At one time, this ’46 International K-series one-ton served an Arizona fire department. Now it’s a rusting windrow to the snows that whistle out of the White Mountains.
Alpine, Ariz., 1,608 miles west of Atlanta.
No. 137: No Fire in These Cylinders
It Was Running When I Parked It
Beneath the pines and entangled in kudzu they lie — old cars, old trucks, erstwhile haulers of family and produce. Forgotten but not gone.
It Was Running When I Parked It 