I just got a truck, a shiny new much-needed purchase. After years of towing my daughter’s inheritance around behind my Yukon, I finally bit the bullet and found myself something more respectable to pull in the rodeo parking lot with.
Like the kid who wants to be dropped off a block away from school, my daughter has shirked when we rolled in the parking lot in the grocery-getter with her fire-breathing dragon in tow. For years, I’ve been the only trailer without a truck compadre. Not any more, this mama is rollin’ in, but have no fear, I won’t be rollin’ coal, my new rig takes DEF, with a diesel F250 sure to make the crustiest cowboy cry and the cutest 14-year-old barrel racer I know finally proud.
Even though I have a new truck, I fear I will have the same old problems. This new truck means I need a drop hitch, which means I’ll have a fresh new spot on my shin to christen. I expect everyone at the dealership to have a ribbon cutting ceremony for the new set of problems awaiting me.
Anyone who knows me knows I have a knack for knocking my shin on my trailer hitch, in fact, if I had a nickel for every time I banged my shin on my trailer hitch, I’d have a much nicer trailer to tow behind my much nicer truck.
Over the years, my kids have learned so many new vocabulary words that they could win a swearing spelling bee. “S**t. Could you use it in a sentence? My mom yelled holy s**t as she performed a cartwheel over the trailer hitch while unloading groceries in front of the neighbors, again.”
It’s not just tripping over it, it’s hooking it up. I am sure there is a reality television show somewhere on the other side of my backup camera, laughing at me as I try to align the ball and receiver like some rare eclipse.
I imagine people in their living rooms with shaded glasses and popcorn on the edge of their seats, wondering if this will be the attempt that I actually make it. I expect it’s a lot like assembling a tent with someone you love when I ask my daughter to holler through the back window if I’m over the ball for the ten thousandth time. Somehow, we haven’t ended up in therapy yet.
Now that I think about it, it’s not just my hitch. It seems that my entire trailer’s been out to get me since the moment I got it. Backing up presets a whole other set of challenges for me. I am sure even my horses are shaking their heads in disgust in the trailer at my repeated failed attempts. Then there’s looking in the rear view mirror and wondering who the schmuck is that’s following me so close? In the famous words of Taylor Swift, “Hi, it’s me, I’m the problem, it’s me.”
Jesus, take the wheel. It’s not just when it’s parked or that I am trying to park it. I have to worry about it on the road. People who cut me off, roundabouts, gas stations, it’s all an obstacle course minefield.
My favorite maneuver is when no one is behind me for miles and someone in a Prius juts in front of me like its NASCAR and they are vying for the one open spot before the checkered flag, sees a squirrel and hits their breaks. Bless their electric car hearts, they must have no idea how much I love my horses.
I may ride a little taller when I pull in the parking lot now, but I’m not on a high horse. My children will still swear like sailors, my shin will still be a battlefield of war wounds, I will most likely never learn to back it up without jack-knifing it in a parking lot full of spectators, but son of a hitch, I’ll keep trying until I get it.
Jenny Johnston is a fourth-generation Durango local, part-time rodeo announcer and full time wrangler to two lil buckaroos. You can reach her at [email protected] with all of your tips and tricks for backing up a trailer right the first time.