Motorcycles Are Everywhere

So I was thinking about the "Motorcycles Are Everywhere" campaign that's been going on on South Carolina highways.  I think motorcycle awareness is a great goal, and I think it's true that a lot of times people don't look before they change lanes or merge and that that causes terrible accidents.  However, I have to admit, I get this weird feeling from "Motorcycles Are Everywhere."  It makes me feel like they're lurking.  Whether that's harmless lurking...

Oh, I'm just a little motorcycle, minding my own business.

...or like scary Batman motorcycle lurking.

The kind of lurking where it's waiting for you in your sunroom in broad daylight when you come back from having tea with a good friend.

Also are they really everywhere?

I mean, I guess this one is sleeping in a body of water.  So that's unexpected.

It's not like I'm gonna find one in my car.

Wait I don't get it

Would I find one if I went camping far far away?

Hmm.

What if I only ever walk around on ropes in the sky?  Would I encounter one there?

Which one of us would turn around?

I am almost inspired to write Seuss-style poetry:  A motorcycle on a rope?  A motorcycle with the Pope?

You will notice that the Pope is not dressed for motorcycle safety.

A motorcycle in a box?

THAT DOESN'T COUNT, ALLISON

A motorcycle on the rocks?

That motorcycle enthusiast looks so unhappy!

Motorcycles on the docks?

I hope he has shocks...  Also that guy looks like he's 70.

Since this is becoming a touch self-indulgent (a motorcycle, up on blocks?)--

--I'll just go ahead and say it:

MOTORCYCLES ARE EVERYWHERE.

________________

Photo 1: http://www.danheller.com/images/Europe/Italy/Tuscany/Towns/Pitigliano/Bw/img4.html#img7
Photo 2:  http://hacknmod.com/hack/how-to-build-your-own-batpod-2/
Photo 3:  http://www.southbayriders.com/forums/showthread.php?t=21461
Photo 4: http://www.toxel.com/tech/2009/09/25/motorcycle-sports-car-hybrid/
Photo 5: http://honda400four.wordpress.com/2012/05/24/motorcycle-camping-inspiration/
Photo 6: http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2zqa5E34u1qz82u6.jpg
Photo 7: http://www.redbook.com.au/bike-news/2010/road/ducati/multistrada/ducati-motorcycles-for-the-pope-21691
Photo 8: http://i.istockimg.com/file_thumbview_approve/12436285/2/stock-photo-12436285-antique-old-toy-motorcycle-in-a-box-labeled-quot-travel-quot.jpg
Photo 9:  http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/gregfrazier/news/2001-05-01.shtml
Photo 10:  http://americanlivewire.com/french-journalist-crashes-motorcycle/
Photo 11:  http://www.kawiforums.com/zzr600-zx-6r-old-school/85799-well-shes-up-blocks.html

Lazy Post

So I just finished up with the semester (hooray!) and wanted to make a quick post since I was thinking about the timeless beauty of the older Accord coupes.  This is a 1994.

I really think they did something right with this car.  Not kidding.  I think it's very clean and there's not a whole lot of room for calling any bit of it stupid.  It's very light on the eyes.  Pretty without a whole lot of processing.  (And sorry it goes off the little journal-y part of the page...I wanted the bigger photo but it wouldn't fit, so I hope you'll forgive me.)

Stay tuned for more blog posts since now I have more time.  Looking forward to maybe doing a couple posts on handling driving disasters (e.g. blowouts).

Also, FYI, I was on the highway with one of those big, white cargo vans the other day, and the driver was changing lanes like it was a motorcycle.  They shot past me going maybe 90, switched lanes really narrowly between two cars, and just kept on with it.  At some points they hooked right or left hard enough that I actually saw wheels leave the ground on either side of the van.  Lesson 1: don't drive like a fool.  Lesson 2: please try to limit yourself to the vehicle you're in--if you have the heart of an F1 driver, save it for when you're at least in a sedan.  Ugh.  And even without focusing on this person's complete lack of regard for human life, I just wanna say that bringing wheels off the ground makes you look like an incompetent moron.  For heaven's sake, people.

