Dear Mr. Deprado,

I remember that day you told us you bought a new Bronco. Even though these were the days we stuck Porsche posters to our walls, we still scrambled outside after that 8^th grade Spring day to watch you take off in your glimmering white, two-door Bronco, the exhaust pipe heaving. It was weird, at that age, to see our teacher drive, but somehow, Mr. Deprado, you fit behind the wheel of that vehicle.

I took my Porsche posters down, and since that day, all I have ever wanted is a Bronco. I always imagined myself in those days, long before I could even drive anything, except for the Pole Position racecar, living out of a Bronco. I would pack it full of everything I needed for an extended adventure: a sleeping bag, a few weeks supply of food, a toolbox, and a mattress rolled up in the back (of course, I would just take out the backseat and sleep there–no need to stay any where except inside the roomy interior). I would mount double gun racks on the back window, and Fat KC lights. I would mount extra large gas cans to the metal guard on the tail and be sure to have a luggage rack, roll bar, trailer hitch and mud flaps with Yosemite Sam telling you to "Back off".

In your class, especially during films, I drew pictures of my dream car along with maps, surveying the journey I would take. Start by heading to Tahoe and then back to the coast. Through Oregon, Washington, Canada, and finally NORTH to Alaska, my destination. I had been in love with Alaska ever since I picked up my first Jack London book. But I think what really drove me to this particular dream was the American in me combined with the Jew in me. As an American, I had a desire for uncharted territory. I wanted to seek the open range, carry myself to far off undiscovered country, and grow roots there. I wanted to explore and stake a claim to a part of the American Wilderness. As a Jew, that same wilderness spoke to the very heart of who I was: a boy, a man, looking for a homeland. Wandering in the wilderness was the right place to be, so it just felt right to set on a journey to places unknown with nothing but faith...and a stocked Bronco.

Since then, I have had plenty of road trips, plenty of adventures up and down different coastlines, through jungles and mountains and seas, but I haven’t made it to Alaska yet, and I don’t drive a Big Bronco. My first car was a Dodge Ram mini pickup; it was yellow with multicolored sport stripes on the side (but it had a tape deck). I moved on from there to what my friends affectionately referred to as "The Green Machine". Everyone I talk to has had some kind of green machine; mine was a 1978 pea green Oldsmobile with a V-8 engine. At one point, I had a Fiat convertible that most of the time I had to push start out of second gear. And finally, in college, I was gifted a diesel Volkswagen Rabbit with 100,000 miles on it. Eventually, it was a miracle when I saved up $672, went to a Car Dealer and searched for anything with enough rebates to forge some kind of Down Payment.

So, for the last ten years, I have driven my Black Ford Ranger XL. I bought it brand new. I was so proud of it. The paint was so shiny (the salesman had conned me into paying extra for some shiny chemical he said would prolong the life of my paint.) My first road trip, I took it up Route One from San Diego to the Bay Area. I stopped along the Coast the whole time, taking pictures like I was filming some kind of car commercial.

"Me and the Ranger in Santa Barbara. The Ranger at Rincon! The Ranger hugging the windy roads of Big Sur. The Ranger, elegant enough for Pebble Beach!" It looked sleek, and it was my adventure mobile right from the start. Trustworthy, hopeful, cheap to maintain, fun.

Part of the mandatory duties of truck ownership is being available at a moment’s notice to all family and friends who need your trucking services. I have moved several tons of furniture, hauled rocks, firewood, kegs, animals, anything and everything in the back of that truck. Now it is slightly faded, and surfboard wax coats the tailgate. It has a little less power, and the gas mileage is down a bit, but I still love it. Yet, I can’t seem to forget my Bronco Days.

The Bronco. Before Pathfinders, Range Rovers, X-terras, Monteros, Landcruisers, Explorers, Escapes, Pilots, Navigators, Escalades, Outbacks, CRV, Ravs, or even Hummers, there was the Bronco. And so now, as my Faithful Truck ages each day, I find myself standing before the idol of the Car Gods, contemplating my next move into vehicle ownership. I try and have the ethical conversations with myself.

Think about the environment, think about gas mileage. Invest in one of those hybrid cars, a Prius or a hybrid Civic–52 miles to the gallon, and Electric Charging Stations all over the place to help the car achieve peak environmental and gas efficiency standards. It seems to make so much sense.

After all of my discussions, I usually come up with some compromise like the Subaru Forrester, but who am I kidding, it is just a barely-modified SUV in station wagon form.

I admit there is something about the idea of the SUV that is also uniquely American. In some way, we all want to go to Alaska and explore the wild frontier. We want to be able to go off road into uncharted mountains full of pine trees and fierce grizzlies, only this time our very horse and wagon will instead be equipped with climate control, on the fly 4 wheel drive, drink holders and TV screens in the back seats. We want the ability to be self-contained as we journey to our heart’s desire. Or, maybe, we don’t really want to go, we just would like to be Ready, you know, if the time comes. After all, SUVS are mostly used to commute through city streets, and load up the back at Costco and Ikea. Still, I am lost in a sea of late night commercials telling me it’s okay to buy, and that I better hurry, and that if I buy now I will get CASH back in my hand and negative ten percent interest rates!

But apparently, not everyone seems to share the enthusiasm about the SUV.

E.L.F. The Earth Liberation Front, a radical group that targets land development and other issues like SUVs or any other issue it deems harmful to the environment, claimed responsibility, on its website, for certain spray-painted messages at a West Covina car dealership. SUVs were spray painted with the words "terrorist," "gross polluter," and "Fat Lazy American".

I don’t want someone to write "Fat Lazy American" on my car door. I don’t want someone to steal my Cadillac hood ornament off of my Escalade, or the roll bar from my X-Terra, and even though I certainly know every reason why I shouldn’t want an SUV, I still want to explore the undiscovered country, and I want to be able to slap my truck into 4-wheel drive when the "heavy" San Diego rain starts to Fall. I want to be equipped for the crazy world, and maybe, as it must be with other Americans, an SUV is like our own personal tanks, a made-to-order tub of safety and shelter, at least for 8-12 miles per gallon.

So Mr. Deprado, I am not sure what to do, but I do know that the most significant source of idolatry in my life has moved from basketball to thinking about my next car. With so many choices, it seems that The Bronco may have disappeared into memory and dreams, but sometimes when I dig through my old boxes of paperwork I probably should have thrown away a long time ago, I will find a map of North America, and highlighted along the left edge of the map is the route from the Bay along the Coast and a thick, drawn arrow pointed up and the words in bold---North to Alaska!

Who knows, maybe someday I will get my trip, head out with my checklist of equipment and journey toward the far off country, the wilderness of the world. Only before I go, I need to make sure that along the route there are enough hotels and Electric Car charging stations.

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