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Posted by A P B on Shelter Island on Friday, April 25, 2008 at 20:30:12 :
Yesterday, I went on a truck adventure with my friend Ben, whose life is a soap opera and a half. Suffice it to say that anytime he goes on an errand in one of his rattletraps, (all of them Fudd pickups in various states of necrosis) bad things happen.
So, when he swung down to pick me up at the ferry, to go pick up some load of junk he had located, I was not surprised to hear him cussing the dag-blamed clutch, which was acting up.
We go a few miles, with him grindin' and cussin', until we get to the boatyard where his dad works. The plan is to trade his POS for his dad's just slightly less of a POS, to finish the errand.
While he and the dad are negotiating the trade of vehicles, with their heads under the hood, holding bottles of various fluids, I wander over to the Travel-Lift, and strike up a conversation with a man who introduces himself as Todd. When I tell him my name, he says "Oh, you're the guy from Shelter Island with the '54 Power Wagon."
He then says that he has a '56, with an factory flatbed, once owned by the highway department, and that I should go see it some time.
So, another one that I never knew about pops up just 10 miles away. Weird.
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