I sold my big old four-wheel-drive Dodge Ram truck today,
and bought a little, white, used Ford Ranger.
|it doesn't really fit here on preston st.|
Oddly enough, a black Ford Ranger was the first vehicle I ever bought for myself.
Henry took me across the country twice, and through most of
the area east of the Mississippi. We traveled to and from three to six-month
theater gigs in Ohio, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Alabama, and we toured through
Virginia and West Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia and Florida.
After 120,000 miles and a change of careers, I brought Henry the Ranger onto Cuttyhunk Island. We needed a delivery truck for the Allen House after Hunter died. The truck served us well, then we passed it on, and it went from hand to hand for 10 more years on the island, finally rusting away to nothing.
The next vehicle I bought was another black Ranger. George (I will love him and pet him and feed him and call him George)
took me across country three times on three different routes. I spent many nights on a foam mattress in the back, ostensibly safe under the camper top. Occasionally I paid for actual campground slots, but more often I slept in motel parking lots or tucked away in a corner of a truck stop.
|extended cab. before camper. look at him. he was a brute, or so it seemed.|
I don’t know if times actually were safer then. More likely I was just younger and invincible. And of course, stupid. But I never got hassled on any of these trips, and Jesse the dog only came along on the last one. Otherwise, it was just me and Ranger George.
I traded that truck in for a down payment on a brand new Dodge in 1996, when my brother-in-law had finally convinced me to get a “real” truck. The Dodge Ram never had a nickname. It never needed one. It was always The Dodge, or The Ram, or simply The Truck. Gasoline was cheap then, and I had still not developed a sense of connection to the world around me, or really thought about the environment. I was a late bloomer, having spent 10 years in the make-believe world of the theater , then transitioned immediately onto a tiny island which at that point seemed unconnected in any way to the real world.
So there I was with my hulking red and black Dodge Ram 4 x 4 crew cab V-8 turbo. It was a monster – a powerful monster. The first trip I took cross-country with it was a real eye-opener. On I 10 between Texas and Arizona I got up to 90 without even realizing it and looked at the fuel gauge to find I could actually follow the level of gas as it went down. The truck’s advertised 10 miles to the gallon was a fantasy at 90 mph with a headwind.
But man, that truck rode smooth, even with heavy-duty tires. It was a two-toned brute that turned heads everywhere I went, especially when people saw me swing down out of the cab.
I remember stopping by the side of the road to clear ice off the wipers on a trip that carried me up and over the mountains between California and Oregon … and that humiliating moment when I realized I couldn’t reach the wipers, couldn’t even clear snow off the windshield unless I stood with one foot on the seat and literally hauled myself out and over the open door onto the hood itself.
I must’ve been a pretty amusing sight. And in the 14 years I’ve owned that truck I’ve never figured out a way to deal with the wipers without climbing onto the hood. Just a little something you might take into consideration if you are almost 5’2” and planning to buy a very large truck.
The Dodge was relegated to the status of work truck a couple of years after I came to Virginia. Although I could park it in any space with an inch to spare in front and in back, my rapidly degenerating spine made it harder to haul that huge wheel around quickly, a necessity on twisty county roads. And even though when new it was touted as the most comfortable truck on the road, that comfort was relative.
|dog started tearing at underside trying to get mice nesting inside. not fair to fence dog. fenced truck.|
Plus, the price of gas was rising fast. And with 68 acres to steward, I was finally beginning to understand my connection to the world around me … a connection which included the realization that fossil fuels were just that – a fossil of the exploitative attitude toward our planet’s diminishing resources.
So I bought a used Subaru Outback,
|and after 6 years jimmy painted flames on it for my 50th birthday|
|this is the grownup used subaru we bought in 2010. dr. d drives it.|
|a bit bloody and beaten but unbowed.|
And now it’s going off with someone else for good, to a different part of the county, to do some other work for some other people. The little white Ford Ranger, which has already been named Bob, will do just fine on the land. And it will still be available for those who need to haul mulch in the spring.
People tell me it will be strange not to see me with that truck. The Dodge brought me to this town, and it’s how most people met me. We were hard to miss, coming down these narrow Lexington streets, taking no prisoners and hogging the road whether we wanted to or not. No one will miss it more than I will, although I’ve rarely driven it last few years. It’s more than just a beat up old behemoth. It’s a symbol of a freer, easier time of life. But it’s also a constant reminder of what I’ve lost as my spine continues to deteriorate.
Welcome to the family.