A truck serves a lot of purposes. It can be a way to get to work. It can be your way into the woods or down to that field party. It can be a bed for you and your lady at the drive-in. It can be a good way to haul fifteen of your drunk friends down the road. It can be a party-central and the tailgate can become a beer pong table. It can be a memory of a lost loved one. Have you ever heard that Lee Brice song? It makes me cry every time. A truck can mean a lot to someone.
I loved my truck. It was my first purchase after college. It was the same color as the 1992 Silverado that got me through high school. It made me feel so alive. When I was sitting in that Chevy I was king of the road. In a bustling city full of busy people only worried about themselves, it was my escape. It was my solitude as I sat in Northern Virginia traffic surrounded by a bunch of assholes in their BMWs and Range Rovers.
Each weekend I could head out to those Blue Ridge Mountains and get away. I could fly down the dirt roads with my girlfriend and catch the sunset. I could haul whatever I needed to. I could cruise down the highway listening to the drone of the engine. I was at peace.
No words can explain the bond between a man and his truck. I know it’s just a giant clump of metal and has no soul, but there’s something sentimental you can’t describe. There’s something about your truck that makes you feel so alive. You really don’t know this feeling until you have your own truck, and if you do, you know what I’m talking about.
But I had to let go. Gas ain’t cheap. The miles add up. My heart didn’t want to let go but my brain forced me to. So I said goodbye. Goodbye to all the roadtrips to all my favorite concerts. Goodbye to all the tailgates. Goodbye to all the empty beer cans and used shotgun shells that had collected in the bed. Goodbye to my granddad’s hat sitting on the dash. Goodbye to all the memories.
I pass my truck on to the next young buck ready to make memories. It makes me happy to see a kid in the Marines so excited to buy my truck. It brought a smile to my face seeing him test drive it before we shook hands. I feel better knowing that he can make his own memories and carry on my truck’s legacy.
I guess you never really know what you got until it’s gone.
Whiskey Riff is the most entertaining country site…ever.