I bought this Land Rover in Monson Maine. It belonged to an old guy named Erik who had just passed away. He exactly fit the definition of Norwegian bachelor farmer that Garrison Keillor talks about, except he was Finnish. The truck appears to have been up against every tree in Maine, but mechanically was nearly perfect and he had managed to make to wrinkled bodywork and the doors fit well. The frame had wooden plugged holes and he had religiously shot used oil into it every year, so the normal frame rot in these things had not happened. I followed his lead while I owned it. I plowed with it for years and the mechanical winch was a good one as I did things like haul dump trucks out of mud holes, and I never got too stuck. Think "The Gods Must Be Crazy". When I talked to a couple of long term residents of Monson about Erik they asked if I had found the bottle of whiskey he always had in the parcel tray.
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