1993 Toyota Land Cruiser DJ81

Additional Info:

You looking for an SUV?
You looking for a project?
You looking for a vehicle engineered to survive the collapse of modern civilization?
Well, have I got some shit for you.
The 1993 Toyota Land Cruiser.
I bought this thing about seven years ago as a project car. And, since, I have put a whopping five miles on it.
I’m finally ready to admit something to myself:
I’m not finishing it.
I’m tired of moving it. I’m tired of looking at it. And I’m tired of fixing it. This Land Cruiser deserves an owner who will actually drive it instead of periodically relocating it from one parking spot to another.
Let’s talk features.
Bluetooth: Absolutely not. But the good news is, they make aftermarket radios for exactly that.
Backup camera: Nope. But it has a giant rear window that you can look through.
Third-row seating: YES. Bring the whole family. Bring their friends. Bring people you don’t even like.
Radio: Works. It also has a CD & cassette player. Does that work? I have no idea. I don’t own any CD’s.
Heat: Works.
A/C: No. The compressor is seized. If you don’t know what “seized” means, it means it doesn’t work.
Sunroof: I’m scared to open it, but I think it works.
4x4: Works. Yeah you read that right, IT WORKS.
Brakes: Work. Which, historically speaking, is a very desirable feature in an automobile.
Windows: Most of them work. Right rear passenger window recently stopped participating in that sort of thing. But everyone else gets fresh air.
Hood: Will open, and it stays up on most days. Really depends on the moon. It could definitely use new hood shocks
Tires?
They hold air. But notice I didn’t say they’re good.
They could use replacement. One tire is new, though, so you’re already 20% of the way there.
It has an OEM spare rim, recently media blasted and primered. Ready for paint.
Engine?
It runs. (it’s a Toyota btw) and it purrs like a kitten.
It also burns oil.
Check the oil. Add oil. Drive Land Cruiser. Repeat as necessary.
I have somewhat maintained it during my ownership under the maintenance philosophy of:
If something broke, I fixed it.
Was there a spreadsheet?
No.
Did I generally fix things when they stopped doing the thing they were supposed to do?
Yes.
And before you do the math on “five miles in seven years” and assume the gas in the tank is old enough to attend elementary school:
No.
It has always had fresh gas in it. I never let the fuel sit around long enough to go stale.
In the seven years of owning it, I’ve changed the oil on the car 3 times, because I felt bad for it — not for the car, I felt bad for the oil.
Mileage?
Approximately 225,500 miles.
Which sounds like a lot until you remember we’re talking about a Toyota Land Cruiser.
At this point, it’s less of an odometer and more of a résumé.
I’ve personally contributed approximately five of those miles.
Storage history:
It has been stored indoors.
It has also been stored outdoors.
It’s safe to say it’s familiar with weather.
At this point I don’t want to watch it sit anymore. These things were built to go places, climb things, get dirty and probably participate in activities that would make a modern crossover’s check-engine light come on from anxiety.
I want it to go to somebody who’s actually going to finish the project.
Let’s get something crystal clear:
This car will to outlive you. It will outlive your children.
If it had a voice, it would complain about how much better cars used to be.
This thing remembers when gas was under $1.25/gallon.
This isn’t a new car.
This isn’t a restored Land Cruiser.
It’s an old Toyota. It needs work.
It burns oil.
The A/C doesn’t work.
One window has unionized.
The tires aren’t exactly Michelin’s latest and greatest.
But it runs, stops, has heat, has three rows of seats, and — most importantly —
ITS A TOYOTA
I’m done pretending I’m going to finish it.
You do it.
You don’t need this car. You want this car, and more importantly, my wife wants it gone.
The 1993 Toyota Land Cruiser.