I had my underwear stolen once.

It wasn’t really just my underwear; it was my shower bag. I used for showers at truck stops. The thief didn’t steal it at a truck stop though; some prick stole it at a Greyhound bus station in St. Paul, Minnesota.

I was at the Greyhound station in St. Paul because my mom’s car broke down on my way home from a weekend in Duluth. I was on the phone with my mom, kind of keeping an eye on the bag. The call was a plea to get my mom to pick me up from the bus station. But my plea went unheeded and I quickly became an expert on the city buses that would get me from St. Paul to Minneapolis where my mom worked.

All this was the culmination of an awesome weekend in Duluth. It was the early days of my truck driving career. I was still driving a company truck and didn’t own a car. Actually, I did own a car, but it was in the Eagan impound lot. The Minneapolis Park police impounded the car in hopes of getting restitution for the trees my buddies and me ran down one drunken night using said car.

That tale is for another time.

I went to Duluth that weekend in my mom’s car with the intent of exploring the possibility of moving up there. A guy I used to work with bought a house up there and had a room for rent…if I was interested. I met a sweet little girl that weekend whose name was Dana Little. Long raven hair, great smile, and a nice body.

She was sweet!

My joke after it was clear that she was into me was, “If anyone asks how my weekend was in Duluth, I can always say…I got a little.”

Nope, it wasn’t funny then either and I didn’t get shit.

We spent the evening together and most of the next couple of days. The whole time I kept noticing that my mom’s Ford Tempo did not like the hills. If you have ever been to Duluth, you know what I mean by “hills”.

Finally, it was time to return to my mom’s little rambler in Coon Rapids and then the open road. As I climbed the hill coming out of Duluth on I35 the car was acting like it was having a seizure. It coughed and sputtered, hiccuped, stalled and forced me to shift into a lower gear at times.

That crappy grey/gray car was sucking in its dying breaths!

Why were all Tempos some shade of grey/gray?


Not my moms Tempo

However, that crappy old car made the climb and I was sailing along on a cool crisp pre-dawn winter morning in my mom’s Ford Tempo. Dana was in the rear view mirror with promises of the two of us getting to know each other in the coming months…life was good.

Until the next hill climb. Man, that car hated hills at this point in its life.

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