_____

Photo 1: http://www.netcarshow.com/honda/1994-accord_coupe/1024x768/wallpaper_01.htm

How to Perform Basic Maintenance on Your Car

I know some folks who don't do it super often.  And you should.  (I don't...but you should.)  Here's what I think I know about things, but I'm really not qualified to say any of this.  Hopefully it's at the most entertaining and at the least, not going to ruin your life if you listen to it.  But don't listen to it.  Please.

Checking fluids.  This is probably the single scariest item on the checklist, and I'm starting with it so those of you who aren't serious will drop out.  Just kidding.

All you have to do is open your hood.  If you don't know how to do that, you're probably gonna need to feel around under the dash on the left while you're in the driver's seat.  Find a lever you don't recognize.  Pull it.  If it's not a storage compartment (my dad has one where the hood latch should be—what?!), you should hear a muffled JINK up toward the front of the car.  Get out of the car.  Go to the front of your car and feel around just under the hood, which should be slightly lifted.  There'll be something there you have to push up or pull down to open the hood the whole way up.  You're on your own here because it tends to vary widely among vehicles.  Once you have succeeded, push the hood up and find the little stick to prop it up with.  That's a good start.

Now that you're empowered by that victory, go and get your owner's manual.  If you don't have it, you should order it off the Internet and try all this again later.  Inside the manual, if the manufacturer likes you, there should be a diagram of your car under the hood.  You should check where the brake fluid is, the radiator is, the oil dipstick, the automatic transmission fluid, and the battery is.  Maybe bring that manual out in front of your car and point at the things as you find them.  It's nice seeing diagrams match with reality.

Just look at all those places.  Check all the fluid levels—there will be a “min” and a “max” line on all of them—and freak out if any of them are below “min.”  If they're above “max,” in my experience, things tend to be just fine.  Also, keep note of whether any fluids are dripping out of your car into parking spaces.  I guess that's kind of more of a homework assignment than a “right now” sort of thing.

When you close your hood, don't gently push it down into place.  That won't work.  Lift it up about six inches above its final resting place and let go.  The loud clang is very satisfying, and the hood actually closes.

Check your tires.  People don't see their tires while driving, and in most cars, there aren't any blinking lights to tell you to freak out about them.  So people usually don't worry.  But the thing is, if you don't monitor them (things like treadwear, pressure, and general condition), they could just randomly explode and kill you, or at least scare you to death.  Please worry at least a little.

Pressure: Inside your door jamb on the driver's side (or somewhere hidden deep within the bowels of your owner's manual), you can find information on what your tire pressures should be.  I usually inflate (HAR HAR) these by about two PSI because I like a firmer ride.  And generally you're gonna want a little bit of a higher pressure in the front and a little less in the back.  My dad told me it was because inflating the front more is good for steering and inflating the back less is good for having a gentler ride, but other folks just say the engine's heavier so you use more air.  Whatever.  You can find some gas stations with air stations outside, but of course it's always easier if you have a friend with a compressor.  (The QT near the Clifton/Briarcliff intersection has free air outside, FYI.)  The actual mechanics of checking the pressure with the gauge and putting air in are things I can't easily explain. You want not to hear air hissing out in either case, and you want a perpendicular connection to the stem.

In other news, if you have a new fancy car with a tire air pressure monitor and it goes off, you don't need to panic.  A very sweet fellow student in college came up to me in a parking lot and asked if I knew anything about cars.  I said, “Um, kind of, what's up?” and she explained that her car's pressure monitor was on and she didn't know if she should worry.  So we walked back to her car, looked at the tires, and I said “ehhhhhh, they all look okay. I wouldn't worry too much, just fill it up when you can.”  Your tires are going to wear more if they have too little air in them since the wall is going to be flexing more while you're driving, but it doesn't mean you have a flat or that your tire will explode.  So it's okay...for now.

