|'94 Toyota still shiny red, mostly|
Today was his birthday. He turned (over) 100,000. It happened up on the hill where Scholl's Ferry Road meets Oregon Highway 26. Sylvan it's called. Donk, the little red pickup truck that mostly just sits in our driveway, partied by driving with me out to the country to fetch a load of composted horse poo for my yard. Right after the signal and on the Highway 26 ramp, the last 9 disappeared.
Donk has had experiences beyond my imagination. He was our daughter's main transportation through high school and college. How many of her friends learned to drive a stick-shift at Donk's expense we don't even want to know. But he's survived thanks to several rather expensive overhauls to the engine and general working parts. And, yes, twice rear-ending another car , each time totaling the sweet thing are part of his history as well.
As we drove through the spring showers to where fields were green, houses few, and horses romp, I thought of that line by Indian Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark, "It's not the years, it's the miles."