Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Big Tall Trucks

Yesterday I had the responsibility to take a 2007 Chevy Avalanche in to get a 3rd-party mechanical inspection on behalf of a customer who is considering purchasing the truck. It's had our regular 151-point inspection, as well as a BCAA inspection done within the last two weeks.  This customer has high standards, however-- more power to him-- and so he sprung for a third inspection.  I jumped in the truck and tore down the highway from our Langley lot to Mission where I met Mani, the heir apparent to the family-owned Mission Automotive.  Mani gave the vehicle a once over, and the customer is now negotiating with us for final pricing, terms, and details for the sale.

The drive there and back was great.  The Avalanche is a luxurious full-size half ton truck, with the characteristic signature tonneau cover and look, but everything else is just like a Silverado, from the point of view of the driver.  All the luxury amenities, a smooth Chevy truck ride, plenty of power (I drove like the Nazgul were on my tail) and most importantly, the height and heft of a truck.

My daily driver is a little 2000 Honda Civic, which is a great commuter but lacks the sheer presence of a truck.  I frequently am completely vision-blocked by something as humble as a minivan in front of me, so driving a truck for an extended period really renewed my delight in having some weight to throw around on the road.

I've long had a personal bent towards vehicular practicality: economy of fuel and of the vehicle in general.  But there really is something to be said for being willing to pay for the on-the-road advantages of a big-ass truck.  (The Avalanche would be delightfully superseded by a lifted F350, for example.)  Being able to see everything, fear nothing, four-wheel drive, the intimidation factor:  everything was very testosterone-friendly.  I'm used to zipping along, but that drive I tanked, I thundered, I rumbled.  I burned gas, hauled ass, broke laws* and hung jaws.

I'm still flush with adrenaline.



*Poetic license; not a confession of malfeasance.

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