The other week, I was hauling water. Snow was deep on the drive, so my brother and I had to chain up the old Ford.
The chains on one side “chinked” when I drove. The other side “clunked”. Once I got down our lane, the snow wasn’t bad at all, but I had to leave the chains on to get back up.
So I drove to town, “Chink. Chink. Clunk. Chink. Chink. Clunk.” Horses ran in terrified circles when I drove by.
“Chink. Chink. Clunk. Chink. Chink. Clunk.” Mule deer that barely lift their heads to watch most passing vehicles, ran for the hills.
“Chink. Chink. Clunk. Chink. Chink. Clunk.” People turned and stared, while I slid farther down in my seat. I felt really silly clanking around on clear roads with my 4×4 truck chained up.
Since then, I’ve learned to appreciate the Ford truck, chains and all.
I used to like driving Daniel’s Jeep Cherokee more. It is cute, even if it does smoke and smell bad. But when we girls were going to use it the other day, Dad told us, “You can drive it, but be careful. The steering wheel might lock up.”
O.K. No big deal. Nothing wrong, except the steering might not work. When I’m going 70 down the highway. Around a corner. With oncoming vehicles.
We decided not to drive the Jeep.
We took the Ford water truck instead. The one with doors that don’t open from the inside, and weak brakes. It will go from 0 to 60 by the time I get to Bridger, five miles away. But it I can steer it. Always.