Yeah, we looked at the repro Shastas. Really crappy looking build quality (and this coming from people who had already seen the guts of a vintage one!), and no cool wood interior. Besides, as you said, where would be the fun in that?
Oh, and the sentence about Tim and the chainsaw and the carpet thread pretty much covers the high points.
Longer version: We were working in the yard, and Tim was cutting up a tree branch when the saw kicked. Natural reflexes being what they are, he put his hand up to stop it and it cut a nice, deep, 1/4-inch-wide groove into his palm. He showed me the gash, and I said, "Needs stitches. Let's go." He said, "I'm doing a job here, don't have time for that. Can't you just sew it up quick?" I said no. (Actually said a lot more than that, but takeaway was nfw.)
Next time I saw Tim, he was standing on the patio with a large sewing needle threaded with some carpet thread, jabbing it into his bleeding palm while he whined, "Can you just help me here?" I again declined his most appealing offer, and pointed out that now he had an even worse boo-boo, and needed to see, you know, a doctor.
At that point Tim said, "I'll go see Dr. Paul"--our good friend and neighbor. So he did. Paul cleaned and stitched the gash, and didn't even mention whether it was the stupidest thing he'd ever seen.
Best part of the whole thing? Paul had brought Tim his jet-ski the week before because he had trouble getting it running, and Tim had gone on and on about what he found. "Who uses carriage bolts on a job like this?" and stuff like that. After the palm incident, he became much more reticent about pointing out the mechanical failures of others.
Margie