The Lesson I Learned Fixing an Old Truck With an Olympic Hopeful

Complex problems often have the most basic solutions

Image by Walter Rhein

Thirty years ago, an Australian friend of mine jumped on a plane and came to Wisconsin to spend the winter. He exchanged the sun, sand, and waves for biting snow and brutal cold.

Clark aspired to make Australia’s national team as a cross-country skier. He was in pursuit of the Olympics, and Wisconsin allowed him an ideal place to train during the Australian summer.

We dreamed the same way kids in their yards fantasize about throwing a touchdown in the closing seconds of the Super Bowl. I never got close to any national team, but following that path showed me the way out of my hometown.

Clark had ambition, but he didn’t have money. When money is lacking you can make do with ingenuity. The first thing Clark did when he arrived was purchase an old pickup truck for $200. He looked at me with his crooked smile and said, “It’s a whole lot cheaper than paying rental fees.”

The trick was keeping it on the road.

When the truck broke down

I accompanied Clark on many adventures. People need a pursuit of passion. You need to race and feel the thrill of speed. You need to keep track of your progress so you can perceive that you’re improving.

Dedicating yourself to a dream helps push aside the anxiety of life. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you hope that good things will happen if you work hard. The thought of the Olympics is a worthy goal, even if you never really get all that close.

Clark and I would head up to the trail and ski ourselves to exhaustion. The old red/orange pickup would start up and take us home. One day it didn’t start, and I went on to learn something that’s stayed with me.

Working on an engine with frozen hands

The truck rolled off the assembly line in 1972. It looked like it had rusted together into one uniform piece. The bumper, the body, and even the wheels were all the same color.

I remember the first time Clark and I looked at the engine. It was ten degrees below zero and we’d just skied…