There is the truck.
John had left suddenly, and it, behind.
He took care of it. Bought parts for it.
Replaced things that wore out.
I found all the receipts in the glovebox.
I came in contact with it several months ago,
helping a friend refresh their new home,
John’s old home, left behind as well.
The truck’s health was questionable.
It had sat in the corner of the yard,
in a green waste pile for months.
John was not well.
I was asked to look it over,
to see if it was safe to drive.
I added brake fluid and oil,
and started to drive it.
First a short ride to deliver a mattress,
a mattress left behind.
It was John’s.
He no longer needed it,
now resting elsewhere.
A second ride to do a green waste dump run,
of some palm fronds that I trimmed,
on palms John had planted. I was told they
had never been trimmed.
They were about 15 years old.
The truck was happy to be riding again,
the island air blowing through and all around it,
in the windows and holes that should not
have been, but they were.
Days and weeks went forward and I continued to drive it.
A dump run here, a trip to the recycle center,
Simple things as it warmed back up to service.
The ownership got complicated.
I registered it, but in John’s name.
I did not explain.
He would not be driving it anytime soon,
being in a different dimension and,
all of those sorts of complications.
I took it home and continued to be
the designated driver of the ole
1988 Ford F150.
I cleaned it up.
Found $12.16 cents in the seats
and on the floor where rust had taken hold.
A penny or two had rusted as well.
There were also about 13 Bic lighters
that had fallen out of John’s reach,
most of which still worked.
There were some tools and rope
and parts yet to be installed.
I filled it up with fuel and
repaired a few things,
in order to get it inspected,
It’s safety check having expired,
while we rode.
It was a challenge, but little by little,
some TLC found way into the truck,
built and born in St. Paul, Minnesota,
back in the late winter of 1988.
The first owner purchased it March 11, 1988 on Maui,
and the truck has wandered the island ever since …
doing truck things, carrying materials,
enjoying the island roads,
on the small 727 square mile island,
in the middle of the Pacific ocean.
The estate issues finally got worked out
as I continued to use the truck, and tend to it.
I repaired the floor and after three trips to
state inspection stations, got a sticker for it.
It was a happy day.
There would be another year
on the road to do truck things.
I’ve named it Rocko after
the cartoon series Rocko’s Modern Life.
Rocko is a little Wallaby always facing something
as he navigates life in the modern world.
I like Rocko and while challenges come his way,
as they did for the truck, they were met, solved
and resolved, one at time.
Note to self … I need a Heffer 🙂
So here we are over thirty years later,
Rocko and I, riding around the Island,
doing truck things, going to the dump,
picking up lumber and stuff,
getting coffee and fuel and most of all,
enjoying our modern life.
Rocko, the Truck