn, nothing of concern was uncovered beyond leaking steering components and weak A/C. Both were repaired, ensuring it wouldn’t drip in the driveway and my passengers would stay cool, key priorities for my better half and children.

The LX accommodated our gang of four comfortably and the A/C blew cold. Between the rear cargo bay and the Yakima box on the roof, all of our gear could be stowed. I had seemingly purchased a vehicle that would satisfy my urges as an enthusiast without neglecting my responsibilities as a father and husband.

However, when we got to the point of our journey that took us onto the sand (tires properly deflated and permit stickers adhered) I noticed a curious thing. The OBD-II scanner I had installed prior to leaving (removed from my now-departed VW Eurovan, which needed constant monitoring of the transmission fluid) seemed to indicate the engine temperature was increasing. However, I refused to accept that here, on the final lap, the Lexus was dropping the proverbial baton.

We were at the point of no return, and I chose to press on, convincing myself that any movement in the gauge was random at best. Thankfully, we made it on and off the beach without issue.

The rest of the island journey even went according to plan, including more adventures in the sand. My eyes were opened to another part of this lifestyle we call the car hobby: fishermen, photographers, outdoor enthusiasts, wildlife monitors, kids with impeccable tastes for summer jobs (like working for the Massachusetts Trustees of Reservations), and of course, property owners, all of whom, seemingly, found interesting and quirky SUVs as essential to daily life as having hydrangeas in front of their cottages.

There was a whole ’nother world of enthusiasts out here, and they weren’t necessarily buying these vehicles because they were gearheads or as potential investments, mind you, but because they simply needed to go places where the pavement ended. Toyota 4Runners, Land Rovers, Range Rovers, Jeep Wranglers of every generation, and the odd Toyota FJ40 are but a Whitman’s Sampler of the variety you see on the beach during the shoulder seasons when locals return to their tourist-free way of life.

It was transformative, and for the first time in my life, a truck (my LX450!) felt far cooler than any Porsche 911 or BMW M3, vehicles I had previously considered peak living as a car enthusiast. This was a good thing, too, because the trip home was anything but fun.

Soured purchase still produces lemonade

The abridged version of our return journey is this: That wiggling temperature gauge headed straight for the red zone while we were sitting in traffic on Route 95, requiring all of the unpleasantries that are required when trying to keep a vehicle from overheating. (My kids will talk about it in therapy one day, I’m sure.)

I was devastated. It was a perfect trip, seemingly undone by the very vehicle that enabled it in the first place.

Instead of making the smart decision and cutting my losses, I embarked on a massive rejuvenation program, beginning with a full engine tear-down and rebuild, and then followed suit with similar improvements to the suspension and bodywork. Needless to say, after I tallied up the bills, my love for this project diminished. I subsequently sold the Lexus to my uncle, who got a smoking deal.

While the experience may have soured me on that particular 4×4, it didn’t change my new perspective on the joy of four-wheel-drive culture. I still look back on the photos from our summer trip with great fondness. So, I am eagerly awaiting a return visit with a new truck, in the form of a 1989 Isuzu Trooper RS, a short-wheelbase rarity with just 56,000 miles on the clock.

We’re soon headed onto the sand at our favorite beach, in the same place my wife and I began our honeymoon over a decade ago. We’ll pack our cooler and load the cargo box, and the Trooper has already been sufficiently serviced. I’m confident we’ll once again find fun among the dunes mere feet from the Atlantic, like so many others with a charming old truck.