This Taco has traveled 300 thousand miles.

She's a machine, in all of the ways. Half of those miles were me, and it's wild to think that she has been through twice what we've through together. I feel like I could write an essay testimonial right now just about how much I love my Toyota. I'm all nostalgic and looking through photos for truck pics. It's ironically country. I LOVE MY TRUCK MAN! So many thoughts. So many close calls. So many conversations, road trips, songs. This truck is like a second home. I almost have a completely different life that's lived solely inside of it. Words and sounds that nobody else will ever hear. Dozens of coffee stains. Probably a fossilized french fry between the seats somewhere. Hundreds of dollars in Los Angeles parking tickets. Sex. Break ups. Safety breaks. Phone calls. Photographs.

And miles. 300 thousand so far. It's fitting and to me pretty amusing that it hit the number just outside of Ojai, where it left from on it's first trip around the country in 2007. The Great Couch Tour. Built a bed/storage rack in the bed, so basically had a moving bedroom. I was gone for 3 months, just her and I for the most part. I learned how to beatbox. I reconfirmed again and again that I am weird as hell and am always just going to have to take long drives to deal with it. 

Very few repairs in the last decade, has almost never left me stranded.. at one point the front wheel did fall off, but that's more incidental than indicative really. It had squeaked for weeks. Luckily I was in Ojai at that moment as well, cruising slowly on a deserted back road. Could have been real bad, but it wasn't. Like a war horse that got you home from battle before collapsing. Just to up the drama a little bit here. 

In a way, I do believe that automobiles harbor and transport souls. They become an extension of you, like if you could make your legs into wheels. This one has weaved it's way into my life in such a way, that it will be sad to see it go. I've gone and grown attached to my vehicle. Figure that one out please, Mr. Freud.   

Some of my favorite companions.

This truck has been my vocal booth. My punching bag. My sanctuary, where I can be absolutely me. And be whoever the fuck I want to be, in any moment. There's a freedom in here, that just isn't anywhere else. I can say some ridiculous phrase in multiple accents, hundreds of times until I start coughing, and then laugh at my utter ridiculousness. It's time that I cherish, time at the wheel.  

Most of the good stuff that I witnessed while moving was obviously impossible to capture, but I still got lost for about a day going through multiple hard drives looking for photos of this thing's journey. Long may you run, Taco.