I admit it – I am a sucker for a rundown old rig that has been left sitting for any length of time. Such is the case with an old ‘82 Kenworth K-100 cabover that has been sitting in the back lot at my mechanic’s shop for a few years. All I’ve learned about it is that it originally came from Texas, where I’m confident that it served out its glory days as someone’s pride and joy. Then, it was purchased by someone in the state of Washington where it hauled hay from 1992 until 2000. At that point the details get sort of vague, but at some point it was modified from its original 310 Cat to a 425 Cat. I believe it changed ownership a couple times and then, somehow, landed in my mechanic’s back lot. I’ve met the current owner briefly, awhile back, but so far he isn’t ready to let it come home with me. It’s clearly seen better days, but I’ve always had an eye for how old trucks could look if given the proper TLC. I do hope the current owner has the resources and ambition to follow through with plans to fix up the old K-Whopper, but I keep daydreaming about it coming home with me so I can stare at it with loving eyes and make big plans to fix it up myself. Alas, she’s not mine, and she may never be. But, I wrote this poem for that truck, specifically, and I dedicate it to all of the other neglected relics we have all noticed sitting deep in the woods, out in a pasture, or stuck in a lot somewhere, that we’ve silently made plans for – even though we may never own them.
LONELY OLD RIG
By Trevor Hardwick
There’s a lonely old rig at the edge of town,
Rusty and dirty and a shade of brown.
Lookin’ kinda tired and a little run down,
It’s been awhile since her wheels rolled ‘round.
She ain’t mine and it doesn’t seem fair,
She and I would make a pretty good pair.
The paint is faded but the glass is there,
The wheels ain’t shiny but the tires hold air.
The engine ran once upon a time,
It’s got a heapin’ helpin’ of grease and grime.
Sittin’ there rotting oughta be a crime,
Someday soon I’m gonna make her mine!
I can picture how she looked in her past,
Tall and proud and undoubtedly fast.
Built when rigs were built to last,
Now abandoned like a diesel outcast.
In the 80’s and the 90’s she owned the road,
Running in the sun and the bitter cold.
Then came the days it was feast or fold,
I can just imagine all her stories told.
I’ve got my eyes on a little old rig,
Potential seems slight but my dreams are big.
Some might call her just a dirty ol’ pig,
Call me crazy but that’s the kind I dig!
It’s been awhile since her wheels rolled ‘round,
Lookin’ kinda tired and a little run down.
Rusty and dirty and a shade of brown,
There’s a lonely old rig on the edge of town.
