A Ton and a Half of Steel, or Something More?

At some point in ownership, regardless of whether or not you're a car aficionado, you take a look at your ride and you're reminded of the time that's passed in your life during that period.

Whether or not you take that thought any further though, is up to you.

I see a car as more than just a machine, more than just a collection of plastic bits, aluminum and iron engine pieces and steel body frame. It can symbolize any number of things, like primal freedom or escape from daily drudgery. Just you and your four-wheeled transport as you travel to wherever your wallet and your gas tank endure.

It can be a vacation with your mates to the shore for a weekend of drunken antics, enjoying youth and irresponsibility. Or a road trip across two states to see your favorite band do their thing live, your sound system a euphony of their art.

Eventually, all those memories become something more than just mental - they're attached to the object in your driveway. If you spend enough time with a car, you feel a connection to an almost human-level bond; you can almost feel what your machine feels, like it's become a close friend.

And like a close friend, when it hurts...you hurt. I was miserable for weeks until my buddy got back from the "hospital" after he took a beating from a Tahoe.



Stick with the same ride long enough, and it will symbolize both how your life has changed in that time and the places you've driven to - it will be a steel version of you. That's why I love "used" cars so much. Whenever I get behind the wheel of someone else's car, I always wonder, "Where has you been? What kind of stories could you tell about your adventures, if you could speak? Who were your previous owners? Did they treat you as one of their own, or were you neglected, simply partitioned as a tool to enhance their lives?"

Whenever I see a car like that, ignored and hurting, I hear it screaming, "Help me!" like an abandoned dog. Sure, he may be a bit scruffy and needs some medicine to get him going again, but you get the sense that if you take care of him, he'll be the best damn dog you'll ever have.

To Hell with the SUV, I Gots Me a Crossover

It used to be that anyone who wanted to own a vehicle that was capable of throwing anything at it would buy a chunky offroader, like the ironically named Suburban. Soccer moms and middle-aged macho men on a quest to reclaim some of their youthful virility alike clamored over the steel behemoths in the 90s. Back then, most SUVs were basically just truck chasses fitted with Jeep-like bodies, resulting in a vehicle that could not only haul a ton of concrete but also a platoon of twelve year-olds on their way to the state Little League championship.

Or so it used to be. However, as much as I like Big McLargeHuge 4x4's, there was an inherent question on everyone's mind when they saw one of these rolling fortresses on the road: "What happens if that thing hits me?"

In the 90s? This is pretty much what would happen.



Now granted, that's a rather grisly revelation, isn't it? Not that it should come as a surprise to you that the big guy would go Hulk Smash on the little guy in a fight. Still, this was a huge cause for concern - more and more people felt unsafe in normal cars, and traded in econoboxes for Ft. Knox on wheels, believing that they'd be safer.

Except that this was the 90s. No clever stability control. No traction control. A small enough percentage of vehicles had ABS that GM flaunted it on various models like the Lumina and Cutlass Supreme. So, perhaps you'd be safe, assuming you didn't have to stop quickly. Or turn onto an offramp in inclement weather. Or switch directions.

Basically, you were screwed if you in any way shape or form deviated from stoplight to stoplight. But as automakers began to figure that out later in the decade into the next, consumers had begun anew the search for more economical transportation. Enter possibly the worst car of all time, the Toyota Prius. With gasoline prices in America spiking well over $4/gallon (though our European and Asian friends have been paying this price and far higher for decades) around 2004, big SUVs that did 9 miles to the gallon were no longer trendy. Gas mileage was "in."

Yet, the consumers still wanted to retain a sense of command on the road, along with the perception of "safety in size." Enter what the automotive companies call "crossovers," car chasses with SUV-like bodies.



Take the aptly-named Nissan Murano for example. You'd have to be a moron to buy it, an Altima in a new suit. Or the CX-7. Or the failed Endeavor from Mitsubishi. All the problems of an SUV (poor handling, dreadful to mediocre MPG, unwieldy in parking situations) with none of the benefits (hauling room/power, offroad experience). And, despite even BMW's best go at it, the crossover can't defy physics and keep up with a similarly-outfitted car.

All this vain effort because consumers don't want to embrace the hatchback or return to the wagon. But that's just fine with me, especially when I can fit all of my things into the hatch of a 2010 Subaru STi, and I'll still speed shift past you. And get better mileage while cruising.



Do it right.

Mercury Gets the Axe

In the past few years, the Big Three have certainly been pressed for success in the US. Low sales coupled with superfluous brands (like now-defunct Pontiac) forced GM to finally condense its brands. Dodge has retracted a few models, like the last iteration of the SRT-4 because no one wanted to buy a 285HP ice cream truck without all wheel drive. Ford, however, had been mostly exempt, circling the wagons of FLM (Ford, Lincoln, Mercury) dealerships nationwide.

Until, this week, the inevitable: Mercury is headed for the parking lot in the sky. I'm sure some are saddened by this, given the brand's 70+ years of existence, highlighted by the beastly Cougar XR7.

In the olden days, Mercury was meant to be the middle ground for FoMoCo; consumers would start out with a Ford for low-cost transport, move up to Mercury for a little luxury, and shoot for the whole shebang with a Lincoln. But the fact remains: for the past 20 years, the brand has been pumping out nothing but Ford and Lincoln clones like the Grand Marquis.

There's no need to worry about Ford, though. Just wait until we get the Fiesta and new Focus. Bet you a tenner it'll give the Prius monkeys something to shove in their energy-absorbing sunroofs.