There is not much need for a speedometer in a vehicle that is virtually incapable of speeding. Chrome edges on dash knobs draw my eye. I have always enjoyed them as a silent testimony to bygone quality. Swinging the door shut terminates in that instantaneous mixture of door latch function and sheet metal resonance. Occupancy of the cab begins with the smell.
Old trucks smell in a way difficult to describe, yet comfortably familiar.
It is upholstery, aged padding, grease, rubber mats and the dirt of ages. I have come to know it as I have come to know and seek the smell of an old book. Two pumps on the gas pedal, revealed by the squeak of the throttle linkage, followed by a measured pull on the choke knob. Silent rotation of the ignition key to the right causes the dangling leather key tag to sway back and forth. The trip officially begins the moment my boot touches the starter pedal.