Don’t ask me why I wanted a pickup truck. There is no real rational explanation, except I’d never had one before. So I set off to see a budget 1989 Chevy 2500 at Wholesale 2 U on South Lamar.
The first thing you should know about the Chevy 2500 with the 5.7 liter V8 is that they call it three quarter tonne. When I first saw the beast in the flesh and metal, it became clear that this does not refer to carrying weight. Three quarter tonne is the weight of the suspension alone. With little ado, and no sales patter, I was allowed to take the Chevy for a test drive. On my own. Perhaps the garage owner was too scared to co-pilot.
After I became used to the roar of the eight torpedo sized cylinders sucking torrents of fuel from the tank, I tried to close the door. It bore a vague resemblance to the right-sized door for the truck. The seat-belt didn’t fasten. I slammed the door and found drive.
Ascending a bungee jump platform is less filled with dread than poking that accelerator. The noise pedal made the vehicle lurch forward, and filled the cab with the sound of the General Belgrano’s engine room. Steering was more akin to moving ball-bearings with a magnet than turning a car. I dared 40 mph, before turning back to return the skyscraper on wheels to the showroom. As I turned, the door flew open, and being without seat-belt, I clung to the steering wheel to remain inside the cab.
I’ve gone off pickup trucks.