I first noticed these trucks while I was out one morning running along our local trail system. I thought they were pretty cool and wondered how they got to be where they were, seeing that they were behind a chain link fence, but the more I ran or biked past them in later months, the more I really wanted to get in there and photograph them, let their stories be heard. Last week, I drove to the trail head, walked over to where they were parked and began photographing through the links in the fence. As I was trying to get a better view through the fence, I glanced over to my right, and lo and behold, a section of it had been torn down, and since no one was looking, I ventured inside the closed off area to get the detailed shots I was after.
I have a thing for old cars and trucks, both refurbished or abandoned like these two trucks. I like imagining the road trips they may've gone on, the families that they took places, the children bouncing on the back seats. These trucks looked like they may've come from the 1950's or '60's, and in my mind, they were old farm trucks, their beds filled with hay to be driven out to the cow pastures, loads of gravel to be hauled to patch up dirt roads, the radios playing Johnny Cash or Hank Williams, Jr. Barefooted kids would sit in the back of the beds on long summer nights, swinging their feet over the tail gate, daring each other to do one thing or another or whispering secrets to each other. I'm sure these trucks were loved, at least in my head they were loved, but now they sit, parked forever behind a chain link fence, regaling each other with stories of their past, only being noticed by a lone jogger trotting down the trail on the other side of the fence.