I don't come from a family of car people, you know, those kind of people that actually car about cars, buy new cars, keep their cars clean, and/or actually name their cars. No, my parents represented that rarest of California demographic during their eight years in the Bay Area: the one car family. Nearly my whole life our four-person family had one solid, dependable car. Nothing too flashy, and rarely anything new. At this very moment, my parents swear their current car (purchased used) is satisfactory, even though they just had the door welded back on because it was rusted through and nearly fell off.
So imagine my surprise this summer when I discovered that there was a vehicle for me! After years of avoiding driving as much as possible, and in general demonstrating great distain for all things car, I've unlocked one of my life's mysteries. You know how they say you really figure out who you are in your thirties? Well I've discovered I am a truck person!
I've been lucky to have a 1996 Ford pick-up at my disposal this summer, and boy have I enjoyed tooling around in it! Aside from its obvious greatness due to its green color, it's also just fun. It bumps along the dirt roads in a very satisfying manner. Its bed is perfect for holding my clamming gear, or mulch, or just beach chairs. And everywhere I go, I share knowing nods with other island pick-up truck drivers. Yup, I may not be a car person. But I sure am a truck person.