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.
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.
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.