Gone Country

Does anything better say "small hands"?

While I certainly grew up in rural areas of Nevada and Utah, I’ve never been a “country boy”.  My idea of roughing it, is limited cable selection and no room service.  Despite that, I’m a fairly tall guy, and most vehicles are not built for me.  I don’t so much get into a sedan, or a mid-size car (much less a compact) as I fall into them with some measure of control and then sort out the bits afterward so I can close the door.

I’ve always preferred to at least step into, if not up onto, my vehicles.  Generally, this means an SUV or a truck of some kind.

Boots and hat not included.

Now, I am definitely a truck kind of guy.  This might have something to do with my rural upbringing, where all the “cool” kids and most assuredly the “coolest” had trucks.  Not just any trucks, but 4X4 vehicles jacked up to the sky with exposed shocks and chrome and giant tires that can crush a herd of cattle.  I’ve never understood low-riders, but a truck with a six-inch lift kit and tires to book just makes sense. 

Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still a “city boy” and I prefer it that way.  Living in SoCal, where you can drive three hours in any direction and not run out of city, doesn’t exactly lend me any country cred.  That said, I don’t just own a truck because I’m a tall guy and it fits better.  That’s the biggest reason, but not the only reason.  On the weekends I haul boys, equipment, and often have to bring in supplies for my eternal battle with sprinklers.

Once in a while, I even haul something that makes my truck look like it’s fresh from the ranch.  This past weekend, that was eight bales of three-string straw.  Not exactly a crushing load.  Also, the straw was purely for decorative purposes, but still, it made the bed look, for a few short hours, like I should be in well-worn boots, and have a sweat-stained cowboy hat hanging from my gun rack.

Yee-haw!