The Recurring Heartbreak of Buying Cars on Craigslist (2024)

Like anyone who’s into cars and considers himself an unheralded economic genius, I constantly peruse Craigslist for great deals. But I never actually buy anything, which means that I’m tormenting myself by adding to an ever-growing mental roster of missed opportunities.

The Moby-Dick of that catalog is a white ’90s Bronco that I snoozed on in 2012, with a 7.3-liter diesel and five-speed swap, advertised for $5,500. I hemmed and hawed for a day and decided to pull the trigger, but by then it was gone. A friend of mine said he saw it for sale again the other day—for $29,900.

So when I recently clicked on another Bronco that looked like a swell deal, I called the owner and told him to consider it sold. The Bronco in question, a green-and-tan 1996 Eddie Bauer, had the usual rust over the rear fender lips, but looked otherwise clean, with nice paint and low (for the year) mileage. Price: $3,200.

Granted, I already own a 1993 Bronco, because my original whiff on the white one sent me on an odyssey to build a similar version for myself. This one, then, would be a fun fix-and-flip project, and my experiences with my own truck led to a certain blasé attitude toward what should have been Beware All Ye Who Go Here warning signs. Like when the owner told me he doesn’t fill the gas tank all the way because it leaks, I said, “That’s probably just the filler neck. I replaced that on mine, too, after I realized I was pumping fuel all over my shoes.” Easy fix!

I set off on the 250-mile drive towing a trailer with my sister-in-law’s Yukon XL. Time to stop regretting things I didn’t do, and start regretting things I did! I thought about how smart I was to see the potential in an old plow truck—yes, this Bronco had a plow, the universal signifier of a beat-to-hell truck. But the guy was selling it because it doesn’t snow enough in Virginia. Which is kind of like if he said the Bronco was used as a chicken coop for a while, but then a raccoon killed all the chickens so it didn’t get filled with manure nearly as much as it would have if the farm lived up to expectations.

When I arrived at the seller’s house, I immediately noticed rust bubbling through the lower part of the Bronco’s rear fenders, the tan portion of the two-tone Eddie Bauer color scheme. In the Craigslist photos, you couldn’t perceive the difference between brown rust and tan paint. In person, it was obvious.

I opened the driver’s-side door and saw rust on the sills. Behind the shiny chrome front bumper, the mounts were almost completely gone. The tailgate wasn’t rusty, but the bodywork inside it was a twisted orange confusion of ragged metal. My enthusiasm was cratering even before I crawled under the truck, where it looked like the wreck of a Civil War blockade runner. This thing would require a lot of work. And whoever did it would need to be up on their tetanus shots.

What a confounding vehicle. From some angles, it looked beautiful. But from others, it was straight-up cash for clunkers. “I told you it was a plow truck,” said Bob. Yes, I know. But I didn’t want to listen.

I drove home with my trailer empty and my heart full of self-loathing. Along the way, I called my friend Keith to commiserate. When I told him of my fruitless boondoggle, he said, “Man, I can’t tell you how many times that’s happened to me. But hey, no risk, no reward.” I may or may not have repeated this sentiment to my wife shortly thereafter.

I’m now embarking on a self-imposed ban from amateur automotive price arbitrage. The only way to play this game is to buy an old car that you like, drive it, and enjoy it. Maybe someday you’ll sell it. And maybe you’ll make money. The only guarantee is that no matter who buys it, someone else will be out there, knowing for sure that they missed out on the deal of the century.

This article appeared in the June 2019 issue of Popular Mechanics. You can subscribe here.