All posts filed under: Cars

Things with motors and wheels are exciting.

Hamish Rides Console

He’d ride shotgun but he is too small to see out the window. So he rides Console. Riding Console in the trucks we’ve had over the years is easy. The space between the driver and passenger seats is huge. The console is a big padded platform that looks like it was designed to provide mattressy respite for beefy man arms. There’s enough space that a passenger beefy man arm would not accidently touch a driver beefy man arm already using the console. Hamish the Corgi fits on truck consoles with room to spare. His panoramic view of traffic, countryside, and snacks being eaten by the passenger is unparalleled from the console. However. When Hamish cruises the urban scene with me and the Mini Cooper S, he struggles to maintain the attitude of superior contentment. You can see that he is smiling, but maybe his back teeth are clenched. Smile and clench your teeth – then say “this is great”. That’s exactly how Hamish looks riding the Mini console.The Mini console is low and he mainly …

A goldfish escaped in the car.

It isn’t what it sounds like. I didn’t actually lose a Carassius auratus auratus in the car. It isn’t like the time the lobsters got free and headed for liberty under the seats. We could hear them shuffling around under there while we sped for the house. I held my feet up, sure one was going to get me. The Spouse had to keep his foot on the gas, his Achilles tendon vulnerable to lobster attack. Today I lost a tasty, cheddar cheese flavored multigrain Goldfish™. I like to buy them in the 30 ounce milk carton. Probably there are about a million in there. 75,000 servings of crunchy saltliness. And as we were driving along in the new all-black nearly perfect Pathfinder, one of them flopped its way out of the carton and disappeared in the crack between the seat and the console. The Spouse didn’t turn his head but I could feel his awareness of the escape. I casually reached two fingers down into the crevice where I could see the fish stranded …

Car Fever Part 2: Rapid Onset

The Spouse heard an ad on the radio for Mike Barney Nissan at approximately 7:35am last Thursday. We were in a period of remission with the Car Fever, having administered the aggressive treatment of switching cars so we both felt like we had New Cars. It seemed to be working. But then that ad came on the radio and in the 15 seconds it ran, the Spouse’s fever raged anew. His hands quivered, his heart palpitated, his eyes glazed – no I wasn’t there but I’ve seen the Fever strike. I received his email at approximately 10am. Nissan is offloading the 2012 Pathfinders, it said. Emails from the Spouse often include Cars For Sale topics: the 1971  Lincoln Continental, the 1974 Mercedes Benz 280, the 2002 BMW 740iL, the 1969 Triumph GT6+, the 1978 Mercedes Benz 450SEL and that is just in one month – all advertised on Craig’s list, Hemming’s classifieds, a taped up handwritten sign at work. There’s always a car out there. The Spouse’s email also pointed out that we would have …

Why Teenagers in Beater Cars Always Speed

The Spouse and I were ripping down the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way) from Niagara On The Lake in Canada to the Peace Bridge border crossing. Our bellies were full of British style pub food from the Angel Inn and the Mini Cooper S was enjoying running at higher rpms for a little while. The speed limit on the QEW is 100kph – about 62 miles an hour. Normal highway pace. Rarely have I seen anyone moving so slowly. Traffic was pretty light. It was midday and the Canadian rush to the U.S. for cheaper mall shopping was over. The Spouse had the Mini cruising in the right lane without obstructions. Every now and again a massive BMW or Mercedes would blow past in a blur of color and grace. We’ve seen this phenomenon in Europe too, and have long speculated that other countries must offer a Speeding Pass to the owners of luxury performance cars. I am always jealous when the tail end of a Beautiful Car disappears ahead of us. I noticed that the …

Car Fever: Part 1 – Irrationalizing a New Car Purchase

Seven slightly irrational justifications for buying a new car when you have a perfectly good car already – by the WideEyedSpouse. 1. The warranty is expiring and the newer car has a great warranty. A car out of its warranty period will “potentially” need large, costly repairs. A warranty protects you against out of pocket repair expenses. A brand new car warranty is bumper to bumper.  Anything that can or will go wrong is covered. No out of pocket costs for repairs, except maintenance items. If something feels weird with the car, it makes a funny sound or possibly even breaks down and stops running…no problem, send it to the dealer, they investigate it and if necessary make repairs with no cost to you. You need the piece of mind that comes with a new car warranty…trust me. 2. The tires are getting worn. This one sells itself, it’s a no brainer.  Why buy a new set of tires when you can just buy a new car with new tires?  Tires are expensive. If you …

Dear Other Drivers, You Don’t Own the Road. Sincerely, Me.

You don’t own the road.  I know it is so hard to believe and so profoundly, deeply unfair, but you don’t own the length of road between where you are now and where you want to be. I don’t mean where you want to be in 1.2 seconds because, ok, you might arguably have rights to that space. I am saying you don’t own the whole path from A to B. You also don’t own all of the lanes when you are going around a curve that actually requires you to steer. You don’t own the entire street, even for the few moments you are stopped in the middle of it to send off a quick text. Therefore, you don’t need to have fits when someone else, namely Me, goes around you, merges into a lane you have claimed, makes a turn several hundred feet in front of you, takes an exit you were thinking of using, or stops for a red light that you intended to run. Because you don’t own the road, it …

Why Muscle Cars Will Never Die

Last Monday I was stepping smart through the Deep with my new long-handled shovel gripped in my left hand. The tempered steel blade shaft was clanking, not incidentally, against my wedding ring. I was fretting about the strength of the theoretical argument I just finished writing and my feet may have been moving but my mind wasn’t there. A cap wearing, middle aged, rangy man with about three days of whiskers caught my eye. He gave my shovel a significant look and said “Hey now, as soon as you’re done burying your old man, you give me a call.” He used all of his teeth in a smile. I stumbled, yanked out of my thoughts. What? Heh? I replayed the last minute in my head. My eyes got wide as I figured it out and I started hooting and laughing, because I am that cool. “Oh, you know I will,” I told him. It was an easy promise as I hadn’t really ever planned to dig my husband’s grave. I paid for the shovel and headed …