Wife Thinks She’s Richard Petty!

I bought the vehicle in October of 1989. It was, and is, nothing special. It's just a pick-up truck; a means to get from point A to point B. In a world of aging moms, innocent grand kids, loving wives, solid daughter-in-laws and friends that sticketh closer than a brother, it is no big deal.
The guy who sold it to me tried to push the gray one, with the bucket seats, "You will like these seats much better. That old bench seat is a thing of the past. You'll be disappointed with it within a week."
I scratched my head and wished my Father was still alive. He knew about disc brakes, power trains, cubic inches and such. The boys were fourteen and eleven. I wanted to be able to haul them both "up front with me". Comfortably. "I'll take the red one with the bench seat."
"Excellent choice," the salesman was shaking my hand, "It is the exact one that I would have chosen. Come on in the office, I'll have you out the door in five minutes......"
I bought a thirteen thousand dollar automobile because of the seat. You might think that a bit irresponsible, BUT you ought to have seen the three of us riding side by side around town!
The boys are now thirty-two and twenty-nine. They both have trucks of their own. I don't need the bench seat anymore. But I haven't "let go" of the truck. I wheel past the football field or Ace Hardware or Doyle Collier's old store and I "remember".
Plus, the truck is still getting me from point A to point B. It has been doing so for most of eighteen years and 248,764 miles. It has given me no reason to get rid of it. It really hasn't demanded much upkeep. And I am one lucky son of a gun, the NAPA people have a part that matches anything I can break!
I take care of it. I change the oil, filters, etc. on a regular basis. I don't rip and roar around in it...... Believe me, I am way past the ripping and roaring stage! The ole truck has hung in there. We have enjoyed aging together. And the longer we have been together the more I have come to like and respect and care for the old thing.
Here, as we say in this writing business, is where the story takes a turn.
Cathy was out for spring break and ended up at Jess's house in Columbus, Georgia. I drove over for the week-end and I was going to stay and play golf with the boys for a couple of days. We were also going to a golf tournament in Augusta. It was a bit of traveling. Somehow it was decided that we needed the van to get around in. "That's ok," Cathy is so agreeable at times it will make you sick, "I'll just drive dad's truck home."
Before I could protest or even raise my hand to ask a question, everyone quickly agreed to the plan. I was trying to point out the truck had a bench seat and plenty of room in the back..... It was too late! They were cramming golf equipment, cameras, back packs, suitcases, electronic "find out where you are going" machines and I don't know what all else into every nook and cranny of the van.
We had a great trip. I was enjoying every minute of it right up until Cathy called, "Kes, there is something dripping from underneath the truck. There was a big pool of it on the driveway as I backed out....."
I've had that truck for eighteen years! 248,764 miles! Nothing ever leaked! Nothing blew up! A battery might go bad. The fan belt frazzled out. The windshield washer fluid would get low. And the alternator caught on fire once. But nothing major. I knew better than to let some stranger get behind the wheel!
She probably bumped into Smoky and the Bandit on the way home. She ran interference for Burt Reynolds and Jerry Reed as they hauled bootleg liquor to Atlanta! I'm driving her van carefully at just below the speed limit and slowing for every curve and turn. And she in my precious truck out running Buford T. Justice and every other law enforcement officer in three states!
She's doing wheelies through parking lots and jumping pontoon bridges. She's driving though woods and forest where there ain't no roads and up and down cliffs where angels fear to tread and hiding out in gorges and behind tattoo parlors in Midland, Georgia and Slocomb, Alabama!
She's been watching that NASCAR stuff for years now. She follows Mark Martin, Dale Jarrett, and Junior like it was a Soap Opera. She's been to Talladega, Martinsville, Rockingham and Darlington. I'm a sap for not putting two and two together!
My poor truck. I wonder if the warranty has expired.
I thought about cutting my trip short and rushing home. She called back the next evening. "It's transmission fluid." I wondered if she tasted it to find out. "The rear seal is leaking."
Folks, I drive this truck for umpteen years and it serves me well. It practically drove itself. Hardly any trouble at all. She drives it two hundred miles. And I have a problem that could be terminal!
This is going to cause some deep turmoil. I'm sure the NAPA people have got a replacement rear seal. But will it be cost effective on this old a model? I bet a new truck would run fifteen, maybe sixteen thousand. I like to spend my money on golf putters and running shoes. I don't want to waste it on a new vehicle!
"Cathy, do they make a spray or something we could apply to stop the leak? I once fixed a drip in Mr. Slim's gas tank with chewing gum. Would STP help? Maybe we could have the truck undercoated. Just how fast were you going when you swept by the semi hauling the Coors beer though Andalusia?"
I Need Help,
Kes