Tread: Having nice deep grooves in your tires helps keep you from falling off the road in a rainstorm.  So we see that tire tread is important.  I rest my case.  I found a cool site that talks about how having 4/32's of an inch halves your stopping distance in rain, compared to the 2/32's you're legally required to have.  http://www.tirerack.com/tires/tests/testDisplay.jsp?ttid=85  For 2/32's, you can measure with an upside-down penny.  (How disrespectful!  Sorry Lincoln!)  If the tire reaches up past Lincoln's head, you're legally good.  For 4/32's, which is better, you can use an upside-down quarter and Washington's head.

When you do have to get those nice new tires, you're gonna want to put them on the rear.  If your front tires can't deal with water on a wet road and they begin to hydroplane, it's easier for you to control than if the rear wheels start hydroplaning and your tail comes out.  So you want the nice tires on the back to make sure that the rear of the car is solidly capable of handling rainy conditions.

General condition: If your tire is leaking, you know it, because it keeps going flat overnight.  If your tire has a big gouge on the outside wall of it, you know it.  If it has a gouge on the inside, I guess you're kind of screwed.  Generally speaking, holes on the sidewall are worse because the sidewall flexes with every rotation of the tire, worsening the hole and increasing the danger. Holes in the flat part of the tire (the part that meets the road) are less severe given that they flex less.

Change your oil.  How often?  Synthetic or regular?  Well, it depends on how much money you want to spend.  Generally you can follow the owner's manual on how often to change it.  (I don't though—I usually change every 5,000 miles as opposed to 7,500 in my owner's manual.)  And if you've got extra money, synthetic is better—there aren't any impurities and you can run that oil longer in your engine.  (Folks who advocate changing regular oil every 3,000 miles say you could go 5,000 with synthetic.  My guess is that if you're changing regular every 7,500 miles, you could do 10,000 with synthetic.  But I wouldn't.)  Also, when you're checking fluids, see if you're losing oil—if you drive a rotary, that's okay.  If you don't, it's not.  (Dear Mazda: Why did you stop producing the RX-8?  Are you going to abandon manual transmissions the same way you abandoned the rotary engine?  With remorse and reproach, Allison)

A point about octane.  Follow what's in the manual.  For most folks who aren't running on turbos and who don't drive sports cars, it'll be 87.  Putting 89 in your Corolla doesn't make it go faster or run smoother.  It actually negatively impacts performance since the engine is optimized for use of 87.

When to pay attention to your check engine light.  Always!  What I do is I at least go to Autozone or Advance Auto and have them read it.  I try to do that the same day the light comes on.  They can tell you if it's something not so bad like an emissions problem (Pepper's light is on right now for that), or something kind of scary like a misfire (if you remember Birdy...yeah that happened).  You can ask the nice folks there if your car will die if you wait until tomorrow to fix it.

I would say that if the light is accompanied by a noticeable change in the handling or ride, or any weird noises, I would go to a mechanic immediately.  Not that that's ever happened to me with a light on, and not that it necessarily would.  And remember I know nothing about mechanical things.  I just know what I do, and that the average person can't drop everything and run to the mechanic.  Keep in mind that I killed Birdy; take heed of the warning.  (In my defense: she was 13 years old and treated poorly before me and had 183,000 miles on the clock.  May she rest in peace.)

When your oil light comes on*.  Pull over RIGHT NOW.  Turn OFF the car.  Do not pass go (in fact, do not go at all) and do not collect $200.  Or you will potentially be paying upwards of $2,000 for engine replacement.  Quick note: I had a friend whose engine seized after he took it to Jiffy Lube for an oil change and they didn't screw the oil cap on all the way.  My word of advice is never to take your car to a crappy mechanic (that $5 you save is never worth the destruction, lies, and woe), and if your light comes on, heaven forbid, pull to the side of the road and make everything stop right now.

