When Tim got his truck stuck, he decided that he needed to buy a new one. It was a funny reason and he got a lot of mileage out of that joke but it was not the real reason. The truck that we have is 19 years old. He’s spent a lot of time working on it and he doesn’t really have the time to be working on it. So it was time for a new truck.
At our house, ‘new’ means ‘new to us’. Tim has never understood the economic rationale for buying a new vehicle, so he went straight to the internet. After a couple weeks of careful looking and phone calling, he found what he was looking for. The thing that confused me was that this ‘new truck’ was 13 years older than the ‘old truck’ he was replacing.
If you haven’t guessed, I am married to a motor head. To him, this convoluted thinking makes sense. For my part, I’ve been married long enough to know that there’s no sense to try to figure him out. He is what he is. I simply trust that he knows what he’s doing even if he’s buying a 32 year old truck.
We drove to Girard immediately to look at this truck. Tim knew it would go quickly. The young owner looked to be about the same age as the truck he was selling. He led Tim around the truck, showing him what had been done, talking enthusiastically about the history of the truck. Tim asked questions and they were answered honestly. I could tell that Tim liked that.
The young man had bought it from an old man who had bought it new. It had been intended to pull a camper but in short order, (being a motor head himself) he had found another truck he liked better (yes, it was older) so the poor truck had languished in the driveway for 5 years, doing the occasional odd job but mostly taking up room. His wife issued the ultimatum: the truck needed gone. He reluctantly put it on Craigslist.
Tim got quiet, studying the truck. I knew what was coming next. He finally said, “Well, I better take this.” The young wife looked at me, surprised. “He never even looked your way!” I sipped my coffee and smiled. The decision to get a new truck had already discussed. It was just a matter of which truck he was getting. That’s his field of expertise and I would not dream of butting in there.
We talked about it then, being married to motor heads. I told her about an acquaintance who was horrified to find herself with a $600 car repair that she could scarce afford. Listening, I had silently thanked my lucky stars yet again that I’d had the good sense to marry my mechanic. We barter.
The young woman at my side quickly agreed that being married to a motor head is not the worst thing in the world. If you can’t find them, they are generally down at the garage. If a motor head doesn’t want you to see what they are up to on the internet, you can bet the ranch that they have found another vehicle they want. After laughing together, we both had to agree that their skills pulled both our families through some very lean times.
Later, leaving with the truck, Tim pulled into a gas station/convenience store to check fluid levels before getting on the highway. While he was in getting some antifreeze, a little silver family sedan pulled in. The man stopped to study the truck. He drove around it in a slow lazy loop. Watching from my own parked car, I thought, “There’s another motor head.”
We got back on the road. I was following Tim when we were both passed by a big white utility truck. That motor head slowed to match his speed to Tim’s, and gave the truck a good eye-balling, as the driver of the minivan behind him flashed some rude sign language and uttered obscenities that I could lip read. It was very obvious that Mr. Minivan was NOT a motor head.
We stopped in Corry to pick up William’s birthday bike. I pulled into a parking lot and watched Tim drive far from the store to lessen the possibility of cart/car damage. It was windy and cold, so I walked into the warm store to wait for Tim to catch up.
I waited for quite a while. I began to wonder what was taking him so long. I began to fume a little. Just as I was prepared to go out and find him, he finally showed up, deep in conversation with yet another motor head who was saying “yeah, you won’t have any trouble getting parts for that.”
I sighed to myself. We had to get home. We were expecting company in two hours. However, the motor heads were out in force, and I was not at all certain we were going to make it.
We finally got home. Tim bellowed in the back door. “Hey, William, do you want to see Grandpa’s new truck?” We heard the rapid pitter-patter of little running feet. William was yelling, “Grandpa’s got a new truck!! Grandpa’s got a new truck. Yay for Grandpa!!!”
What do you know? Motor heads, now available in the handy fun size