This truck and I have shared some amazing journeys since I bought it new in 1982; as it turns out, it’s the sentimental journey that has been my favorite. I was a single firefighter in Arizona when I picked her out of the lot. We spent a lot of time in the four-wheel drive with my Golden Retriever, Rusty. There were many dove and quail hunts. I can still see Rusty in the pickup bed, soaking up the sun and enjoying the wind in his face. He was just a pup back then.

Eighteen months later, I drove her to pick up a young lady, Karen, for a blind date set up by a mutual friend. Four months later we were married and we drove the truck to Southern California for our honeymoon, Karen sitting in the middle and my arm comfortably around her shoulders. Eleven months later, there would be a car seat in the middle and our son, Aaron, sitting in it. Two years later, a baby girl, Stacey, would be there. Together, with Rusty in the back, we’d head out for week long camping trips, day trips to the lake, vacations to theme parks and the like.

In 1988, my parents relocated from Los Angeles to Payson, AZ, about an hour away. I helped my dad build their retirement home. He was the contractor and I was there every set of “Kelly’s” (the stretch of days off between firefighter shifts). Karen, the kids, Rusty and I would drive up in the truck until the house was complete. Seven years later, we reversed roles; I was the contractor and my dad came to help me build our dream home in Fountain Hills, AZ. The truck hauled all manner of construction materials, fixtures, appliances and later the furniture from the old house to the new one.

Several years later, as a family, we took Rusty for his last ride in that truck. He was 16, which I know was a long, full life for a Golden Retriever. That didn’t make it any easier, or the pain any less. There wasn’t a dry eye in that truck as we drove back home.

In 2001, we got a new Dodge truck when our oldest was 16. He learned to drive in the ’82 and drove it until his sister learned to drive in it a few years later. After that they shared it. Eventually, the children grew up and moved out, and over the years we bought new Dodge pickup trucks and considered selling the ’82. Karen insisted we had to keep the “date truck” as she called it. In 2009, both my parents passed away. It was a rough time. But the house in Payson provided a wonderful garage for the old Dodge to weather the elements. In 2011, we got a new dog, Cheyenne; a beautiful black and tan Coonhound. Whenever we spent time in the Payson house, she would get to ride in the old truck. She sat proudly, as if she understood how much that truck meant to me.

In 2015, I brought the old truck back from Payson and spent some time and money fixing her up. If we couldn’t part with her, we were going to give her the attention she deserved. What was going to be a refresh turned into more of a restoration. She looked fantastic.

I retired in July of last year and we drove her to our retirement property in Wyoming. It was our dream to relocate to a place where hunting, fishing and outdoor activities were plentiful and Dubois, Wyoming, was that place. We purchased the property in 2003, had a garage/shop building constructed in 2013 and lived there while we built the house. The old Dodge looked great in the new Man Cave. We finished the new house in May, had to say goodbye to Cheyenne much too soon in July and just had Stacey’s wedding there in August.

The old Dodge sits pristinely in the new garage. It gets a workout when I head off on hunting trips and Karen uses it. It transported her safely around Wyoming in January in the middle of the worst winter in recorded history. This month, Karen will be driving her and taking along our new black and tan Coonhound pup, Guinness, while I am on an elk hunt in Utah.

Most of the time, the ’82 gets a lot of rest. On beautiful sunny days, Karen and I climb in. She sits in the middle of the bench seat and I put my arm comfortably around her shoulders. She smiles and I’m reminded of that first date back in ’84. It’s been quite a journey, covering hundreds of thousands of miles and full of more memories than I can count. But, as I said at the beginning, it’s the sentimental journey that’s my favorite.