How A Slick Ford Maverick Lobo Taught Me The True Meaning Of Truck Ownership

I thought living in Detroit would be relatively safe in the coming climate crisis thanks to our fresh water and temperate climate. No real natural disasters routinely threaten this pleasant peninsula besides the slow-moving one of the freeze-thaw cycle every winter. Then, the night before I drove a 2027 Ford Maverick Lobo 300 miles on a mini-road trip to retrieve oil wrestling supplies in Ohio, my hometown was hit with its first tornado in 29 years. Suddenly, I was huddled with my three dogs in my basement, watching the lights flicker. I thought of Gary, Indiana. I thought of Flint. I thought of the U.S.'s de-funding of FEMA and rollback of regulations and rejection of anything that might save us, and then I thought, absolutely nothing is stopping me from using that Maverick Lobo to pick up 16 gallons of mineral oil and 300 pounds of bentonite now.

Pickup ownership always seemed like a drag to me. They aren't particularly fun to drive, and if you're the average truck owner your bed remains empty most of the time until, inevitably, your days off start getting booked up by friends moving house. And I will admit to seeing one too many selfish truck drivers in my time. I started associating the entire vehicle type with self-centered behavior.

That was until I heard the call for community building, with this little truck as the tool. Any car can be what you make of it. I learned that owning a truck can be an act of responsibility to the people around you, one that supplies joy rather than tiresome stress.

Full disclosure: Ford loaned me a Maverick Lobo with a full tank of gas to do with as I pleased for a week.

To be fair, the Ford Maverick Lobo does not scream "reliable citizen," especially when it's as low to the ground and blacked-out as this particular truck. And with a starting price of $41,425, and my tester topping out at $44,175, it's not exactly what I'd call a truck of the people. An unadorned base Maverick, however, squeaks in under $30,000, which these days is practically a steal.

The Lobo is Ford's "street truck" version of its money-printing little unibody ute, but it comes with the same turbocharged 2.0-liter inline-4 EcoBoost engine as the base XT. Gas mileage was pretty good on my road trip (I scored about 28.1 mpg), but it's clear the "street" part of this street truck is more about the looks than packing in extra power. It's a little lower, the suspension is a little stiffer, the handling is a little sportier, and the 7-speed automatic shifts a little quicker over the base Maverick. It remains as easy to drive as a crossover, artfully maneuvering into city parking spots and in and out of traffic, but handles a little more like a sports car, all while having a useful bed on the back. Truly, it's a vehicle for all seasons. Mine also came with trailer assist, which, lol. I'm sure someone is hauling something with their Lobo, but I can't imagine it.

The day after the wild storm, my side of town was as it should be, but as I headed south and east, things became more fraught. The fragments of a city block lay across four roadways. Traffic lights blinked in abstract warning or stayed dark entirely. And then there was the rain. Constant torrents of rain, all the way from Detroit, to Cleveland, and back again.

Seven hours of solo driving in total, for folks I barely knew at the time. So, why did I do it? Well, I didn't need to know them. A friend of a friend reposted a call for anyone with the ability to pick up the oil for the event (and the mud for the following week), and I just happened to have the ability. Plus, I knew that the folks organizing the event were trying to create space in my community among people who needed it with nothing more than a pair of blow-up pools, a sign-in sheet and mineral oil. Despite the city's resurgence, Detroit folks still don't have a lot, and queer folks have even less. As a member of both communities, I happened to have access to a vehicle like a truck and could offer it to good people in need. If you can, do. 

Driving across this particular corner of the Great Lakes is not interesting. It's even worse when constant storms turn the entire world outside your windows into sheets of gray, as close to a sensory deprivation tank as I want to let my chatty brain experience. Thankfully, I've been bitten by the "Dungeon Crawler Carl" bug, so I had hours of audiobook to work through and a very comfortable cabin to do it in. Ford interiors are pretty drab, but goddamn it, they are functional. This one came with lovely two-tone blue-and-lime contrast stitching in the dark gray cloth seats. The touchscreen was responsive, and things like climate controls are well laid out. I didn't find myself searching for buttons on a screen or stabbing the damn thing with my finger like a prosecutor dealing with a hostile witness. 

Despite having a stiffer suspension, the Lobo's road noise was kept to a minimum, even in the rain. Its ride quality was surprisingly good, too. I kept waiting to fight with it during storm gusts, but the truck stayed firmly in its lane. The Maverick is easy to get into, easy to sit in for hours, and easy to get out of again. Also, Ford makes a hell of a heated seat. I want a seat that cooks the middle-aged mid-back pain out of me, and Ford delivers. The center console is also very usable, with several little cubbies for stashing keys, snacks, water bottles, and what-have-yous.

Erin Marquis/Jalopnik

I was dismayed, however, to find out this very expensive truck did not have a wireless charging pad in it. For a $44,175 vehicle, that pretty simple piece of tech should be standard, in my opinion. There also seemed to be a timing problem with the windshield wipers, and they'd catch every so often on the edge of the windshield. Kind of a disappointing fault in a car with only around 24,000 miles on it. I also didn't love the weird, super thick door handles with their six bare hex bolts, but the Maverick's doors are oddly heavy, which made those thick handles worthwhile.

As for the 16 gallons of mineral oil and the 300 pounds of bentonite, they all stayed snug and secure in the bed, even in the pouring rain, thanks to the tonneau cover and bed tie-downs. Thank goodness, because I don't know how I would explain 300 pounds of bentonite melted into the back of a press truck to the fine people at Ford.

Everything feels really terrible right now, like a slide has begun that will be difficult, if not impossible, to climb back from. But Detroiters have been dealing with a slow slide for a long time, and we know the solution: find some joy and connection in between the chaos. If you don't fiddle while Rome burns, Rome will burn anyway, there just won't be any music to dance to.

The particular wrestling bout I picked up oil for attracted a record attendance. Ornate eye makeup paired with glistening brawny shoulders and bright lycra stretched over every imaginable form filled a small back yard in Highland Park. The haircuts were bad, the tattoos incredible; a sea of weird life all laughing and celebrating togetherness. On either side of the house were derelict and abandoned homes, but in our corner of Highland Park, there were shouts enough to fill a stadium. 

I would have taken more pictures of the event, which was a riot and featured some people with actual legit fighting moves, but it was requested that no one take photos. And you know what? I didn't see a single person with their phone out. Official photographers skillfully worked around people wearing bracelets that specified they did not want to not be photographed. It was a remarkable amount of respect for each other in a group of over 70 people.

"We're here to build community. Say hello to the person next to you. Get their numbers. Be friends. We need each other," our host, June, announced to the spangled and glittering crowd. She wore a sparkly mini-dress herself as she spoke through a bull horn. Before I left the event, she used the same bull horn to thank me.

"We have one person who made this whole event possible! She drove all the way to Cleveland and back!" June announced. While that's very sweet, it was her scrappy attitude, and the help of friends, who made queer oil wrestling possible. Oh, and one weird little truck.