Four Cautionary Tales

Tale 1:  The Siren Van

I go to grad school in Athens, which isn't in Atlanta (what?!), so I carpool there with friends most days we have to go up.  (Since I haven't checked with these two ladies about privacy, I'm gonna just call 'em Friends 1 and 2.  They are kind of like Thing 1 and 2 because they are always found together and are cute but mischievous.)  On our ride home the other day, Friend 1 was driving, Friend 2 was sleeping sweetly in the passenger seat, and I was zombie-awake in the backseat behind the driver, staring out the window after a short night's sleep and wishing for the end of school and things generally.  We roll to a stop at a late yellow light.  Folks on the right side of the intersection inch forward to start turning left (to our oncoming lane) but stop (fortunately), because out of NOWHERE comes this unmarked, dingy black cargo van with a quiet siren and no flashing lights.

This is one of those intersections on 316 where there are two left-turn lanes that divide and veer left to their stop, and then some no man's land with gravel and tiny road and car debris, and then the couple lanes going straight.  This van goes by the left side of Friend 1's car, careens through the no man's land going about forty, and sails through the intersection (no braking, no worries) with the quiet siren and the lack of lights.  At this point my mouth is open and my brain is filled with all kinds of questions.  What if that person first to turn left through the intersection had had their music up and hadn't heard the ridiculously quiet siren?  What if it had been later in the light and folks had been going?  Would this van driver have even slowed and looked left/right?  What if we had been going straight, would he have just run folks off the road?  What's the deal?  Also what the crap is that van and why is it unmarked with crappy paint and no lights?

Friend 1 goes, "...Did you see that?"  I go, "Yeah."  We share in the what-the-crap moment.

Lessons learned:  Never listen to loud music, never trust other drivers, look before you go across an intersection, say your prayers

This vehicle is likely driven by a maniac and you should be vigilant.

______

Tale 2:  The Forest Fire

Sometimes when I'm driving I witness disasters.  Sometimes they come in the form of truck nuts or jalopies or dualies.  Sometimes it's a Ford Five Hundred or a Plymouth Colt.

There's a reason they never took high-res pictures of these.

But this time, it was a forest fire.  I was driving on 75-N back up from Florida after spending some wonderful time with my bestest girl friend (hi honey!).  Throughout Florida there were yellow signs that said SMOKE FOG on them (okay, so yeah, there was a line break there) with a flashing light if there was any SMOKE FOG around for you to worry about.  They were all flashing, but there was never any SMOKE FOG and I started feeling jipped.  Well apparently all I had to do was travel a-ways into Georgia, where they don't have those signs but they do have forest fires.  (How are there fires in Florida?  It's all swamp and marsh and wading birds, which are also high water content from what I hear.)

Anyway, suddenly it gets smoky, my car smells weird (OH NO PEPPER DON'T LET IT OH GOD oh wait), and I notice a smoke-filled section of forest on the southbound side of the highway.  Then I see the raging fire.  It's got to be at least forty feet long, and it's pretty tall and scary, and there are no responsible-looking fire tenders around.  Being from the south, my first thought is, "Huh.  Someone must be burning trash in the brush on the side of the highway."  But because I am equipped with at least a limited degree of reason, I realize that if I want to maintain the delusion that I'm a good citizen, I should probably tell someone about this.

I call Jamie frantically.  Twenty times.  I don't know who to call and how to report this, and I need him to tell me, but of course he would be in the shower while the state of Georgia was burning down.  I drive along, worried and guilty.  Soon I pass a nice blue sign that says "Traffic Information Dial 511" or something.  I obediently dial 511 and go through the phone maze ("For traffic information press 1.  To report an accident, press 2.  To report another incident, press 3") and speak with a nice lady.  I give her the mile markers, tell her it's on the southbound side, and assure her that it looks really bad and should be checked out but I don't know, and it didn't really look controlled and there was a lot of smoke, but I don't know.  She sounds calm and confident--does she deal with fires like this all the time?  I hang up and worry about Bambi dying in the fire, and later my husband asks helpfully, "Isn't that something you should maybe have called 911 about?"  And it's true--when I think back to the part of kindergarten when they said "if there's an emergency, call 911, but not as a joke" they may have over-emphasized how much of an emergency it had to be.  I feel like if I'm on fire I'd call 911 but if I broke my spleen I'd just be like, "Ehh...it's non-essential right?  I'll walk..."