*Here's what you're ACTUALLY supposed to do. http://voices.yahoo.com/what-oil-light-comes-car-281127.html?cat=27 What's a lifter again?! I am so unqualified for this!

Why You Should Be Driving a Stick Shift

Subtitle:  My Brief Exercise in Futility

If you don't know how to drive a stick, you probably either A) never wanted to learn, or B) never got the chance.  For the individuals of letter B--your next car will be a stickshift.  No--no objections.  Just learn it.  It's better that way.  And as for the individuals of letter A--this post targets you.  The following is a laundry list of reasons to stop being so lame.  Also most things I will be saying are completely in jest, so please don't take offense.  I will also be making fun of stick elitists like myself, because we are pretty unreasonable.  So without further ado--why the vast majority of you are wrong-headed and silly.

Car control.  I can floor my car while I'm in fourth and I will actually stay in fourth. If I want to access the power available to me in third, I can choose to do it. My car will not drop me into second without my express direction.  This is in contrast to automatics, where if you step far enough down on the pedal, you're gonna get shot down into a lower gear unexpectedly and, depending upon how much horsepower you have, your hat might fall off.  When you purposefully shift down into a lower gear in a manual, you know you're gonna have to catch that hat.

Learning a lost art.  It's like learning scrimshaw or tapestry-weaving, except it's functional.  People who can do it or are interested in learning understand why it's so super-great(!); others find it harder to comprehend.  Why would I learn how to row through gears manually when I can just lean back and step on the gas and let the car take care of everything?  Right.  And why would you weave tapestry?  Because if no one did it, it would take something away from the world that made the world a better place.  It is your moral obligation as a human to preserve beauty in this world, and if you are not driving a stickshift you are negatively affecting the value of humanity.  And if you don't think stickshifting is a beautiful thing, you're probably right.  I don't know.  On to the next.

Supporting a dying breed.  This is along similar lines to the previous one.  "Progress" threatens to take away the third pedal forever.  Speedier shift changes in paddle-shifter supercars have all but obviated manual transmissions for folks who care about things like lap times instead of fun (and nostalgia) and tradition.  Meanwhile, sales of manual transmissions have decreased from probably about fifty-fifty with automatics in the '50's (great mnemonic) to about 4% last year.  And for some freaky reason, in 2012 the number of manuals sold jumped to about 7%.  VICTORY YOU GUYS.  Everyone can go home now!  But seriously, there ain't none anymore.  In fact, chances are that your parents can drive them but you can't.  And that is something to be ashamed of.

Paying attention to the road.  Your left hand controls the wheel.  Your right hand controls the gearshift.  Do you have a third hand for a cell phone?  Didn't think so.  Of course the other side to this is that if you're still stubbornly going to talk on the phone, you're stuck with sandwiching it between your shoulder and your ear and looking at the road at a 45 degree angle—I definitely have never, ever done this in my life.  Ever.

Having fun and feeling good about yourself.  Yes, the first few days of learning to drive a stick are filled with grief and overwhelming shame.  Yes you will stall in the middle of intersections.  Yes you will make your car make scary noises, jump, and over-rev (I couldn't figure out how to pull straight back from 3^rd into 4th...I always pulled it back to me, into second, and then my engine was at 4 or 5,000 RPMs going ERRRRNNRNNNNNRNNNN and I was attempting to troubleshoot as I panicked).  BUT.  But.  Once you get good at it, you will learn to shift perfectly almost every time.  You will learn to rev match so everything is smooth.  Sometimes there will be people in your car who apparently don't have spines and who leeeeean forward every time you shift.  You will feel guilty and you will learn to shift such that this doesn't happen.  You will shift a million times on your way to work, you will do it well each time, and you will feel good about yourself.  It's an easy pick me up.  My favorite thing to do is drive my car.

