Reflections - A Three Hundred Ninety Day Wait to Pick Up the Pickup

Maverick

 

Spence’s shivery whisper shocked me. On Friday the thirteenth of May, he walked across the great room and turned his laptop screen toward me. “You’ve got to see this.”

Welcoming a break from folding his laundered tank tops, I stared at a line graph. Line graphs never had that reverent effect on him before. “Yeah?”

“It’s from Ford. Our Maverick’s in production.” Cradling the computer as if it were his baby truck emerging inside the plant in Hermosillo, Mexico, Spence eased to the great room and emailed a screenshot to the family.

Three hundred twenty-four days after driving to Titusville Ford in Guys Mills, I’d given up hearing about the Maverick, the only affordable small hybrid pickup. Spence had wanted a truck with better gas mileage for the environment. He needed a truck before his old one died or failed Pennsylvania’s inspection.

That was June 23, 2021. Our dealer Jason had told us to expect the Maverick by fall. Spence planned for September. I cautioned Halloween or Thanksgiving. 

Every night he read the Maverick Truck Club website. He shared news of EcoBoost engines getting built rather than the hybrid we’d ordered because EPA hadn’t rated gas mileage on the hybrid yet. Spence also related stories from men. “My truck died. I’m riding my bike to work. My order better come before it snows.”

Thursdays, Spence checked his email for news from Ford. After the email confirming his order, no others arrived.

Spence called Jason and Ford Customer Service monthly. Jason’s news on October 25 made Spence’s face light up as if his first tomato seedling had sprouted. “Our Maverick’s listed at priority code two.”

“What’s that mean?”

“The truck will get a build date soon.” He scooped Rills off the sofa, chanted, “We’re getting a new truck,” and waltzed his buddy around the great room.

Ford defined “soon” differently than we did.

The Maverick Truck Club ran rampant with theories for the extended supply chain delays on hybrid engines, chips, and spray-in bedliners. Our order needed all of those. Folks in the club debated whether to drop spray-in bedliners off their orders. 

“Do it! You’ll get built faster.” 

“No, man. Make a change and they cancel your order.”

“Not if the dealer does it.”

During Spence’s late November dealer check in call, Jason said, “The spray-in bedliner is holding up the order. You should take it off.” 

Spence slammed his fist against the sofa. “Take it off.”

December, January, and February passed with no word. The folks on the Maverick Truck Club argued that the  first order taken should be the first order built. Ford agreed, verbally, but gave priority to large, interstate dealerships. Profit not principle ruled.

Finally, on March 28, 2022, customer service gave Spence a VIN number. The mix of nine digits and eight letters made for boring reading but were vital. They meant our Maverick had been scheduled for production and Spence could check the order online at the Vehicle Tracker using that number anytime night or day.

Exciting, except the Vehicle Tracker malfunctioned more frequently than it worked. Spence upped his checks with customer service to every other week then weekly. In late April, a clueless young woman said, “It says your order is confirmed. I bet you’re excited about your new truck.” 

“Grrrrr. I’ve been waiting since June twenty-third.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Spence suffered through several more cheerful customer service responses and useless answers from Jason—“I haven’t heard . . . I don’t know . . . Ford isn’t telling me . . .”

Considering all Spence had gone through checking his Maverick order from June 2021 through May 2022, his shivery whisper made sense. He told anyone who would listen about his Maverick’s build date. “It would happen on Friday the thirteenth.” 

Another Friday, May 27, the Vehicle Tracker proclaimed the Maverick built and provided a link to view the window sticker. Gazing at each listed accessory, Spence grinned jack-o’-lantern wide. 

 

Maverick Bed Extender

Within a week the tracker half filled the dot for “shipped to dealer.” Translation: the Maverick left the factory on June 1 for its train ride north. Only one more circle remained on the line graph, “final preparation.”

Stepping sprightly on our health walks, Spence speculated about getting his Maverick by Father’s Day. I limped—my knee still aching from our Presque Isle adventures—gawked at tiger swallowtails flitting between blackberry blossoms, and swatted bugs which were determined to dive bomb my face. Spence made a decision. “First year model. Built on a Friday. I’m keeping the old truck for when the new truck breaks down.” 

His 2008 Chevy pickup has over three hundred eighteen thousand miles. Not the most reliable vehicle. For example, with gas prices soaring to $5.10 a gallon, he filled the old guzzler’s tank and headed to Cleveland on June 9. He watched for Mavericks along the way. Early that afternoon the house phone rang. Spence’s resigned voice said, “Coming down route three twenty-two toward Chagrin River, all the lights on the dashboard flashed. I crossed the river. The engine ran but missed and lost power. I put my flashers on and inched up the hill. I turned off at the first right. Also uphill. The engine died. Everything electrical shut off.”

He waited two hours for the tow truck that drove him and the Chevy eighty-three miles back to our mechanic Matt’s. A thousand dollar repair bill got the old Chevy roadworthy, but Matt said, “It won’t pass inspection again.” If Spence feels better keeping that old truck for a spare, fine with me. I prefer taking my chances with the new Maverick.

On June 18, 2022, we both sighed relief because customer service told Spence the Maverick arrived in Lordstown, Ohio on June 17. The pickup waited on a ramp for the Brothers Auto Transport to drive it the last fifty miles to Titusville, where the dealership had moved since we’d made our order. Surely, we would have the Maverick by the Fourth of July.

