“I am a frugal, intentional spender.” I repeat the mantra like a prayer, a necessary counterweight to the reality of a thousand-dollar invoice for a spray-in bed liner. It is a jarring addition to a budget already stretched by a $60,000 Super Duty and a $5,500 truck cap. In the cold light of financial planning, a truck is a fleeting asset—a depreciating hunk of steel that will likely be a memory in fifteen years. Yet, as I prepare this rig for the backcountry, I find myself caught in the classic tension between the disciplined saver I have always been and the adventurer I am becoming.
The bed liner was originally a line item I intended to cut, but the practicalities of the wild forced my hand. Beyond protecting the metal, it serves as a literal layer of insulation against the elements—a barrier between me and the conductive steel during a high-altitude thunderstorm, and a buffer against the biting cold of winter camping. It is the grit that keeps gear from sliding and the foundation for a mobile home. Logic dictated the purchase, even if my frugal nature recoiled at the “front-loaded” sticker shock.
This truck is not a sensible commuter; at 15 miles per gallon, it is a specialized tool for a specific lifestyle. When I tally the upcoming “small” additions—the Fluid Film rust protection, the CB antenna with its PA speaker for the sheer whimsy of it, the diesel heater, and the cell booster—the numbers begin to hum with a persistent, low-grade anxiety.
However, perspective is found in the ledger of my broader life. I work two jobs, manage a blog, and watch my dividends and assets grow through the very intentionality I claim to value. This investment isn’t a threat to my emergency fund or my retirement; it is a calculated allocation of the fruits of my labor.
Ultimately, the cringe of the cost is the price of admission for the years leading to retirement. I am buying more than a vehicle; I am purchasing the ability to work remotely from a trailhead, to camp by a high-mountain fire, and to haul gear for hunting and fishing trips yet to come. The rig is fleeting, yes, but the access it provides to the backcountry and the memories forged in those remote spaces are the only assets that won’t depreciate. I may be spending heavily now, but I am doing so to ensure that when I look back in fifteen years, I won’t just see a retired truck—I’ll see a life well-traveled.
I drove in this morning, with relatively few problems and generally light traffic. I did not look at fuel economy screen on my SuperDuty, as it’s something I shouldn’t care about because the truck is mine, and it’s fun to drive. Still I am not a fan of driving to work. I get it most people drive to work. It might be quicker and more practical with the suburban office with acres of parking, but I still prefer biking and busing it work most days when I can do it that way. Beats the stress and headaches of driving, he cost of gas, especially for a big SuperDuty truck, the risk of accidents and tickets.
I really do like my big truck, and it will be great once I get the camper shell and get all wired up. I am thinking about it more, I do need to get a spray-in bedliner, that really is way for durable, safe camping surface for years to come, even if that does add another $1,000 to the build cost that I am kind of loathe to spend at this point after the camper shell itself came in over costs. Bed liner insulates me from the steel bed in thunderstorms, keeps gear from sliding around more. Makes it less cold in winter for camping. I thought it would be fine without the cost of a spray-in bed liner but I really should just get it done. It will make campiing so much better.
But beyond that there is the cost miscellaneous hardware – antenna mount, connectors, wire, for moving equipment over to the SuperDuty, and maybe the cellphone booster and diesel heater come the autumn. But I can dip deeper into my savings account, and maybe slow my non-retirement additional investments over the next few months. Even if my camper rig with all equipment comes out closer to $70k then $60k, it’s still $5,000 a year for 14 solid years of adventures. I am not planning to lift this truck or add too much additional equipment beyond the cap and now maybe the spray in bed liner. I really enjoy traveling, I like the big truck, but maybe not so much all the front-loaded costs, from the truck, to the cap, and now the bedliner. I got to call shops about this sooner then later, before the cap arrives. I keep reminding myself how I make good money, but it seems like I am only digging deeper with the SuperDuty, as gas prices go up every gas station I drive by.
