fourtotheside
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I am a middle-aged office professional from a middle-sized city in the middle of America. Last fall I was due to trade in my Bland Crossover SUV-wagon Thing (tm) and was looking at replacements. You know, Volkswagen Atlas, Ford Edge, that kind of thing. I was bored. For months I postponed test drives of New Bland Crossovers, and was paging through the auto section of the Saturday paper when I saw it: A Black Wrangler. The music swelled, my heart raced, I grabbed the Mrs. and we went for a test drive of an 18 JLU Sport.
The salesman was pointing out the different trim levels and the off-road-iness of each. The missus pointed out that I am a middle-aged office professional and a dedicated indoorsman, and I really had no business with Gigantor All-Terrain Rock Eater 9000 tires and a preposterous recovery jack across the hood. We might, now and then, travel a gravel road to visit a winery to attend a wedding but that was as gnarly as I would predictably get. This was a persuasive argument. We would not be looking at Sahara or Rubicon.
I made a deal for the Sport and drove it home. I put it, bone stock, on instagram and was immediately jeered for my midlife crisis. I found this forum, found some vendors you found reputable, and put some side steps on the thing that made it look a little more finished. I loved driving it - it's even by Sport standards, fairly light on options, but it was less expensive than the Blands I had been looking at, and it said "utility" in a way that the Blands could only whisper.
As it was the fall, I got the freedom panels off a couple of times and thought that was just nifty. A brutal middle of America winter came and my JLU was a stouthearted ally in the piles of snow. I remembered, from my dad's old Grand Wagoneers (wish I had one of those now!) the difference between 4WD and AWD, particularly when I made a tight turn on cleared pavement.
I found myself longing for spring, wondering what it would be like to get the whole lid off. I admit the eight bolts and two ready disconnects were a bit daunting, and the Missus and I do not communicate well when we are carrying something heavy like a $3000 hard top. Daughter, a budding engineer, found YouTube videos of a ratchet strap system from which to suspend the top, and my life changed.
We go for ice cream on balmy summer nights when the warm air turns the sunset sky to cotton candy.
I found myself making little mods. Door sill protectors, upgrading the stock speakers. My son, who works in a Tire Emporium, offered me the friends-and-family on a set of Gigantors, but I demurred long enough that he bought me a set of LED halo headlights for Father's Day and we installed them together.
The wife suggested a soft top so we could vacation and range without worry of the weather. I, a long way from being cowed by eight bolts and two disconnects, assembled it with a minimum of cussing.
I'm a dedicated Jeep Wave guy. Two off the wheel when the Jeep is dressed, down and away when the doors are off. Bone stock, rad Mud Eater build, you are me and I am you and something about you resonates in me. Some of you must think I'm exactly what I am - an aging Dad trying to wring the last little bit of testosterone out of middle age. Nearly all of you smile and return the salute if you didn't wave first. You're a welcoming sort.
I scared myself half to death on a rutted county road an hour outside of town, but got to the end and laughed my ass off.
I get to the end of my air-conditioned office day and find my new friend waiting for me and I'm legitimately thrilled I get to drive this thing home in the summer sun. Even as I suspect the more adventurous of you are giving me a patient, slightly patronizing smile from behind your mud-spattered windshields, the other Office Dads driving their Blands seem to envy me. I am stuck in traffic same as them, the summer sun fighting an epic battle with the jet-engine powered A/C, and I'm grinning like a kid.
You will not see me on the rocky trails of Utah, or the volcanic slopes of Kuai, in my Jeep. You'll see me messing up my beautiful wife's hair in the summer sun in town, or on a sunset cruise with an ice cream cone. And maybe we'll wind up at the same gravel road winery wedding. I know that I am at the mild end of this fraternity, but my only regret is that I did not join it sooner.
Thanks for having me, and thanks for reading.
The salesman was pointing out the different trim levels and the off-road-iness of each. The missus pointed out that I am a middle-aged office professional and a dedicated indoorsman, and I really had no business with Gigantor All-Terrain Rock Eater 9000 tires and a preposterous recovery jack across the hood. We might, now and then, travel a gravel road to visit a winery to attend a wedding but that was as gnarly as I would predictably get. This was a persuasive argument. We would not be looking at Sahara or Rubicon.
I made a deal for the Sport and drove it home. I put it, bone stock, on instagram and was immediately jeered for my midlife crisis. I found this forum, found some vendors you found reputable, and put some side steps on the thing that made it look a little more finished. I loved driving it - it's even by Sport standards, fairly light on options, but it was less expensive than the Blands I had been looking at, and it said "utility" in a way that the Blands could only whisper.
As it was the fall, I got the freedom panels off a couple of times and thought that was just nifty. A brutal middle of America winter came and my JLU was a stouthearted ally in the piles of snow. I remembered, from my dad's old Grand Wagoneers (wish I had one of those now!) the difference between 4WD and AWD, particularly when I made a tight turn on cleared pavement.
I found myself longing for spring, wondering what it would be like to get the whole lid off. I admit the eight bolts and two ready disconnects were a bit daunting, and the Missus and I do not communicate well when we are carrying something heavy like a $3000 hard top. Daughter, a budding engineer, found YouTube videos of a ratchet strap system from which to suspend the top, and my life changed.
We go for ice cream on balmy summer nights when the warm air turns the sunset sky to cotton candy.
I found myself making little mods. Door sill protectors, upgrading the stock speakers. My son, who works in a Tire Emporium, offered me the friends-and-family on a set of Gigantors, but I demurred long enough that he bought me a set of LED halo headlights for Father's Day and we installed them together.
The wife suggested a soft top so we could vacation and range without worry of the weather. I, a long way from being cowed by eight bolts and two disconnects, assembled it with a minimum of cussing.
I'm a dedicated Jeep Wave guy. Two off the wheel when the Jeep is dressed, down and away when the doors are off. Bone stock, rad Mud Eater build, you are me and I am you and something about you resonates in me. Some of you must think I'm exactly what I am - an aging Dad trying to wring the last little bit of testosterone out of middle age. Nearly all of you smile and return the salute if you didn't wave first. You're a welcoming sort.
I scared myself half to death on a rutted county road an hour outside of town, but got to the end and laughed my ass off.
I get to the end of my air-conditioned office day and find my new friend waiting for me and I'm legitimately thrilled I get to drive this thing home in the summer sun. Even as I suspect the more adventurous of you are giving me a patient, slightly patronizing smile from behind your mud-spattered windshields, the other Office Dads driving their Blands seem to envy me. I am stuck in traffic same as them, the summer sun fighting an epic battle with the jet-engine powered A/C, and I'm grinning like a kid.
You will not see me on the rocky trails of Utah, or the volcanic slopes of Kuai, in my Jeep. You'll see me messing up my beautiful wife's hair in the summer sun in town, or on a sunset cruise with an ice cream cone. And maybe we'll wind up at the same gravel road winery wedding. I know that I am at the mild end of this fraternity, but my only regret is that I did not join it sooner.
Thanks for having me, and thanks for reading.
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