Here’s Everything Wrong With The 200,000 Mile 1992 Jeep Comanche I’m About To Drive 850 Miles

Yesterday I wrote about my flight from LA to Boise to get my first glance at a 1992 Jeep Comanche that I bought sight unseen. It was a magical moment; the vehicle — at least at midnight in the motel parking lot — looked even better than I expected. But now that the sun is out, I get to see this “MJ” Jeep for what it is. Here’s a look at all the (obvious) problems with the 200,000 mile Jeep Comanche that I’ll be spending the next few days driving 850 miles back to LA.

Right away, I’ll say that this Comanche – one of only 952 sold for the 1992 model-year, and probably one of only 200 or so 1992 4.0-liter 4×4 manual long-beds ever built — is in exactly the condition that the seller claimed, which is to say: great!

To be sure, it’s still a bit of a beat-up old truck, with scratches and dings everywhere to the point where I think this thing could be a tough sell to those who aren’t “in the know” when it comes to the Comanche’s greatness. But I don’t mind a well-used truck, so long as it’s solid, and this thing is rock solid.

The Body Is Rock-Solid

First off, this MJ’s underbody is literally flawless. It looks like it just left the factory. Just look at this!:

As much as I’ve made a name for myself as a rust-cowboy, those days are over. Once a vehicle has started to rust, stopping it is a huge chore; given that I live in SoCal these days, I know that buying a solid truck means I’ll pretty much never have to worry about rust again. This Comanche should last forever.

To be sure, there is a little bit of rust on the top-side of the body in the form of bubbling paint. I plan to just sand all that down and paint over it; after that, it will not be a problem ever again.

There’s also a hole in the tailpipe where the hanger is supposed to be, but tailpipes rust pretty much everywhere, and it’s easy enough to replace.

The Paint Is Rough But I Don’t Care

Speaking of paint, the most obvious aesthetic blemishes are found on the horizontal surfaces that share the largest radiative “view factor” with the sun. The hood’s paint is super faded and the clear-coat basically doesn’t exist:

The roof, too, looks rough:

The sides of the truck look OK, but there is some missing clear coat on the right side, and scratches and chips abound.

The tailgate and really the entire bed are covered in paint gouges, as should be the case with any well-used pickup.

Overall, the paint is good enough for an old work truck. I may replace the hood at some point, and I’ll touch up the big scratches/rust spots, but then I’m just going to run it.

The Body Is ‘Straight’

Whereas a Michigander would refer to a rust-free body as a “clean body,” a largely dent-free body is known as a “straight body.” And this Comanche has one! There are some small dings here and there, but actually — for a 30 year-old truck — the thing looks really good. The biggest imperfection in any panel is near the right taillight, though it’s subtle:

The back of the cab has some dents at the back of the B-pillars right near that cab/bed gap; they’re a bit hard to see:

Especially considering how huge this Jeep’s rather flat panels are, it’s pretty amazing how few dings I see.

There Are Lots Of Leaks, And The Fluid Levels Are Low

One thing that I do not mess around with is fluids. The ramifications of neglecting fluids in a vehicle are so enormous relative to the modest price of new fluid that it’s silly to not religiously ensure you’ve got clean dino-juice in your transmission, transfer case, axles, and engine. So that was the first thing I checked before beginning my long journey back home, and what I found was leaks. Lots of them.

Jeep people often joke: “If it’s not leaking, there’s no fluid in it.” And that’s somewhat true given how prevalent leaks are in 4.0-liter powered, AMC-designed Jeeps. But I had to make sure this Jeep wouldn’t blow its gearboxes in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, so I undid all the drain plugs and found: pretty much everything was low.

I squeezed some GL5 into the front and rear diffs, some insanely-expensive Redline GL4 into the transmission, and some cheap ATF into the transfer case; after checking the oil, I felt a lot more comfortable pointing my Comanche south towards SoCal.

The Engine Runs Great, But There’s Oil In The Air Filter And It Only Starts With Throttle

 

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In addition to checking the oil levels, I usually check my air filters. Admittedly, I should change the fuel filter as well, but I’m too lazy and I don’t want to deal with gasoline smell all over my arms.

As you can see in the clip above, my air filter was covered in oil. This could mean one of two things: 1.  The engine’s piston rings aren’t sealing, and the pistons are basically pressurizing the crank case and shooting oil out of the vent tube into the air filter or 2. The rear crankcase vent tube is clogged.

Combustion gases that get past the rings creates crankcase pressure, which has to go somewhere, because the last thing you want is to blow out all your gaskets (oil pan, valve cover, rear main seal, etc. — I’ve had this happen). In the case of a 4.0-liter engine, clean air flows into the crankcase from the air intake (just above the air filter), into the valve cover, and then it’s sucked into the air intake via a tube at the back of the valve cover.

If the tube at the back of the valve cover is clogged, the air pressure in the crankcase forces vapors into the intake, resulting in that black oily-goo in my oil filter. I’ve cleaned out the rear tube and fitting-orifice atop the valve cover, and I’ve replaced my air filter, so hopefully those paper pleats remain clean from here on. I’ll have to check my oil level and the status of that filter after a few miles of driving to see if I have problematic piston ring wear or not; I seriously hope I don’t. Because this motor is otherwise running great.

OK, mostly great. It won’t start in the morning unless I put the pedal all the way down. Then it runs rough for a bit, and then it’s all good. I’m not concerned about it for now, but it will — over time — bother me. Maybe it’s an issue with my idle air control valve; we’ll see.

The Driver’s Door Doesn’t Shut Right

Driving the Comanche,  I was reminded of how a former Chrysler coworker once called the XJ Cherokee on which it’s based the “NVH Wonder Of The World.” This thing is a bit of a rattletrap and its sharp corners cleave through the air like a garden shed.

Still, this Comanche sounds especially loud, and I later found out the reason is that the driver’s door doesn’t quite shut all the way. In fact, you can see daylight through the huge door gap at the top. I have to figure out how to get this door to fit better; I’m worried the welds on the hinges may be the culprit.

The Interior Needs A bit Of Work

The Comanche’s cab is tiny and simple, featuring a bench seat, a dash, two door panels, a carpet, a basic three-spoke steering wheel and not a whole lot else. Pretty much all of it needs work. Here’s the steering wheel:

Here’s the dash:

Here’s the seat (well, part of it)

And the door panels…well, they’re fine. They’re vinyl, after all, so they are easy enough to keep clean:

Overall, This Thing Is Fantastic

The truck is rough around the edges. The cabin is fairly well worn, the bed is fairly well worn, the outside has scratches and dings and paint problems. And while that might make a modern economy car look janky, it doesn’t detract from an old Jeep pickup truck one bit.

Plus, from about 20 feet, the thing looks mint. It’ll look even better when I ditch that camper (I know this is controversial, but I want my trucks to look like trucks, not SUVs; plus, the cap makes the bed harder to use).