Battling another bout of homesickness after seeing this while camping this weekend:
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, they called her. I called her Old Gray, the hand-me down farm truck I drove in high school and part of college. Old Gray, obviously, had bigger tires and a long bed because real men do not drive short beds.
I can't remember exactly what happened to Old Gray, only that she left me stranded on the freeway one too many times and dad made the executive decision to retire her back to the farm. And by back to the farm, he meant to my youngest brother, who, by the age of 15, had successfully wrecked many other farm vehicles including: tractors, trucks, and a handful of ATVs. To this day his preferred method of transportation is horseback. I'm positive this is because a horse is cheaper to replace than a PowerStroke. Also because my parents finally learned not to trust him with their keys.
Anyway. In the middle of our glorious 4-hour bike ride this weekend, we stumbled upon this rig and a couple others that were involved in trying to crawl over rocks. Which to me looked impossible and pointless, but hey, what do I know? I'm the dumbass who would rather bike up a steep mountain-- use my own legs--than waste gas.
And you could tell this sport takes a lot of skill. In fact, it gave me a reason to finaly use that cheer that had been stuck in my head for the pastfewdays3hoursofmiddleschoolcheerareyoufuckingkiddingme?
So, anyway:
V-I-C-T-O-R-Y, Victory, victory, get 'em up high (toe touch)!
Sometimes my afternoon jobs makes me annoying even to myself. It apparently has the same effect on others as well, as the stranger driving the truck decidedly did not appreciate being cheered for, especially when he wedged himself in between a tree and rock and had to use his friend's wench to get him out.
And boy, was she pissed. Haha. The wench jokes never get old, at least not to me. But then again, you're talking to a girl who spends the majority of her time around non-adults. Which may or may not affect my judgement.
3 comments:
I remember one of my first boyfriends taking me "wheeling" in his jacked up 4runner with the big tires. We got stuck. I laughed. My Dad was pissed when he found out that this guy was taking me to do such dangerous things.
Wonder why that relationship didn't work out....
is it just me or is "4 wheeling" a short man sport?
Wow, my first vehicle was a 1/4 ton 1977 silver Ford handed down from my Grandfather, who loved me best!(OK, that was totally gratuitous), but I loved that thing! You could sit 4 teenages across the bench seat, take an entire volleyball team to Peach City for ice cream and run over small children without batting an eye. I wish I still had her.
Thanks for the nostalgia!
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