Trucks Acquired: One
Age of Truck (Years): Forty
Color: Black/Rust (literally, rust)
Transmission: Crankily Automatic
Tires: Bald As Me In Ten Years
Cap: Previously One, Now Zero
After much anticipation, the legendary island truck has finally arrived and I can’t begin to tell you how thrilled I am.
I am one of those Not-a-Car Persons: the type who like vehicles with good gas efficiency, who will defensively assure that you that YES, they CAN change their tires and their own oil, and who view everything underneath the hood with the same apprehensive incomprehension you might treat a multi-tentacled sea creature.
However, my heart is softening just a little bit, after Cliff Habig and Mary Hoffman (who will now officially have a broom closet dedicated in their honor at our new house) reached out to me after my last post to say that they had a truck, and if I could drive it, then I could keep it.
This took some doing, and a lot of very patient tutoring from Specs Eaton, who loaded me up with all the essential waking-up-an-old-auto supplies; and Joe Ballard, who was driving home after his own vehicle mishaps when he saw me gazing in dazed confusion under the hood, stopped his truck in the middle of the road, helped me confirm that indeed it would start up; and then came back later to tow the vehicle out of the snow, keeping close watch as I drove it carefully (hey, those brakes haven’t been used for a LONG time) home.
The cap, after three hours of work, with lots of help from one John Flint (e.g. Most Amazing Friend Ever), several broken bolts, and a fair number of curses, is now removed. It has driven wonderfully exactly two times since. It is currently sitting in my driveway, awaiting the fixing of an electrical problem which everyone assures me is Very Simple to Figure Out and Nothing to Worry About, which no doubt, under my inexpert fumbling, will quite easily be fixed after several more hours of hard work and a lot more profanity.
And despite all that, I find myself slowly falling for this rust-touched truck that’s older than I am (1979 GMC Sierra 1500!), that tends to stall out if you put it into reverse before the engine wakes up (the truck’s a cranky riser. This reminds me of Some People I Know But Will Not Mention Because I Live With Them) and which starts getting testy if you push it much beyond 35MPH.
Almost as big a problem as the lack of functioning electronics is her lack of a name. And…this is where we get our First Reports From the Island Frontier House Poll! Take a look at the pictures, check out John’s imagined soundtrack for our latest acquisition, call upon perhaps your own history with this august island vehicle and suggest a name either below or on Facebook. I’ll cull through your nominations for names I can live with and then….you’ll all vote on them next week!