I love trucks because I love to do it all.  Who doesn’t?  I don’t like compromises.  Who does?  I like to be ready for anything and to be seen as the man with solutions.  Everyone knows that one guy who they can always call to get them out of a bind; that guy always drives a truck.

I like anything that makes me appear tougher than I really am, and let me tell you – I need all the help I can get with that one.  I like the confidence that comes with knowing I can take anything I want, wherever I want; I simply must be able to take all my friends and all their gear and all my toys and a monstrous camper over the river and through the woods as part of my active lifestyle.

But at times I wonder if I’ll ever own a truck again.  You see, despite all of these seemingly versatile applications and practical reasons for owning a truck, the left lobe in my brain can’t muster a rationale for actually taking one in.  For one thing, I don’t actually own a monstrous camper, nor a boat, nor a parade float.  Everything I own that any reasonable person would consider “cool” would fit in a breadbox.  My last trip to the home improvement store was for a bag of grass seed.  As it turns out, I have no compelling reason to visit Home Depot for a pallet of bricks every weekend, as truck marketers suggest I ought to.  And when I do decide that I need 1,500 pounds of who-knows-what, I’m willing to bet that the places which sell it will also deliver it.  Or I can rent a truck from a variety of places for less than $30.  Or better yet, borrow one from some poor sucker who is willing to pay the overhead associated with truck ownership.

Have today’s trucks have priced themselves out of rationality and become chromed extensions of our bank accounts, trading capability for luxury?

 

 

Perhaps I am  looking at this with the wrong expectations.  Maybe I need to get with the times and get on-board with the “modern truck”.  After all, my last truck was a 1998 Chevrolet Silverado (ok, C1500 W/T technically) that I bought for $800.  Total.  It was very well equipped with features like a steering wheel for suggesting direction, a radio for drowning out grinding noises, and windows that worked even with the key fully removed from the ignition, thanks to an innovative crank.  Air conditioning was also provided courtesy of this very same crank.  It featured periodic cylinder deactivation, despite never being a factory option.  At one point I believe it may have had a working dome light, but I can’t be certain.

But one thing that I can be certain about is that I drove the wheels off that thing for more than 7 years and 110,000 miles (in addition to the 140,000 miles with which it came), and I loved every minute of it.

Even when the brake pedal fell off on the highway one day.  And despite the fact that the horn would randomly wail at full blast at the most inopportune times.  Near the end, it drank almost as much oil and coolant as it did fuel.  Since I bought it for cheap, I was content to excuse the holes in the seat and floor, and I put up with driving through the rain or a car wash and getting wet.  We would put up with exactly none of this in a passenger car.  “Quirks” like this would have most people dumping the car on Craigslist, or even just setting it afire in a field somewhere.  But I did put up with all of this and more, you see, because it was an absolute riot.

The five speed manual transmission was an unfiltered and authentic connection to the vehicle and the road.  Once the stock exhaust rusted out, I replaced it with a knock-off bargain-brand straight pipe that bellowed so loudly that passers-by issued dirty looks my way when just idling through parking garages.  Later, I would add the ubiquitous air intake and chip the computer, but it was never enough – more power!  More capability!  Or as it was in my case – some power!  some capability!

Truck people are never done tinkering, which provides a useful hobby and puts all that extra cash you might instead spend on groceries or child care to much better use.  I would blast through ruts and over tracks off road at highway speeds without worry.  In the rare case something did break, parts were cheap and plentiful at the local parts store, and whatever did break could usually be replaced with basic hand tools.  For a few years, it towed an enclosed trailer filled with tools, equipment and material, and with at least 5 ladders strapped to its ladder rack almost every day throughout the summers.

And it toiled and suffered with me as it’s driver; an unfair burden to be sure, since I don’t baby my trucks (pampering is for cars).  I took great pleasure in maxing out my mule’s payload, and on more than one occasion had to sign a waiver before a retailer would let me take a pallet of materials off the lot in the bed of my truck.  I wasn’t expecting this truck to last more than 2 years, and that’s how I drove it.  Eventually the frame cracked somewhere around year four.  Then, I continued driving it for a couple more years anyway because it continued to start each time I asked it too.  Sadly, after more than 7 years of service, the day finally dawned when I fought back my instinct to pull out the wallet for another fix.

If I’m honest with myself, I can admit that it was all the truck anyone outside of the most manly occupations in all of manliness ever truly needs.  There’s that left-brain chiming in again;”Need.”  I am not sure how many of today’s truck buyers really understand the concept of “need”.  But for me, this vehicle delivered in the two biggest areas that I felt a truck absolutely must:  It performed it’s work reliably and dutifully, and it was incredibly fun.  It never complained, never left me stranded, and acceptably stood in for more appropriate vehicles on the days I felt like carving canyons, road tripping across the Midwest, or getting fancied up for a Saturday night out with the missus.

With all of this in mind, I drove a $51,000 Ram 1500 Rebel today.  Damnit, to Hell with rationality!  The responsible, pragmatic voice-of-reason that was supposed to guide me through this process fell off my shoulder and died when it saw the sticker price.  Then it rolled in its grave when I calculated the Ram’s payload capacity to be shy of one thousand pounds.

But when that Hemi fired up and I climbed behind the wheel, a flame re-ignited deep down somewhere and I forgot entirely about rationality.  Screw “need”, this is about fun!

At the outset of the drive, I took it through town a few blocks and down the highway a couple miles, but what I really wanted to be doing was screaming up the side of a dune or dragging the biggest trailer I could get my hands on, really testing this truck’s capabilities, understanding the reality of what this steel lump is like when put through its paces.  In the end, I suppose this part of my drive accurately previewed what many people end up doing with their trucks most of time: hauling air, sitting in traffic listening to a killer stereo.

But for the rest of us, we crave more than a bulked-up commuter.   And we don’t pour our savings and our time into vehicles simply to achieve reliable conveyance from Point A to Point B.  We’re Enthusiasts.  To invoke a tired cliché, it is about the journey more than the destination, and as enthusiasts we intend to inject as much horsepower and lateral-g’s into the journey as possible. And despite how practical (or impractical) truck ownership is, a truck enthusiast’s goal is to stand-out, be capable, have fun and maximize the journey.  We love these beasts of burden for their ability to get us the hell out of town on a moment’s notice; to conquer any back road we may come across; to bring our entire family with us on new adventures; and to perform all manner of manly feats.  We don’t want to make excuses for why we don’t need a truck, and we sure as hell don’t want a truck that makes any excuses.

So you might have guessed, trucks are my thing.  But they are just one of many streams of passion that can be found flowing through the veins of real automotive enthusiasts.  No matter the form your passion takes, this is why we take the wheel.