Why, among R&T's speed-crazed staff, is pickup ownership a common thread? We looked out the window at our parking lot one day and were briefly shocked at the number of beds and tailgates. Our lot is a rotating circus, from race cars to funky beaters, but everyone has or wants an old truck. Owned and used properly, a pickup is a rolling work boot, a two-ton barn jacket, a three-blade folding knife. The ones we buy—you can see a few of them here—are unadorned tools, but even a decked-out cowboy Cadillac can't hide its nature: function over form. A good truck is a litany of everything its owner has ever gotten done, written in dents and dings. Most people won't even mention the wear and tear, secure in the knowledge that scars are sexy—and that this country values its cultural icons, from Teddy Roosevelt and Indiana Jones to the F-100 and the Power Wagon, for their ability to take a punch and still get down to business. Yeah, trucks are beautiful. But you should see the other guy.