Spence checked the Vehicle Tracker twice a day to see if the Maverick had arrived at Titusville Ford. The dot stayed on “In Transit.”

He called Ford Customer Relations every second or third day to check. Dates improved—July 18, between June 25 and July 7, July 5—until his fourth call.

“July eighteenth! I’ve been waiting since June twenty-third, twenty twenty-one,” he shouted. His face and neck turned red behind his beard. “My truck is fifty miles away just sitting on a ramp.”

Claws scritch-scratching against the wood floors, the tabby cats fled the great room and pounded up the metal stairs. 

Worrying about Spence’s blood pressure, I sat beside him and patted his knee. 

The representative must have said something calming because the red drained from Spence’s face. He said, “Okay” and “I’ll try” before hanging up.

Scribbling notes on his clipboard, Spence asked, “What’s the name of the towing company?” He pointed northwest. “They towed the Subaru.”

“Leonard’s.” Why did he need a towing company for a truck we didn’t have?

“Right. The guy says we can ask the dealer to ask Ford to permit us to hire a tow truck to deliver our Maverick.” Spence dialed Jason and later, with much merriment, relayed their conversation.

S: Jason, this is Spencer Wells. The Maverick is in a parking lot in the Lordstown, Ohio train yard. Why not run over this afternoon and pick it up?

J: Ford won’t let me do that.

S: Jason, the guy at Ford Customer Relations suggested it.

J: I never heard of such a thing.

S: Just call your Ford Regional Manager and suggest it.

J: She's already done what she could. She put your truck on the “hot list” for the next auto hauler coming this direction.

S: Look, Jason. Leonard's Towing is six miles from my house. He has a flatbed. You get the pick up approved. I'll pay Leonard's to go pick it up and deliver it to you.

J: Okay, I’ll ask.

While Spence waited for the answer, he checked Ford Truck Club. Customer relations representatives had suggested the idea to many members. All were denied. 

 

Spence Checking for Maverick News

Jason’s answer, of course, was no. “The transport company calls me twenty-four to forty-eight hours before delivery. I’ll call you.”

Spence maintained his routine of reading Maverick Truck Club, calling Ford Customer Relations, and calling Jason. He added a fourth check. After a nap, a shower, a trip outside to water his tomatoes, or an all day excursion to volunteer for lead safe housing in Cleveland, he asked, “Did Jason call?” I couldn’t label his condition as wait-by-the-phone, but Spence certainly had anxious-to-hear syndrome. 

His call anticipation peaked with over a dozen “Did Jason call” per day the evening of July 5 when staring at truck club news, yet again, he muttered, “It’s good I read this every night so I don’t go over there and kill him.”

I could connect that to a certain dealership and dealer, but Spence meant he found comfort being in a group where everyone suffered waiting weeks and weeks for their Mavericks to be transported from train yards to dealers. The fellas talked each other down from using wire clippers to liberate their Mavericks on dark nights. Add transport drivers to the list of shortages in America holding up new vehicle deliveries.

A week later, Spence gave up. He stopped calling customer relations. He stopped checking the Vehicle Tracker. He didn’t call the Ford dealer. “It will happen when it happens.” His blood pressure benefited, but his spirits drooped. At least he still read the truck club news nightly and, every time he stepped inside the front door, he asked, “Did Jason call?”

Jason never called.

But Friday, July 15, he sent Spence an email. “Looks like it should be here sometime today or tomorrow. So we should be able to do everything Monday.”

I drove Spence to Titusville in our Subaru Crosstrek on Monday, July 18. There, in front of the building, sat the shiny, new hot pepper red Maverick. 

As if stating we needed to write celery seed on the shopping list, Spence said, “That’s our Maverick.”

I, who hadn’t expected to get emotional, jumped out of the car—leaving the driver’s door hanging open for Spence to shut—and focused my cell phone camera on the solid iteration of the elusive Maverick Spence had dreamed of for the last thirteen months. I hit the round white button on the screen. The phone made a tinny, crackly-snap. “Get in there, Spence.” 

He strode beside his pickup and smiled modestly while I took more photos. “Come on. Jason’s waiting.”

Grinning as wide as the Maverick’s front grill, Jason shook our hands and slid paperwork across his desk. In the last year, Titusville Ford had sold four Mavericks before ours, but all had EcoBoost engines. “Yours is the first hybrid. All the other hybrid orders will have to wait for twenty twenty-three models.” 

I raised my eyebrows at Spence. Being a truck club reader, that news didn’t surprise him.

Papers signed, the three of us walked through the showroom past a shiny white Fusion and a huge blue F150. 

A woman jumped up, waved her cell phone, and shouted, “Wait!” She lifted a three foot cardboard key off her desk. “Do you mind if I take your picture beside your new truck with this? I want to post it on our Facebook page to prove people actually do get Mavericks.”

After photos, Jason oriented us to the features of the Maverick—all new to me, a few to Spence. I admired the gray denim seats trimmed with orange stitching, the ample storage under the back seats, and the nifty bed extender. I almost blurted, well worth the wait, but restrained myself.

Then we set off. Spence drove the Maverick. I followed in the Crosstrek.

Clouds cleared. Sunshine graced Spence’s first drive. We crossed Oil Creek and climbed a winding, wooded hill. I’m used to following him at a stodgy, old-man pace. Not this time. I pressed my foot against the floor. After three hundred ninety days waiting to pick up his pickup, Spence zoomed.

 

Spence, Janet, and Maverick