After many miles of highway road, with a handful of Phoenix city blocks tossed in, the Tahoe’s fuel economy was only slightly better: 14.4 miles per gallon on the second tank, an average that was sure to go down after fighting through traffic and driving around Tucson. On the positive side was the overall performance of the SUV: with a tight turning radius and a superb suspension that soaked up the potholes and cracks of downtown Tucson, driving The Beast was quite easy in stoplight traffic. Lane changing was easily accomplished, thanks to the oversized rearview mirrors, and the powertrain performed admirably in stop-and-go circumstances, giving smooth delivery of power and stopping adequately. Only the mushy pedal feel and lousy gas mileage kept this from being a virtually flawless ride. And on the streets of Tucson, the Tahoe's smooth, stylish sheetmetal stood out as among the nicest rides on the roads.

Tucson. It was once a special place for me, though I never really understood exactly why. Many years ago I attended the University of Arizona, an all-around miserable experience of 110-degree temperatures that ended with me coming home, riding on top of my belongings in a battered old U-Haul trailer, just like a ragged Beverly Hillbilly. Now, for the first time, I was going back, and my regret over cutting short my Wildcat career was bubbling up to the surface. The brick buildings of higher education. The freedom, the independence! It was all still there. But so were the strip joints. The used car lots. The immigration lawyers and the discount stores. Either Tucson changed, or I never noticed it to be such a dirty, downtrodden place. Driving through the city, I gave thanks that I had once lacked the internal fortitude to make a go of it in the heat, dirt and decay of Tucson.