I Drive a Truck

(I should start out by giving a shout-out to Andrea, because it's her truck and I hope she's feeling better....)

In the nearly eleven years I’ve lived in Colorado, I’ve relied overmuch on the excuse, “Hey, I grew up in LA, okay?” when people stare wonderingly, maybe even suspiciously, at me because I’ve never hiked a 14er or gone white-water rafting.* I still haven’t done those things, but I feel a bit less like a poser because--are you ready?--I drove a truck, a double-cab, 4x4 Toyota Tundra-or-Something (10 mpg city, 15 mpg highway). I drove most of the way from Leadville (at 10,200 feet, the incorporated town at the highest altitude in the U.S.) to Grand Junction, down winding mountain roads, over the Eagle River Bridge, through Glenwood Canyon, and alongside the mighty Colorado River. Me. I did that.

I don’t know if I need to elaborate for you urbanites, but perhaps some background information would help put this event in perspective. On the Western Slope (west of the Rockies, that is), whenever you’re waiting at a stoplight or parking the car at Barnes and Noble, chances are that when you glance out your side window, you’re about eye-level with your neighbor’s tire. Chances are that the driver is the only occupant, and that he (occasionally, she) doesn’t actually haul hay or construction equipment, but uses the truck to commute to the grocery store or movie theater. (Colorado also does not have a helmet law for motocyclists. I don't know if there's a connection here.)

*Footnotes: a 14er is a mountain peak over fourteen thousand feet, of which Colorado boasts fifty-four. And the reason I’m hesitant to try white-water rafting is not because my brother once broke a tooth on a (California) river trip, but because the idea of sitting exposed to the sun for hours at a time, unable to wander off for a walk when I’m bored or stop at a Starbucks for iced coffee to cop some air-conditioning, does not really appeal to me.

But don’t spread this around, because it might be near heresy....