Buying a project car is a life choice that reveals a lot about your character — and of the car you’re restoring to health. Like a stray animal at a gas station living off Snickers bars, you either help the poor creature and give it a better life, or finish pumping your gas and drive away. My stray came in the form of a brown, worn-out object from Facebook Marketplace. No, I’m not talking about Snickers bars, though the car was a similar shade of brown.
In June of 2023 while browsing for parts for my Volvo XC90 V8, I stumbled on a listing. Photos showed a 2001 Volvo V70XC—a brick on wheels, nothing too extraordinary. What caught my attention were the rare OEM Volvo off-road lights and light bar on the front. The chance to have such rare parts made my heart race. I had foolishly sold my previous set and was determined to find another, though I didn’t require them for dark winter months like in Sweden, where hitting a moose at speed can be fatal. My goal was to convince the seller, Patrick, to sell the lights separately. But curiosity got me, and I clicked through the rest of the photos.
The wagon was very brown, and it had clearly seen better days. From the pictures, it looked like it had been sitting under a pine tree for years, covered in pine needles, acorns, dirt streaks, and sap. “$1,500 Volvo V70XC. Need gone.” I messaged Patrick, asking if he’d sell the lights à la carte, prepared to make a good deal. Sadly, he wouldn’t sell them separately, saying they came with the car. Hoping he’d change his mind if I showed more interest in the car, I volleyed further questions. I learned the wagon had been parked for over a year after exhibiting transmission issues — specifically, the dreaded 1-2 and 4-3 shift flares that plague older Volvo AW-55 transmissions.
If you’re into Volvos, you know this is a common problem. A fix was created in 2003, but this 2001 likely did not benefit from that. Knowing this, and the flack I’d be getting from the Volvo community for buying “the worst year of the V70XC,” I left the wagon on my Marketplace watchlist. I was disappointed and not thinking much of it, but unable to forget it.Then, something shifted – and arguably shifted much better than what that Volvo transmission was managing. A safe, practical brown station wagon just a short drive away? Every automotive writer’s dream! This was arguably the best Volvo era with classic 5-cylinder engines, understated styling, and European solidity.
My logic said I already have one Volvo, but why not add another to the family? The Nordic Gods were eavesdropping because shortly thereafter, the listing price fell to a lowly $1,000 – though a running joke amongst Volvo enthusiasts is that all Volvos are worth $500. Anxious that some wretched right-turn-signaling left-turning man wearing a trilby (see Top Gear’s Volvo S60R review) would get there first, I made the 2-hour drive to Boone, North Carolina, ready to scrutinize every inch of the car. Surely this was just a curiosity, not a commitment, right?
I’ve purchased a few used motorcycles and an old Beetle so I knew what to look for in older vehicles that aren’t my first of kin. The wagon greeted me in all its Java Brown Metallic glory – though, thanks to the layer of pine needles and dirt, it looked more earthen. Beneath the grime, the paint was solid with no fading. All four tires were Blizzaks, fitting for a Swedish Tank, and the 23-year-old glass headlights looked brand new. The doors closed with solid thuds, though the hood sounded like an elk when opened. The underside reflected the car’s sedentary lifestyle with cobwebs and dirt, but there was no excessive rust, nor signs of an animal chewing through wires.
Curiously, some of Patrick’s repairs were less than professional, with the sunroof and windshield cowl sealed with silicone. However, the real damage was inside. The beige leather seats in the front were rough, with the driver’s seat looking like a tattered armchair in a village tavern. The rear door cards were scratched, thanks to Patrick’s dogs, and the center armrest was completely obliterated. This interior was going to need love, but it wasn’t disgusting or beyond repair.
The car belched black smoke from the exhaust on startup, but the 5-cylinder burble was intoxicating. More elk noises from the hood opening revealed a mess of wires tangled together around a tired engine. Blue DO88 Performance hoses adorned the engine bay, a promising sign. A performance intake pipe from the highly sought-after V70R gave the car some street cred, but the quarter-million-mile engine was leaking oil from every gasket and seal, bleeding out like the victims of a bloody Viking invasion. Clearly, this car had been under siege, and left to die slowly.
After the inspection, I told Patrick I’d think it over. My mind was swimming with “what ifs.” The drive home made my back ache and road noise buzzed in my ears. The only thing I could focus on was that wagon. Should I really take this on? Could I get it running well again? Would it be worth it? A few days later, I had my answer. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and knew I was set on purchasing the wagon. It wasn’t the most expensive thing I’d ever bought, but it was certainly the largest. The idea of owning a station wagon, especially one in such a unique color, was exciting.
Recruiting my boyfriend, I rented a Nissan Armada with a trailer brake controller, and we set off with his 18’ car hauler and $1,000 cash. Patrick’s wife met us in a church parking lot, a beautiful location with a river. We spoke for the better part of an hour while their dogs – the destructive wagon culprits – splashed in the water.
Patrick soon arrived, part driving and part coasting the wagon down the hill from his house. It ran just long enough to drive onto the trailer, leaking a substantial amount of oil on both the road and trailer. I knew this would be a long-term project, but I was ready for it… I think? The entire drive home, I kept pinching myself and looking in the rearview mirror to convince myself that I had just bought a project car. My wallet was a little emptier, but I had a smile a mile wide.
I’d love to tell you the wagon ran perfectly after minor repairs, but that would be a lie as big as sagas of Nordic lore. The reality is more complex, but far more rewarding. Buying this car has taught me so much—about patience, perseverance, and the importance of stepping away when things get frustrating. The journey to restore this V70XC hasn’t been easy.
There have been times where things broke, leaked, snapped, or didn’t fit, all of which made me frequently revisit my decision. But that’s part of the beauty of a project. It’s a process, and like many worthwhile things in life, it takes time, effort, and a lot of patience. Over one year has passed since bringing this wagon home. While it’s approaching completion, there is more to share on how this Viking ship is being turned from a sinker into a swimmer.
