And so on this day in 1987, after work, a day of hanging doors and running Romex in Mountain View, I took my wife out to dinner. After the meal, we strolled briefly in the fresh springlike evening, the air heavy with the scent of life bursting forth under a bright half moon. I confessed that I was in love with a Ford Ranger V-6 but assured my wife that I still loved her too - though in a different way.
My wife understood.
I've been a Ford guy ever since. I worked that first Ranger to death, so in 1999 I bought another, which I still use to this day. She'll outlive me. Her body may creak at the joints, but still she holds everything I need and she keeps me on a steady path.
Oh yeah- I'm a Ford guy myself, ever since my first F150: jet black, 302 5 speed, and 227000 miles. That truck was such a rip-snortin', free-spirited wild man, I had to name it Patient McMurphy. Never gave me a minute's trouble, unless you count the mystery of the disappearing steering fluid, or the fact that every time you closed the doors a little too hard, pieces of the fenders would crumble to the ground... The Ford fixation was solidified by the fact that, when I traded it to my dad for his Chevy (with a few less miles) I had nothing but trouble, and he continued to use Mr. McMurphy for the toughest tasks, day after day, just as I had, until he sold it to HIS friend, who still has it eleven years later. I wonder how many miles that bad motherfucker has on it today?
ReplyDeleteI hope someday Patient McMurphy like a long-lost dog will show up panting in your driveway, asking only a drink of water and a good scratching under the ears (or fenders), and all will be as before...
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