Love my trucks

I have a relationship with my truck that goes beyond rational. After the family car was totaled back in 2000, I took the insurance money and put a down payment on a used Chevy Tahoe, complete with heavy duty suspension and tow package, 4-wheel drive, and plenty of room for the family and stuff.

I grew up on a farm where the family cars were International Harvester Travelall's. They were god-ugly and an embarrassment to me as a teenager. I used to cry when I missed the bus and begged my parents to drop me off a block from the high school entrance, which they refused to do.

There was nothing graceful or attractive about them. I learned to drive stick shift in one of those tanks. I think my parents let us kids learn to drive the family tank around age 12 years because you couldn't hurt those things. I remember once missing a sharp curve in our lane and hitting a locust post. It hurt me more than it hurt the truck or the post, let me tell ya.

They certainly had their quirks. It was from driving Travelalls that I learned that I have two rules when I buy a used vehicle: it has to have brakes and heat. Everything else is extra.

And, I mean everything.

The floor was rusted out in the second seat area so that when my dad drove us out the lane and he hit a mud puddle, we got splatted on. We had one truck that had barn-door style doors that swung open when going around a corner. We just over-corrected the curve and they usually slammed shut on the rebound.

Windshield wipers sometimes worked. And, forget the defroster. I figure I've got plenty of experience for when cataracts set in or macular degeneration because I learned to drive with a vague sense of what was "out there."

My rationale for latching onto the Tahoe was that I drove to work using a two-lane highway in Virginia that had no shoulders and lots of tractor trailers and motor homes on it. If the roads were bad or if someone lost control, I at least wanted more than a prayer to help protect me. Nothing else I test drove felt that powerful or functional.

I’ve had the Tahoe for 10 years now and the thing is getting tired. After changing jobs and roads, I purchased a small, energy efficient car. I get to feel better about the gas mileage, but I miss sitting up higher so that I can see better out the window; not to mention, I loved driving the Tahoe.

My partner actually took it over a while back and uses it as his daily driver. The interior is now grease-stained and gritty with dirt. The back window over the gate doesn't latch. We use a bungee cord to hold it down. The air conditioner has long since quit. The radio and speakers don't work right. The interior lights only work manually.

But it still runs.

The amazing thing is that the engine has had a knock that started at about 85,000 miles. My beloved, being the cost-conscious mechanic that he is, was ready to dump it.

However, my years of growing up on a farm with lots of equipment and vehicles that never ran right, but got us where we needed to go (usually), kept nagging at me.

It has been a faithful workhorse. When the weather was bad, this was the "car" to take. When a trailer needed to be pulled, this was the truck equipped to do it. When I needed to take a vehicle down to where my partner was injured, this was the one with the ability to get down and up the hill, and have enough space for him to maneuver getting in and out of.

My partner has been having trouble with the Tahoe. Once or twice, it actually stalled on him while on the road. But then it ran again. He had the engine checked. A valve is shot, but that isn't new. He keeps making noise that it really is done. But I encourage patience.

At 226,000 miles, I have a ritual when I get into the truck. I treat it like a reliable horse.

I pat the dash and say soothing things in quiet tones like, "Good, boy," or "Let's go," or "You can do it." Mostly, I thank it for giving such good service and hope it has it in it to make another trip.

Last night I attended a meeting in a rural part of the area. After Partner had been making so much noise about its unreliability, I was a little nervous.

Was the truck really shot?

The oil pressure had been hanging at zero. Partner changed the oil earlier in the week, hoping that would do something. But he was taking the other truck to work. The oil gauge was still hanging at zero on my trip to and from the meeting. But I didn’t have any problems. Maybe the gauge is bad.

Partner took the truck to work himself today. He didn’t say a word about its performance when he got home. I didn’t get a call to come pick him up either.

Like all things of this world, its days are numbered. But, the old Tahoe hasn’t let me down yet.