Jeff Ford
January 1, 2001
Contributers: Jeff Ford

Ol' Blue had been a good truck, but it was time to say good-bye.

I stood there and collected $500 from the fellow who had-not two days before-asked me if I wanted to sell my worn but faithful F-150. He smiled and I, well, I just kinda stood there. We shook hands, and he told me that he would come by and pick up Ol' Blue on Sunday. Gulp. I looked back at the Medium Blue (and black and rust and primer) F-150 and felt a little sad. There sat a faithful, old car-hauler, and I had just sold it for five, crisp one-hundred dollar bills. After he left, I went over and sat in the interior and mused over the exploits of this faded warrior.

Right after buying the truck, Dad and I used it to get a Cougar parts car out of its home. I say "home" because we spent the better part of a day dislodging it from the mud. The old, blue truck had been handy for the task.

The truck also hauled the hulk of Lazarus from Texas to Florida without a hitch. Of course, I had to replace the tranny and 351 prior to the move, so that it would haul all that bulk. But even so, the truck had performed well.

Ol' Blue also got me to Carolina and my favorite salvage yard several times when I was searching for those detailing parts for the Lazarus Project. The trips had been fruitful, and we had filled the back of the truck with parts-and even some furniture for Carla during the course of the last four years.

Of course, because of the truck's ratty condition, Carla was never interested in driving it around-unless she needed something from the home improvement center. Then, behind dark shades, she'd hop in the truck and try to go. I say "try" because the truck never really liked her driving it for some reason. Maybe it was because I never explained the starting ritual to her. I would always have to get Ol' Blue started-then after that initial ritual, it would run like a champ.

Recently, though, the blue behemoth had been getting tired. It was using a quart of oil every 500 miles and a gallon of water every other week. The final straw was the power steering pump that was sucking fluid so fast, I would have to top it off every other day. It was time to put the old truck down-or at least out to pasture.

As I got out of the cab and looked at the ragged multicolored interior, I sighed. I then looked at the crisp money and the like-new '86 F-150 sitting beside the beat-up, old, blue truck and thought, Hey, I can get the seats for the '70 Mach 1 now! Suddenly, my mood improved and I smiled.