I am once again the proud owner of a Jeep Wrangler, which means I am once again gearing up to do battle with that atrocious carpeting, a substance that is little more than the world's most effective dog hair magnet.
D. K. Wall:Who are these people who designed that carpet? With its tiny Velcro like hooks that snag fur and cling to it with the fierce grip of a toddler, refusing to surrender a cookie.
D. K. Wall:The charitable explanation is that they aren't dog owners. Perhaps they don't even like dogs. Egads. They might live in a pet hair free home.
D. K. Wall:The less charitable explanation and the one I prefer is that they are evil geniuses. I picture them in a dim laboratory full of bubbling beakers, accompanied by a hunchback named Igor dreaming up new ways to torment dog owners.
D. K. Wall:They should be ferreted out, arrested by Interpol, and dragged before the International Criminal Court for crimes against humanity. Because, honestly, who puts carpet in a Jeep?
D. K. Wall:My love affair with Jeeps goes way back. Do you know what my first car was? No, it wasn't a Jeep. If it had been, I would have been one of the cool kids.
D. K. Wall:Well, probably not. I would still have been a geeky kid, but with a cool car. Instead, I drove, wait for it, a 1971 AMC Hornet, two tone, light blue with a white top, the world's ugliest car.
D. K. Wall:I'm not kidding. Years later, sitting in one of those endless corporate gatherings, the icebreaker was to name your first car.
D. K. Wall:People claimed Camaros and Mustangs and beat up old pickup trucks. When I announced my proud heritage, a coworker looked at me mouth agape and said, you will win this contest forever.
D. K. Wall:And I did. Except for the one time a few years later when someone announced they had owned a Pacer. We declared a tie.
D. K. Wall:It's not as though I didn't live among people with cool cars. My best friend growing up had a 1955 Chevy, perhaps the coolest car a kid could have.
D. K. Wall:He got it when he was 12, rebuilt it, was totally ready when he got his driver's license at 16. And I do mean totally ready since he had been driving on actual roads for a year or two already.
D. K. Wall:So, no, I didn't start out with a Jeep. I stumbled my way into that world sideways.
D. K. Wall:Ever since my paper route at age 12, I've cobbled together jobs. During my college summers, I worked at a feed and seed store in May, spent seven weeks of June and July as a counselor at a Boy Scout camp, and filled the remaining gaps as a ranger's assistant.
D. K. Wall:Now, don't confuse that with an assistant ranger, a person who has actual authority and some prestige.
D. K. Wall:No, I was a ranger's assistant. I did whatever task they assigned. Emptied trash cans, built picnic tables, unclogged toilets, retrieved dead animals before visitors saw or smelled them. All the lovely tasks.
D. K. Wall:But the job came with a 1971 Toyota Land Cruiser. Those old Land Cruisers bear little resemblance to today's luxury SUVs by the same name.
D. K. Wall:The J40s looked more like Jeeps, rugged as it gets, manual transmission, four wheel drive that required you to get out of the vehicle and lock the hubs by hand. Something I remembered to do before driving through axle deep mud most of the time. This particular one had no doors and no roof. I don't mean they had been taken off and stored somewhere. I mean, they no longer existed.
D. K. Wall:It didn't really matter because the only thing of value in the vehicle was the two way radio the rangers used to tell me what depraved task awaited me next.
D. K. Wall:My one instruction upon receiving the keys was simple. Do not let the radio get wet, which meant that whenever it rained, and in the mountains, it always rains, I had to find a sheltered spot, an unlikely possibility, or shield it with my body, the most common result.
D. K. Wall:After all, the rangers didn't care if a poor ranger's assistant got wet. Just never the radio.
D. K. Wall:Note that they didn't care about the carpet getting wet. Somebody at Toyota in 1971 understood what the engineers at Jeep apparently still do not. The Land Cruiser didn't have carpet. That would be idiotic.
D. K. Wall:It was a vehicle meant for tools, trash, the occasional carcass, and dogs with fur and muddy paws. When the debris piled up, you just hosed it down, careful not to splash the radio, and moved along.
D. K. Wall:After college, I owned sensible cars, practical cars, cars you could take a client or coworker to lunch in. In other words, boring cars.
D. K. Wall:So imagine my surprise back in 2007 when my Ever Patient Partner in Life read about the introduction of the Jeep Unlimited.
D. K. Wall:Four doors instead of two. Big enough to haul our dogs on adventures. Six. Yes. Six Siberian Huskies.
D. K. Wall:I got a Jeep. And several years later, when the mountainous roads around Maggie Valley had taken their toll, I replaced it with another.
D. K. Wall:I was back to my old ranger's assistant era, right down to the lack of windows on most days. Six husky seatbelted in the back as we crisscrossed the mountains, hunting new trails to hike.
D. K. Wall:It was perfect for us. We lived on top of a mountain down a long gravel road that wound through a sprawling ranch full of horses and cattle. It was Jeep country.
D. K. Wall:When we eventually moved back to the land of paved roads, I gave up my Jeep for the more luxurious Land Rover. I thought it would be Jeep like.
D. K. Wall:Honestly, though, I never loved it. The ride was too smooth. I missed the bounce, the rumble, the ruggedness. I tried to embrace city life or at least as much city as Asheville offers.
D. K. Wall:So imagine my surprise last week when my ever patient partner in life sent me a photograph of a Wrangler, a Willys 41 for my Jeep fans out there, and suggested we go look at it.
D. K. Wall:Last Friday, we drove down to Greer, South Carolina and came home with a new Wrangler.
D. K. Wall:When we pulled into the driveway, the dogs raced over to sniff the tires. I told them to hold off before jumping in.
D. K. Wall:I knew what waited for me inside. Heck, just being in tire sniffing range resulted in a few hopeful hairs already clinging for dear life to the carpet.
D. K. Wall:I folded the seats down, eyed the back, and mapped out a plan. Because here's the thing about a Jeep. The aftermarket for parts is nearly endless. That's half the fun.
D. K. Wall:First on the list, a cargo area gap hider. Mopar part number 6JX46TX7AD. No. I am not making that up. It covers the opening between the cargo area and the folded down back seat, keeping dog paws from dropping through.
D. K. Wall:In my first Jeep, I handled this with a strategically cut piece of plywood until I discovered an official part existed.
D. K. Wall:Then my search continued. I looked for a pet cargo covers and discovered something amazing. There are roughly a Elventy-seven bazillion different options. Give or take one or two.
D. K. Wall:An entire industry has sprung up to solve the ridiculousness of carpet in a Jeep.
D. K. Wall:And that's when it hit me. Maybe those aren't mad scientists at Jeep dreaming up this atrocity. Maybe they're businessmen, Cousins to the people who earn a tidy living covering that carpet up.
D. K. Wall:I smell kickbacks, briefcases of unmarked cash slid across diner tables, graft, corruption at the highest levels of the cargo liner industrial complex. It's the only logical explanation.
D. K. Wall:So if you don't hear from me next week, dear reader, you'll know why. I got too close to the truth.
D. K. Wall:Send my love to my Ever Patient Partner in Life. Tell the dogs they were good. And whatever you do, check the carpet for hair fibers.