Car Guy?

It’s that time of the year, again. While car manufacturers have taken to introducing new models at various times throughout the year, the largest inventory of the coming year’s vehicles arrives at dealers this month. When people look to accessorize their new fall wardrobe they check out the finish on the carriages they will use to transport them to their destinations. Cars, not only for the male of the species as the previous sentence attempts to hint, hold an intimate relationship with American culture.

Front View of My 2002 Nissan Maxima GLE

Across the street my two neighbors recently purchased new vehicles for their young families. Two of my daughters are in the market for vehicles; one will probably purchase a used—now euphemistically referred to as pre-owned—while the other will buy one fresh off the assembly line. Since we are still adjusting to retired life on a fixed income, we had David, our mechanic, change oil and give our twelve year old car a thorough inspection this week.

When I was growing up in Milwaukee, I took pride in being able to identify the latest models our neighbors purchased. By the time I was ten and my brother seven, we squared off in an intense rivalry to see who could name the make and model of random cars as they came into view. (Today, he’d clean my clock.) My parents never bought a new car, but our driveway was loaded with an assortment of bargains. So, if one didn’t work, there was a spare to take its place.

Driver Side View of My 2002 Nissan Maxima GLE 

Everything changed in 1964. Up until then the dream was to have a large luxurious car like a Cadillac Seville, Buick Electra or an Olds 98. With the introduction of the Ford Mustang the urge shifted to lean and quick. Chevy Camaro, Pontiac Firebird and Plymouth Barracuda followed to create the “muscle car” era. All of them produced a state of euphoria for me, but when the Wicked Mr. (Wilson) Pickett sang his soulful lyrics my heart forever was tied to Mustang Sally…1966. I actually owned a 1965 (some versions of the lyrics say he bought Sally a 1965) Mustang, but it had only six cylinders and three speeds, not the classic eight cylinder, 289 cubic inch engine with four on the floor.

Cover of 1966 Mustang Model
My daughters bought it for me 20 years ago.
I'll put it together this year.

Unfortunately, my ownership of that vehicle was short-lived because it drank oil for breakfast every morning and accrued a higher maintenance bill than all of Charlie Sheen’s wives combined. Which brings me to another point. It’s much harder to be a car guy in the 21^st Century. Even if you don’t buy the global warming theory, it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out the black stuff and the liquefied version we pump into our tanks makes a mess of things when our engines burn it. Besides, if the price of the crap continues to rise, only people in Charlie Sheen’s income level will be able to afford it.

Currently, the car I would most like to own (besides the ’66 Mustang) is the Tesla S, an electric vehicle that goes more than 200 miles on a charge, but costs $60,000. A number of manufacturers in the U.S. and elsewhere have said they plan to produce an electric vehicle with that kind of range for about half that price. The sooner they do, the sooner I can get back to being a real car guy.