When I first met Vol Fan, he drove a truck very near in age and style to this one. He drove a 1963 Chevy pickup with stepside bed. It had a something-something motor and a something-something transmission and a something-something rear end. Only Vol Fan's wasn't this pretty.
Vol Fan's Mamaw lived next door and walked a mile or so every afternoon to meet her ride to work. Vol Fan walked with her. While walking, they would pick up cans. Every so often, they would take them to the salvage place and cash them in. He eventually saved enough to purchase the truck of his dreams. Too bad it did not run! So he kept picking up cans and doing odd jobs to earn enough money to pay for parts and repairs.
Vol Fan loved that truck.
Then he met me. And fell in love with me. I hated that truck.
It was about 5000 different colors. Vol Fan would buy whatever color of primer that happened to be on sale. So the truck was an assortment of grays and blacks and reds. He loved that truck.
It had a hole in the floorboard where you could watch the road go by. Vol Fan thought it made a fabulous spittoon since he dips tobacco. The hole was made from a mismeasurement when Vol Fan was moving the shifter from the column to the floor. He loved that truck.
Like anything that needs restoration, it was a money pit. We were young. Newly married. And broke. So I hated that truck.
Eventually my logical argument won out and Vol Fan got rid of his truck. And he regrets it to this day.
If I ever hit the Powerball, I will buy him another one. Hopefully he will paint it all one color.
But I'm guessing he will put another hole in the floorboard ;)