|The Little Mexican Truck that Did!|
Sure enough, the next morning, at the crack of dawn, Kevin loaded up the truck like a burro in a spaghetti western and they set off. The first day's ride was through rolling green countryside but after that it was mile after mile of dusty brown flat lands. The Truck felt pretty good but was a bit worried about letting Kevin down, especially on the long days when they went for 40 or 50 miles without seeing any signs of civilization, other than Border Patrol helicopters and Greyhound buses. Kevin was feeling good too, and enjoying the chance encounters with other oddballs when he stopped for lunch or overnight.
The Truck did its best to keep rolling but it couldn't help getting the odd flat tire. Kevin was well equipped to deal with minor roadside problems, but his patience was tested to the limit when three of his stock of new inner tubes turned out to have leaky valve stems. He'd got them from the hippies at REI and it seemed that someone had enjoyed a little too much wacky baccy at some point in the process.
In the end, they were both glad to see the Marfa city limits sign. The Truck was relieved and happy but a little concerned - how was it to get home? Surely Kevin wouldn't leave it? Not to worry, after a good night's sleep, Kevin unloaded the Truck and took it to a bike shop in Alpine, where they broke it down and packaged it for the train ride home.
A few weeks later, Kevin and the Truck showed up for a ride with Andy, Paddy and some others. Did they treat the Truck with new-found respect after its epic adventure? Hell no, they still ripped the piss out of it (Paddy was particularly unkind - the Truck does not have any barnacles on it), while giving Kevin all kinds of praise, when all he had done was sit on it. There ain't no justice.