Remember that piece of shit truck your dad got from his dad? Grampy’s Ol’ Ass Hauler with the rusted holes with which you first learned to drive. The pick-up that would never get you a date in high school, had all but one busted speaker, but was secretly a hell of a lot more fun to drive than your buddies Civic. For those who’ve clung to their roots, there is an annual deep southern summit that celebrates Grampy’s ol’ rust bucket.
The Southeastern Truck Nationals are nestled away in between Murfreesboro and Nashville, in one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dots on the map: White House Tennessee. Let me start out by stating the fact that if you haven’t revisited the Appalachian’s as an adult, you are fucking missing out. The air is goooood, and the scenery alone is enough to make you forget you own an iPhone.
This year was the first annual installment of the SETN, hosted at the city park by the Tennessee Classic Truck Club. These awesome dudes were super cool giving all proceeds and profit to a local program that encourages teenagers to pursue careers in public safety. The event was open to trucks only, nevertheless there where a hand full of exceptions.
Sick!
Showing up with no comprehension of what to expect, I was pleasantly delighted upon arrival. The park is basically your standard trails, picnic tables, and playground set up, only heaving with badass trucks. With that many tires on the ground the vibe was exceptionally “Dude”. Wives, fiancés, and girlfriends were confined to the shade reading what I am convinced was NOT a Jegs Catalog.
A consistent howl of every new American V8 announced its arrival, and the smell of the BBQ smoking on vendor row made for lots of smiles. Every type of enthusiast had a flag raised. The amount of classic rides where copious, but every taste and level of customization kept me moving on to the next corner of the park. Hell, I found myself complimenting the types of trucks I’d normally chuckle at if ran across on Dekalb Ave.
Looking back on the event, the complete lack of originality, and straight-up fun every one was having stands out to me the most. It’s fact that most of our memories are seldom of those steamy booby filled backseat scenarios (at least in my personal experience) but, are of those times twelve deep in the bed of a post football victory Chevrolet, or lying about that trail of red clay that ends in your driveway. Even moving out of your parents was made possible with the help of someone’s truck. That is why I raise my glass to crews like the Tennessee Classic Truck Club for celebrating Ol’ Ass Haulers everywhere.
Dude! Awesome story! Now I want to buy a truck.
Comment by Johnny on July 30, 2010 at 8:39 am