This Datsun NL 320 Lives On Thanks to 3D Printing and Elbow Grease
I was working my way through rows of gleaming exotics and pristine collectibles at a Saturday morning cars and coffee gathering when I noticed a wee little truck peeking out from a parking spot in the alley behind the venue. With time-worn paint and a faded logo on the door, the vehicle—later identified as a ’64 Datsun NL 320 mini truck—was like the shy kid in the choir, hiding in the back row but hoping to be part of the show. I had to learn more.
The somewhat rare mini truck, a survivor of a once-popular breed that has all but disappeared from our streets, belongs to 31-year-old Zac Watts. The faded logo on its doors is that of his company. Known as IPF, his business specializes in the reverse engineering of unavailable stuff and the prototyping of new stuff. Before founding IPF, Watts worked as an engineer at Pratt & Miller and General Motors. He’s done quite a bit in his brief time on the planet.
Watts told me he was working at home during the pandemic and bought a 3D printer so he could make some parts for friends who were unable to buy replacements for orphaned Holden-built Pontiacs and Chevies. The pandemic side hustle grew, word spread and desperate car owners in need of out-of-production parts started showing up at his door. Among those was Bret Scott, who needed a wheel for an old Cadillac. Watts 3D-printed a plastic wheel that could be used for a fitting test. As car folk are prone to do, they got to talking about cars. Watts said he had been looking for a mini truck that could serve as a light duty parts chaser and daily driver. Scott said he had a ’64 Datsun NL320. Though it didn’t sell in big numbers, the NL320 had been a favorite of farmers in Australia and the U.S.
“It had spent years abandoned in a farmer’s field and was in a state of despair,” said Watts. It had no windshield or interior and was sitting wheelless on blocks. But it was a cool little truck with only a moderate amount of deep rust, primarily on one section of floorboard. A deal was made and Watts returned with a rented trailer, only to discover that the mini truck’s miniature track width didn’t match up with the trailer’s ramps. But with some cobbling and a lot of work, Watts got it back to his garage and dug in on the job of getting it back on the road.
A full restoration wasn’t part of his plan, but Watts did want his truck to accurately reflect its heritage. In simple terms, he wanted it to look like a stock ’64 Datsun NL 320 but a bit more practical for daily use. The pockmarked, rusted-out metal of the passenger floor gave any passengers a view of the street below, so a floor panel was formed and welded in place. Over top of the repair, Watts replaced the original vinyl floor covering with aftermarket carpeting and applied it with adhesive. Gluing it solidly in place made it possible to form the carpet to the contours of the footwell.
The interior upholstery was missing from the rusty bench seat frame that was still bolted to the floor, so Watts picked colors that resembled what was available when the truck was built and had a local shop cover the seat and make fresh door panels. A retro-look modern radio filled the empty spot on the dash. To make it look like original equipment, Watts digitally modeled the OE lighter knob and resin-printed new knobs for the radio. A pair of eight-inch speakers were installed behind the seat. A slew of small parts were missing—things like the glovebox and door bumpers, a mirror mount, turn signal lens, and gaskets for the headlight buckets. He made new bits on his 3D printers, which now numbered 16, in a variety of sizes.
The exterior finish looked just as it does today, showing 60 years of wear and tear. Watts couldn’t bring himself to hide the story that patina told, so new paint was out. The exterior trim was loosely held on with duct tape, so Watts 3D-modeled the one remaining trim clip and created a full set of new ones to secure the strips of stainless. Watts found a painter to add the name of his fledgling enterprise on the door in a style that made it look as though it had been there for more than half a century. He’s now considering spraying a clear matte finish over the exterior to prevent further degradation.
The electrical wiring was a mess, and to complicate matters further, the system was positive ground. A universal four-fuse aftermarket negative-ground wiring kit went in easily—a fairly simple task given the truck’s limited electrical requirements, and a 12-volt alternator was wired in. Watts machined an aluminum bracket for the alternator. A motorcycle battery was judged adequate for the application, and Watts made a new home for the little battery in a box and bracket he produced.
Starting the old 1200-cc Datsun engine was the next step, and while it cranked, it wouldn’t fire. Watts dug into the mill and quickly determined that the distributor had been installed 180 degrees out of synch and the carburetor was clogged with dirt and sand. To replace it, he purchased a 32/36 Weber clone, a 240-CFM model frequently used by enthusiasts when upgrading the 1200-cc engine. Watts made a 90-degree adapter on his CNC machine to match the carb to the existing intake manifold. After a little tuning, the engine purred as it should.
The truck came with a four-on-the-tree manual transmission linkage that didn’t appeal to Watts, so he replaced it with a floor shifter version from a ’65 Datsun truck. He of course printed a new shift knob that was consistent with the other interior bits he’d crafted.
Today, Watts uses the truck as his daily driver and parts chaser. Car folk are drawn to it, an interesting and obscure piece of automotive history. Those encounters almost inevitably lead to questions about the vehicle’s running gear and Zac’s reverse engineering and part manufacturing capabilities.
Business is good, Zac is happily self-employed, enjoying his unusual ride and continuing to expand his component manufacturing capability. What more could a young car guy ask for?
