Growing up in rural western Pennsylvania, either my dad or a close relative had a pickup truck of some sort, usually a Chevy.
We looked at trucks as a necessity the way horses were looked at during the days of westward expansion in this country. With western PA's rugged hills and unpredictable winter weather, a four-wheel-drive pickup was necessary if you were to depend upon it to get to where you needed to go.
This was also in the days that pre-dated all-wheel-drive cars and SUVs. The first of the four-wheel-drive passenger cars, the AMC Eagle, was often looked upon as a hopelessly ugly piece of machinery that despite its inherent reliability, most people wouldn't want to be caught five-years-dead in.
Nonetheless, the humdrum marque gave birth to the mass-produced front-wheel-drive passenger car, at the start of the 80s and then the sport utility movement that rose later in the decade and continues to dominate the auto industry today.
Then in the 90s, something unthinkable happened...women began buying pickup trucks. To the point where Ford began a 'Splash' edition of its Ranger compact pickup line targeted to women, featuring colors like bright yellow and turquoise, with "Splash" accent striping on the sides of the bed. Automakers took notice and began building trucks with comfort in mind, in addition to payload and other specifications that typical truck buyers were keenly aware of. Option packages with power windows and door locks, cruise control, air conditioning and even leather seating areas became popular among the consumer pickup truck market.
My own pickup is special to me for a couple reasons. I have owned pickup trucks in the past, but they were kept strictly as a secondary vehicle, most often used when I had to haul something, and more often than not, looking like something you'd see on camera during an episode of "Duck Dynasty".
A former colleague of mine at another radio station remarked how much of an eyesore it was when I drove it to the radio station while my main vehicle at the time, a Dodge Stratus, was in the shop with an engine problem.
After he said it a second time, I jokingly threatened to park it in front of his house, as he lived in a more affluent neighborhood and I knew exactly where he lived. He never razzed me about it again.
My Dodge Dakota was also my first-ever 'brand new' vehicle, and today it's my 'daily driver'. I take care of it, but it does get used for its intended purpose.
My dad kept his 1990 Chevy Cheyenne until the end of its life in 2006, when the frame finally bit the dust after years of hard use. Though his 1995 Chevy Suburban gets him where he needs to go, he found himself missing his truck, though I've offered mine time and time again. Then I received the call from Mom last Sunday morning, asking me about my daughter's clothing sizes for Christmas, and...if I would mind driving my dad to Valencia, where he bought another pickup...this one, a 2004 F150.
Valencia is about 20 minutes away from my house. Not a problem.
NEXT WEEK: Fifty Years Later
My own pickup is special to me for a couple reasons. I have owned pickup trucks in the past, but they were kept strictly as a secondary vehicle, most often used when I had to haul something, and more often than not, looking like something you'd see on camera during an episode of "Duck Dynasty".
A former colleague of mine at another radio station remarked how much of an eyesore it was when I drove it to the radio station while my main vehicle at the time, a Dodge Stratus, was in the shop with an engine problem.
After he said it a second time, I jokingly threatened to park it in front of his house, as he lived in a more affluent neighborhood and I knew exactly where he lived. He never razzed me about it again.
My Dodge Dakota was also my first-ever 'brand new' vehicle, and today it's my 'daily driver'. I take care of it, but it does get used for its intended purpose.
My dad kept his 1990 Chevy Cheyenne until the end of its life in 2006, when the frame finally bit the dust after years of hard use. Though his 1995 Chevy Suburban gets him where he needs to go, he found himself missing his truck, though I've offered mine time and time again. Then I received the call from Mom last Sunday morning, asking me about my daughter's clothing sizes for Christmas, and...if I would mind driving my dad to Valencia, where he bought another pickup...this one, a 2004 F150.
Valencia is about 20 minutes away from my house. Not a problem.
NEXT WEEK: Fifty Years Later
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