The Flatlander's View

The benefits — or lack thereof — of a RSTBUKT Burb

By Steve Moseley
Posted 6/12/25

Folks sometimes look askance when I am out and about in the beloved (by me, her not so much) white, 1999 Chevy Suburban emblazoned with RSTBUKT license plates. I can almost hear them wondering aloud, …

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The Flatlander's View

The benefits — or lack thereof — of a RSTBUKT Burb

Posted

Folks sometimes look askance when I am out and about in the beloved (by me, her not so much) white, 1999 Chevy Suburban emblazoned with RSTBUKT license plates. I can almost hear them wondering aloud, “I wonder what great misfortune brought that old guy to such a low station?”

It all began with a big idea (mine) that I made happen despite deep concern (hers).

When we lived in Powell, we had an old Burb with lots of miles that served us well for years. Into the park and back. Over the Beartooths and back. Likewise the Bighorns, Pryors, McCullough Peaks, Badger Basin, et al. Many trips back to Nebraska to visit family.

Up to eight people would climb aboard with space for picnic lunch, a couple German shepherds (but just that one time) and whatever other flotsam and jetsam we tucked behind the third row of seats. Off we went, everyone perched up high surrounded by windows.

Lately, I began to crave another Burb for jaunts near and distant. So, I bought the beast to accompaniment of deep sighs and rolling eyes from her majesty GWN.

I was rendered defenseless by mental deficiency. She was helpless to intervene because, dimwitted or not, I had the bucks in my personal slush fund to do the deal.

So now, maybe three years later, there it sits on the driveway. Oh, we’ve had it atop Beartooth Pass from here and crisscrossed the mountain and desert wonders out your way, but only a couple times.

But here’s the thing; turns out Nebraska does not have any of that wonderful wilderness stuff. In hindsight, should I have considered this reality before unrolling that knot of hundred-dollar bills? Possibly.

That ship, however, has sailed. Now is for acknowledging the few benefits that accrue to owning a ‘classic’ ride like this one.

First is the generous inside space for which Burbs have been legend since the first one popped off the assembly line. The ride is plush compared to most modern highway conveyances. Unlike almost all of the shiny new ones, the Burb has a wealth of space in which to writhe about when geriatric bones begin to fossilize on a long haul.

The outside is a rugged, almost classy white which looks better the farther you stay away. Darkness helps here, too. The closer one gets the more the carrot trim glows like neon, seeming almost to heave and sigh as the rust consumes its host.

At first, I stubbornly aspired to fix it proper-like. This despite certain knowledge it would not — could not — possibly last. Thus, on the heels of body shop estimates well into the thousands, was a more fiscally austere plan hatched. Why not embrace the blight? Why not, instead, affix self-mocking license plates for a lousy 50 bucks?

As for the total package, the Burb, like me, is profoundly simple. The headlights will not go on or off because of the ‘auto’ switch and some silly sensor. You turn them on clockwise with your fingers. Counterclockwise for off. What simple elegance.

There is AM/FM radio, so I’m OK on tunes as long as there’s an oldies station nearby. But to this day I cannot stop myself from glancing up to learn which artist is playing a song only to see — again and again — that same lifeless analog dial.

Bells and whistles, you ask? Nary a one to be found. This is plush and comfy travel at its most primitive. I have high regard for mindless machines and this rig is possessed of mechanical and technological intellect so sparse as to barely twitch the needle.

But, Steve, aren’t there positives to make you go out in public entombed in an automotive artifact the size of a coal car?

Well, yes, a couple; both down at the courthouse.

The all-knowing internet pegs the price of a new Burb in the neighborhood of $65,000 to north of $80,000. Since my 1999 is sparsely fitted out, let’s use the stripped down $65K model to calculate sales tax. At time of purchase for a 2025 model, I get $4,875 using Nebraska’s statewide base rate of 7.5%.

The sales tax vig for my ’99 by comparison? Just a couple, three hundred bucks. This for a rig that does what I need it to do as well as that sparkling new outfit ever could.

Beginning to get the picture?

Worse, I shudder to think how many thousand more shekels in property tax and registration fees it would take — each and every year — for plates and registration to keep that 2025 monstrosity on the road. But I neither know nor care because the price for a 26-year-old vehicle on my annual visit to the courthouse is (drum roll, Maestro, if you please) less than 40 bucks.

Is there a downside? Well, yes.

A 40-gallon fuel tank and 12 mpg at today’s gas prices introduce an element of suffering at the pump, no doubt about that. But man, inside cargo capacity the size of a pickup bed that converts to seating for eight is a mammoth upside. And take it from one who knows; thick, deep, expansive seats sure feel great under an atrophied, 75-year-old tush.

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