Two weeks ago, Butte, Montana hosted its annual St. Patrick's Day Parade/Drunken Rampage up on the Hill. Although I hear it's a good time, I've never gone..and in all honesty I don't think I ever will. Getting the crap kicked out of me by some wasted Buttant, spending a night in Silver Bow county jail and/or watching my own green beer vomit trickle downhill towards the Berkley Pit are not high on my list of things to accomplish at this point in my early thirties.
But last week Butte, America, which was at one time the wealthiest city in the United States, sold me a truck. More accurately, I bought a brand-spanking new, 2011 Chevy Silverado from some weathered, middle-aged biker lady who sells those sorts of things for a living down at the bottom of the Hill. Call it hokey, or blame the lingering East-coasty romance that still overwhelms me in random instances, even after living in Big Sky country for several years, but during these times, in this state, with the economy doing what it's doing (or not doing), it just felt good to buy a full-size, American-made pick up from Jane Doe in Butte, Montana. I'd like to think she went home and told her husband she sold a rig today, and maybe they went out to dinner up on the Hill to celebrate. More likely, she muttered "sucker" under her breath as I walked out of the dealership and went to the bar that night. And that's OK. I've been known to do the same thing after rough days with certain clients.
Regardless, I'm thrilled with the new whip. So it would seem are los huespedes (the guests) so far. I opted for the extended cab with the 6 1/2 foot bed, as opposed to the "more common with fishing guides" crew cab, mostly because I want to sleep back there during impromptu overnights. And since it seems like most days my two clients fit the "tall skinny guy and the short fat guy" bill, we just park Shorty in the back and there's been no complaints about the size of the back seat. She tows like a Clydesdale, but the ride is unquestionably smoother. I even got six months of OnStar. Lucky me. Now I won't get lost heading to the boat ramp.
The only thing that's left now is to name it. Well, that and a topper, bedliner, nerf bars, seat covers, floor mats and real tires...but those will come later. For now a name is needed. Thanks to my friend Dana, the top contender right now is "Chuck Norris." The white ninja, baby.