texas-truckIt’s that conference travel season of the year for me.  Faithful followers of this blog recall the Hollywood, the Nashville, and the Manhattan  sagas from the past three years where Louisiana country boy instincts preserved dignity, ennabled a successful maneuver from a difficult circumstance, or otherwise triumphed over some woeful condition brought about by life in the urban jungles.

As a hedge against urban victimization, I drove the 400 miles over here in my 2001 Dodge Ram pickup.  The photo here is from a gas stop an hour east of San Antonio.  There’s something natural, even cultural, about cruising Interstate 10 across South Louisiana and Texas in a pickup.  It’s quite the county-boy thing to do, in fact, especially if the bed of the truck (like mine) is coated with a crusty layer of decaying tree bark and twigs and empty quart barchain oil containers from the last firewood run.  A respectable country boy will wash the body of his truck, but never the bed! 

Furthermore, consider the prudence and pragmatism of traveling by pick-up.

  • If I run into flooding rains along the way, my truck will pass in places sedans dare not go.
  • If I run across a pile of tree limbs from Hurricanes Gustav or Ike stacked along the road side, I can throw them in the back of the truck and haul home a load of firewood.  Can’t imagine Sarah letting me load the trunk of her Camry thus!
  • An urban car thief or car burglar is more likely to pass by an older model, plain cab truck like mine, preferring more alluring and expensive targets.

Sure, I give a little on fuel economy and smoothness of ride, but those are small exchanges for the overall benefit.   The miles are simply merrier in a pick-up. For country boys, anyway.

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