As I pulled back the sleeping bag to crawl in, I realized I'd forgotten the Wave 3, stored in a box atop the roof. At just over 7,000 feet (2,134m), at 8:30 p.m. on an early Spring evening in Central New Mexico, in my slip-on loafers, drawers and t-shirt, I unlashed the lashing, clambered atop the back bumper, plucked the seldom-used-but-essential oil-drain pan from between the boxes and after nonchalantly tossing it into the night, unlatched the cover, hoping the wind, now having subsided to a strong breeze rather than the gale it'd been, wouldn't damage the hinges as I grabbed at the pillow case that protects the device from dust and lofted it up, up and down, down, onto the spare tire whilst quickly closing and re-latching the box. (Take THAT, Herr Proust!).
It's these rare moments that prompt thots of a sliiiigghtly larger rig (with 4wd now essential). But, you know, I wonder: do the larger-vehiculated replace transmissions the way the rest of us replace tires?
I've seen it done. I met Rick on a mountain side where he was busy replacing the carpeting on his 20-foot trailer that carried the Mercedes. He said it'd been a 20-point turn to get the 36-foot Bounder turned around. I was so awestruck at the fact he'd managed the bus, I forgot to ask about the trailer. (See: Tricky Ricky Rocks)
Another time, adjacent a more level area, I nearly fell over from the shock as a beast similar to Wheelin' It's trundled past on a dirt track barely wide enough for Phoebe. There're a few intrepids out here. Fortunately, they're far between as it's often a challenge to get past another pickup on our preferred roads.
So, I guess that settles it, at least for the time being.
But I met a woman the other day who'd traded her 2012 Toyo Tundra for a 2003 Tacoma in order to satisfy her desire for maneuverability. We had an enjoyable lunch whilst empathizing over the advantages of smallness.
minimalism.
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