Next to New

Last week I blogged about how much better a chrome Rat-L-Trap can be when a good portion of the chrome is stripped away. I’m not sure if the same thing is true with tow vehicles, and I’m not sure I want to find out.

Last week I sold my 2011 Chevrolet Suburban, which I bought – as I’ve said at least once too often – back when KVD only had three Bassmaster Classic trophies. Cleaning it out was like an archaeological dig. Halfway into the console I found an old stick-on Garmin GPS, because I bought this vehicle without any sort of built-in navigation system. Another few layers and I found its predecessor, a TomTom. Do they even make those anymore?

I know it was well taken care of because my mechanic has been asking me to sell it to him for the past two years. Indeed, we reached a deal quickly and tearlessly. But that doesn’t mean it was flawless. The clean out process found a few stains – coffee, coke, whatever – a pair of wayward raisins, and all sorts ephemera, including two half-full bags of Green Pumpkin Senkos. You never know when you may be stranded by the side of the road just needing a single keeper. 

The point is that after year four or so, I didn’t worry about what happened to it. Of course I did not want to wreck it, or scratch it or dent it, but I didn’t worry about wolfing down a breakfast sandwich going down the highway at 70 miles per hour, crumbs fall where they may.

The new one I replaced it with cost almost twice as much as the 2011 model. In fact it cost more than anything I’ve ever owned that didn’t have three or more bedrooms. Of course, it’s diesel, not a gas burner, with some upgrades and bells and whistles that I can justify at 55 but couldn’t at 41. The problem, to me, is that it’s too nice. Like a new Rat-L-Trap that I’m afraid to bounce off some jagged rocks, I’m timid with this one. I hooked up the boat this morning and checked and rechecked it 50 times. I’m not sure what I was looking for – it’s a process that I’ve done hundreds if not thousands of times – and yet all of that shiny metal, and a hitch ball that had yet to be sullied, made me nervous. “It’s just a tool,” I kept telling myself, only half believing my own voice.

Eventually, this too will become an office on wheels. For a variety of reasons, this one will get many more miles added to the odometer annually, most of them pulling a boat. I’ll learn to eat and drink and belch inside without worrying about a crumb or a few drops of coffee. It’ll get scratched, just as all new tow vehicles and all shiny bass boats eventually do. But until then, I’ll be gentle. Perhaps I was not meant for nice things – at least not new nice things.