Welcome to This Country Life.
I'm your host Brent Reeves.
From Cone hunting to trot lining and just general country living, I want you to stay
a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system.
This country life is proudly presented as part of Mediators Podcast Network, bringing
you the best outdoor podcasts the airways have to offer.
Alright friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate.
I think I got a thing or two to teach you.
Country Vehicles
This week we're talking country vehicles.
Your signature sled that gets you from the cossa to the woods and back.
Now whether you're fixing fence, feeding cows or chasing critters that ramble amongst the
floor, how you get to and fro says a lot about who you are.
It's your statement without making a statement.
And it's for everybody else's eyeballs.
We're going to talk about what makes a good one and where you might find these units.
But first, I'm going to tell you a story.
My first truck was a 6 cylinder standard shift 3 speed 1973 Ford F100 long wheelbase pickup.
That inline 6 cylinder motor didn't have enough power to pull a greasy string out of
a cat's behind, but it was easy to maintain and it cranked from the seat which is always
a plus.
It was powder blue and outside of the gun rack I'd installed in the back glass, it
was as basic of a vehicle as you could get.
If it had been a pack of smokes, the outside of the package would have been white and the
black print would have only said cigarettes.
No air conditioner.
The only air turning in the cab was a direct result of how much glass you rolled down inside
the door.
It was not fancy.
I bought it in 1982 when I was 16 years old with money I'd made hauling hay and trapping.
It cost me $700, the dimmer switch for the headlights was on the floorboard.
It had an AM radio that could get the local radio station in Warren, Arkansas, but it
also the Grand Ole Opry on WSM all the way from Nashville, Tennessee, clears a bell on
Saturday night.
If I jobbed a fresh sweet tater down on a 5 inch nub of an antenna that had survived
my ownership.
I remembered that we'd all gathered up on a back road and built a fire one time and while
I was trying to fine tune the dial to get the music to play one evening, someone found
a sweet tater in the bed of the truck and as a joke stuck it on there and voila.
Sounded like we was right on the front row so every Saturday night that we gathered someone
would fresh tater the radio and we'd light a fire.
I remembered not long after I bought it that I was taking our old cow dog Luke to the vet
for a checkup over in Monticella that was 16 miles away from Warren and 22 from our farm.
I'd ask a young lady whose company I was currently partial to to go with me and her
mom and daddy said it was alright.
So when I got to town I scooped her up and with her sitting in the middle next to me in
Luke loving life and seeing the sights of town from the bed of the truck we took off
from Monticella, Arkansas.
It was a big deal for a young man to have his own vehicle back then, especially one that
he'd bought and paid for himself.
And I was feeling plum-groved and like a big deal and more than a little proud of myself
as we rattled down the highway, fit in the image and mind of just about every country
song that faded in and out of that single speaker in the middle of the dash.
Pride is said to go with before a fall.
That actual quote is from Proverbs 16-18 that says Pride go with before destruction and
a haughty spirit before a fall.
Well, in my case it was.
Pride go with just like the tailgate that fell off your $700 truck and is now sliding
down the highway behind you and under the wheels of that log truck that only a moment
ago looked to be a safe distance away.
Apparently the Bondo that had repaired and hit a previous owner's damage on the left rear
quarter panel and vibrated loose releasing my tailgate from its vehicular bonds and
sent it to its doom along the highway like a blind folded armadilla.
I pulled over and loaded what was left of the tailgate in the back of the truck but
Luke up in the front with us and we went on to the vet.
I decided I'd work on fixing that when I got back to the farm.
Now on the way back on that same stretch of road and with old Lucas checked out and good
to go and the embarrassment of that tailgate situation behind me, I felt that old familiar
pride for feeling sneaking back up on me and why not.
My cow dog was healthy, I was cruising down the highway with a pretty girl and the truck
we were riding in was paid for and belonged to me and so did that mother that had just
come loose and slid off the highway and entered the Celine River never to be seen again.
It seems old Uncle Rusty had overtaken the exhaust system of my cherry to fire and separated
the mother in a good portion of the tailpipe from its designated spot at a most in-opportun
time.
I ain't had that truck long enough to get it real dirty and with every turn of the wheel
it seemed gravity was working against me.
