cap
We were just getting used to how our truck makes us feel: all manly and rugged, passing for real Vermonters lacking nothing but a dog (and a cow, and a farm, and a cute name for our own brand of goat cheese).
However, the thought of carrying anything of value on the truck bed was more than we could bear. The vision of flying suitcases, of our bikes magically unchaining and suicidally throwing themselves into the following traffic, made us act. We decided to cap our irrational fears once and for all.
What Newbury Street in Boston is for people watching, Vermont is for truck aficionados. Trucks constitute about 97.5% of all the things that move (if you don’t count cows). And they come in all shapes, forms and colors, with all the possible modifications you can think of. After spending a week or two closely following natives driving their vehicles and peering into a privacy glass hiding unspeakable farm implements, we knew what we wanted.
We decided to get an A.R.E. cap for our truck in matching color with tinted side windows. It makes the truck look like an ungainly SUV (is there any other kind?), and we mourn our diminished ruggedness and masculinity, but we do appreciate not having to worry about losing our earthly possessions. And if it ever comes to that, we can sleep on the truck bed somewhat protected from elements (Damian: that’s never going to happen).
