A Love Letter to…

Now that I’ve essentially gone halfway through my journey, I thought it’d be nice to throw a little shoutout to my house on wheels….

IMG_0853To my trusty Toyota Tacoma,

     I know that’s not really your name.  I know you’re designation is just “pickup” truck… but to me you’re so much more.  Most recently, you’ve been my home.  My rolling, roving, slow moving house.  You’ve been up and down the coast with me, you’ve seen all the sites I’ve seen, you’ve slept in campsites and on the side of the road with me.  You’ve driven down freeways, paved roads, dirt roads and gravel roads.  You’ve kept me safe, dry and most importantly: alive.  You’ve taken a couple hits, a couple dings and dents here and there but you’ve kept on rolling.  You’ve lived in San Francisco with me; accumulating tickets on your windshield as I left you in places unbefitting of your station.  You’ve carried my passengers including my best friends, my family and my grandma…


     You’re one year younger than me, born in 1991.  You didn’t used to be mine.  You used to be my grandpa’s.  He treated you like a king.  Washing and cleaning you daily, keeping your blue seats vibrant and smelling brand new.  He took your cover on and off every single day and didn’t push you too hard.  Now you’re getting old.  Your scent has changed, the scratches are getting deeper and the paint is rubbing off.  I’m ashamed to admit, part of that is my fault.  You still don’t have many miles, but your body is breaking.  You make these awful noises when we drive. Creaking as we make a turn or squealing when I slam on the breaks. I know I rode you too hard.  I know that trip last year, nearly killed you.  3,800 miles of hard driving daily and you didn’t complain once.  You’re a warrior.  A Great White Shark creeping through the streets…


     Without you, I would have never left on such a journey.  You are unique.  Equipped with an 8’ long bed that I can stretch out in, a two person cab with no backseat and a small frame that allows me to fit in any parking spots. As I reflect on the last year and all the places I’ve been, it always come back to you.  I never would have gotten anywhere without you.  I would have been miserable without you.  It isn’t your time yet, you still have plenty of life left but it’s getting closer.  The end is in sight.  We have memories dating back to 1991 in the garage with my grandpa. All the way to 2018, sleeping beneath a canopy of stars.  To me you’re more than a tool or a vehicle or a machine, you are a life unto yourself. 

’93 lounging
’18 lounging



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