In July of 2009 Myrtle was taken on a cross-country road trip spanning three weeks, five National Parks, and what became 8,800 miles in total, traversing almost half of all 50 states. I honestly didn't give a shit if the old bomber even survived; I just wanted to see some good country. But my affection and admiration for the truck grew with each mile. Myrtle was charged with trekking through blazing hot, remote Montana desolation, up & down the Rockies, through the Redwood Forest, across the majestic Candy Mountain where unicorns fear to tread, etc., etc.

Thankfully, she proved thoroughly road-worthy. When we left, she was gobbling about 18 MPG per day. As we returned, it was averaging above 20. Now, I'm sure this isn't because of anything more mystical than the hills & roads we were traversing, and our collective abilities to drive without hammering 4000 RPMs up hills with the cruise control on. Still, it just smacks of real character for Myrtle.

And her patience was uncanny, too. After hundred-mile climbs in 95-degree heatwaves, her temp gauge never strayed from the middle of the safety zone. The only time we almost overheated was while parked in some highway construction gridlock while blasting the air conditioning. We shut it off for three minutes and Myrtle cooled right back down to normal. Not bad for an old lady.

This truck carried two people, along with a guitar, a keyboard, two sleeping bags, and a cooler full of alcohol and hot dogs, all across this massive country without complaining once. Every would-be blemish on her record was caused by the dumbasses charged with her care. This truck put the "rusty" in "trusty" and to this day I am impressed daily by her stamina.

Who would have thought such an innocuous vehicle could turn out to be my favorite? After all the fireballs of testicular girth I allowed to devour my bank accounts? This shoebox... this very, very... BROWN contraption, has bored itself so deeply into my heart that I can safely say she shall be the first motorized companion for whom I weep when she drives off into her sunset someday.

West we went from Connecticut that summer, through Chicago and Minneapolis to Devil's Tower, Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and finally our first left turn in Seattle. Along the coast Myrtle hastened us until our second left in San Francisco, and then after a bear-cluttered night, Las Vegas. She took us through Zion before finally heading back east 500 miles per day for our final 4-day haul back home. Myrtle had an oil change among California Redwoods, a second change upon returning home, and a grill full of gigantic grasshopper guts for dessert, and she gratefully gobbled it down with a grin. It's been another 50,000 miles since then as I write this update, and she's still smiling, partly because we brushed her teeth when we got home: