Love itMichael J. Fox, you freakin’ Chuck Berry-riffin’ looker. The first time I noticed you, you were skitching behind a blue pickup truck in “Back to the Future.” Then, you offered to take sweet ol’ Jennifer camping in your dream car, a 1985 Toyota SR5 4×4. What can I say, I wanted you, but I wanted your pickup truck *more*.
There’s no logical reason for me to want or need a pickup truck. I don’t go off-roading. I don’t do construction or anything else that would necessitate a big ol’ truck bed.
But I do.
Specifically, I want a yellow and black 1939 Ford Model A Roadster. Wait. No. I want a bright teal 1966 Chevy C/K 10 Series. WAIT! NO! How about a 1941 Chevrolet Half-ton Pickup in a navy almost as dark as night?
Universe, if you give me even one of these, I will treat it with the glory and respect it deserves, which probably means driving it cross country, camping along the way, and making out in the truck bed under a starry, autumnal sky with The Sonics playing on the stereo.
Patty TempletonHate itLet me qualify this first. I’m not talking about your Toyota Tacomas (the official vehicle of La Plata County) or your Nissan What-Have-Yous, or any pickup that is used in earnest for work or recreation.
The pickups I hate (and, let us be honest, it’s the drivers of these pickups I am shaking my fist at), are of the large, loud, and dirty variety.
I hate pickups that have negative, nasty, and aggressive stickers – cartoon characters urinating on this or that, or of the “Mean people kick ass” variety.
I hate pickup trucks with genitalia hanging from the trailer hitch, as if this pickup being an extension of a man’s anatomy to cover for his crippling insecurity wasn’t obvious already.
I hate pickups that dump unnecessary exhaust and are modified exclusively to be loud, annoying, and threatening.
Sure, these traits exist in other types of vehicles and are reflections of the drivers, not the transportation. But as the old saying goes, “93 percent of pickup drivers give the rest a bad name.”
David Holub