Lessons learned: good citizens report forest fires, and they use 911 to do so; keep aware of visibility issues in Georgia since there isn't any yellow warning signage

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Tale 3: Near Pedestrian Death

At the crossing of Clair(e???)mont and N. Decatur, coming on from the BB&T side of Clair(e???)mont Rd., there is a protective green arrow for the left turn lane.  This arrow is impossible to actually go through (it only lets three cars through and they are probably decoys), but strangely enough I am always the first person trying to turn left in the line after the arrow.  Each time, I have the disappointment, frustration, and sadness of again narrowly missing the green light, and I have the pressure of five other, angry, snarling, steering-wheel-clawing Atlanta drivers sitting behind me.  "Okay," I think to myself.  "I'll launch at 4000 RPM and if I don't spin the tires I can probably go through in the five-foot space between those rapidly approaching cars."  But then I think about how my family loves me, and I don't go in the five-foot space.  I wait until the light is red (probably actually a couple seconds after that, which is when oncoming folks stop running the light), and I turn left quickly so I don't get destroyed by the rabid drivers to my left and right on N. Decatur, who also have to make the most of their respective left-turn arrows.

On every side of this intersection there are crosswalks, and there are clearly lit pedestrian WALK and DON'T WALK signs.  When the signs say DON'T WALK, people usually don't.  When they say WALK, they do, and I wait courteously and nod if the person misguidedly waves (come on friend, I honestly didn't want to let you go--it's the law--don't ascribe any great kindness to me of all people).  All of this makes this particular pedestrian's actions even more ridiculous.  To their credit, it was daylight.  I guess that was part of their safety check?  Hmm, maybe I should run out into the road without warning at a nonstandard pedestrian road entry point...oh wait that might be a bad idea...is it daylight?  Oh okay, full steam ahead!

So anyway, I'm in the left turn lane in the intersection, the light turns red, and I turn, quickly, to get out of the way.  But immediately, I have to come screeching to a halt, because this pedestrian is running across the middle of the road between the stopped oncoming (N. Decatur) cars (who now have a green light and have to wait for this person).  Without making any glances to their right (at ME) despite the age-old adage to "look both ways if you don't want to die," they proceeded to just run in front of my car.  I must have been ten feet from them when they ran out in front of me.  I slammed on the brakes and they waved at me (now probably two inches from my hood--oh hello to you too?) and kept running across the street.  And what was worse, was it wasn't even a run.  It was that disgustingly noncommittal stuffy clumsy shuffle-run people do sometimes when they're crossing in front of a projector or a person at a podium, or when they're 60, dressed in bright colors, and running down to greet Bob Barker.

What if I had been looking at my radio to change it?  What if I had been older and had had worse reaction time?  What if my car had been a foot forward before that person ran out?  What if it had been nighttime or my brakes had gone out or any host of other potentially disastrous things?

Lessons learned: don't trust pedestrians, travel through blind corners slowly because there will be people there (maybe having tea in your lane), relax despite all the other mean people on the road

___

Tale 4:  Gosling Goodness

Basically we were going down Clair(e???)mont in the right lane today, and the driver in front of us cut quickly into the left lane.  I followed suit, because there was a freaking goose in the road.  I don't care much about geese, so I was gonna be like "well that was weird," but then I saw its goose lover as well as several teeny tiny fluffy clumsy gosling babies (already safe and sound on the grassy curb).

Lessons: don't underestimate geese, always look for goslings in the road

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Photo 1: http://www.towncarsedan.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/BlackVan.jpg
Photo 2: http://static.ddmcdn.com/gif/vehicle-pictures/1994/plymouth/colt-vista/92108271990204-260.jpg

Washing and waxing--the best ritual

One of my favorite things to do is to wash and wax a car.  Part of this is because it happens at Jamie's house, where Jamie, his dad, and I work together hosing down the car in question and soaping it up, rinsing, hand-drying, and waxing it.   It's excellent bonding time.  The tires get a treatment, the hubcaps get a scrubbing, the undercarriage, everything, obviously.  Have you just been on a road trip?  NO.  Is it pollen season?  NO.  Are you going to be driving through a grass driveway soon and tossing up dirt and grass up on your newly clean undercarriage?   NO.  WAY.   Cleaning a car really well is to, for one precious and beautiful moment, deny the reality of daily wear-and-tear on your vehicle and to put up a defiant barrier (wax!) against all the wear-and-tear that you know, deep down, is still going to keep happening.

