"It’s an investment in 'never getting stuck again,'" he had argued.
Elias grinned, feeling the unstoppable pulse of the tracks beneath him. "Me too, kid. Me too."
As they headed back down the mountain, the truck sure-footed and steady, she looked at the triangular treads biting into the Siberian landscape. "Glad you didn't buy that boat instead, Dad."
Now, with the wind howling like a wounded animal, it felt like the best investment he’d ever made. Elias spent two hours in the freezing dark, bolting the rubber track conversions onto his wheel studs. The truck rose, gaining a predatory, tank-like stance.
He looked at the four heavy crates in his garage. He’d spent six months debating the price tag, reading forums, and hovering over the "Checkout" button. He remembered his wife’s skeptical look when he finally said, "I’m gonna ."