Nobody ever accused me of being a clean freak, much less of being obsessed by how organized the inside of my truck is.
I have two trucks, and one of them used to be very clean all the time. The other was my work truck, used for farming and all sorts of odd jobs. That is my green 1993 Ford, which was earlier the subject of ěI Can Still Drive it,î a column from the past.
This truck has 260,000 miles and has really seen it all. It suffered through serious repair, has been totaled, but is still fun to drive. No need to worry about scratches. It is really still on convalescence, but available.
Now ěOlí Greenî established quite a precedence. At one time, I referred to it as a survival truck, the place to be in a nuclear holocaust. Women seemed drawn to it, which is sometimes quite a burden. The floor and passenger seat, as well as behind the seat, had a certain organized clutter. There were so many odds and ends that I ěmightî need. There was always an assortment of tools, sporting goods and running shoes, usually some food with a long shelf life, and various pieces only identifiable by me. Since ěOlí Greenî has been resting, most of the daily activity has shifted over to my black Ford truck. That is where the rest of the story begins.
The black Ford F-150 started its life very unusually. I won it at Farmerís Day 1999. It has always had a special place, staying clean and, for many years, used exclusively for my dating and traveling truck. Only recently have I started even hauling heavy things in it. It hardly ever gets washed, hasnít been waxed in months, and definitely has started to look like a farm truck. Not necessarily a bad thing, but a fact none the less.
Inside the black truck today is a bicycle helmet, a bag of wellness handouts, my bag that I use for coaching running, three pairs of work gloves, lots of race applications, a few running shirts, a pair of running shoes (just in case I might have a breakdown and would be wearing dress shoes), a ladies pair of sunglasses, one black hose (you can guess which kind), chewing gum, a measuring wheel, a box of plastic spoons for yogurt, at least one newspaper … OK, you probably get the point and I had better stop because I only get 700 words for my column, unless it is really good. If it is really good, I can sometimes go over. This one will be 700 words.
Just to describe how anything can be found in it, here is something amazing. The other day, I was at Fowler Physical Therapy and Delaine asked me if I had a knee brace. I told her I did, but the amazing part is why. One day I came home and there was a really nice double-strap knee brace in the back of the black truck. This one even had little pockets of the material that you can freeze to keep ice on the knee. Where that thing came from, I have no idea. Neither I, nor any of my ex-wives, girlfriends or daughters have ever worn a knee brace that I know of. But there it was, right when I needed it. Just goes to show what is available in one of my trucks.
One time, summer before last, my nephew Sammy offered to wash, wax, and detail the trucks. I took him up on the black one. It had virtually nothing in it, so that job went really quickly. Now itís a different story. I have to remove the box of assorted stuff that rides in the passenger seat just to make room for any current passenger. In the black truck, there are little pockets on the inside of the doors where I can keep mail, paperwork, and important stuff. Currently, it is so full that these things are riding on the dash. Not all the way across, but very neatly in one corner, hence the farm motif.
As I write this, the green truck is running pretty well again, and looks to be ready to take its turn, plus it has nearly new tires. Gradually, I will shift the survival supplies back over to it, leaving the black truck ready to go when needed for a date. I just hope Iíll be in the right truck should I need something in the meantime.
Oops, I went over with 771 words. You know what that means.