ME & MOBY

My truck slept in the snow last night. He sleeps where I leave him without complaint. At 7 years now, been with me the last 2, going on 3 and as good a road companion as I’ve ever known. Funny, how we attribute gender to machines and things; maybe for little particulars we associate with someone we know or to things we stereotype one way or the other. I’ve been driving for over 60 years, don’t like to think of my vehicles as possessions, more like amigos. Some definitely behaved like ladies or petulant little girls while others belch and fart, take to bumpy roads, didn’t mind sleeping in the snow. 

I’ve had so many internal combustion, self propelled amigos I wouldn’t try to put a number to it. I can think of at least 10 pickup trucks, and cars, 30 or more I would guess; some you remember more fondly than others. In 1973, Ford’s full size pickup was the F-100; we had a red one in ’78, a V8, stick shift on the column. From the first day its name was “Duke”. One summer-Saturday we (2 adults, 4 kids 10, 6, 6 & 4) took it to Chicago, 140 miles, to Six Flags-Great America. The boys, 10,, 6 & 6, rode in a big, cardboard box in the back, amazing what you can do with duct tape and twine. With the sliding window open and a hole cut in the box it was like a big back seat with a small crawl-through space. That was another time & place; you could do that and nobody thought the less. I can’t imagine what we were thinking but it felt alright at the time. 

Then there was “Huggy”, a fiberglass roadster body, V-W dune buggy. He was nothing but fun. By then, 11, 11 & 9 took turns standing watch, sitting in the passenger seat or hanging on the roll bar so I couldn’t drive off without them. It had a soft top but no side curtains so getting wet was always a possibility but never a deterrent. “Moby” is currently my only motorized vehicle, a 2012 Ford F-150, with an aluminum shell and roof rack, too big to fit neatly in the garage. The side mirrors have to be folded in and the passenger side snugs up tightly, just a few inches from the wall. Pulling in and out is equivalent to making a fist and worming it into your pocket. With great lines of sight, visibility is unparalleled and the big side mirrors are better than a submarine’s periscope. His name of course honors the great, white whale in Melville’s novel, Moby Dick. 

Moby is outside in the driveway, under several inches of fresh snow that arrived last night. I suppose I’ll go shovel rather than drive over it but it can wait for now. I’m set to get back out on the road again soon, to Michigan. Why would anybody want to go to Michigan in February, they can’t understand down in Baton Rouge where 40 degrees and rain keeps those civilized folk huddled and shivering inside. In West Michigan, lake effect snow is perfect, has a warming effect on the lake shore, great for following your foot prints from the mail box back to the house. With a little luck, outside in the dark, you might see the Northern Lights; Aurora Borealis. Sooner or later they light up the dark, dance across heaven. Southern Culture folk in Louisiana aren’t wired for Aurora Borealis but that’s about them. I’ll be happy to cross over, out of Indiana and up the lake shore. Me and Moby, or is it Moby and me, or Moby and I, we know the way, we’ll make it. I don’t need an IT Tech to work the control panel, the radio and CD player keep me informed and entertained, the heater is an over-achiever and every gage is easy to read. Stepping up-into and down-out-of is much preferred to the opposite. 

At my age, with diminishing eyesight, Moby should be my last great ride. There is a vehicle on the market now, solar charged-electric assist, enclosed, pedal-mobile that doesn’t require a license or insurance. It gets you where you want to go at 20-25 mph, even if you chose not to pedal and gas mileage never figures in. It will be a big departure from Moby but I bet it will earn its own name. Certainly not going on the interstate but if you plan on growing old you can’t very well get there if not for working with what you’ve got.