I recently read a column written by a writer who was a former truck owner and driver. In it, he recounts his recent memories of his big, burly Dodge Ram. Having ostensibly grown up in a more rural area, trucks were a normal part of the culture and way of life for him. But skyrocketing fuel prices forced his hand into buying, of all things, a Hyundai Sonata.

I recently read a column written by a writer who was a former truck owner and driver. In it, he recounts his recent memories of his big, burly Dodge Ram. Having ostensibly grown up in a more rural area, trucks were a normal part of the culture and way of life for him. But skyrocketing fuel prices forced his hand into buying, of all things, a Hyundai Sonata.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with the new Sonata. It’s a perfectly competent midsize sedan, and with the V-6, pretty spunky, too. But its purchase gets to a very rudimentary and basic cultural premise, especially prevalent in American society. Premise? Size equals status. If you’re gonna be taken seriously, you’ve got to be driving some heavy iron. The attitude is especially among the Midwestern or Southern good ‘ol boys. The latest icon of hugeness, at least out here on the West Coast, seems to be a lifted Ford Super Duty Diesel.

Having grown up in the “progressive” area of Silicon Valley in Northern California, pickups were around, but far from predominant. Instead, it was import-land, whether they were Toyotas, Hondas, BMWs or Mercedes. Ironically, I really, really wanted a Toyota Hilux pickup for my first vehicle. My dad talked me out of it because, “all your buddies will be bugging you to help them move.” He successfully talked me out of it, partially because mom & dad were pitching in a little more than half the cost for my first car. So I instead got a thrifty, practical Nissan Sentra. It was a great, rugged little car that got me through my senior year of high school, college & grad school, and my first year into the working world. Of course, as soon as I thought I could swing the payments, I wanted something faster and fancier. I traded it for a Volkswagen GTI VR6. Still a compact, but this time with a snorting, torquey six-cylinder under the hood. And while it wasn’t the fastest thing on the road, it was plenty fast enough. A few years later, budgetary concerns came to the forefront and it was getting hard to justify the insurance and fuel costs (at 18-19 mpg average, on premium) on the pocket rocket. So I “downgraded” to a Mazda Protege5. While it seemed like it had literally about half the power of the VW, at 25-26 mpg average on 87, it was definitely easier on the wallet.

But now I am making a little more money, married, and wistfully looking at the Mazdaspeed 3. I love everything about my little Protege except for the lack of power, and here this little Asian hottie is tempting me with turbocharged power and all the practicality that comes with a 5-door. I literally daydream about blasting past those lumbering dolts in their big trucks in my zippy little Banzai machine. Who’s the man now? Yeah, sure, they could probably single-handedly total my car by backing up or rear-ending me, but chances are, I’ll be nothing more than a blur and a spec in their windshield by the time they figure out what’s going on. Not to get all philosophical and educational, but note that the survivors from the Jurassic area weren’t the mega-saurs, but the smaller, nimbler creatures. What’s more manly than “survival of the fittest?” I’ll take my chances in my little speed machine over a road-going Sherman Tank.

- Edward A. Sanchez