So there's that denial aspect.

Also it's just really, really pleasing to see a car (especially a car you truly love) go from a shameful and hideous appearance to near showroom quality over the course of an hour or two.  All the bugs on the grill are scrubbed away (my apologies little guys), all the ambiguous bird waste is washed away with the soapy grossness, all the “I really hope that's not a scratch”-es (or at least most of them) are coaxed off with a soft washrag, brake dust around the hubcaps is mercilessly done away with, tail lights are shined up a little, dusty grimy spaces under spoilers are invaded and cleared up, and even the little hollows under your door handles get a friendly hello.  Really thoroughly cleaning a car you love is a wonderful occasion.  If you time it right, you do it with other people.  But whether you do it alone or not, washing and waxing a car is a ritual.  It's a giving of thanks to the powers that be that you have a car.  It's a tribute to the free time you have (or that you made) that you're using to clean the car.  It's a sacrifice of sorts to the car itself—sure, I could take it to a dollar car wash, but I care about the integrity of the paint.   Besides, I want a very thorough wash and I know I'm going to want to wax it anyway.  Why waste money when I can spend time on my car (my favorite possession) making it look exactly the way I want?

And then finally, you get that moment where it's all done.  The car's been washed and dried, the wax has been applied and then buffed out to a really lovely shine.  You can see your legs mirrored in the doors of the car.  You stand around with whoever you washed the car with and gloat about how awesome the car looks.  And even if you know you'll wake up the next morning and it will be covered in pollen, and you know that you'll be leaving to go back to Atlanta (a six-hour drive) and collecting bugs along the way, that minute when the car is actually clean is something to truly value, as is the process that got you there.

__

Bonus points—later, weeks after you've expended all that effort waxing the car, water will still bead up on it when it rains and you will be reminded of how awesome you are and how awesome your car is!

On car color

Colors need to go with the design of the car.  Candy apple red on a Mercedes sedan just makes you look like a fool--yes, person I frequently encounter near my neighborhood, I'm speaking to you.  Even if it's offered by the manufacturer, it could still be a horrible idea.  We've seen entire models that were mistakes from the start (Ford Five Hundred anyone?).

Now it just needs fuzzy dice.

Most cars come in colors reasonably fitting for their design.  I'm pretty sure my hatch was offered in white, black, gray, silver, and blue.  And that's because it would look stupid in lime green.  Cars with less conservative designs, however, can pull off lime green.

Acceptable, because the car was obscene at baseline.

Gray, because it's not a Lotus.

Also, if you're driving a classic car, here's a tip which you hopefully already followed--make sure that when you repaint it, you paint it with a color you would have seen it in "back then."  Just saying.

And when choosing neon underglow, be sure to choose a color that goes with your car color.  When you've got a red car and your neon is blue, that's not okay.

Doing it wrong.

Doing it right.

Just kidding.  Neon underglow is dumb, as are most cosmetic things you can do to your car.

And finally, while we're still on the topic of cosmetics, did I mention that one day I want to have plaid seats?

It's a sign of refined taste.

So basically this whole post was pictures.  I hope that's okay.
___

Photo 1:  http://www.sensethecar.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/2012-Mercedes-Benz-4MATIC-Sport-Sedan-Exterior-Color-Mars-Red-Metallic.png
Photo 2: http://www.autoguide.com/gallery/gallery.php/?g2_itemId=26444
Photo 3: mine
Photo 4: http://www.firebirdnation.com/forums/gallery/image/12404-underglow/
Photo 5: http://www.cardomain.com/ride/3187768/1995-ford-mustang#31877680020
Photo 6: http://www.myturbodiesel.com/1000q/a5/2009-2010-VW-Jetta-TDI-checklist.htm

Flashers

I'm pretty sure I've complained about flashers before on this blog, but let's face it--I don't care, and the point probably needs re-hammering.

Flashers are for alerting other drivers that you've pulled over on the side of the road at nighttime because of mechanical problems.  Not during daytime--we can see you then, because there's light.  They're also for letting other drivers know that you're going an unreasonable amount under the speed limit, not that you should be, unless you're a tractor on a country road.  (If your car suddenly makes a weird noise while you're driving on I-95 and refuses to go more than 30 MPH, that's a sign to pull off, not to struggle along.)  But as for flashers, that's about it.  Flashers MIGHT even be for if you're parked somewhere illegally and you think the cop is a soft-hearted idiot who will look at those futile blinking lights and say, "By golly!  This person is really truly honestly just running in and then running back out, and they mean it!  They're risking their battery!  I'll skip the ticket!" (and then the cop will presumably continue to stroll along the sidewalk with hands in pockets while whistling a cheerful tune).

