Everybody Has a Story: Even with her cranky old ways, Gertie was a lovable gal

When our children were ages 2 and 6, we moved to central Montana. After the first real snow and ice storm, followed by a lengthy power outage, we quickly learned that an alternate heat source would be vital. We decided on a wood stove, but soon learned that the stove isn’t the only expenditure. A good supply of wood is the next ingredient, but to obtain the wood, one has to also invest in a strong chain saw, a reliable truck, a larger than average first-aid kit, and a good chiropractor.

We had everything in place but the truck. As a young couple with little kids and house payments, we couldn’t afford much in the way of a second vehicle, especially a truck. Fortunately, an old rancher we knew had the perfect truck. It looked older than either one of us, had been on his ranch for years, had low mileage, rarely traveled on paved highways or gravel roads and, as he said, “Over the years, I’ve only added oil and gas to her — she just kept on a-goin’.” How could we go wrong for $100?

We got the truck just in time to begin gathering firewood for the winter. After several trips into the mountains, Gertie got her name.

Now, Gertie wasn’t much to look at as far as trucks go. She was cream colored, but as anyone knows who’s been on a ranch, dents and dings happen, and so does rust. Gertie had quite the collection. As a way to keep the rust from spreading, the rancher had used white spray paint, leaving her with blotches of white next to the existing cream color — with rust still peeping through. This would be a perfect truck for hauling firewood, and besides, no one would notice the additional dings and dents we might add.

Like most ranch trucks, Gertie came with the crown jewel, a cattle guard. This wasn’t an ordinary store-bought cattle guard, it was more substantial. The rancher’s son made it in shop class, painted it black, then spray-painted it with a thin coat of white to match the truck. Splotches of white paint remained in only a few places. It was magnificent.

Opening and closing Gertie’s doors was not for the timid. Unlike the soft, tight sound of today’s trucks, Gertie’s doors sounded more like metal being unceremoniously bent. If we got in and closed the door, there was a distinctive “re-e-e-e-ck,” leaving us feeling like the lone rock in an empty tomato can; if we stood outside and closed the door, we always wondered if we should look around our feet for any parts that fell off.

Gertie did have personality. One of the most amazing things was how she changed from summer to winter. Driving any kind of vehicle in minus-40-degree weather and three feet of snow is difficult, and we used an engine heater overnight — which meant that a cord and plug dangled out of Gertie’s front grill like a wayward piece of broccoli wedged between her front teeth. But this was more than a fashion statement; Gertie would complain when it reached below 20 below, but never failed to start. After a few turns of the key and some little-kid pats on the dashboard, she’d clear her throat, then respond like a pro.

She wasn’t a spring chicken. She’d be stiff and didn’t like her steering wheel turned for the first few minutes, but once out of our driveway, it was as if she put her head up and confidently moved along, ready for adventure.

Except, there were a few things. Her tires would be flat. This wasn’t the “require changing” kind of flat — it was what we called “flat frozen,” so we’d feel thump-roll, thump-roll until we’d driven the several miles necessary for the tires to warm up and round out.

She wouldn’t share any heat in the cab until we’d driven at least 20 miles. She was consistent about this 20-mile rule, which meant that when my husband drove her to work, the heat would start just as he arrived. Before that, the faux-leather bench seat was cold and hard as a block of ice and refused to conform to anyone’s derriere.

The shock absorbers were connected to the heater in some way, because they, too, only worked after the requisite 20 miles. So, they rarely accomplished their task.

Gertie held a special spot in all of our hearts and remained in our family for over eight years. When it came time to leave Montana, the first question was, “Can Gertie come too?” Unfortunately, the answer was no. Gertie couldn’t take the long trip, but we’d find a good home for her — or as good as a used car salesman could find.

The day our “House for Sale” sign went up, a teenage boy down the street boldly knocked on our door and asked what we were going to do with Gertie. The look on our kids’ faces told us he was the best pick to adopt her. He bought Gertie for exactly the $100 we’d paid for her, and when he came to get her, he said, “Gunna really fix her up. She’s a creampuff.”

Who knew?

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