That last 4 miles back to her house with no mother on the truck was so loud I didn't
hear her say goodbye when she jumped out of the truck at a stop sign about a half a block
from where she lived.
Oh well, Luke stayed with me till he died and when he did that old truck was what I used
to tell him to his grave and that's just how that happened.
Now getting to where we want to go is important, getting back home now that's important.
And folks will have their druthers about the best way to do that.
Their loyalty is to a specific brand of vehicle is intense and unmovable.
People here on Safe Forward stands for found on the road dead or their Webster's definition
of dodge is to avoid and go around.
Chevrolet, Toyota, GMC, Nissan, all of them.
They've all got their supporters and detractors and that's not what we're talking about here.
We're talking about not walking.
And I'm a fan of any conveyance that saves me steps.
I used to work with a fell in the woods who'd shake his head and pity and say whenever we
pass by somebody walking for exercise on the road, look at that idiot.
The good lord only gives you so many steps in your life and that moron is burning his
up on the side of the highway.
So to keep for burning your steps up unnecessarily, we need some wheels.
And guess what?
It ain't even got to be a truck.
There were several of us that worked in the woods together managing timber on different
crews and one fella was a hog owner.
And when I say he was a hog owner, I don't mean he hunted hogs occasionally.
Saying Harry was a hog owner was like saying, sometimes I eat when I'm hungry.
Because sometimes I eat when I ain't hungry.
What's hunger got to do with it?
We got vitals?
Let's eat.
That's how Harry felt about hog hunting.
Harry's hunting rig was a car, a two-door Bermuda Blue 1959 Rambler with the rear seat
removed to accommodate his dogs.
The hood came from the factory with two chrome ornaments that looked like front sights on
a Colt piece maker.
They were placed side by side, a few inches off the center line of the hood.
The Harry had removed them and replaced them with a tusk of a big bore hog and he'd wired
them through each hole.
He had a pair of ground grip tires on the back that would sing going down the highway
and even though it wasn't a four-wheel drive, that little light white car was unstoppable
in the woods.
Especially when Harry was properly motivated by the boys in Milwaukee causing him complete
disregard for the paint on the fenders or the bark on trees.
There was no mistaking when Harry drove by.
He made a statement, your rig needs to serve your purpose.
It should enhance your opportunities in the field and add to your comfort, safety and
security.
Many nights I've slept in the seat or on a dog box in the bed of my truck waiting for
a hound to come back or to just have a jump start on a spot where I thought a turkey might
be gobbling in the next morning.
Now old Harry had removed a whole rear seat from his little Rambler, customised his rig
to fit his mission profile.
Harry beat the system.
On the other hand, Michael Roseman, the owner of Sunspot Hunting Lights, the man who had
division and wherewithal to say, hey, why don't we put the light and the battery on
the coon hunting helmet?
That electrical wizard of sunshine and literal light, my friend, my coon hunting buddy, his
first hunting rig.
It was an 80 model, two-door old mobile cutlass.
It's been said that poor folks have poor ways and old Mikey, like a lot of us, comes
from humble beginnings, but through hard work and perseverance, he's risen to the top of
his game in the coon hunting world and become a successful businessman and that his first
hunting rig might have been what lit the fuse on his methodical rise to glory.
Michael told me about him and his best friend, Timmy, borrowing that cutlass from Timmy's
aunt and how they'd load the dogs up in the trunk and leave to go hunting.
He said the rear deckspeakers had long been removed from that car and the hounds would
take turns poking their heads up through the holes to see where they were going.
I'm sure that was the sight, it one that makes me laugh every time I hear Michael tell
that story.
It's a feel-good story to me.
Two young boys find a way to do what they love to do and one of them loved it so much
he now makes a living inside the coon hunting world.
It don't get much better than that.
God bless America.
There's two examples of country boys having rigs that suited their needs even when at
first glance you wouldn't think so.
Because if I ask you to pitch your hog hunting or a coon hunting ride, I'm going to go out
and I'll say that neither one of those conjured up a modified rambler or a cutlass.
Harry and Michael, they beat the system.
Gary Newcomb.
You know Gary Newcomb.
