Once I smoked a Danneman cigar,
I drove my father's car.
Baby that was years ago.
I left it all behind

Had a friend, I heard she died
On a needle she was crucified
Baby that was years ago
I left it all behind . . .
From Cheap Wine by Cold Chisel


While I learned *how* to drive on a cute '86 Fierro in parking lots, most of my actual ROAD learning happend in a black 1990 Ford Ranger Pick Up (nicknamed "Da truck"). All the VW teenagers learned how to drive on the truck.

My parents, in the infinate wisome, purhased this vehicle with teenager-proofing in mind. Small engine, safe, cheap to insure, safe, slow, safe, limited room for passengers, safe, no power, (and did I mention SAFE?)

The truck provided my frist real escape from home and a pseudo-independence-mobile (when I could get permission to drive it). It was the only place I could listen to Cold Chissel (a musically excellent band, but lyrically not something to play around your mother or 6 year old brother).

Back in the day, Andy and I used the truck to haul lawnmowers around town, making REAL money cutting grass for the little old ladies of Mt. Greenwood. (Lawn mowing paid SO MUCH better than baby sitting!) We had two lawnmowers - so Andy and I would both mow, then he would weed-wack while I talked to the little old ladies. Work-wise it was not a fair division of labor, but they always tipped better when I collected the money and talked to them!!)

The truck was Andy's secret smoking place, Kristie's party-mobile, and Jon's House-of-Love. And today, they're selling the truck )-:
With over 200,000 miles, more rust than metal, dents and scratches contributed by all the VW children, and still smellling of smoke they'll get less than $100.

We comfort ourselves by believing that the truck will go to a farm somewhere to chase horses and butterflies in green pastures.
It's a good truck!