I got my ears on!

It was a an antique, a 23-channel CB radio that first saw service in the mid-'70s in my dad's '72 K-5 Blazer, after the first one (CB radio, not the Blazer) was stolen. CB radios were a big thing back then. So big, in fact, that the nimrod who took the CB overlooked the Smith & Wesson .357 in the console to which the radio was mounted. Dumb criminals...

The radio may have also seen brief service, mounted above or under my Realistic FM-Cassette stereo in my first car, a 1968 Chrysler Newport - until I wrecked it. Bummer.

Anyway, I'm not sure where the radio had been chillin' for the past 30 years, but I found it in my garage a couple of weeks back.

This morning I tossed it into the SUV, together with a magnetic mount antenna. After some brief, uh, administrative work in the office, I was ready to hit the road, so I threaded the RG-58 cable through the door gasket and placed the antenna base just aft of the hood, and fore of the windshield, so I could watch it fall off.

About 5 miles out, I turned it on. The lights glowed, but no sound.

I fiddled with the volume control, the squelch, and the PA switch. Still nothing. Oh, well, it is nearly 35 years old.

Around Bowie, I got bored, so I turned the thing on again. Silence. I tightened the PL-259 connector to the antenna. Turned the radio sideways.

A little static. That's good. A little more fiddling, and I heard some faint conversations.

Finally, I was ready. I checked the channel selector. Thankfully, I'd watched Smokey and the Bandit recently with the kids, so I was down with the lingo. "Break 1-9 for a radio check."

"Hello there, radio check, you're coming in loud and clear, what's your location?"

"I'm rollin' north of Bowie. Got a 30 year old CB here, wanted to see if it still worked."

"Sounds loud and strong, can't tell it's 30 years old."

As I'd just passed a car hauler a few hundred yards back, I was curious how far I was reaching out. "You runnin' that mobile parking lot?"

"Nope. Navajo. Navajo Digby."

For the next 25 or 30 miles I kept an eye out for any vehicles matching that description. Finally, around Jolly, an 18-wheeler passed me...Navajo Digby, followed closely by a Landstar big rig. A fifth-wheel horse trailer was squeezing onto the freeway, and Navajo slipped back over to the left lane, not too far ahead of Landstar.

"Landstar, this is Navajo Digby, sorry about the abrupt lane change - wanted to give the guy room to get on."

"No problem there, Sir. I saw what he was doing. I expected you'd come over."

" Where you headed?"

"Denver. Forecast says ice past Amarillo."

"I'm headed there too. Pueblo actually."

A few more miles and we were at Wichita Falls, my destination. "Mr. Navajo, thanks for the radio check, Sir. I'm turning off here at Wichita. Hope you have good traveling on to Pueblo and Godspeed!"

"Same to you, Sir. Have a good trip!"

I enjoyed being part of the camaraderie of these knights of the road. I know it's not something I can do around town, but I think I'll carry the old radio along for those stretches between Rhome and Vernon, Weatherford and Thurber (population 5).