You know what flashers aren't for?

Flashers aren't for:
--telling other drivers it's raining
--telling other drivers it's snowing
--telling other drivers it's foggy

As I drive along in the rain or the snow or the fog, it's usually hard for me to see other drivers.  And when I'm looking for other drivers (so that I don't crash into them), I want predictability and I don't want distractions.  Flashers add an unpredictable and unnecessary stimulus to my already confusing environment and single handedly increase the odds of me killing someone in an accident by a factor of five.  And the beauty of it (!) is that flashers are so unabashedly selfish.  As I'm traveling along, blinded in part by your flashers and blinded in part by their reflection in the river that has replaced the road we were driving on, it becomes more likely that I will veer left or right into another car, but it's never more likely that I'm going to crash into you.  You, with your sun-bright flashing lights marking you as The One and Only Obstacle to Be Avoided, are maybe saving your life while you distract all other drivers, making all of us more likely to crash.

And isn't that something to feel good about?

Oh, I'm sure people who have their flashers on just want to help.  They want to make sure other drivers can see them.  Well thank you, flasher people, for trying so hard, but I honestly would almost rather be on a bat highway using echolocation than have to deal with these idiots and their makeshift strobe lights.  I always hate it when one person puts flashers on in the rain.  Because inevitably, some dimwit is going to look at those little blinking lights and exclaim to themselves, "What a GREAT idea!"  They will then push that innocuous little triangle button and sail along thinking themselves to be one of the most safety-conscious and altruistic people on the road.

You're welcome!

_____


Photo 1: http://www.tensionnot.com/pictures/Car/Crazy-Mass-Car-Crash

Getting Another Car: A (Currently) Three-Part Saga

THE DECISION:

Ever since the demise of Birdy (may she rest in peace only temporarily), I have been sharing Jamie's car.  As you know, she is a 2004 Corolla named Zyvelles. She gets 32 MPG if you drive 70-80 MPH, and that's nice.  She also has enough oomph and is extremely reliable.  However, there aren't two of her.

Given that Jamie and I will both have jobs this summer which will likely require us to be in two different places an unwalkable distance from wherever we end up living, I need a car before May.  And why not now?  I've been stalking cars for years.  I've wanted a 2004 or 2005 Civic, I've wanted a 2002 Celica GTS, I've wanted a Mazda3 hatch...but mostly I've wanted a Mazda3 hatch.  Recently, I've been looking up lots of cars (their prices and availability on Craigslist, their specs and reliability data on MSN Autos, and their consumer reviews on Edmunds).

To cut things short, I really liked the VW GTI for some time (cheap, has cargo space, and the base trim comes with 180hp), until I found out that the 1.8 liter turbo sometimes has problems with oil sludge and the VR6 (you guessed it—the V6 model) gets something like 22 MPG.  Also, after seeing it in person, the cargo space isn't super impressive—it's like squaring off the back of a Civic sedan.

Alas, my love! I do not in fact want to pay for some mechanic to pull off your valve cover gasket to check you for oil sludge before I buy you, and I do not want to feed you full synthetic every 5,000 miles and 91 octane every pit stop.

I thought about Civics, but really they're just so small (and so great on gas, and so supposedly zippy, but whatever—I've made my mind up), and I thought about Matrixes but they're ugly and expensive and Fits but they're ugly and only have 109hp (I mean really).  (Please note that grammatical conventions have been abandoned so you know with what inflection and speed I would say this out loud.)

So.

I have made a decision.

I am going BACK to my first love, the Mazda3 hatch.  With 31 cubic feet of cargo space, 160hp, and Car and Driver and Motor Trend reviews where the writers are nearly pissing themselves (see: http://www.motortrend.com/roadtests/wagons/112_0406_2004_mazda3_5door/viewall.html for just the praise, and see: http://www.caranddriver.com/reviews/mazda-3-road-test for praise with an extra helping of sentimental whining), it seems to be the affordable hot hatch to get.  And even despite the 2004 being the first of a new model (the Mazda3 replaced the Protege, which apparently made Tony Swan feel a little sad and a little glad), it has great reliability ratings and few insane complaints on consumer reviews sites.

