I Saw a Trump Truck Parade And Found It Kinda Hopeful

The spectacle was incredibly stupid, a little scary, but ultimately inspiring.

After seeing hundreds of Trump related stickers and flags I was left with an unanswerable question — is there anything Calvin hasn’t pissed on?

This past weekend I left the confines of Jersey City and headed up the Hudson on a mission to peep as many leaves as possible. But the leaves weren’t the only thing I stared at with slack-jawed wonder thanks to a Trump truck parade passing through Cold Spring, New York village. 

Of course, I had heard about these Trump [insert vehicle being used to compensate for a certain inadequacy] parades, but this was the first time that I had seen one. There were roughly 20 trucks involved, although I’d say the actual number is hard to estimate because once you see five trucks flying flags that would have Betsy Ross spinning in her grave they all sort of look the same, and they were circling the same block. But there were a lot of them and they were fucking loud. 

They were all honking. They were all revving their engines. They all had those kind of mufflers that don’t muffle but make their engine sound louder and which are only sold to true assholes. And there were definitely a couple of trucks rolling coal. If you don’t know what that means I envy you, but these trucks have been modified to purposely belch out big, black clouds of exhaust to, oh, I don’t know, own the libs? 

At first, it was a little scary. I didn’t particularly want to cross the street in front of a truck driven by a clearly unhinged zealot. Have you ever actually paid attention to the size of a Ford F-350? When you’re standing in front of one the bumper is about chest high, and the top of the grill is around head level. When you picture a very angry person at the wheel, it won’t go well for the person walking by. 

I was way too enthralled to take any good photos, a failure I hope Jane forgives. This is the only one I took, but let it be known that this woman was shaking her head at the parade.

And in this light, the parade was terrifying. Choosing to spend a beautiful Saturday afternoon driving around antagonizing and frightening people into supporting a leader who openly calls for violence against “the enemy within” is definitely a choice, and I’d be lying if that servitude isn’t scary to witness. 

But on the other hand, the parade wasn’t getting very much support. There were a few people clapping — and one woman who kept screaming about how Kamala would raise our taxes — but for the most part, people didn’t pay it too much mind. The people I saw strolling between shops or eating outside seemed mostly annoyed that the ruckus was ruining their fall outing. You could feel the fatigue strongly among people who had, regardless of their personal politics, just had to put up with this performative insanity for too damn long. 

And then there were the hecklers. I took particular glee flipping off a truck flying a flag that read “Indicted. Convicted. Shot. Still Standing.” Others were booing the parade, many were yelling for the Trump supporters to just shut up. Honestly, this might have been the first legitimate traffic jam the town with one main street (called Main Street, of course) had ever experienced, and even the most ardent supporters were probably pissed on the inside that they were stuck waiting for these assholes. 

At the bottom of the hill, by the Hudson River where people were waiting to board the ferry, the truck parade turned to continue their circle. But standing on the corner was an older gentleman, probably mid-to-late 70s. White hair. Well dressed. He looked like the kind of guy who puts great importance on dignity. And here he was, standing in front of the trucks, arms raised to the sky, flipping a double bird and yelling “Traitors!” 

In that moment, while glancing between the moron parade and this man calling them traitors, I felt a tinge of hope about November 5. I’ve been so anxious, worried, and consumed by the doom scroll that my mood has been vacillating between furious and despondent, but there was something about that moment that made me think that we could win this. I wasn’t surprised by an authority-hating leftist like me telling these guys (and yeah, it was mostly guys but I figured this was assumed) to fuck off, or by the veterans I heard booing and specifically calling out Trump’s treatment of them. That’s expected behavior in my book. But it was the shock of seeing a man who didn’t look like he would antagonize anybody (except maybe on the golf course) vigorously screaming at the parade that brought me hope. 

I’m surprised how much I still feel buoyed by seeing that man, especially as we enter the final crunch where every tiny development seems like an existential crisis. This election is terrifying. But beyond that, we’ve all just been living with this nonsense for the past decade, and that does real damage to a person. And I don’t just mean liberals or Democrats here, everybody has been carrying this weight since Trump came down that escalator to declare that he was running for office (while also calling Mexican immigrants rapists). It’s a heaviness that we probably don’t even notice on the regular any longer, but it’s there. And I firmly believe that we all just want it to go away.