Shootin' it Straight - Complicated Ride (Free Access)

The craving for technology was all-consuming throughout the '80s and '90s, and it still holds a firm grip on our daily lives today. Cars have become more advanced, boasting a dizzying array of features. From sliding equalizers on old radios to needing a programming degree to operate modern infotainment systems, the technological push shows no sign of stopping.

While I can appreciate a good radio and the convenience of a backup camera, most modern features are lost on me. Many seem more like distractions—or even aggravations—than useful additions.

With the overwhelming number of gadgets and settings in today’s automobiles, simply preparing to drive can be frustrating. There’s syncing multiple Bluetooth devices, adjusting seat and climate controls, disabling lane departure warnings, and fine-tuning predictive cruise systems—the list is endless. This complexity has me longing for a simpler time.

Now, I find myself searching for older, low-mileage vehicles that haven’t drowned in electronics. These days, it feels nearly impossible for a shade tree mechanic to work on a car. And somewhere along the way, we’ve lost the simple joy of backroad riding.

In quiet rebellion—and a bit of frugality—I hunt for the most basic older pickup trucks I can find. Sign me up for vinyl seats, rubber floor mats, shifters on the floorboard, and tailgates that don’t need a remote. The days of worrying about impressing others with your ride are gone for me. The “status” of a vehicle holds no value now. Gadgets, widgets, and touchscreens have no sparkle.

Nothing compares to a square-body Chevy rolling down Asa Flat, tuned in to whichever FM station the steel antenna can catch. A bench seat filled—with her sliding over to the middle—fills more than just space; it fills your heart.

Today, we finance vehicles that cost more than a decent home. We stretch payment plans over six years, and we've come to accept multi-thousand-dollar dealership repair bills as the norm. But I, for one, would like to find reverse in the five-speed of life.

We’re overstimulated—from our televisions, our cell phones, and now even our vehicles. Perhaps we’d be better off if we weren’t always so plugged in. Sometimes, the most meaningful connections come not from a Bluetooth pairing, but from two 6x9s blasting “Night Moves” as you head to Spencer’s for a banana split in a ‘79 Bronco.

Because sometimes, all the buttons you can push still don't push the ones that really matter.