THE NOT-SO TEST DRIVES: DAY ONE

Yesterday, I went to go test drive and eyeball some other cars, just to see what they felt like and how they looked. And because no one sells stickshifts anymore (either because they're so great and everyone wants to keep theirs or because no one buys them new anymore..let's be realistic, it's probably the latter), I found a dealer who was 20 miles away who had, miracle of miracles, both a Civic coupe (just for fun) and a GTI 1.8T.  When we got there, it was on a tiny lot, with cars blocked in by two or three other cars (making me guilty for wanting to test drive something I had little desire to purchase), and with a huge hill coming out of the lot onto a major roadway.  Now, Jamie and I are sometimes very stupid, and we had chosen rush hour to go test drive this car.  Also, I hadn't driven a stick in a long time, and the grade of that hill was very intimidating.  Let's just say I chickened out and we did not test drive anything.  It was a valuable trip though, because I got to sit in a GTI (and convince myself the interior was not as utilitarian as I had previously believed) and also look at a bright yellow Civic SI they happened to have there.  (An aside: Civic SIs in the model years I'm looking at are fairly ugly—no—no—it's true—don't deny it—and also have about the same amount of cargo space as do GTIs, which isn't impressive.  And despite the fact that they generally boast pimply teenage boys as their first owners and typically sport overinteresting rims, they come at high prices for their mileage because of Honda's too good to be true reliability reputation.  Crossed it off my list.)

After exchanging a few polite words with the car salesman, we departed.  And let me mention that I had found the GTI blocked in by several cars, seen that it was unlocked, and gone ahead and just let myself in. I was trying out all the inside doohickeys that didn't require a turn of the ignition when the fellow shouted from afar, asking if Jamie and I needed any help.  No no no (emerging clumsily from the driver's seat of the GTI), too much tint on that Civic coupe over there that we'd been interested in, and hadn't known that this GTI had over 130,000 miles on it (blatant lie since the mileage was in the online ad and if I hadn't seen the online ad, how else would I have known it was there? I'm terrible). We got in Zyvelles and got out of there.

This used dealer was located in a veritable sea of other used car dealerships (and new dealerships, of course), but we drove for miles without going to another one.  Since I was driving, Jamie kept his eyes peeled for older hatches in the sales lots (“I don't see any,” “This one doesn't have any,” “Keep going,” “Apparently no one buys the things!”) with little luck.   We were about to pass a gigantic Nissan dealership when Jamie said, “Hey!  This one's huge.  Maybe they have a hatch we can't see!” (or he said something like that anyway).   I stomped the brakes, turned right, and slid into a parking spot right in front of the glossy indoor showroom, where a friendly-looking older gentleman was already standing outside waiting for us.  My heart sank in dread.

I removed the key from the ignition, made sure to take all the time I wanted putting my keys in my purse, and stepped out of the car.

“Hi there!” he grinned, stretching out his hand.  He was old like I said, and tall, with fluffy white hair and suboptimal teeth.  He seemed nice.  I shook his hand.  “Hey, how are you?”

“Great!  My name's (something or another).”

“Allison.”

“How can I help you today!”  It wasn't a question.  It was a challenge.  It was, “You have parked your car in this parking space right here, the one I wandered casually over to so I could get the commission from this sale, and now you have to buy something from me or I may bite you with my non-dentures!”  The following is a near transcript of our conversation.

Me: “Where are your used cars?”

Salesman: “What's your budget?”

Me: “Under $10,000.”

Salesman: “What are you looking for?”

Me: “Mazda3 or a GTI, potentially a Matrix.  Maybe a Civic SI.”

Salesman: “Well we've got a brand new 2011 Mazda3 for $22,000.”

Jamie: “That's twice our budget.”

Me: “We'll need something under $10,000.”

Salesman: “I've got a 2006 Mazda3 for $11,000.”

Me, playing along: “Sedan or hatchback?”

Salesman: “Sedan.”

Me: “Yeah, we're gonna need the hatchback.”

Salesman: “Well, do you have any others you've thought of?  Maybe a Nissan Versa?”

Me: “Well, we thought about those, but honestly I don't really...like the way they look.”

Jamie: (outright laughter)

Me, awkwardly: “They're nice though because you can get them cheaper. And the updated styling for 2012 is a little better.”

Salesman: “We have a brand new Versa sedan for (some price I don't remember).”

Me: “Yeah, you know, I don't think we're interested in that.”

Salesman: “Anything else?”

