In 1998, I bought my little gray Mazda truck with a 150,000 miles on it for $1500. The gentleman I bought it from was a Delta Airlines pilot who used the truck to commute between his Seattle home and Portland base. All I had to know was he was a former Navy pilot with a meticulously maintained vintage MG in his garage, and I was sold. (I withheld the fact that I was an Air Force brat, just in case that was a deal-breaker.) While my budget was set ridiculously low, the stars had aligned and found me the perfect truck. It was now time to say goodbye to my Volvo station wagon, a vehicle more at home on a mechanic’s lift than on the road. We parted ways amicably and I never looked back.
Fast forward to 2014, and an odometer reading of 236,000 miles, and I must sadly report that the time has come to bid a fond farewell to the truck that never said die, well, at least until this month. Little Gray went out with a bang, a thrown rod in it’s final moments, producing enough smoke to conjure a genie and celebrate its last hurrah.
So join me in remembering the little truck that could–a friend ’til the end. Oh and it’s best not to mention this to Boz and Gracie, they are still in denial.
While Little Gray remains on the island with mechanic who may one day get her running, I found a successor worthy of her flower-delivering, manure-hauling, shotgun-riding, dump-running legacy: a 1992 Toyota 4×4 truck. There’s just one problem; a senior bulldog’s jumping range is no match for the lofty elevations of a monster truck wheel. So Boz and Gracie, a little patience please, I promise to build you a ramp.