A few weeks ago the temp around here was hovering around 105° F for over a week. My old Subaru (which is about to turn 20 years old) decided that was just about too hot for someone his age to be happy working in. I parked him in my office parking lot one day and was beginning to walk to the front door, when I heard what sounded like a small geyser coming from the general direction of my car. I looked back in time to witness my poor Stu pissing coolant fluid from his radiator in no fewer than four different places, creating a day-glow green Lake Placid under his front bumper. “Poop.”

I love it when that breaking point occurs. When you finally reach a time when you’ve not so much come upon a crossroads (where a decision needs to be made), as a sharp curve in the road, where the direction is clear… but it changes everything. In that moment, you find yourself at the mercy of fate, and for whatever reason, fate always seems to come through. The day Stu pissed out (literally) happened to be the same day that my sister left for Costa Rica, leaving me in charge of her house, her dog, and … her keys to her car [ding]. Two days later, my company announced that it would be selling off, in silent auction, four of it’s fleet vehicles. They were all trucks and all looking like they had spent 10 or so years subject to cruel and unusual punishment slaving away for people who cared nothing for them… which, of course, was exactly what had happened. After about a week or so of kicking tires, assessing various flaws, etc., I put in a bid for a 1996 Chevy S-10, 5-spd with about 100k miles on it.

In the meantime, sister came home from Costa Rica and parents left for Canada… leaving me a house to care for, plants to water, and … keys to the car that they didn’t take on the road-trip.

Nobody else put in a bid on my truck, so... I got it. I wrote a check for $350 [pause] and drove home in a automobile who’s interior completely redefined the word “filth” in my mind. But I figured, for $350 it could be covered in tar and feathers for all I care. I’ll take it.

I spent an entire Saturday with a bucket (or three) of soapy water and really big sponge slopping out 10 years of dirt and… um… sunflower seed shells from this little truck’s inner self and his tool-box (attached to his bed and included in the deal). [yes, he is a he. I now have two boy cars and a boy dog. I don’t quite know what to say about that]. In addition to what is undoubtedly his first bath EVER! My new little boy needed a stereo, speakers, a windshield and an instruction manual on creative driving. (Last item unfortunately not available, but I may need to write one if anyone ever borrows him. He’s a little bit touchy about his willingness to go into 2nd gear. Only someone who knows him well can coerce him into it without dropping the entire transmission onto the middle of 6th Avenue.)

I have been keeping a close watch on my expenditures this year and found that I have spent almost $700 on gas since January. This, in my opinion, is a ridiculous figure, so the addition of a gas chugging truck to the family is cause for some concern. My goal when I first began shopping for a truck was to purchase one for under $3,000. Having hit well below that mark, and wanting to cut back on gas expenses, I was able to rationalize some justification for the purchase of a new bicycle. Let me tell you that the irony of loading a $1200 bike into the back of a $350 truck is delightful.