And certainly not rack up many miles – the only reason I drove in today is deal with the the bike shop selling me the wrong, hopefully more expensive tubless tire when I needed a tube tire. Regardless, I didn’t get to Wally World over the weekend, so I need to go to Walmart too on the way home, and stay off Old Glenmont Road, which I can’t legally drive anymore with commercial plates or cut over Murray Avenue with it’s 3 ton limit, as my truck is registered with a 3.5 ton GVWR.
I feel so old sitting in my big F-350 SuperDuty at lunch. I remember listening to the Easy Rider sound track some 25 years ago in the Plymouth Sundance, exploring the woods and wilderness in the back country of Renssleaerville, scoping out old farms with their stinky ol' burn barrels. Thinking about the hills and hollars, the rural freedom. Many I would love to go back to those days, though I do like my big assed truck now, and how it drives. Trust me, there is a reason why SuperDuties are the big-boss man truck. Even the work trim trucks drive so nice!
I will drive in safely today, fighting traffic, staying off the roads that say no commercial vehicles and away from cops with their dicks sticking out the window taking pictures of your speed. As I sing along with everybody’s favorite eye-patch watching cowboy from Maine, Dick Curless.
Hopefully traffic won’t be too bad, 🚗 and the F-350 won’t gallop that much fuel as I commute into the office for this one time. The bike store is open until 6 PM. ⚙️ Shit happens, the bike tire blow out was predictable, but I was so happy when I got to the bike store, and the gave me the exact product I needed down to make and model, except it was a tubeless tire and not an old fashioned tube tire like my bike uses. Such an obvious difference, but I was desprate to get out of the bike store and up to hiking up Blodgett Hill before heading out to see the folks. 🚶 I just hate driving to work, especially not on a 13th. Hopefully they’ll have the proper tire, and I can be back on the road the second half of the week, though maybe not tomorrow as I have a Pine Bush Meeting to go to so I ‘ll be busing it in. 🚍 But at least that’ s not driving the SuperDuty to work. Of course, once I get a cap and I’m heading off to the wilderness, I’ll probably have a different view on the matter.
Shit happens, 💩 and I can be pissed about it all, but hopefully my bike 🚲 will be back on the road by tomorrow. It will be fine driving to work, as much as I hate it. Most people drive to work. 🚗 I haven’t in years except for those occasional times I head out of town. It’s really not that costly, and I make good money, still I hate to piss my life away waiting in the traffic. But it’s one day, I should keep it all in context. It won’t cost me anything but a bit of gas, I am sure they’ll happily exchange the part and credit me for the difference for the less expensive tire. Plus I just found 🖥️ that I am going to be the only supervisor again in the office, so I’ll have a busy day.
I pulled the bed mat out of the Silverado yesterday, it is so small in the SuperDuty as it originally came off my old Ford Ranger years ago. I was thinking about a bed liner – my new truck doesn’t have one – but I also don’t think it’s necessary though I liked how on my old truck it insulated me from the steel in thunderstorms. ⚡ I’ll think about it how to cover my bed. Maybe I should do a simple plastic bedliner before I get the cap. They kind of suck, but I don’t want the cost of a spray-in bed liner. Or maybe I don’t do. And I am not going to be putting in a lot of rough loads, and with the aluminum body I’m less worried about the rust. 🛻 It’s just more fucking money, that’s the thing. I kind of don’t love the idea of camping on a bare steel bed for obvious reasons. Ugh, maybe I should get some quotes and budget for a spray-in bed line for my truck. But 14 or 15 years will come and go so quickly, though think of all those adventures in the mean-time. I just fear how much they’ll cost these days with inflation. And I didn’t really budget for this, but maybe I should. And maybe should I have gotten a Toyota Tacoma, and everything would be cheaper but I like the big trucks. The SuperDuty is so much fun to drive, ⛽ when I don’t look at the MPG gauge.
