I’ve wrecked news car after news car. Just news car after news car.

But the pick-up truck I own in real life has remained consistent. I bought it 20 years ago to celebrate my first job after college. I didn’t make much money, so it was stripped down. It doesn’t even have power windows or door locks [but I did add a new CD player just six years ago].

At the time, I planned to get a more advanced rig when I got a higher paying job, but as I transitioned from Kevin to Jack Arnold, I started thinking, “It still runs. I’ll get rid of it when it stops running.”

Loyal Scaiaholics will recall I head back to the town where I got my first job every year for the rodeo. When I took the truck for its inspection this summer, I asked the mechanic if it was worth renewing for another year. He said the engine looked great.

“So what you’re saying is I should take the truck on a road trip back to its homeland this year instead of flying?” I asked.

“I’m not sure how how you could interpret it that way, but there does not seem to be an imminent mechanical problem that would keep you from reaching the Pacific Northwest,” he replied.

“So the truck is indestructible,” I said, gazing into the distance.

North of Oklahoma City, the check engine light came on.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself. “The check engine light’s not usually on. Sure, the parking brake light and seat belt light are always on. Plus, the air bag light is usually on, so since it’s off, I consider this a push.”

The next day, as I drove past North Platte, Nebraska, I thought to myself, “I believe I stayed in this town when I was first moving to Oregon from Ohio, lo, 20 years ago.” If you don’t use the word, “lo,” when thinking to yourself, you may want to consult a speech therapist.

My truck, starved for attention, decided to start overheating. I pulled off the highway and conducted a detailed inspection: I punched the side of the coolant reservoir and saw it was still full, and the engine wasn’t smoking.

Confidently, I got back on the highway.

My truck, in a fit of mischievous guile, started overheating again. I decided the best response would be ignore the lights and beeping.

Sure enough, about two minutes later, everything went back to normal. We repeated this cycle approximately every ten minutes, so I decided to stop in Cheyenne.

A mechanic there popped the hood and also found nothing wrong, noting the engine looked well-maintained. He said he this was probably a electrical issue or bad thermostat.

“So you’re saying I should keep going and just ignore the lights?” I asked

“I’m not sure how you could interpret it that way. No, it may not be a mechanical problem but even an electrical issue left unaddressed could–“

“Indestructible,” I gazed off into the distance.

To celebrate, this became a celebration of 20 years of turning up the music and ignoring warning lights. I stopped to see associates in Seattle and Portland and stopped in the Columbia River Gorge so my truck could enjoy the scenery.

Each year, I go back to my first radio station and sit in on their morning show. The host had taken my spot, so I parked right behind him.

“That’s exactly where I parked this truck 20 years ago,” I told him.

“No, if you’ll recall,” he explained calmly. “You started showing up closer and closer to when the show started, so I was usually here first and parked in the spot closest to the door.”

He also vividly recalled the white streak down the side. I allegedly scraped the side of a concrete pillar at a coffee shop when we were picking up an order to deliver to a business that had won a contest.

Parking would also become an issue on the way home. I stopped at the Four Corners, and they declined to let me park right in the middle of the monument. However, the lady at the gate did offer to hold up traffic a bit so I could take a picture in front of the sign.

In the end, maybe this isn’t really a story about my truck but about the people who’ve shared in its success. The host in Hermiston helped me hone my craft 20 years ago. The general manager and sales manager now own the station [which, I would add, is the only radio station I’ve worked for that has not gone bankrupt]. The mechanic in Cheyenne … associates in Seattle and Portland … the Navajo tribe member at the Four Corners.

…and, of course, the choir who sang my name to the Hallelujah Chorus for a commercial.