Ridden Hard, Put Away Wet

Use it or lose it

Big news in the automotive world this week: Toyota has re-launched the iconic Land Cruiser with an all new version destined for sale in the US starting next year. This is significant because the company had stopped importing Land Cruisers in 2021 after years of luxed out behemoths that bore little resemblance to their rough and tumble forebears. The new one looks sharp. It’s a bit more stripped back and smaller, with styling cues from the long Land Cruiser lineage, and more off-road focused than the last generation we saw on these shores. Apparently it will also be more affordable, though I’ve lost touch with what that means nowadays having not bought a new vehicle since 1996 (that BMW almost sunk me financially). 

In other news, I left the windows down in my street parked Defender last night. This isn’t unusual. I often leave the windows down, if not entirely, then part way. It keeps it from getting too stifling inside during this extraordinarily hot summer, and there’s nothing to steal inside. A right-hand drive diesel truck with multiple shift levers on the floor isn’t exactly an enticement for the “Kia Boys” Tik-Tok gang who terrorize the city, hot-wiring small Korean sedans. But I was settled into bed when I heard the drumming of a torrential downpour on the roof over my head. I peeked out the window and saw sheets of monsoon rain flooding the street and then it occurred to me that maybe I ought to go out and roll up the windows. I tossed on some shorts and a rain jacket and dashed out. Of course, the inside of the Defender was already full of water, but I figured I’d limit the damp, if only to save myself wet feet the next day. Then I went back inside, toweled off, and went back to reading an early review of the new Land Cruiser on my phone.

I have three criteria for owning anything. 1) only buy something that will serve me, not the other way around. 2) don’t buy something I wouldn’t mind losing. And 3) the more I spend on something, the more I should expect from it. These criteria apply to anything from a pair of boots, to a vehicle, or to a wristwatch. Every time I read about, or see, a new vehicle, I think to myself, “would I be OK parking this on the street, 24/7/365?” Would I be OK leaving the windows down in a rainstorm if it was a new Land Cruiser? How about scraping the side of it with a bicycle? Will I have to worry about someone dinging the door in a parking lot, or trying to steal it, whether by force or by guile? The answer is, inevitably, no. 

That might seem hypocritical, given my rather idealistic, noble criteria, since I should be fine with a shiny new $50,000 Toyota getting scratched, wet, or lost. But I know how I am. When I owned that new 1996 BMW 3-Series, I lived in a condominium that lacked a garage, so it sat on the street. No less than three times I was awakened by the car’s shrill alarm outside, to find the driver’s window shattered. During one of these episodes, the ne’er-do-well managed to inflict a healthy gouge along the bottom of the window and break some plastic trim. I became paranoid and obsessive about that car, and found a garage to rent about a half-mile away. This forced me to choose my outings carefully, and grocery runs required dropping the bags off at home, then go park. It ceased to be the fun, sporty car I bought it to be. Instead it was a precious possession I had to worry about. Apparently I can’t have nice things—cars, at least.

When it comes to watches, I’m far more cavalier. I’ve gone jogging wearing a borrowed six-figure Lange Datograph, been diving with an equally expensive Richard Mille (among many others), and skied with a vintage Speedmaster. I’m not sure why I have no problem subjecting  a watch to abuse but have no desire to do the same with a new car. Part of it is, while new cars are safer, faster, more efficient, and arguably more reliable, they seem less suited to a rough and tumble existence than their forebears—they’re a lot more expensive for one thing, but then they’re also all plastic and electronics. Run into a shopping cart in the grocery store parking lot and the bumper cracks. My Defender has vinyl seats, no carpeting or radio, and manual everything. Leaving the windows down in a monsoon isn’t a problem. Towel it off and it’s good to go. Worst case, I get a wet butt.

I read and hear questions all the time from people asking whether it’s safe to take their luxury dive watch swimming or hiking, worried about damaging the movement or scratching the case. I don’t diminish these concerns. Watches are not an insignificant expense, especially for something so non-essential. But when I consider that most watches designed for a specific purpose “back in the day” were worn hard, served well, and survived to become our vintage treasures, it gives me even more confidence in ones being made today. Modern design and manufacturing technologies, improved materials like ceramics, sapphire, and hardened steel, and movements built to withstand high levels of shock and magnetism are resulting in watches that should withstand just about anything that won’t tear your arm off first. Ironically, people often reach for a cheap “beater” to wear for rough duty, but it’s the Blancpain, the IWC, or the Omega that will, or should, shine in the most difficult circumstances. They’re simply built to an incredibly high level, so we should expect more from them.

For $85k, it better not leak.

Now, would I be sad if my Blancpain got lost at sea, or the Defender rusts into a pile of dust? Of course, but I think it would be even more sad to see these supreme mechanical creations languish in a drawer or a garage until I am too old to enjoy them. There’s a well known saying attributed to Hunter Thompson, a man known for his hard living: ““Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow, what a ride!’” I’d like the same for my possessions. Better to have them wear out from faithful and loving use than last forever.

Going back to my earlier criteria, I would suggest that if you’re buying a wristwatch, assuming you’re not sinking the family finances to do so, then do it justice and just wear it. Use it as intended, scratches be damned. To do any less is to disrespect the effort and high level of thought and skill it took to create it. The scratches you add to it tell a story and with each one, the watch becomes yours and you also notice them less. Don’t worry, it becomes easier the more patina it develops. And if you’re concerned about a strap breaking and losing it, or a hard knock damaging it, then it might not be the right one for you, because then you’re serving the watch, not the other way around. For me, that goes for a watch, or a vehicle, of any price level. 

Afraid of that first scratch—the 2024 Land Cruiser.

We all have our thresholds and comfort levels. I want to haul mulch and lumber in my Land Rover, get “cowboy pinstripes” driving it on narrow forested trails, and not worry about leaving the windows down in the rain. It’s why I don’t want a new Land Cruiser—or Defender. I want mine to serve me faithfully with little concern for its well being, beyond meticulous mechanical maintenance. If you’re someone who can live that ethos with a new vehicle, I doff my cap to you. I dare you to leave the windows down.