Im lying in one of two twin beds that are pushed up against each other. I can hear the voice of my friend, who is in the other bed, but I cant see him in the weak light. Its getting close to dawn and were nearly delirious from no sleep. Were giggling. I can just see you in a big truck. Youd need a cowboy hat,’ He says. And really short cut offs.’

Yeah,’ I say. Itd have to be really big. And Id need a gun rack.’

Perhaps it was having family from Texas (some of it must have come from them –- especially the cowboy hat and gun rack fantasy), or maybe it was the idea of it. I love the contradiction of me –- a petite, long-haired, feminine woman –- stepping out of a huge pickup truck. Perhaps Id wear skirts more often, just for effect. There is a sick sense of pleasure I get from challenging peoples preconceived notions, including ones as silly as Trucks Are For Men. Although women seem to be defying that somewhat with the SUV revolution, its not the same as pushing into the traditional male-dominated world of trucks.

I grew up in the Southern California suburbs, where my neighbors were more likely to drive sedans, station wagons or sports cars and leave trucks up to the gardeners or electricians. To see a person driving a truck when their job didnt require it is unusual. To see a woman do it is practically unheard of. I confess, that, in itself, is enough to make me want to do it.

I struggle with the desire to own a big truck daily. But I keep myself under control. Since that night in my friends apartment more than three years ago, Ive gone a through a couple of practical cars – a Toyota Camry, a Volkswagen Golf. Gas sippers. I am, after all, aware that there is a limited supply of gasoline. Besides, being a journalist I dont really need a big truck. Sure, I go camping at least once every two months, and I do live in the country. There are plenty of times that Ive borrowed my boyfriends truck to pick things up at the lumber yard. But do I really need a big, beefy four-wheel drive monster? No. Do I want one? Yes.

Im not talking about anything really over the top, like a Hummer. Ive driven one before – it was nice, but, a little too posh for me. Its definitely not a vehicle you would use to cross the creeks getting into Coyote Canyon in Californias Anza-Borrego Desert or to forge the old wagon trail down to the long-abandoned homestead site at Willow Creek in Big Sur. Im talking about a pickup. A raised Ford F150 would do it for me, or even a Toyota Tacoma, if it had an extended cab and longbed. But then I think about the gas mileage and about taking more than my fair share of composted dinosaur bones. Although scientists dont agree on when the world will run out of oil, theres no denying its a finite resource. And when petroleum companies have already resorted to trying to separate oil from sand in Canadian beaches, the outlook is not good. Getting 14 miles to the gallon on the freeway just seems a little excessive.

One friend of mine, a contractor who drives a big truck regularly, has this theory: the sooner humans use up the available oil, the sooner well have to come up with an alternative. He says it like hes doing the world a favor by driving a gas gulper. I wish I could make my secret desire for a big truck sound so altruistic.

So, until I can come up with a good reason to justify a big truck, or I cant fight it any longer, Im not getting one. Thats not to say Im foregoing a truck altogeher. A few months ago, I bought one – its small and red. No cowboy hat. No cut offs. No gun rack. But 25 miles to the gallon makes up for all that.

Kathryn Gillick and her little red truck live in California, not too far from the Anza-Borrego Desert, where Kathryn is a freelance journalist and her truck gets all the attention and new clutch cylinders it needs to keep both of them happy.