Twelve years ago, I bought a truck and a trailer. I was applying to graduate school. I wanted the freedom to pack up my whole life and leave for wherever I needed to go.
That didn’t end up happening, but it was still useful to have the rig. Until it was not. I sold the trailer two years ago, and I haven’t really regretted doing so.
old dog, old truck, and my dad and I replacing the alternator 10 years ago
I have still had the truck, though. I love that truck, the way I definitely do not love my daily driver (a Honda CRV).
Last year, though – last spring it blew its transmission. As in, the mechanics took pictures of the pieces of the transmission sitting in a pool of oil in the bottom of…wherever it is transmissions live. Small pieces. They were horrified and amazed I made it home (from an hour away, after hauling a car trailer).
I swallowed hard and did the transmission. Then last fall, it didn’t pass inspection. $1,500 of exhaust work, they said.
I don’t know why I took a picture of this, but: truck all loaded up and ready to head out
I cried a lot. Over a truck. It broke my heart, but I resolved to sell it. I talked to the mechanic about a reasonable price, took some photos…
…and then never posted it. The truck is still in my driveway.
Two weeks ago, I submitted a classified ad to a local vintage automobile club – it’s a 1991, and a three-quarter ton, and it still has loads of good things going for it. For a few thousand dollars I thought it could make a good someone a good truck to haul their vintage car to shows. It is itself an antique, technically.
I haven’t heard anything yet; it’s too early still. But last weekend, a car guy I’ve gotten to know for work told me that the estimate I was given was way, way, way high. He gave me a phone number and told me to call it and use his name.
so, so many nights spent just like this at horse shows
I don’t know what to do. The smart thing to do would be to list the truck on Craigslist and let someone take it away.
But I love this truck. It’s stupid, but maybe to me it represents a time in my life when things might have gone differently. When it was just Tristan and I against the world. Before things started going so constantly wrong with him, before house work took up all my time and energy, when I measured free time in increments longer than 30 minutes.
the best copilot. she loves the truck, too.
I’ll call the new guy and ask him to look at the truck, but I just don’t know what I’ll do with what he tells me. I don’t have a number that will make fixing it okay. I don’t have any car money right now, really – my stupid boring CRV just needed $1,000 of exhaust work.
What would you do?