Mar 22, 2025 6 min read

By Dave Bates

For the Observer-Reporter

I didn’t start out as a pickup truck guy. When I was 17, I got a Mercury Bobcat (See Ford Pinto). I was glad to have transportation beneath me; no longer a hitchhiker.

My brother, Glenn, dropped me off to pick up the clunker, at which time it occurred to me that I didn’t know how to drive a standard. He shouted out the window as he pulled away, “Oh, well. … I’ll see you at home.”

The floorboards were rotted out, so my metal shop teacher, Benny Roseberry, allowed me to use the project for a shop class grade.

In years to come, there was a parade of used cars that were nothing to write home about but served my utilitarian needs.

Then came the Suzuki Samurai. Call it my transition period. Coolest vehicle I would ever own. It was the 1980 … think about it. I found it sitting on a used car lot in Denver with 16,000 original miles. My buddy Tommy and I got a great deal when we purchased a pair of vehicles at the same time. Tommy walked away with a Toyota Land Cruiser and me with my red, pop-top convertible Samurai.

When Kelly and I married the next fall, we thought it best to liquify and begin our marriage with no debt. It was one of our soundest financial strategies and has continued to be our mantra for 33 years. I drove onto the lot of the Point Marion Ford dealership in my beloved Samurai and drove off in a 1981 Ford F-100 with no tailgate, a lot of flaking paint, but clear of all debt. Some would call it a farm truck. I picked up a tailgate at the junkyard. It was at that moment in time that I became a “pickup man” as the country song goes.

There are two schools of thought when it comes to pickup people: cap or no cap. I have celebrated both. As a younger man, I was much more interested in cool than function. I compromised so that I might have a bit of covered storage for my belongings and picked up an old, construction tool box that took up about half the bed. Somehow, in my warped mind, I rationalized that my toolbox was implicitly “cooler” than the “old guys with caps.” I’m not exactly sure how a beat-up pickup with dings and dents and a lack of paint and quite a bit of rust made me cool, but at least I thought it did. Did I mention that it had a column shifter (three on the tree)? The clutch was so stiff that you had to be a powerlifter in order to fully depress it. Kelly did not embrace the experience.

My second pickup, a 1978 Ford F-100 was purchased from a friend whose father had passed away. It was a garage kept automatic, in immaculate shape and was clean enough to eat off the floor or the engine. It had one of those braided-rug seat covers and perpetually smelled like “old man.” My wife tells me that my new Toyota has the same smell. Not sure why? Must be the air freshener? It also had a giant aluminum camper-top cap that we referred to as the “Bates Motel.” It was equipped with a closet-style door knob on a huge, swinging hinge man door which made for great accessibility. It was the recreational vehicle of the century and we recreated in it for several years. I am fairly certain that more than one of my softball teammates started their families therein.

Alas, driven only short distances when new, it was not built for the long haul.

In the decades to come, there would be a succession of pickup trucks to follow. Nearly all have been Toyotas save one Dodge. Somewhere along the line I began to see the benefits of a truck cap, especially for my hunting and fishing needs. I started by purchasing several used caps. Driving down the road I would discover some “old guy” cap laying next to the house with a “for sale” sign on it. I’d stop, we’d barter, he’d help me hoist it up on for size and if it was even close, off we’d go. Some of them even fit. These were the days before custom fit caps. Usually I’d install the cap for hunting season and remove it in the spring for hauling purposes. A seasonal return to cool, if you will.

During my police academy days we attempted a tactical cap upgrade to my Tacoma. In truth, it was simply an awful, rust colored, aluminum, high rise cap that did not even remotely match my red Toyota’s paint job. Nor did it even come close to fitting. It did haul cadets well. Our instructors referred to it as the “Pappy Cap.” Not cool – just functional. Quite tactical.

The next truck would solidify my stance as a “cap guy.” I bought a used Toyota Tacoma during the pandemic and it came equipped with a like-new A.R.E. fiberglass cap that was paint-matched to the silver truck: The Silver Bullet. A thing of beauty, I could not bring myself to remove the cap. The more I hunted from this platform the more fond I became of the cap platform.

A couple of years ago, Kelly and I opted for one of the few brand new vehicles I’ve ever owned. No sooner than I brought the new Tacoma home, I was off to Milton to the Jeraco cap factory and picked up a top-shelf cap. Tilt-sliding rear window, carpeted roof, mesh-covered side-sliding windows, even a dome light. It is the cat’s hind end. It has solidified my place as “a cap guy” for the ages.

I almost feel sorry for some of those cool young guys when they pass me on the interstate in their capless affairs. I think some of the old guys in the neighborhood are getting a bit jealous as I cruise by with my new cap.

Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com