Some men see an F-150, a Ram, or a Tundra and turn to mush. Some see a Charger, a Corvette, or a Bugatti and their heart starts racing.
Me? I see a Subaru Outback and think, “Whoa, that’s sick!”
At 38, I’ve become a wagon guy.
My younger self would be horrified.
“A wagon? Seriously? We don’t drive a Charger?”
No. We do not. We have children, snacks, and possibly a sweatshirt buried somewhere under a pile of other sweatshirts. Get in.
I didn’t set out to become a wagon guy. I needed a new car, found an Outback, and realized it could carry my kids and a ridiculous amount of stuff without being enormous. It also looks pretty cool, which I think younger me would grudgingly admit after sulking for a while.
Naturally, its first proper assignment was an epic day trip up to the North Shore.
That’s what you do when you get a wagon. You point it toward Lake Superior, load up the kids, and keep finding room for one more thing. A few hours later, you’re out of the car staring at water that looks like an ocean, with cliffs and rocks and enough scenery to make the drive feel like part of the day.
I love that kind of trip. Leave in the morning. Walk around somewhere beautiful. Stop because something looks interesting. Eat when everyone gets hungry. Come home tired, with the car full of whatever the kids brought along and whatever we picked up on the way.
The Outback was made for it. Or maybe I just really wanted an excuse to take the wagon on an adventure. Both can be true.
Towards the end of a hike, I caught myself looking at it from a distance as the trail got close to the parking lot.
There it was. My wagon. Waiting patiently for us to pile in and find the next adventure.
Younger me would still ask about the Charger. Fair question. I’d probably let him admire one from a distance.
“Yeah, they’re cool.” I’d say. Then I’d point to the Outback, “But this is cooler.”
How things have changed.