I fell in love with my used 1998 Isuzu Hombre the moment I saw it in Delta on the lot at Sahara Motors in early 2001. [I had recently moved back to Delta after living in Maryland for nearly a decade. I had no income yet and no real plan, but I needed a vehicle. Russ Greathouse, out at Sahara, shook my hand and basically said to me, “I know who you are. Take the truck. You’ll make the payments. I’m not worried about it.” It was a vote of confidence I needed at the time.] I still adore my Hombre now that it is a jalopy of a truck, a shadow of its former badass self. It’s growing patches of rust here and there. My needle butt has worn a full-fledged hole in the driver’s seat, so that I have to sit directly on the metal seat frame when I drive it. The weather stripping on the doors has given up its stick-to-it, as you can see in this photo. The Hombre is on its second emergency brake. When the first one died a few years back, it took over a year for my mechanic to locate a new one in some salvage yard, because nobody manufactured that particular emergency brake anymore. At some recent juncture, the wiper fluid gadget lost its ability to spray, so it’s best I don’t drive the truck if any snow or rain is going to hit the windshield. The fabric covering the interior ceiling is literally crumbling, and chunks of foam fall on my head whenever I hit a pothole or drive on a gravel road, or sometimes when I simply stop. The Hombre’s latest feat of disintegration is that about half the time the stereo doesn’t turn on when I turn the key. The stereo was my fave feature in the truck, I admit it. Now, I could put some money into repairing the Hombre’s ills, but it would cost far more than the truck is worth to do that—if the necessary parts are even available anymore. And the truck isn’t getting any younger. An old truck in Delta is one thing: if your vehicle breaks down, you’re always somewhere among friends or sworn enemies who will gladly help you do what you’ve gotta do to get the automobile going again. Somebody in a truck will just get out the tow chain they always carry to tow you to the mechanic of your choice. But up here in the city, and on the freeway, I need a truck that’s a bit more reliable. I need a truck that’s got all of the grit and fervor of a young whippersnapper.
As you know, after much contemplation, I put down a deposit and pre-ordered a 2022 Maverick way back in November. My Maverick, of course, has not yet been able to be built due to a shortage of certain parts. Last week, Ford emailed me with a couple of options for using my deposit to build me a truck, one of which is to completely forget about the 2022 and order the 2023 model instead. I decided that option made the most sense. I will have to submit a whole new order for the truck o’ my dreams in mid-August, but because I’ve been on Ford’s waiting list for the 2022 model, my order for the 2023 will get priority (along with any other 2022 customers whose orders weren’t fulfilled) when Ford starts assembling the 2023 Maverick model in October. I might actually get my truck by Christmas. I’m fine with the wait because I have to be: I have no choice if I want a Maverick. On average, in the USA, gas prices have consistently gone down for each of the past 27 days, so by the time my personal Maverick shows up in my driveway in a few months, gas prices might feel reasonable again.
To my great giddiness, I was this close to buying an already built 2022 Maverick over the weekend. My cousin, Judy, messaged me and told me she saw a new red Maverick at a dealership in Santaquin. Could it be true? Was a lone Maverick just sitting there patiently waiting for me to rescue it ASAP? How fortunate, I thought I was. I had never been so happy to have Judy as a cousin in all my life! I nearly ripped off the top of my laptop as I hurriedly opened it to get online and somehow nab this alleged Maverick before anybody else could get it. There it was, on the dealer’s website—available! Oh, it was spiffy-looking! I ordered a blue truck, but I can certainly handle driving a plush red truck if it means I can get it NOW. I looked at all the pictures of it. It was decked out with splash guards, smokin’ rims, and leather seats. The bed was beautifully lined. The Maverick had secret compartments for storing valuables, and it was all wired up for any devices I might need to plug in. It even had the hybrid engine I wanted. Oh, happy day!!!
I was looking up the phone number for the dealership so I could call and give them my credit card, to ensure they would hold it for me for a couple of hours until I got there. In my excitement, I felt like I was forgetting about something, and then it dawned on me: I should probably look at the price of this particular Maverick. When I saw it, my mood and my jaw dropped lower than my old woman breasticles. The price was nearly twice the cost of the decked-out Maverick I will be re-ordering next month. Wah-wah! I do not know what extras the Santaquin Maverick could possibly have that would jack the cost up to double what I will be paying for my Maverick. I can afford to pay the high price, but I’m not going to pay double when I know I can get everything I really want for so much less—and I can get it in the exact color I want, which Ford currently calls Velocity Blue. Perhaps the red Maverick in Santaquin has a hidden bathroom installed in it, or maybe a small swimming pool—or it comes with pink diamonds embedded in the dashboard. I hope whoever ends up buying the expensive truck spoils and babies it like I would. So that’s my 2022 Maverick catch-and-release story. My cousin’s alert message launched me into a suddenly over-the-moon exuberance—until my online information-gathering just as abruptly sent me into a state of sore and utter disappointment. Ah, the vicissitudes o’ life! They’re some kinda fun, eh?
