Pit Stop in the Tray

Rolled up to the rubber boot tray by the front door. The ridged channels looked like a purpose-built pit stall. I bumped over the raised rubber rim—thud, thud—and steered right between two giant mud-caked boots. The deep treads in the tray matched my tires almost groove for groove. I cut the forward drive, eased my suspension down, and let the chassis settle firmly into the rubber slats. Axles resting, wheels locked in. Solid bunk for the night.