Today I got my first drive in my new truck, the 1972 Pinzgauer. Strange that though I think most people think of me as wanting everything state-of-the-art, at the same time a 27-year-old truck appeals to me. And I was really impressed — not so much surprised, since it seemed to be exactly what I was thinking of, but just damned pleased that I’ve decided on this one. All the controls, the switches, the levers and doors and top and drivetrain, all of it is fascinating to me. Once again I think I’ll have a truck where, when I walk out to it in a parking lot, I’m impressed that it belongs to me.
I’m sort of regretting the fact that I got tickets for the entire weekend up here; if I were confident enough in the truck to drive it down, I could leave tomorrow. But I don’t really want to have it stuck up in Atascadero or some damn place and have to deal with getting it home myself; better to have a mechanic in Vista check the thing out, adjust the carbs, and so forth.
I’m listening to Car Talk. I guess I don’t have much reason to call them now that I’ve figured out the problem: specifically, having owned several Land Rovers and the Audi, and now having no truck, should I buy a Range Rover, an extremely rare Land Rover 101, or something even more bizarre and inexplicable.