Truck Man

Yes, I sold the Jeep.

I know it may be a bit of a surprise to my friends who knew my excitement after I bought the Jeep, so to be as brief as possible: I'm over it. Fun, yes, the Jeep was fun. At least in the summer which is relatively short in these parts. But when it's in the teens and twenties outside a layer of canvas kinda leaves you wanting more. The Jeep was also easy to park. But it was very loud, especially at highway speeds, with that rag top, and rough due to that short wheel base. And those plastic windows were getting really hard to see through after just two and a half years. And it really didn't have any get up 'n go. I was tired of being limited to 45 mph on any major road going uphill. There are a lot of hills in the Rockies. But the worst thing about the Jeep was that it can't carry much of anything. I'm sure my next set of visitors will be grateful for not having to squeeze into the back seat of a Wrangler when I take them to Rocky Mountain National Park. Seating room is no longer an issue. And hauling? Forget it! I've had to rent a truck no less than half a dozen times in the last year, and I could certainly have used a truck more often were it not for strapping things all over the top of the Jeep.

My first vehicle, a gift from my parents at the tender age of 16, was in fact a car, but every vehicle I purchased after that was a pickup. Until the Jeep. I always wanted a Jeep, so I don't at all regret it. I'm sure I'd still be longing for one had I not tried it. After months of deliberation I decided I missed a truck enough that it was time to go back. And how! I'm a little further along in my career these days so I decided it was time to get a serious truck. No more Rangers or two-seater Silverados for me. No sir, this time I got a Ford F-350 diesel crew cab 4x4 long bed. It's every cowboy-wannabe's wet dream.

I took it to the horse ranch (the photo above) and within the first ten minutes was asked by two different people in unrelated incidents what my truck's name was. There was plenty of oohing and aahing, tire kicking, hood raising and all the other stuff you might expect from rancher and cowboy types when admiring such a vehicle. Even the horses came over to see what was all the commotion.

Today I took it down the clerk and recorder to get the registration. The woman behind the counter was in her mid 50's, a bit manish, thick glasses. She recognized me and waved me over. We talked for a bit. She actually remembered me from when I transferred the Jeep registration from Texas to Colorado. I told her I traded the Jeep for a new vehicle. I didn't mention what it was. She looked at me with a straight face, head tilted forward, peering over her glasses which were balanced on the tip of her nose. She said, "It's a pick-up truck isn't it."

"Yes," I said.

"It's big isn't it."

"Yes." I think I blushed. "How did you know???"

She burst out laughing, "I knew it! You're not a Jeep man. You're a truck man."