OT: Calamity Jane

Yesterday, as I was getting gas, a guy came over to me and wanted to demonstrate some "Top Secret" NASCAR cleaning product on my truck. I had a few minutes to kill so I humored him, although I already knew what would come of it.

He sprayed and scrubbed and sprayed and scrubbed, but the spots he labored over looked no different than when he's started. Frustrated, he tried to explain that, probably, it just needs to sit on for a while before it gets scrubbed off, so he tried waiting a few minutes with no improved results.

Finally, unable to watch his frustration and confusion swell any more than it had, I explained to him that, while I was sure the product he was promoting was indeed amazing, my truck has been through mud and dust and gunk and all sorts of nasty environments, it's hauled hay and horses, and probably hasn't been cleaned for, oh, four or five years (save for a rinse at a Solar Car Wash back in November). He was baffled. Poor city creatures know nothing about a ranch truck.

A ranch truck, like its equine and canine counterparts, has been everywhere and done everything. Like a good ranch horse or ranch dog, it can preform the difficult tasks that trucks half its age and twice its cost balk at, takes care of you in situations when it should, by all means, fall apart, and wears the dirt that comes from a good day's work like a badge of pride.

This is my ranch truck: A 1990 Ford F-150 Lariat fondly known as Calamity Jane. Calamity was/is my first vehicle, passed down from my grandmother after she bought her newer F-250 that I've named The Honker (although I think she was always meant to be mine; she was bought on my birthday, after all!). She's been a patient teacher and a reliable partner, even if she drinks gas like there's no tomorrow and drifts a little. One of the best things about her is that she gets instant respect from the other cars on the road; no one wants to tangle with a real truck!


She's in amazing shape for her age. Her rear end is definitely her best side.



This bumper sticker was left over from when my grandmother owned her. It's proven not to be true, since I have helped a few people move. Notice the spiderweb? That's Calamity's second favorite accessory. The first is the little dream catcher that hangs on her rear view mirror.


This sticker was part of a care package P gave me one birthday. Calamity can often be heard blaring Johnny Cash, Willie, or The Highwaymen. But what makes this sticker extra special is the dog Kelli and I co-own, who often rides shotgun in Calamity, named Cash.


Paco Collars do, indeed, rock. They're all handmade, latigo leather, with techniques based largely on horse tack. A little urban, a little western, a bit hipster and punk, you can definitely find something for everyone there. They're the best collars on the market -- I should know, I help make them! (If you go to the website, keep an eye out for the collars named after Cash and Maverick!)


I love to pick my niece up from school with this one! You wouldn't believe all the dirty looks I get from the elementary school moms.


I'm proud to be a gypsy! Some of my favorite clothes and accessories that I own come from The Junk Gypsies. They're a little pricey, but definitely worth it. When I have the extra money (which is rarely), it's my favorite way to spoil myself. Well, that and books. I bought my grandmother a matching sticker for The Honker, so now we look like a little troop when the trucks are parked together.


A little love for Rico. What can I say? I love the little Pistolero!


I got this sticker when I first bought Maverick and transferred him to my name. I always said that I'd put it on my first car, so there it is. I'm since no longer a member; I didn't keep up with my dues. But one day I will be again! (Hopefully I'll get a APHA sticker too one day, jeeze!)


Calamity's newest "tattoo." Kelli bought this for me; she has a matching sticker on her car. Now we also look like a troop when our cars are parked together. I'm going to take over the world with gypsy cowgirls!


My favorite sticker, and probably the one that sums me up the best. No truer statement has ever been said.


Because they do. And, often, they drive them better.


Can you tell I love my horse?


That's Calamity. I have a superstition about naming cars: I feel like, if you give them a good name, they'll take care of you better and longer. I haven't been proven wrong yet.

Maybe I can get P to let me take pictures of Grandaddy ("G.D." for short and, yes, she is a girl -- or as female as a car can be) and Greased Lightning ("G.L." -- he's a boy) to post up, too.