Well, not NEW-new—never had that kind—but new-to-me. And, too, the newest I’ve ever had. Before this, 1988 was as close to the present as I’d ever come with a truck. I tend to land in the late sixties, early seventies. But I recently sold all those old ones, had to face the fact that I now live in town, not on my own land, where I can park stuff wherever, let it start its good and necessary rust cycle.
So, anyway, there I was for a few months, no truck for the first time in my WHOLE LIFE, just a big jeep, which doesn’t really make sense since I don’t even like crawling or mudding or off-roading, I only ever need to climb in a vehicle when hunting, and, when hunting, I need a BED, to haul an elk or some deer down the mountain, so . . . then I saw this, and I HEARD this (it’s a throaty one, has some window-shaking rumble), and, now it’s parked on my curb, in TOWN, and it’s got, amazingly enough, a sound system that actually works, an a/c that blows cold, an emission system that, according to the testers, hardly emits at all . . . all these modern accouterments that I always thought unnecessary, at least when gauged against ‘style.’ But this ride has a modicum of that, I’d say, or at least a pretty aggressive rake:
is the NYT bestselling author of 30 or so books, +350 stories, some comic books, and all this stuff here. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and has a few broken-down old trucks, one PhD, and way too many boots. More