My Truck is Already Big Enough

I’ve got most of the gear on the list of required stuff to call yourself an outdoorsman in Montana.

But like that line from an old Meatloaf song “I won’t do that.”

“That” in this case being a customized grill guard for my pickup.

My truck is already big enough without a cow-catcher hanging off the front like a locomotive.

I carry a Leatherman on my belt, have a bone saw in my pack, and wear a neck rag when it’s cold. I’ve owned horses, drift boats, and a Honda Trail 90.

I’ve never owned a grill guard.

I shoot a variety of firearms, have entirely too much fishing gear, and possess enough optics to outfit a Chinese spy balloon.

Grill guards, however, just never made sense to me, although writing this surely guarantees I’ll need one.

There’s a hand ax in the toolbox on the pickup along with chains and jacks, and a cordless Sawzall for dismantling elk. A selection of very old dried food and candy resides in a tote behind the front seat.

But a grill guard? I’ll rely on brakes, power steering, and my no-longer-so-quick reflexes instead.

After all, I like the looks of my truck as it sits. I’m not ready to hang half the Laurel refinery off its front end simply to protect the hood from a collision with a deer. I have insurance.

Granted, we’d all be safer if every rig we drove was fitted with a full roll cage, and the doors were welded shut, but who wants to drive a demolition derby car if there’s no trophy in the offing?

My truck is probably safer than most from collisions with critters. A redneck magnet, it’s very loud, sits about 14 feet off the ground, and requires technical climbing skills to reach the cab. Except for exceptionally tall moose, everything else passes underneath untouched.

I realize a grill guard would give me the Montana cred I lack, but I’m content to look like I’m from somewhere else, which I am. I only arrived in Montana 53 years ago.

I’d do almost anything to fit in here in Montana but I won’t do that.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]