Me, getting sick of this now three-minute-long rampage of suffering: “No, you know what, looking around, I'm not seeing many things in our budget--”

Salesman: (some other offer)

Me: "--and I think we'll probably just look elsewhere, thank you so much for your time!” I reach out to shake his hand.

Salesman, ignoring my hand: (some other offer)

Me, walking away from him sideways with Jamie: “No no, well, we really have to go, you have a nice day.”

Salesman: “$10,000 is really difficult to find, you guys.  Really difficult.”

Right.  Just like it was so hard to find all those GTIs and SIs and Mazda3s online for less than $8,000.  We got in the car and left, me feeling icky and guilty for cutting the guy off like that, Jamie feeling entertained.  He jokingly apologized for getting me to turn into that dealership.

THE TEST DRIVE: DAY TWO

Five-speed Mazda3 hatches are very rare in these parts and basically everywhere else, but a dealer about forty-five minutes away has one off the lot for minor body repair.  (“Allison you idiot!  It's been in a crash!  Run awaaaayyyy!” but no, the Carfax says it's accident-free and the guy selling the car told me it was likely an unreported knock into a pole or something, and it's only costing him $400 to fix it...if you've had any body work done you know that's not much.)  I've been in contact with him for a few days, and I'd arranged to see the car tomorrow (which is when the body work will be done).  Since he's forty-five minutes away, I wanted to make sure I really did like the Mazda3 and really did want to drive a longish round-trip to see one, and so I settled for test-driving an automatic one today at a dealer about twenty minutes or so away.  This time it wasn't rush hour (win).

When we got there, we were appalled at how horrible the car was.  Not the model in general mind you, but that particular unfortunate example of it.  The person who had owned it had banged it up badly, with multiple large and noticeable scratches and dents.  It had no rear windshield wiper, just a sad looking little hole.  And when you started the car, it would cough-hesitate-cough-hesitate and then start at an idle which was steady for about 75% of the time.  The other 25%, the engine would suddenly go “ERRRRRNNNGGG” with no jump in the RPMs (the only thing my mechanically challenged mind could think of that might account for that noise) until after ten seconds it decided everything was okay and settled down again.  I worried silently that it might not be safe to take on the road.

As for the salesman, I have no complaints other than him not really knowing anything about cars (he started two days ago, though, so...).  The Mazda3 was blocked in by a beautiful Audi TT, and he kept asking his fellow salespeople (when I went inside to let them copy my license), “What was that red car?  An Audi?” until Jamie just got the key to the TT (tagged 2003 Audi TT, red) off of the rack (which wasn't behind a desk) and said “Here you go, we found it.”  The salesman checked it to make sure, said “Ahhh,” and then we all went outside again.

In any case, I test drove the thing and it was sufficiently lovely.  The tranny kicked a little going into second (but what do you expect, it was a terribly maintained car and I was driving it harshly, and I don't care because HA HA I am getting a manual), but the handling was just perfect.  Absolutely wonderful.  The pickup was great.  The brakes didn't work well, but again that's an individual car and a wear and tear kind of thing.  I feel like handling is a more across-the-board sort of attribute, and if it hadn't gone to hell (quite the opposite!) on this terrible car, what will it be like on a better one?  Jamie liked the styling (which has been an issue with most of the other hatches—so many are so unappealing), and we thought it had enough cargo space to justify a few MPG fewer than other cars.  Suffice to say, I thought the wear and tear sorts of things on this car were pretty bad, but things like cargo space and handling were super great.   Definitely going to see that other one (the one that's actually a manual) tomorrow.

I should also say that when the fellow asked if we were going to buy the car, I told him that we probably wouldn't, we weren't sure, and I was a little concerned about how the engine started and idled. He told me that it was starting after having sat for a while in the cold—but the funny thing is it was sitting in the sun in 65 degree weather.  Mmm.

POSTSCRIPT: HOPE FOR TOMORROW

Tomorrow I am going to test drive a little gray Mazda3 stickshift hatch. If all goes well, I will drive it home, and you will hear lots more about it.

Photos:

1.  http://img514.imageshack.us/img514/3938/behindsnswi9.jpg

2011 Chevy Impala LT Review

This morning, I dropped Zyvelles off at the body shop and picked up a rental car.  More on that later. For now, I've decided to do a quick review of the rental car.  (This was the original introduction that I wrote maybe a month ago.  Sorry for such a delay on this post.)

