It depends on the truck. It depends on where you’re parked. Nine times out of ten, you’re gonna be working in a broken-down old barn out past the Wielsikowski’s place at the end of County Road 1143. There is a slim chance you’ll be working under a lean-to next to your cousin’s garage on the west side. Maybe Alabama. I don’t know.

Wherever it is, you’re outside, so you’re in the weather. Climate factors in here. If it’s winter, you’re freezing your tits off because it’s winter. If it’s summer, your balls are on fire because it’s summer, and here’s the thing, you’re thirsty, and it’s a Saturday, and the Stones are bluetoothed through a wireless speaker you stole from your roommate, and you stand up, wipe the rust off your forehead with a dirty shop rag and think about maybe taking a shot of whiskey because goddam.

We got you covered. All American Whiskey conducted methodical research over countless weeks and, using higher math, can now determine the exact whiskey you should drink while rehabbing your truck, based on make, model, and climate. It’s science.

 

1953 Chevrolet 3100 by an Abandoned Soy Field in Dothan, AL in June

You’re going to want a whiskey with some bite because it’s hot. You could fry an egg on the wheel well, and all the trees were ripped up by a tornado, so please, just hydrate. You should take a minute to stare at a wrench in your hand and think about your brother-in-law, Darryll, who talked you into buying a set of metric sockets and consider how exactly you’re going to explain to him how he is a mandrill’s azure ass-crack of a man and Marcia could do better. Whatever. You just wedge a matchbook cover in there and crank that son-of-a-bitch 7/8 bolt off  . . . door . . . and . . . merde! Stripped it. Look out across that barren field. That’s your life now. 

1949 Volvo Flatbed, somewhere in Oregon, November

Finally, you can use those fucking metric sockets. Darryll will be thrilled. Plus, this is a Volvo, so the chances are pretty good it’ll turn over. And look at those tires. Hell, you could probably drive this mother down the road. Of course, you’ll need a good solid flatbed to haul the seven other Volvos you’ll need to scavenge all the parts because this car is 72-years-old. But look at her. Jeebus Crass. And Oregon’s not that hot this time of year. Might even need a flannel shirt. Thank God, you’re only three hours away from the 24-Hour Flannel Shirt Depot in Eugene. 

1972 Chevrolet K10 Pickup over at Kevin’s house, unincorporated Orange County, CA, October

Kevin’s uncle Thurgood passed to that old mechanic’s shop in the sky and left K-Dog his old truck. Damn thing’s been running since before you were alive. Everything works, too. Uncle Thurgood may have had a thing for early 70s industrial green paint, but he replaced everything else as it wore out. You and K-Dog used to run it out in the valley, skimming along through the arroyos and gulches with the tricked-out 4x4s like some starved coyote running with wolves. You and Kevin look at the truck, look at each other. You don’t change a goddamn thing.

1939 Dodge Tow Truck, East Tennessee, April

The towing rig got pulled out back in ’79, and the headlights are gone. Can’t replace those without sacrificing a goat under a full moon. The tires are in decent shape, and you can repaint it if you want, but why mess with history? The engine is just a wad of rust and hope and regret. This is going to take years—decades—of sweat equity just to get it running. Just to drive it down a dirt road. This thought makes you smile.

Wait, but which whiskey do I drink?

What’s the matter with you, son? Nobody can give you a definitive and objectively accurate prescription for the liquor you will consume while sanding the rust off the wheel well of a vintage truck. And if they did, why in the hell would you listen to them? Maniacs, that’s what they are. Those kinds of people are afflicted. Stay clear of ’em and think for yourself.

Look at the rest of the site. Did you even read our tasting notes? They’re crazy. You know what whiskey you drink when you’re rehabbing your old truck? Whatever fucking whiskey you want.