Pickup driving man

I stopped some guy today at the train parking lot who was driving one of those Minis. Last week Sue was getting her Saab serviced, and they caught her eye. They reminded her of the cars in Europe.

I asked him how he liked it, and he just gushed. Except it’s low to the ground which makes it hard to drive in snow.

I looked at it, and it seemed if it were just a bit smaller it would fit neatly in the back of my truck.

I’m a truck guy, and as much as I love driving Sue’s car (it’s handling is amazing, it does exactly what you tell it to do, and it just…GOES) I’m always happy to slip back behind the wheel of the Ford. It’s as old and worn as a favorite pair of jeans.

Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don’t let ‘em pick guitars and drive them old trucks
Make ‘em be doctors and lawyers and such.

Now that I’m working at this ad agency on GM, I’m even more convinced that a vehicle is what’s called a lifestyle purchase. It’s almost 100% emotion. While a carpenter might buy a truck for work, it still is going to matter if it’s a Ford or a Chevy or a Toyota.

I’ve been driving a pickup since I bought my first one in 1994 – a Ford Ranger. I owned a house at the time, and it came in handy taking stuff to the dump and running trips to Home Depot, but it was more than that. I’m a guy, and I like trucks. (If I were a woman, the story would have a slight twist: I'd be a Gretchen Wilson wannabe, with Redneck Woman on the CD player.) When my first truck was totaled in a wreck, I bought the biggest, honkingest one I could find: a used, 1997 bright red Ford F-150 long bed SuperCab. There’s a V8 under the hood that just hauls ass. It’s rear-wheel drive like pickups in the past before Yuppies came to depend way too much of four-wheel drive in bad weather. Farmers and ranchers never needed it for years. You just gotta know how to drive.

You always find yourself hauling something around and that makes it handy, but the bottom line is right now I don’t need it, I just like it and want it.

It’s a beat up, white-trash pickup and no one f**ks with you on the road. People get out of the way because it’s big and beat up and I guess they figure the driver just doesn’t give a damn, which isn’t far from the truth. It’s practical, but it also pretty much reflects who I am.

And other people love riding around in it, too. Especially Bob, the Wonder Aussie. He actually knows the word, truck. Now that’s one smart dog. With really good taste in trucks, too.