The wide open spaces of Wyoming.
Sometimes when I drive across here I think about one of the last trips I made, running with my dad. I was 18, and had about 9 months of driving, doing local work, behind me. So it was one of the first trips where I felt like I was more than just a passenger. I did my share of driving.
When we were leaving Laramie, I got behind the wheel. Now a few months before, they had just put together a glider kit for dad. The transmission setup was a six and a four, turning 3.90 gears. The national speed limit was still 55mph.
Before dad went back and laid down in the bunk, he told me, "Don't put both transmissions in overdrive." As I was driving along, I soon found the old Cummins motor turning around 2000 rpms. Soon a head came out of the bunk, telling me, "Don't rev it so high." I backed off the throttle and slowed down immediately. But soon the rpms were creeping up again. Not sure which rule to obey, I reached over and put the other transmission in high gear.
A little while later, Dad came out of the bunk and sat in the passenger seat. He didn't say anything for about 15 minutes. Finally, "I thought I told you not to put them both in high gear." I slowed down and downshifted one of them. That was all that was said.
A few months after that, I would buy my own truck. Although we ran together numerous times, we only ever made a trip in the same truck one more time. But that was years later and is another story altogether.
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