The shell was still there, on Bucket of Blood Street, for the next four or five solar returns.

Which is how long it took me to figure out how to actually acquire it.

When cyber-research led me to realize that it was exactly and precisely made for a longbed Ford like mine, back thirty-odd years ago, I quickly abandoned the idea of cutting on it.

But–no chopping?–I could not figure out any way to get it home in one piece, and certainly not all by myself, which is how all things have to be done here and now.

It didn’t take very long to realize that the only answer was: the hardest way possible.

The rooftop tent would have to come off the rack.

So that the rack could come all the way off the truck.

Making room for the shell to sit exactly where it was supposed to these past three decades.

After trying and failing to invent another way, and then groaning about the obvious state of affairs for a couple of days off and on, I got down to it.

At length, some moments after sunset, there was a happy ending.

It is still very far from a completed project.

Among other things, the stray boys and I have no clue what to do with the rack now.

Or the tent for that matter.

And by the way: at the lower left in the cat n’ rack shot, you can see the back door to the shell, also free, and filthy, but mostly intact and modestly functional.

To which

I can relate