Cars: an unrequited love affair

Cars: an unrequited love affair

Most people love cars. So much of our persona can be wrapped up in the way we transport ourselves. Most males fondly remember their first vehicle. Even if it was a piece of turd. If you had a turd in high school, you were the boss.

The Sunbeam Alpine became my first vehicle. Fire engine red with fins and a 1600 cc engine. An elastic held on the front bumper. Stopping suddenly meant that the bumper bounced up and down a few times. I cannot remember why I used an elastic. It was likely an emergency fix and it was all that I had around. Inertia prevented me from replacing the elastic with some wire which would have been a far better fix.

I purchased a spirometer that allowed me to ensure the volume intake of both carburetors balanced perfectly. I did this religiously without knowing if this made any difference at all. It did not matter since I attended to what I perceived its needs were. We made each other complete.

English cars do not fare well in the winters. Or in wet raining weather. Or at night, condensation you know. And certainly not in the heat of the summer day since the engine could easily overheat. So, at 8:30 am the Sunbeam came into its prime.

The Sunbeam started to turn into the Fred Flintstone type of mobile. This meant that your foot could reach down to the pavement through the rusted out hole in the floorboard. You can’t really push the car inside with your feet. No leverage.

You can easily cloak the past with romanticism. Sort of like looking up your high school girlfriend. Nothing good will come from trying to capture the time that you couldn’t make it work before. Mind you, that didn’t stop me from looking through kijiji. For the car, not the girl.

You easily forget the stalls, which actually suggests you were able to get the vehicle started in the first place. I never quite optimized the use of that manual choke that now you only really see on snow blowers. Electronic fuel injection you know. You also easily forget the brakes. Or rather the absence of really good brakes. There always seemed to be a leak in the pressure that made the breaks, mushy. I always made sure I could get access to the emergency cable brake. I learned that come to a rolling stop in front of wherever I was going made me look cool. Even if it took longer than simply applying the brake. I didn’t want to test my luck more than was necessary.

Maxwell Smart in Get Smart drove a Sunbeam Tiger. The V8 engine was crammed under the hood. He always looked pretty cool at the start of show. Not so much when he opened his mouth however.

The refurbished Tiger models cost twice as much as my first house. And it had a great deck. No garage mind you. If I did have a car like that I would keep it my garage. And unlike wiping it with a diaper like in some movies, I would use an actual baby’s bottom. Such would be my passion.

Anyway, that life fantasy shall not happen any time soon. Which means never in case anyone was hoping. Other than just me I mean.

My next car to break my heart was the MG Midget. The car came with a 1100 cc engine and a high pitched sewing machine hum. Actually, that was the Sunbeam that made that noise. The Midget was much shorter and didn’t have much in the way of a muffler system, so it sounded much throatier than it really deserved.

I took out the motor and rebuilt it twice so I could drive it 1500 miles to University on the coast. I had to be careful to park it for the rest of the school year so that it could make it the way back. No money, no repairs.

Crossing the country, I managed a top speed of 55 mph, and the tachometer reached over 5000 rpm. The fumes from the car always seeped into the interior. I would traditionally get stopped three times crossing the country. Since my eyes were constantly bloodshot, the police always asked if I was on drugs.

At the end of the final university year, 50 miles of town, the clutch release bearing, that small piece of metal that allows you to shift from one gear to the next finally, wore away to nothing. Shifting gears was almost impossible. It was dark. And raining. Hard of course. I’m stopped one more time. The friendly RCMP woman tells me that my rear running light was out. I think she was just checking me out. For drugs again. I pass. The darkness hides my oil fume enfused eyes.

I manage to coax the gearshift into first one last time. After that second and third gear still remain possible. My training in break coasting from the Sunbeam comes into play. I manage to get through the next small little town by timing the lights in the distance perfectly. Trying to start from a full stop would no longer be possible. I finally the MG into the driveway at home. The sense of relief felt overwhelming. Replacing that small piece of metal required pulling out the entire engine. Again.

I did have a sensible period. Got myself a family car. Although most people would not call the baby blue Datsun 260Z a family car, it did have some storage in the hatchback area. More than what any of my other cars ever did. Practical no, but I always enjoyed getting out and looking back at the car. Everyone needs to have at least one car that once you get out, you look back and admire. And this car deserved to be wiped with baby bottoms.

Apparently, some people can actually fall in love with a car. This over enthusiasm defines objectophilia. A type of neo-sexuality. Not for me, but I am not here to judge others. As long as everyone consents and no one gets hurt, everything remains fine. I suppose hurting is ok so long as everyone consents to that also. And if you are making love to a piece of metal, chances are good that someone is going to get hurt. So be prepared.

I finally did get myself one of those family sedans. Now, it did look like a sports car, with the sunroof and stick shift, but the four door Passat was rated as one of better family sedans. And it’s all in the definition in that a sedan can have two or four doors so long as it accommodates four or more people. Therefore, not a sports car. Family sedan. I sound a little defensive, but it all makes sense to me.

The poor Passat dropped its transmission after only 65,000 miles. The replacement cost equaled the value of the vehicle, and of course no warranty. So, I looked back in wistful regret and moved on.

The mourning period did not last long as the car dealership learns how to manage those in transition. After a broken car relationship, most of us want to get into a rebound relationship notwithstanding the warnings.

Apparently, getting into a rebound relationship masks the old repair bill wounds and may create future problems. I searched rebounds and of course the first picture that came included Brangelina.[1] Anyway, Dr. Web outlined after a breakup a person goes through denial, anger, depression, and finally acceptance. This list even sounds depressing, so I shall provide the acronym of DADA. That sounds uplifting.

I went through the DADA process fairly quickly. About the span of time it took to hear about the transmission problems to the time that I managed to get into the dealership and scope out a new all-wheel drive Audi. Things never go that quickly for human relationships no matter what the music videos have you believe.

At the dealership, we hop into the new demonstrator for a test drive. The relatively young sales agent drives me around some side streets to demonstrate the various features. In the month of February, there can be a fair bit of snow around. So the agent takes me to an industrial area road and drives the car slightly in the ditch. The agent tells me that having one tire in the deep snow would normally grab control of the car and pull it inexorably into the ditch. So of course, having one tire in the deep snow grabs control of the car and starts to pull in inexorably into the ditch.

The agent decides (another word might be ‘panics’) that the ditch example adequately demonstrated the ability of the car. Over compensating, he pulls us into the far lane of traffic. The funny thing about industrial areas is that they mainly have large trucks coming and going. We did not have the good fortune of encountering a going truck in the same direction. Instead we encountered a coming truck. Although coming and going trucks look about the same, a coming truck evokes far greater fear.

This only accentuates the panic and causes overcompensation back into our lane. This time we missed the ditch. The agent stopped the car and apologized profusely. I however had the greatest time and told him that was the best demonstration ever. So I bought that very same demonstrator.

We have been together ever since.

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[1] All research in the future shall be called Dr. Web.