David Booth: Let me the first to admit that I am not one with pickups. I am one of Donald Trump’s much-hated elites — or, at least, I drive their cars — which makes me fairly incompatible with solid rear axles and leaf springs. Princess-and-the-pea air springs and multi-link suspension arrangements are definitely more my style.

Luckily, for me, my significant other is both a truck devotee and an award-winning autojournalist. So, while I have a hard time getting past buckboard ride, she has an aficionado’s eye for the details that make the Ranger, in her own words, “the truck I’d like to buy.”

Nadine Filion: First off, dear, you obviously don’t know me as well as you think. I love Jeeps — Wranglers, especially — but I know (almost) nothing about pickups. I never towed with one, and I’m totally at a loss with their countless configurations — Super Cab, Super Crew, or whatever-Cab they’re called.

But every time I jump behind the wheel of a pickup, I feel — and let’s be blunt about this — balls growing where you surely don’t want to see them. I felt this 20 years ago when I started to write about cars and drove my first F-150. I still feel the same today. Behind the wheel, I become the Incredible Bulk of driving. In French, we call it the “Tasse-toé, Mon’Oncle” — “get out of the way, old man” — and, just as back in the day when I wore (a tad) skinnier jeans, this new Ranger has what it takes to transform me into a redneck.