195,870 - A eulogy to my Saturn
Before moving to the east coast, I lived in the metropolitan Detroit area, which you may recognize as a place that is absurdly enamored of the motor vehicle. I wrote this about a year ago or so, when I had to give up my beloved Saturn.
"There is nothing like driving, feeling one with the car. The wheels become an extension of your legs and the steering wheel molds into your hands. When the seats cradle your body just so, and you feel part human, part machine. You feel invincible.
I dislike everything about owning a vehicle, other than the fact it's there when I feel like or, as is the case more often, when I need to drive it somewhere. I hate the fact that nothing in the automobile world has any kind of permanence. The car won't stay clean, or fixed, or filled with fuel, or cease to be a money pit. Once it's paid for, things start to break, so, no matter what, car ownership requires a steady supply of cash.
I just got a car to replace my old car, the car I swore I would drive until pieces started to fall off, and even then, only if the pieces jumping ship were vital to the vehicle's operation. I would not concern myself with a missing bumper, or a dangling side mirror. I would even consider a door held by rope and the power of prayer. I really, really wanted to drive my car to 250,000. It just seemed like such a nice, round number: a quarter of a million. Regardless of the unit of measurement, a quarter of a million always seems like a lot, whether in car miles or lottery jackpots.
I was one with my car. I bought it so that I could learn how to drive a stick shift. All my previous attempts at learning ended badly, so I thought that by buying a stick shift car, I would have no choice but to learn. And learn I did. After a few weeks of careful route planning, taking great care to avoid any hills or even slight inclines, I mastered the clutch. There was no stopping me. I drove and I drove. Drove to Alabama trying to run away from the rain threatening our spring hiking trip, drove to New York City many times, in my periodically pilgrimage of reminding myself why I keep on living. Drove to Chicago to see friends, and to the Upper Peninsula to get away. Together we pretty much covered the Eastern US. It felt like betraying an old friend when I drove it to the Charity Motors lot, having to use the gear-shifter in place of the non-existing breaks. After all we've done together, it came down to this: a tax deduction before the law changed and made it less attractive to donate old clunkers to charity.
There is something profoundly sexy about driving a stick shift. All the men I've dated drove stick shifts, with the exception of the man I married. I later thought him how, and now that's what he drives. He doesn't feel as strongly about it as I do, but I usually don't expect people to share my opinions.
My new car is not sexy. I would go out on a limb, as say it has no soul, only a good sound system. Due to budgetary constraints, we bought Scott's mom's car. They weren't using it, so it seemed silly to go out and buy a new car when we could actually pay cash for this one. In exchange for the convenience and cash solvency, I now drive a beige, four door, automatic sedan. Sure the car doesn't spew out black smoke from the tail pipe, or make so much noise that it was difficult to concentrate in the actual act of driving. Any yes, the stereo is great and all the speakers work. While the car doesn't have any soul, I can play music loud enough to pretend it does."
"There is nothing like driving, feeling one with the car. The wheels become an extension of your legs and the steering wheel molds into your hands. When the seats cradle your body just so, and you feel part human, part machine. You feel invincible.
I dislike everything about owning a vehicle, other than the fact it's there when I feel like or, as is the case more often, when I need to drive it somewhere. I hate the fact that nothing in the automobile world has any kind of permanence. The car won't stay clean, or fixed, or filled with fuel, or cease to be a money pit. Once it's paid for, things start to break, so, no matter what, car ownership requires a steady supply of cash.
I just got a car to replace my old car, the car I swore I would drive until pieces started to fall off, and even then, only if the pieces jumping ship were vital to the vehicle's operation. I would not concern myself with a missing bumper, or a dangling side mirror. I would even consider a door held by rope and the power of prayer. I really, really wanted to drive my car to 250,000. It just seemed like such a nice, round number: a quarter of a million. Regardless of the unit of measurement, a quarter of a million always seems like a lot, whether in car miles or lottery jackpots.
I was one with my car. I bought it so that I could learn how to drive a stick shift. All my previous attempts at learning ended badly, so I thought that by buying a stick shift car, I would have no choice but to learn. And learn I did. After a few weeks of careful route planning, taking great care to avoid any hills or even slight inclines, I mastered the clutch. There was no stopping me. I drove and I drove. Drove to Alabama trying to run away from the rain threatening our spring hiking trip, drove to New York City many times, in my periodically pilgrimage of reminding myself why I keep on living. Drove to Chicago to see friends, and to the Upper Peninsula to get away. Together we pretty much covered the Eastern US. It felt like betraying an old friend when I drove it to the Charity Motors lot, having to use the gear-shifter in place of the non-existing breaks. After all we've done together, it came down to this: a tax deduction before the law changed and made it less attractive to donate old clunkers to charity.
There is something profoundly sexy about driving a stick shift. All the men I've dated drove stick shifts, with the exception of the man I married. I later thought him how, and now that's what he drives. He doesn't feel as strongly about it as I do, but I usually don't expect people to share my opinions.
My new car is not sexy. I would go out on a limb, as say it has no soul, only a good sound system. Due to budgetary constraints, we bought Scott's mom's car. They weren't using it, so it seemed silly to go out and buy a new car when we could actually pay cash for this one. In exchange for the convenience and cash solvency, I now drive a beige, four door, automatic sedan. Sure the car doesn't spew out black smoke from the tail pipe, or make so much noise that it was difficult to concentrate in the actual act of driving. Any yes, the stereo is great and all the speakers work. While the car doesn't have any soul, I can play music loud enough to pretend it does."
Labels: the car
posted by Fe at 4:30 PM
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