The listing said "Toro 721 E, runs great, $400 OBO" and had three photos, one of which was mostly a cat. It was in Kentwood, fifteen minutes from us, and it had been up for forty minutes when I saw it on a Friday night. I messaged the seller before I'd finished reading the description.
Some context: last winter I shoveled our 70-foot driveway by hand, every storm, and Grand Rapids averages around 75 inches of snow a season. Somewhere in February I promised myself I'd never do that again. A new Toro Power Clear 721 E was around $749. We'd budgeted for a used one since September, out of our regular budget and not the house fund, which was good, because the house fund had just been emptied by a water heater the day before.
"We bought a water heater yesterday," Tessa said when I told her where I was going. "I know," I said. "This one is for snow." She let me go, which I'm choosing to read as approval.
What I checked in a stranger's garage
I watched more snowblower inspection videos than I'd like to admit. Here's what I actually did when I got there on Saturday morning:
- Cold start. I'd asked the seller not to run it before I arrived, and I put my hand on the engine to make sure it was cold. A machine that's been warmed up can hide a hard-starting engine. It started on the second pull with the primer and choke, and then I tried the electric start with an extension cord, which also worked.
- Oil. Pulled the dipstick. Full and amber, not black or milky. The seller said he changed it every fall, and he had the receipts in a folder, which told me more about him than the oil did.
- Spark plug. I brought a plug socket and pulled it. Tan and dry, not oily or sooty.
- Auger and chute. I let it run for a few minutes, engaged the auger and listened for grinding or slipping. Then I cranked the chute through its full range and moved the deflector up and down.
- Fuel. He'd run it dry last spring and filled it with fresh, stabilized gas for my visit. No varnish smell.
He came down from $400 to $375 without much of a fight. We loaded it into the Tacoma with a plank he had leaning in the corner, and I drove home at about 35 miles an hour the whole way.
The part I forgot
A single-stage snowblower like this one moves itself with two rubber paddles on the auger. They scrape the pavement, throw the snow and pull the machine forward, and they wear down. They're the first thing you're supposed to check on a used one, and I didn't even think about them until I was rolling it into our garage.
They're worn. Not gone, but past half. A new set runs about $48. I'll use these until they stop clearing down to the pavement, then swap them, which apparently takes a socket set and an hour. So the real price is closer to $423, still a lot less than new.
Why single-stage, and why used
A two-stage machine would handle the heavy pile the city plow leaves at the end of the driveway better. But it costs more, takes up more room and weighs a lot more, and our detached garage also has to fit Tessa's Civic all winter. The 721 fits next to the car with a few inches to spare. I know the plow pile is going to be the hard part, and I'll report back on that once we've had some real storms.
Buying used was the bigger risk. The checks above don't guarantee anything, but they knocked out the obvious problems, and the seller with the receipt folder helped a lot. I'd be more nervous buying from someone who couldn't tell me when the oil was last changed.
When I got home, Gary walked over, pulled the cord himself and listened for a while. "Buy once, cry once," he said, which is his line for most tool decisions. Then he patted the engine cover. "This one's a buy once." From Gary, that's a five-star review.
Moose barked at it from the side door the whole time it ran, then came over to sniff the chute as soon as it was quiet, like he'd won.
We had flurries on Thursday, nowhere near enough to justify using it. I started it in the garage doorway anyway, for about thirty seconds. Tessa watched from the kitchen window and didn't wave.
