Some people inherit money. Others inherit land. I inherited a love for classic cars.
That passion was passed down to me from my grandfather and father, long before I ever understood what a carburetor was or why chrome bumpers looked better than plastic ones. My grandfather was one of the first young men to drive a car in Aberdeen, Eastern Cape, back in the early 1940s. To me, that always sounded like something out of a history book, yet for him it was simply life.
Every year during my childhood, when my parents took their annual leave, we would make the long trip to visit him. Those visits were the highlight of my year. Not because of the holiday itself—but because I knew there would always be something special waiting in his driveway. My grandfather was constantly restoring old vehicles, and every trip revealed a new surprise. One year it might be a vintage sedan, the next an old bakkie brought back from the brink. Those memories planted a seed in me that never stopped growing.
By the early 1990s I was already dreaming of owning a classic car of my own. I imagined weekend drives, turning wrenches in the garage, and maybe one day passing the same passion down to my own kids. But as life often does, reality stepped in. Marriage, children, responsibilities, school fees, and everyday commitments slowly pushed the dream onto the back burner.
Still, it never disappeared.
Years later, with the kids grown and life a little more settled, that old itch returned—stronger than ever. Social media was suddenly full of beautifully restored classics. TV shows showcased incredible builds from around the world. I found myself drawn to all of it, but one style spoke to me above everything else: old-school American trucks.
There was something honest and tough about them. No fancy electronics, no unnecessary frills—just steel, style, and character.
So in 2017, I decided it was time. The hunt officially began.
For months I searched classifieds, online forums, and local car groups. I looked at rough projects, overpriced restorations, and everything in between. Then one day I found her—a 1958 Chevy Apache cab and chassis. She wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t complete. But she had potential. More importantly, she had soul.
That was the day the real journey started.
What followed was not a quick weekend project or an easy bolt-together build. It turned into a seven-year marathon filled with lessons, setbacks, frustrations, and more than a few grey hairs. The truck passed through the hands of three different builders, each promising progress, each bringing new challenges. There were times when parts went missing, deadlines weren’t met, and budgets were blown.
At more than one point I questioned my sanity.
The toughest period came during COVID. With the world in chaos and everything uncertain, the unfinished Apache sat quietly, almost mocking me. My wife and I had serious conversations about cutting our losses and selling the project as it stood. After years of spending money with little to show for it, giving up felt like the logical option.
But passion rarely listens to logic.
We decided to push on.
The turning point came when the truck finally landed at Frankenstein Customs in Cape Town. Meeting Dirk Maree, the owner, gave me renewed hope. From the first conversation I could tell he understood these trucks. He had already completed several Apache builds and knew exactly what it would take to bring mine to life. His confidence, knowledge, and attention to detail were exactly what the project needed.
From that moment, things finally started moving in the right direction.
The build became a blend of international and local expertise. Most of the hard-to-find parts were sourced from LMC Trucks in the United States, while Jayce Classic Spares and Motown American Auto Parts helped supply what we needed here in South Africa. Piece by piece, the puzzle started coming together.
For the suspension, I went the classic hot-rod route. I bought a second-hand Jaguar XJ6 purely for its front and rear suspension setup. Every bushing, bearing, and moving part was stripped, refurbished, or replaced to ensure the truck rode as good as it would look.
Under the hood, the Apache received a modern heart: a Chevy 5.3L LM7 V8 paired with a reliable 4L60E automatic transmission, supplied by Rocket 88. It was the perfect combination—modern performance and dependability wrapped in timeless 1950s sheet metal.
And then came the paint.
If there is one element that truly defines this truck, it’s the color. Nelson from MadLab Paints created a custom candy blue that absolutely transforms the Apache. In the sun it glows. In the shade it deepens. Wherever it goes, it turns heads and starts conversations.
The final touches were handled by Dirk and his talented team. Inside, Mike—Frankenstein Customs’ in-house artisan—crafted a full leather interior that feels as luxurious as any modern vehicle while still respecting the truck’s classic roots.
After seven long years, countless invoices, late nights, and emotional ups and downs, the day finally came when I could stand back and see the finished product.
My 1958 Chevy Apache. Complete. Running. Alive.
Looking back now, I realize this journey was never just about building a truck. It was about perseverance. About refusing to quit even when quitting made sense. It was about the bond between my wife and me as we navigated the highs and lows together—sometimes laughing, sometimes arguing, always dreaming.
Today, when I open the garage and see that candy blue Apache gleaming in the light, I’m reminded that some things in life are worth the wait.
They say a classic car is never truly finished.
After seven years with mine, I couldn’t agree more.
