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Written by Franklyn D. Garland
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 In December of 1994 I bought a new model year (1995) Nissan King Cab pick-up truck. It was a bright pacific blue, had a four cylinder engine and got about 23 MPG city/high combined. I loved that truck. It ran like a top, I used it to haul everything from coal, to hay to manure to steel and it never complained. I put it in first gear, took my foot off the clutch and moved on. I had wracked up over 115,000 miles of Chicago rush hour driving and I was still using the original clutch. The only problem was that it was turning into a rusty smear on the pavement as the salt of my beloved city slowly ate through the body, frame and various engine parts.
In about May of 2008 the bottom seal on the power steering pump failed
and I tried to drive it sans-power steering for about a week. I have
owned cars without power steering but it was pretty obvious from my
struggles to drive ole' blue that the gearing was definitely a
different beast on a vehicle built to use power steering! I took a
deep breath and shelled out the $700 odd to repair it and kept my
fingers crossed. In November of 2008 during morning rush hour I crested
a hill on an overpass and discovered that my brakes had failed.
30 MPH, downhill, rush hour in Chicago and no brakes. S***!
I reached down and grabbed the emergency brake, pulled back on the
handle and heard the dulcet sound of the emergency brake cable snapping.
30 MPH, downhill, rush hour in Chicago and no brakes and no emergency brakes. Double S***.
As I rolled down the overpass I looked up and noticed that the car
directly in front of me was an Audi sports car of some type and all I
could think was "this is gonna leave a mark..."
Somehow, by a combination of pumping the brakes to build pressure and
shifting up and down to increase drag on the engine I managed to bring
ole' blue to a stop without hitting anyone or anything. 15 seconds of
adrenaline that I still cannot quite remember the details of, but it
was pretty wild crawling into the park and ride lot yelling "get the
f*** out of the way I have no brakes!" to the morning commuters trying
to jay-walk in front of me.
I crawled into the log, slammed it into first to stop the truck and
started that post-rush all over body shake that leaves you giggling and
tired when it has passed. I called my wife and my mechanic to get the
beast towed and get myself picked up from work. My mechanic, Stan,
called and informed me that I had blown a metal brake line but the rust
on the undercarriage was so bad that they couldn't replace the line
without replaced the rear brake distribution valve. The emergency
brake cable was toast and the front calipers were frozen. The total to
repair the damage was around $2000 and the total value of my truck
according to the blue book (if it had been in pristine condition, which
it wasn't) was about $900. So I donated the hulk of my beloved truck to
charity and am now stuck driving my wife's old POS Malibu. Gawd I hate
that car, but as I only drive about 10 miles a day and she drives about
50, she really needs the new car and not me.
I really miss ole' blue. I honestly cried as they towed her away and
not a day goes by when I don't think to myself, "I miss ole' blue." I
got a thank you letter from the Family Care Foundation to whom I had
donated ole' blue and it contained a W9 form for the $1200 it was bough
for at auction. I was shocked that anyone would have paid $1200 for
ole' blue with no brakes, but then again, I would gladly pay $1200 to
have her back.
G'bye Ole' Blue… I miss you…
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