After finally making it home and getting the RV safely parked in the driveway, we went inside and poured several stiff drinks. We sat there talking through what we had just done and what our next moves needed to be. I still believed my Ford could handle the RV. At least, I wanted to believe it could. Wendy, having actually ridden in the passenger seat for that white knuckle drive home, was not nearly as optimistic. She reminded me that the places we planned to go involved mountains, long grades, and sustained climbs, and that our truck had struggled on flat interstate.

So the following Saturday we drove back to Paducah and started making the rounds at the truck dealerships, hunting for a replacement for my practically new pickup.

I have always been firmly anti Dodge and a lifelong Ford enthusiast. Over the years I had owned three or four Ford pickups, two Mustangs, and an Explorer. None of them had ever let us down, which made the decision feel simple. We started at the Ford dealer.

They had plenty of F-250s on the lot, but almost all of them were bare bones work trucks. Contractor grade. Vinyl floors you could hose out. Manual seats. No running boards. No creature comforts. They were designed for job sites, not for crossing the continent with your spouse and everything you owned rattling along behind you.

What struck me was how much you give up when you move from a fully loaded personal truck to a contractor truck. In my current pickup I had large display screen, good sound, driver assistance features, and a cab that felt like a comfortable place to spend hours at a time. These trucks had towing power, but that was about it. Trading comfort, quiet, and familiarity for raw capability felt like a steep price. It was hard to imagine giving up all the things we had grown used to just to gain the ability to pull more weight.

We needed a truck that could tow like a workhorse, but live like a home. And standing on that lot, it was clear that finding both in the same vehicle was going to be harder than I expected. We did spot a used GMC Sierra Denali that the salesman pointed out to us. It was only a year old and priced the same as the brand new work trucks on the lot. It was a 3500 and fully loaded. Heated and cooled seats. Heads up display. Sunroof. Automatic running boards. Every bell and whistle you could imagine. It felt less like a truck and more like a luxury sedan that happened to be capable of towing a small building.

Wendy asked the salesman what they would give us on trade for my truck. He smiled and said, “Listen, I can work that up for you. But if you walk in there,” he said, pointing toward the sales office, “we are going to do everything in our power to sell you this truck. You should probably look around a little more before you go inside.”

It was the most honest thing a car salesman had ever said to us.

So we did exactly that. We left and went to the GM dealer. Then the Dodge dealer.  I would not go to the Toyota deal, I do have my principals.

Visiting the dealers only confirmed two things. First, it was raining hard enough to soak anyone foolish enough to walk the lot. Second, salespeople are far less motivated to chase a couple of obvious looky loos in bad weather.

It did not take long.

Wendy said it, calmly and with the tone of someone stating the obvious. “We should get the Denali.”

So back to the Ford dealer we went. Back inside the showroom. And once we crossed that threshold, they did exactly what the salesman had promised. They gave it everything they had to sell us that truck.

And they succeeded.

The one real problem I had ever had with my F-150 was the trim piece on the back of the tailgate. Cheap plastic. Poorly designed. It had a habit of falling off at the worst possible moments.

As we cleaned out my old truck and started loading our things into the Denali, the trim piece chose that exact moment to fail again. It popped loose and came off cleanly in the salesman’s hands. I immediately launched into an explanation, telling him I had the replacement parts and just had not gotten around to installing them.

Wendy did not miss a beat. She smiled and said, “It’s yours now.”

And just like that, it was.

A few minutes later we were driving home in our new Sierra Denali. The beast.