Funny how a truck can become a part of you. Like a member of the family. An old comfortable friend.
I cried the day we sold the red truck. Couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over as it disappeared down the driveway for the last time.
Kinda like moving away from the old home place where you grew up. It was just so full of memories. The hours we spent in that truck were countless…full of conversations, arguments, laughs, and dozens of meals shared.
Going to California to buy this old truck in the first place turned into an adventure.
Needing to kill time, we hit Alcatraz and San Francisco. Fresh oranges from a roadside stand, a thrifty motel that turned out to be a little shady…we made memories, that’s for sure!
The roads we traveled in it, back when we were young and carefree. Nothing to tie us down.
All the time in the world to watch the trees go by.
Sleep never comes easier than when listening to the rumble of a 3406 E model Cat through 10-inch stacks.
This old truck was made of shared dreams.. where we pooled our ideas, fixed it up pretty, and spent all-nighters together in the shop working on improvements.
Never mind that we had some real fits with the engine due to it being run with no air filters, and the fuel pump constantly clogging from unknown junk in the fuel tanks.
This old truck hauled hay, sugar beets, wheat, and beans. Organic corn to a quaint little dairy. It pulled hundreds of tons of silage.
Tonight I’m riding with Ross in a different truck. Windows down, cool fall night air swirling our hair. Baby asleep.
It’s a new era.. 3 of us instead of 2. A diaper bag instead of books to read.
And I realize that I’m getting attached to this old truck too.