Daddy, Declay, Patriarch of the Newcomb Covey, Seer of Panthers and other mythical creatures.
Michael Gary says the measure of a man is directly tied to his ability to buy a used vehicle.
I tend to agree.
It says important a skill as knowing where North is and being able to build a fire.
If you can do those three things you can drive, survive and navigate to better places
and friendlier people.
Be bad at buying a car and you could end up walking everywhere you go.
Moving at the speed of flip and flop will get you nowhere fast and having you depending
on others for transportation.
And since I don't recall ever seeing the city bus rolling down a country road picking folks
up and toting them places, you best acquire that skill, Stant.
I recall my dad and I driving through Kingson, Arkansas, birthplace of Johnny Cash on our
way to rising where my dad's office was.
And we picked up such a fellow once.
This man was unknown to us but back then it wasn't uncommon to give folks a ride you
didn't know.
There wasn't a whole lot of maintenance going on and my path wasn't there right to reach
of a pistol of some sort should someone take a notion to try to rob us.
Anyway this fellow was what we'd call an in-betweener.
He was in between where he started and where he wanted to go.
He was in between jobs and in between baths.
He didn't need no money to ride with us but since it wasn't raining and he smelled like
a goat, he was assigned to sit in coach which was the bed of the truck.
He had an extra big straw hat on that was covering him well in the heat of the day when
we picked him up.
My dad told him to hop in the back and with the grace of a Boston ballerina that rascal
hopped up in there and sat down on the edge of the bed.
My dad hollered at him to sit down inside but he stayed perched up on the edge like a
crow on a light line.
My dad was holding the edge and the other holding the crown of that big old hat.
My dad told him to sit down again and as we pulled out on the highway for safety but
he didn't budge.
It was then I could see my father took this as a direct challenge to his authority as
being the captain of this flight.
He looked at me and said he's going to sit down or I'm going to blow that hat and plumb
off his head in a way we win.
At 65 miles an hour the brim with that hat started to vibrate where you could notice
it a little bit but that man never flinched.
At 75 it was flopping up and down like a jackhammer and he was mashing it down so hard with
his off hand that you couldn't see his eyes.
10 minutes of 85 miles per hour and the brim with that hat was hanging around his neck
like a bouquet of flowers for winning the Kentucky Derby and the crown of that hat looked like
one of my grandma's shower caps.
We had to slow down to almost a complete stop to let someone turn off the highway and I
guess that feller had had enough and decided to deplane before we reached the terminal
gate.
He bailed out there like it was on fire and the last time I seen him he was lighting a
shuck across the ditch into the woods and cutting up a storm.
We felt bad about his hat but had he had since enough not to be walking and depending
on other folks for his transportation or if he had just sat down like my dad told him
to he'd still be sporting that cover.
So where are we going to find you a rear gap?
Word of mouth and somebody's yard.
Unless you know the used car salesman, I steer clear and hunt for the deal where someone
is settling at themselves.
You'll see him advertised as just in time for hunting season or perfect for the farm.
You know what you're getting there and a seat warmer probably ain't going to be on the list
of extras.
Probably ain't going to be a lot of wiggle room on the price either but there'll be
some and you need to haggle a bit.
Remember what Gary Newcom said about the measure of a man and buying a used vehicle?
Haggling over price makes men feel like men and both of you come away with it.
Remember we ain't buying a show truck.
We're not looking for this unit to do anything outside of getting us to the country and back
without breaking a sweat or swinging our arms.
So a little dent here and there ain't going to bother us.
It adds character like a broken pair of leather boots or scars that remind you of a past adventure.
Heck if we had a dent or two along the way your first thought might have nothing to do
with getting it fixed it could be thanks for the check insurance man.
Ain't nobody going to notice that little dent cause they're going to be too busy looking
at my new trolling motor when our cruise passed them headed to the river.
Well that ought to get you squared away and pointed in the right direction if or when
you decide to update your fleet with a new to you country cruiser.
I hope y'all enjoyed our visit today.
If you have share it with other country minded folks it might enjoy it.
And remember you ain't got to be from the country and be comfy.
This is Brent Reeves signing off.
Y'all be careful.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
You're going to be able to do it.
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