no clue.
I drive in the right hand lane..
ten under the speed limit.
WHICH...brings to mind...a story.
many moons ago..
I was driving toward Sandy Eggo.
I drove slow...ten miles under the speed limit.
I got passed by some trucks...
then they passed me again..
and again.
and again..
"Damit" I heard on the CB radio" That old fart goes slow...how comes he's always ahead of us?"
I grinnned...
it's not how FAST you go.
it's how long you keep going..
My bonus son is letting me have his old wheels.
The "Z"
the little pickup next to that white big truck (I hated that thang...not the pickup , the white semi)
I paid for a new motor, transmission, lift kit..and stuff..when he was in high school...
now's he's a 'suite' working for a fancy company...has a SUV..NOT ONE..but TWO...
so he's let me have the "Z".
I drive it about once a month..maybe..
When I was 15, my folks were vacationing at Lake Shasta...my uncle, a trucker making a weekly N-S fruit run, offered to pick me up in Santa Clara, so I could ride up to Shasta in his rig. We drove to Salinas to pick up his truck, but his spare driver was nowhere to be found. (I should point out that fifteen-year-olds on an adventure don't really clue in to what that meant) - SO off we went, running empty, to the Mexican border to pick up a load of melons and grapes...the first thing Uncle Roy did was drop a crate of grapes on the ground, say "oops", and put it in the sleeper for when the munchies hit. The load was destined for Seattle, where he'd pick up a load of apples to deliver back down in San Jose... by the time we'd driven from Salinas to somewhere near San Diego and back through Sacto, Uncle Roy was getting groggy...and driving up I5 with his eyes closed. God knows how he made it to Shasta, or anywhere else, for that matter...poppin' speed, I'd guess. It was a terrifying ride.
Good morning, Everitt! How's life in the fast lane?
no clue.
I drive in the right hand lane..
ten under the speed limit.
WHICH...brings to mind...a story.
many moons ago..
I was driving toward Sandy Eggo.
I drove slow...ten miles under the speed limit.
I got passed by some trucks...
then they passed me again..
and again.
and again..
"Damit" I heard on the CB radio" That old fart goes slow...how comes he's always ahead of us?"
I grinnned...
it's not how FAST you go.
it's how long you keep going..
Turtle..
Hare..
I gave my wheels to a needy grandson last Fall, so I've gotcha beat :-)
My bonus son is letting me have his old wheels.
The "Z"
the little pickup next to that white big truck (I hated that thang...not the pickup , the white semi)
I paid for a new motor, transmission, lift kit..and stuff..when he was in high school...
now's he's a 'suite' working for a fancy company...has a SUV..NOT ONE..but TWO...
so he's let me have the "Z".
I drive it about once a month..maybe..
So you got the old beater... nice kid :-) You're a trucker in Lalaland?
not any more..
I'm retired..
When I was 15, my folks were vacationing at Lake Shasta...my uncle, a trucker making a weekly N-S fruit run, offered to pick me up in Santa Clara, so I could ride up to Shasta in his rig. We drove to Salinas to pick up his truck, but his spare driver was nowhere to be found. (I should point out that fifteen-year-olds on an adventure don't really clue in to what that meant) - SO off we went, running empty, to the Mexican border to pick up a load of melons and grapes...the first thing Uncle Roy did was drop a crate of grapes on the ground, say "oops", and put it in the sleeper for when the munchies hit. The load was destined for Seattle, where he'd pick up a load of apples to deliver back down in San Jose... by the time we'd driven from Salinas to somewhere near San Diego and back through Sacto, Uncle Roy was getting groggy...and driving up I5 with his eyes closed. God knows how he made it to Shasta, or anywhere else, for that matter...poppin' speed, I'd guess. It was a terrifying ride.