As an introduction, thoughts from the user reviews at MSN Autos:

“Did the interior designers ever sit in this car?”

“I like the styling and performance of the Impala, the car has a show of Class!”  (Notice that capital “c.”  That's sincerity.)

“Flimsy feeling interior parts, loose handling at limits”

“This thing is really easy to drive, and really easy to like.”

“It's not a bad car, but I cannot think of any compelling reason to pick it over anything else.”

Dial controlled headlights.  Volume buttons on the wheel.  Triangular side mirrors.  A brake pedal.  A gas pedal.  AM/FM radio reception.

Crushing mediocrity?

Welcome to Mildred.  She is a 2011 white Chevy Impala.  She has 28,000 something miles (well, 29,000 something now) and a 211 HP V6.  And of course, standard on all Impalas, a 4-speed automatic.  Compared to our Corolla, she is like a lumbering polar bear strapped to a rocket.

[...Couldn't find a picture for that.]

I've driven an Impala once before, when I was valeting, and I really liked driving that one the half mile or so we shared together.   So when the friendly (and kinda cute!) rental car guy pointed at the Impala and said it was the one reserved for me, I was fairly pleased—especially since it was in this nice crisp white with a black interior.  At first glance, the front fascia of the Impala comes off looking a little surprised and clueless, which makes it an appropriate choice for a rental car.

"Another driver!  ...You're not going to abuse me like the others, are you?" (1)

Now of course, my tenure with Mildred only lasted one week.  Not quite a one night stand, but certainly not a full-blown relationship.  In contrast to our Corolla, when you get into this car the windshield seems vast, the A-pillars skinny, the car extra-wide, and the interior extra black.  Everything's great!  But then you notice the side mirrors.

They're triangular. (2)

They're triangular.  I've seen mirrors like them before.  Why exactly are we actively attempting to maximize “style” while minimizing visibility?  Properly adjusted, I can see three full lanes all the way back in the Corolla, and I don't have to worry about the mirror cutting me if I brush against it as I walk by.  These Impala mirrors show me maybe one lane and pose a danger of serious injury as a bonus.  Heinous.  How am I supposed to watch out for danger out of the corner of my eye when looking a second lane to the left necessitates major bodily finagling?  Congratulations; you've designed a side mirror that is useful only for flamingoes.

I mean, I might not see this guy coming up behind me until he was next to me.

With his fiery roof luggage. (3)

I should also note that the glove compartment opens really slowly and takes some force.   I felt the same way opening it as I do when I'm trying to get a foreign object out of my cat's mouth, and that's an uncomfortable feeling.

One important thing (in fact, the first and worst negative thing I noticed about this car) is that the brake pedal and the gas pedal are not anywhere close to being on the same plane.  When I'm driving, I like to be able to rest my heel and press either the gas or the brake pedal with the ball of my foot.  When I tried that with this car (fortunately, it was while I was backing out of a parking space at maybe 2 MPH), the side of the top of my foot hit the side of the brake pedal as I pivoted.  Here is a graphic so you can understand the approximate relative positions of the pedals.

I added a linear scale for perspective. (4)

Also, I should mention that together, using our 211 horses, Mildred and I successfully ticked off the driver of a brand new 5-series.  (Bonus points!)

So since this is a “review” (or something) I am required to come to a conclusion regarding the car.  Should you buy it?  Should you assent to taking it as a rental car?  Should you refuse to set foot in it and have violent and involuntary negative physiological reactions when you see it out of the corner of your eye?  Well, I have some easy answers.

No, you should not buy this car.   If I'm gonna drop 25 to 30 thousand dollars on a car, it better be entertaining.  This one's not.

Yes, you can rent it.  The whole point of renting a car is for it to be a hassle and for you not to really enjoy it (because if you like the car too much and didn't get the insurance...well...), so it's best to opt for cars that don't provide too much excitement.  Mildred and I drove very safely while we were together, because I didn't take any insurance out on her and, frankly, because she didn't tempt me to act otherwise.

No, you should not refuse to set foot in it—the safety ratings actually look pretty good and if you look at the crash test photos (they're on MSN Autos, which we all know by now is my favorite quick info site), the safety cage is really well maintained.  Although that does happen in most vehicles today as far as I'm aware.

No, you should not have violent reactions to it.  Poor control over your involuntary reactions is a sign of weakness.

Basically the take-home point is the car was okay.  But it's not really That Great.

