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Old Texas Pickup Soliloquy
Old Texas Pickup Soliloquy   | pickup, pickup truck, vehicle,

Texas Pickup Truck. Photo by Karnegie Musa. Copyright 2012.

I see an old pickup and feel a twang.  It’s a twang of longing, of nostalgia, of my Heart’s Desire.

I have borrowed pickups and I have loaned pickups. I’ve driven pickups without lights on highways under the moon. I have slept in pickup seats and pickup beds.  I’ve banged my head on gun racks and headache racks.

I’ve laughed at pickups jacked up on giant tires into monster trucks as I’ve watched drivers struggle ungracefully into them.  I’ve tossed scraps to dogs in the back of pickup beds.

I’ve been to parties in a pickup bed complete with keg, piano, piano player and partiers as it drove down I-35.   I’ve camped out afterwards in roadside rest stops in my pickup.

I’ve traded in a dead pickup on an SUV, and regretted it. I swore never to be without a pickup again.

I watched a meteor shower for hours one night while laying in a pickup bed. I’ve watched drive-in movies in a lawn chair set on the pickup bed with ice chest and snacks.

I’ve sat on a pickup tailgate many times while having serious conversations. I’ve loaded and hauled and unloaded my worldly possessions in a pickup. I’ve loaded and hauled and unloaded other peoples' worldly possessions" in a pickup. 

One close relative lived several years in the camper of a small pickup. I’ve lazed about in pickups, and worked too hard in pickups.  I’ve hauled ladders and toolboxes.  I’ve seen goats duct-taped and hauled in a pickup.  I’ve thrown empty cans in the back of my pickup, in the pickups of friends, and in strangers’ pickups as I walked by in a parking lot. I don’t lose any sleep over that, but I’m not proud of those almost unthinking acts.  

 One acquaintance, not close, covered the entire pickup body with bumper stickers.  One acquaintance, not close, painted scriptures until he covered the entire pickup.  One friend drove a pickup made of spare parts from a junk yard.

 I’ve driven one pickup 200,000 miles.  The pickup I now drive soon will reach 200,000 miles.  That’s about 39,000 miles short of a one-way trip to the moon.  So, I hope to keep this one for a moon shot of sorts. To feel and test the mettle of the truck as it rattles with its squeaks and quirks is a type of glory in Texas.