Writings By Phil

I said goodbye to an old friend last week. I was sad to see her leave, but it was time to let go and give someone else the opportunity to drive and, hopefully, restore a classic pickup.

My old 1987 Mazda had served me well for 13 years, but it had become increasingly difficult to get my long legs under the steering wheel. Also, in my old age my feet grew two sizes, making it harder to to navigate my work boots between the gas, brake and clutch pedals.

I sold her on Messenger, texting back and forth for several days with a guy lacking proficiency in English. Sometimes, I had no idea of what he was saying. Two times I understood that he was coming to buy it. Two times he didn’t show! Again last Wednesday, he said he would be there the next morning. I didn’t believe it!

However, next day I was informed there was a man outside, by my truck, with a tow dolly pulled behind his car. I quickly stopped what I was doing and went to meet him. He asked for the keys, wanting to start the engine and listen to it run. Still standing outside the truck he put the keys in the ignition. By the time I realized what he was doing, it was too late. The truck’s manual transmission was still in gear when he turned the key. The truck lurched forward, almost yanking him off his feet. Thankfully, it didn’t start, or things could have gone south in a hurry (actually, the truck was pointed north, so maybe not!).

I shifted the transmission to neutral, started the engine, pulled the hood latch and opened the hood. He listened for a few seconds, then went to his car and started to count out money. He gave me the bills and I headed indoors to get the paperwork.

When I returned, he had the truck pointed west and his car and dolly backed up, ready to load. The dolly was old, and for some reason, the ramps did not touch the pavement, but were up in the air about 8 inches. To compensate the problem, he had placed a short 2X4 on each ramp.

He crawled into the driver’s seat, and pushed on the gas pedal. The truck shot forward, but stalled out half way up the 2X4s. I repositioned the boards and he gunned the engine, again. This time the truck made it up the 2X4s. The tires bounced onto the dolly, then bounced again into the spot where the wheels could be strapped tight for towing.

“Good!” I yelled. Either he didn’t hear me, or he lacked proficiency in more than just English! He gassed it one more time and I watched in wonder as the pick-up’s front-end bounded over the final barrier and the truck fell with a loud crash. It landed, high centered on top the dolly. It couldn’t go anywhere like that!

I didn’t know selling a vehicle could be so difficult! Before it was over, I had pulled two floor jacks from the mission’s garage, two 2x6s from the carpenter shop, and a friend carried over two cement blocks. It took about an hour’s time and a pint of sweat to get the front wheels back on the dolly.

Like I said, I was sad to see my old truck disappear down the street. Sorry, I couldn’t say the same about the guy that bought it!!