The Million Dollar Baby's Transformation

In the last paragraph of my Mark Twain essay, I make mention of the fact that I have special plans for my truck when I retire it for commercial service. Here's the paragraph:

I'm looking for a newer truck, one with an air ride cab, a newer engine with electronic engine management and cruise control. A little more room inside for my wife and I as she gets ready to join me on the road, fulfilling plans long in the making. I won't be trading this one in, either. We've got special plans for it. But for a little while longer, I run that old truck that still looks like a million bucks, still turns heads when I drive away from the fuel island, and still gathers compliments wherever I take it. A fine looking, well bred lady, one hundred percent thoroughbred all the way through. I look out the window of the restaurant as I write this and see it sitting there in the parking lot waiting patiently. I know it’s up for anything and ready to leave when I get finished with my dinner. In fact, I think I better go; we've got miles to go before we sleep.
And a gentleman never keeps a lady waiting.

Well, over this last winter, my brother and I got started on those plans. You see, from my father I have inherited a streak of what you might nicely describe as "Individualism." We would describe it as a desire to approach life on our own terms and in our own way, but still achieving the desired result.
I am making the Million Dollar Baby into a fifth wheel RV Trailer puller, but it goes a little farther than that. I traded my pickup to my dad for a nice Western Hauler style bed to put on the truck, and I drive it every day.
Yes, that's right, I drive my cut down 1992 Kenworth W-900 every day, or rather, I did before I started the conversion process. More to the point, I will drive it every day again when I get it all the way done, and it is very close. However, here in Arizona it is approximately TOO DAMN HOT to work on it much, so progress has slowed.
why do I drive it? Because I really like that truck. Because I really, really like it. I really, really like listening to a screaming B-Model Caterpillar engine, I really like shifting that single overdrive, deep reduction 15 speed transmission, and I REALLY like pulling up next to posers in diesel pickups with "No Fear" stickers in the back window. They think because that pickup can pull a toyhauler, it's a bad ride.

They don't know anything about about walkin' after midnight on California 95 between Needles and Vidal with a load of drywall on, 2100 R.P.M, 1100 degrees indicated on the pyrometer, 28 pounds of manifold pressure and the stick all the way over and up against the dash in 15th gear at 103 m.p.h. Behind the truck is a vacuum so powerful it pulls bushes out of the ground and into the road behind it.

Fear THAT.