Parting With an Old Friend

The PAC Perspective by Ted Flint

I recently had to retire my 2010 Ford Ranger. It was time, the odometer had nearly 311,000 on it. Despite all the miles and wear and tear, the 2.3-liter engine did not burn a drop of oil. I had it for nearly nine years, purchasing it from my brother Shane’s company for $2000. There is a special relationship between a man and his truck. I know it’s just a machine, but we spent a lot of time together. I traveled two hours a day in the old rust bucket, going to and from work, many times puffing on a not-so-fine cigar and listening to bad local talk radio. I did some of my best thinking in that truck, but it finally reached its end about a month ago. My young son and I were on Route 22 returning from a fishing trip at Dead Pond, when the clutch pedal went straight to the floor and didn’t come up. I had to drive a couple of miles in second gear and instead of traveling the final three miles home in low gear, I decided to park it and have it towed. I just couldn’t see throwing more money into it. The hood would not stay closed, the E-brake was inoperable and the final straw – the handles on both the passenger and driver’s doors were broken. So, I could not get in unless I had the windows rolled halfway down, which in the winter and during a rainstorm is a problem. On more than one occasion I had to get creative to gain access.

When I think of my Ranger, probably by now crushed into a pile of metal, I’m reminded of the opening verse of the Dan Seals’ song, “Old Yellow Car:” “She weren’t much to look at, she weren’t much to ride, she was missing a window on her passenger side, the floorboard was patched up with paper and tar, but I really was something, in my old yellow car.”

It is sad. Everything has a lifespan; nothing lasts forever, only time.