Half jokingly I mentioned the other day I was thinking about trading off my old pickup truck. —Bob Johnson
“You can’t do that,” a friend replied. “No one would know you in a new one.”
I bought my Ford Ranger — a 1991 edition— sometime in the 1990s after its predecessor, also a Ranger, bit the dust — literally. I was out west of town doing a story on a farm couple one evening and was headed back to town when the little truck’s engine coughed and a big puff of bluish smoke came out of the tailpipe. I limped home — me praying and the truck sputtering.
Later that night, I gave it last rites.
The current model wasn’t exactly brand spanking new and shiny. It had had a bout with a hail storm, which left the hood and cab top with some conspicuous dents. That also made it a bargain; no one else wanted to put up with the blemishes.
I looked at the bottom line, and wrote a check.
Today the truck has about 170,000 miles on its four-cylinder engine. It never fails to start and purrs like a kitten. I credit its longevity to timely oil changes — and me not driving like a maniac.
It and I bonded long ago even though the driver’s side door doesn’t close tightly — probably because I pried it open after leaving the keys inside.
The truck has a few dings inflicted under my ownership.
A pheasant broke the grill work around the left headlight; a tree fell on the hood; I backed into a utility pole; inattention led to a fender-bender on East Madison Avenue; and who knows how many skirmishes with brush driving through fields added scrapes and scratches here and there.
We’ve a big elm tree in our backyard and whatever it is that falls from such trees made a lasting impression on the hood and top. I suppose a good scrubbing would remove the grime, but I’ve convinced myself the task would be too trying for my arthritic shoulders.
An aging vehicle has financial advantage. Property taxes and insurance are at the bottom of the scale, and in another 12 years it will be eligible for a license plate signifying it as an antique.
The old Ranger fits me like a glove. Guess I’ll keep it a while longer.
Old Ranger and I a pair
