Shootin' it Straight - Just Nice Enough

Automobile prices have ballooned to insane levels. A recent news article said the average price of a new vehicle has tipped into the mid–$50,000 range. Many trucks and SUVs are far above that average. While it's hard to argue with the niceties of heated leather seats and power running boards, I haven't quite made myself fall in line with the domesticated modern society of automobiles. I still prefer to drive one just good enough not to turn heads in either direction. You might not whip your head around to admire shiny new wheels beaming under glow lights as they pass by, but you also won't mumble a familiar curse word in horror as mine drags by either.

My ranking has long been to have a truck good enough to take to town but not so shiny that I cringe when a briar scrapes the side as I back into a river trail. Admittedly, a payment of a grand per month would severely kink my monthly taco budget, so that helps as a deterrent. But ultimately, it just ain’t for me. I need an old truck that can be used without worrying about moisture in my USB port or my massaging seats being my undoing. Despite Reba’s wishes, Fancy isn’t my name. I just can’t bring myself to beat on a truck that costs as much as many homes. Perhaps it’s a short-wired part of my lacking mind, but I love chugging along old gravel roads in a well-worn truck that’s got its fair share of dents, dings, and dust. Crank windows? Sign me up. FM radio that pulls in about three stations? Yes indeed. A set of haphazardly matched mud tires? All in.

There’s something about tossing the poles in the back on top of a half-used spool of fencing wire, a few shovels, and last week’s cans that just feels right. I drive newer trucks weekly and admire all their features. I hop in my wife’s SUV, and having all the gauges working does seem more sensible. Sitting in the school line, I feel a momentary ping of desire for someone else’s ride as we pass. It disperses quickly as I head up the holler to the pond and the limbs leave fresh pinstripes down the sides of my rust bucket.

I may own a newer truck with pride, but as long as I’m able, there’ll always be a beater beside it in the driveway, the one that gets the lion’s share of use.