The time has come. I have decided to trade my trusty old pickup off for a new vehicle. My truck has more miles on it than a Rand McNally world map. I thought I should trade it off before it ended up with a &uot;Do Not Resuscitate&uot; bumper sticker. I named my truck Maurice &045; you know, Maurice Chevrolet.

It is not easy for me to buy a new vehicle. Growing up, my family never owned a new one. Most of our cars were at death’s door by the time we acquired them. We were the last owners of every car we purchased. The autos went right from our place to the junkyard.

My pickup and I have done a lot of traveling together. We have shared adventures. There is a new journey that I will now begin. It is that succession of feelings we go through when we buy a new car. First, there is excitement and then anticipation. These two wonderful feelings are followed by payments, which are followed by more payments and more payments. There will be no repairs needed during this time, as they would be covered by the warranty. Then the warranty ends and the repair bills pour in. This leads to distrust and disgust. This is when a driver learns one of life’s great lessons. No car ever makes a funny noise if you are the owner of that car. The repairs escalate to the point where you move your favorite easy chair into the dealer’s shop, just so you could spend a little time with your car.

Once again, let me state that it is not easy for me to buy a new car. I am frugal by nature and I realize that no one really needs a new car. We could get along just fine driving a used car. I could put on my best plaid suit and go used car shopping. I could even drive a &uot;previously owned&uot; vehicle, although I do believe that they are more expensive than used cars. Its depreciation schedule makes a new automobile a bad investment.

Sam Walton, who started a little company that most of us have heard about, Wal-Mart, drove the same pickup for almost 30 years. He not only could have afforded a new pickup, he could have bought the company that manufactured the pickup. &uot;Why do I drive a pickup truck?&uot; said old Sam. &uot;What am I supposed to haul my dogs around in, a Rolls-Royce?&uot; That is why dogs are such great company. They don’t care what we are driving, they still like to ride with us.

My pickup is in good shape. It has no duct tape or baling wire holding it together. The oil has been changed regularly and the radio preset buttons are set appropriately for someone my age and upbringing.

You can push the buttons all day long and not hear one rap song. It runs good as far as I can tell. If there are things that an auto mechanic doesn’t want us to know, they have managed to keep them all a secret from me. It always starts and the heater works &045; what else can you ask from a truck?

I realize that there is quite a learning curve to getting a new car. I find this out whenever I have a rental vehicle. It takes me a few days to learn to stop turning on the windshield wipers whenever I mean to signal a turn. I looked at a Hummer. It had too many blind spots for me. Well, not too many; just one big blind spot &045; the price tag. After recovering from seeing it, I thought maybe I would just get a wheelbarrow and hire a physically fit friend to push me wherever I want to go. I gritted my teeth and consolidated my loans so that I have fewer people looking for me. I have a new car. I am going to park it at the end of our driveway for a few weeks so that all of my wife’s relatives will have the chance to see it. Maybe then they will realize that they have been wrong about me?

Now I am the owner of a Pontiac. It is not a pickup and that will be a big change for someone who doesn’t always take well to change. My father loved Pontiacs. I always told him that it stood for Poor Old Nincompoop Thinks It’s A Cadillac. If he knew what I just paid for a Pontiac, he would be sure that I must be that nincompoop.

Hartland resident Al Batt writes columns for the Wednesday and Sunday editions of the Tribune.