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So starting with this post, I'm going to really try to be good about sourcing my photos.  Many of the ones I've put up are ones I've messed with, and in the future when I mess with them I'll source the originals.  As you can tell I'm doing it with footnotes so I don't have to break the flow of the actual text as much.  Basically, I know that if I took as cool a picture as the picture of the flaming car is, I would want that credited.  Oh and you can assume from now on that if I don't credit a photo that photo is mine, although I'll try to mention it for the sake of clarity.

1) mine

2) mine

3) http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aO_1zlDFRMQ/SwvfelxyH1I/AAAAAAAAACs/fdZQuiPYyHQ/s1600/car_fire_2.jpg

4) mine

Roads of Atlanta

The road my husband and I live off of is long and winding and spotted with stoplights in all the curves.  If you took out a pencil and paper, and made a nice long squiggle that didn't intersect itself, you would have a pretty good approximation of the road we live on.  If you then put a dash at the point of every squiggly curve, and you thought of those as stoplights, you would have a pretty good idea of how terrifying the road is.  Nowadays, since I've been driving down this road for about a year, I know where all the stoplights are.  I've learned that there's this one particular one where everyone slows to about 25 or 30 because the people turning left from the other direction are totally blind to you and could at any point be shooting off in front of you for you to t-bone them to death.  (But because this is Atlanta, no one really cares that you might kill someone--the problem is really that insurance claims are such a hassle.)  But imagine how awful it was when I first drove onto the road, straight off of I-20 (which is, on top of everything, in the more businessey and trafficky part of the road), and had to undergo a crash course in Atlanta driving immediately.

It was a "merge" intersection...  You have the light for folks turning left, but you had that nice little merging triangle median set up, directing folks who wanted to turn right towards the right (where you then sat, at an angle to the traffic you were watching out for, until you gathered up the courage to jump out in front of someone at a distance much too close to you for you to be comfortable with, or until you died of old age).  All my life I had been driving in Columbia or Durham or on the highway.  There had been traffic, sure.  But there was never traffic like this.  And on top of everything, I was in Birdy (may she rest in peace) and Jamie was in Zyvelles, so we had to find a space that was good enough for both of us to go, so I could follow Jamie to the apartments we were moving into.  I don't really remember how we got out into the traffic.  But it happened as a stomp-the-gas-stomp-the-brake sort of maneuver, and then we were "safely" embedded in the throngs of suicidal maniacs we call "drivers" here in the great city of Atlanta.

People in Atlanta aren't friendly, I quickly learned.  If I left a reasonable amount of space between me and Jamie, like a "I don't want to crash into my husband" kind of space, someone immediately jumped in (presumably because the lane they were in was crawling along at a slightly slower pace than we were).  Inevitably that person would then want to turn left (likely at the next light) and then block the lane until some idiot in the left-turn lane let them in.  So this is what I was confronted with, after a lifetime of exposure to a shared "No no, you go first!!" driving mentality across most of the Carolinas.  And then there was the road.  Of course the road I was dealing with couldn't be straight and reasonable.  It was THIS road.  It was curves in the middle of intersections with poorly marked lanes, it was stoplights five feet from each other, it was the left lane and then the right lane occasionally cutting off with little or no warning, it was pedestrians trying to enjoy themselves in the business district (who I'm sure were at constant fear for their own lives since all they could seem to do was jump out in front of cars).  And so I'm going along in my little stick (clutch in clutch out to first clutch in clutch out to neutral) jealously guarding my position behind Zyvelles and keeping my eyes peeled for Darwin Award-esque attempts at street-crossing suicide.  And we go and we go and we go.  And it gets better.  We cross a major road and go into a more tree-filled area with more residential-looking lots, a two-lane section instead of a four-lane section (still jampacked with cars), we go past the street crossing we know is right before our apartment and...we go past our apartment.  Jamie calls me.  "I think we missed it."  I say, "You think we missed what."  So we turn around, turning left in front of a lot of incoming traffic to turn around in a cramped parking lot (the parking lot of an ABC store we would later become loyal to), and then attempting to turn right into a constant stream of angry people wielding cars.  We finally got to the apartment complex.

Now I'm just fine with this road.  I drive on it every day.  I make sure I sufficiently underestimate the other drivers' sanity, perception, and reaction time, and I haven't killed anyone yet.  I'm gradually becoming more angry than scared when I'm driving here, and so that may be a sign that I'm sliding into the Atlanta driver mentality.