I have never owned a truck, though I see them everyday, everywhere. Since I own two cars, I am so in the minority. In 2025, the two most sold vehicles in our country were the Ford F-150 and the Chevy Silverado. The Dodge Ram, the GMC Sierra, and the Toyota Tacoma were also in the top ten. In other words, trucks are everywhere, particularly around here. I understand that. The ease of entry in and out of a truck is undeniable. That is, unless one takes his truck and jacks it skyward. This takes us to other aspects of truck ownership.
I don’t often see pickup trucks used for their intended purpose, out in the non-construction world. People buy trucks, and rarely fill the bed with stuff that might scratch it. More often, there is a set of golf clubs in the bed, or, during hunting season, a deer back there, though I have never seen a deer in the back of a pickup with antlers as nice as the ones I see on the decals on the back windows of those trucks.
Just as people take perfectly respectable older Camaros and Mustangs, and modify the crap out of them, the same is true for truck owners. I wish I had a dollar for every truck I have seen with “big-rig” style exhaust pipes pointing skyward from the bed of the truck. At that point, why not just buy a Kenworth and get it over with?
Some diesel pickup owners mess with the fuel delivery system so they can “roll coal,” or in other words, emit clouds of diesel soot all at the push of the accelerator pedal.
Just last week, I saw a clapped-out Dodge Dakota pickup, with two replacement doors and a rear quarter panel, chugging through town with trucker exhaust pipes. I had to find a parking spot so I could pull over and laugh. Then there are those trucks with tires sticking out past the wheel wells, sometimes by a good two or three inches.
According to the Pennsylvania Motor Vehicle Code, it’s illegal. Somehow, those trucks get inspected. You would think that such a truck would drive like a Sherman tank, but then we all have to be young and foolish at some point.
The cherry on top of this truck sundae is encountering a truck that has the “Triple Crown;” that is, big-rig exhaust, rolling coal, and super-wide tires. They’re the ones tailgating you, all full of hormones and diesel fuel.
Though I abhor road-rage, and I am not a silly driver, I admit to a guilty pleasure when such a truck hangs on my bumper, particularly on a winding road or a curvy on-ramp. It happens often when I’m in my Mustang GT, which must be a truck magnet. I know the truck is close; I can hear the (current, twangy, pseudo) country music blaring from the truck, sometimes rap (groan), which interferes with my classic rock tune.
Three..two..one! Downshift! Accelerator! Thank you, performance exhaust, limited-slip differential, and five liters of Ford Coyote power. Gone in (way less than) 60 seconds.
My best advice for non-truck owners is to be friends with a couple of guys who own a truck. I have needed a truck only a couple of times, and each time, friends obliged. Though, there was that time when I borrowed my (sadly-departed) friend Perry Irwin’s Ford Raptor to go to Altoona to pick up a new mattress set. Being the generous soul that he was, he simply handed me the keys, and said, “Don’t put gas in it. I do own a gas station.”
“This is a nice truck,” I thought, rolling to Altoona to grab my new bedding. Since all of the presets on his satellite radio were country music, I felt obliged to sing along to a few songs, which is what Perry would have wanted, and which would have happened often at the “Benevolent and Protective,” back in the day. However on the way home, since I was ignorant of tie-down protocol, there was a bit of an issue, rolling back up I-99. Let’s just say that it lent new meaning to the term “air mattress.”
Please forgive me…I was a babe in the woods. I am not a “Truck Drivin’ Man.”