Anti-theft bonus.  This might be wrong (I did hear it on the Internet), but apparently no car thief, ever, anywhere, can drive a stick shift.  Few car thieves are classy enough to.

And if you guys really need another justification, here's a link to a video of Ayrton Senna driving an NSX in loafers heel-toeing (is that a verb?).  I hope someday I'll be half this cool, or, hell, at the least be able to heel-toe.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8By2AEsGAhU

You're welcome.

The Unfortunate Fortunate Tale of Pepper, Zyvelles, and the Log Lying Across the Freaking Road

Let's start off with this.  Jamie and I are still alive and were not harmed in the unintended making of this blog post.  That's the fortunate part.  Here's all the unfortunate stuff.

Let's Tarentino it, shall we?  Where did I get that quote from?  (“I'm gonna Tarentino it”...I think that was that annoying comedian no one apparently likes anymore.  Dave somebody?  Well, whatever, looks like -that- fifteen minutes is over.)

Jamie slams on brakes in Zyvelles.  I, following him in Pepper, also slam on brakes.  He hits a large log.  I hit the large log.  I nearly hit Jamie, I swerve around him into the oncoming lane and pull off the side of the road to the right, ahead of where he's stopped.  Smoke is coming out of my hood.  I sit for a second.  It is nighttime on a country road and I just wrecked my car.  Soon I'll get out of the car to check on Jamie, and then the friendly guy who lives at the house at the end of the driveway we pulled off at will wander up, and then the volunteer firefighters, and then the cop, and then, much much later, the tow truck.  But for now I am sitting.  In a few minutes a little early nineties CRX will run over the log too, but since we pretty much demolished it they'll be fine.

We had been traveling nicely along, caravaning from our house in Atlanta to my sister's house in Rock Hill, where we were kindly invited to stay for the summer.  (Thanks to my brother and sister!)  We'd meant to leave at noon-ish from Atlanta, so naturally we left around 6pm, having packed many of our things into Jamie's car and a huge elliptical machine in my car.  Earlier in the evening before the log, there had been a terrible rainstorm (which, as you know, always gets me a little panicky—or in this case a lot panicky) in which our cars had threatened multiple times to slide away unauthorized off the road and through the brush.  Forked lightning, blinding rain, little bit of buffeting wind.  Great stuff.  So here we were, with me super excited that there wasn't any rain, the road was dry, and I was alive, and then we run over this log lying across the road just over the crest of a hill.  It was perfect placement.

Jamie had slammed on brakes, and so then I, confused, slammed on brakes, and then I saw a lot of leaves and went over the biggest speedbump I'd ever encountered.

About this big, I think.  But that's from memory, so maybe subtract an inch from the diameter.

At least it was only about fifteen minutes from my sister's house.  Does this post lack continuity?

Damage to the cars--

Zyvelles, the Corolla that sits a couple inches higher than my car:

-four flat tires

-transmission pan and wiring

Pepper, the for-once-regrettably sporty Mazda 3:

-broken front clip (this holds up the radiator and other things we like)

-radiator

-damaged insulation under the car

-busted fog lamp

-broken headlight bulb filaments (I mean how?)

-wheel bearing (no, it was not damaged before)

-two bad tires

The only obvious stuff at the scene were Jamie's flat tires (only three were obvious) and the fact that my car, when I started it, idled at 2000RPM and then dropped to the normal 750RPM, a few seconds after which it would vibrate in a very violent way.  Everyone encouraged me to drive it to the mechanic, but I refused because my car does not usually try to shake me out of the driver's seat.  So then Jamie and I waited in Zyvelles trying to find a good radio station to listen to while the blue lights from the cop car gave us a headache and our anger at the delay with the tow truck grew.  ("Gah!  This guy had to get out of bed and come drag us to a mechanic!  Why isn't he hurrying?!"  He turned out to be very nice.)  Later, roundabout 1:30am, my brother picked me and Jamie up from the mechanic.  And then we sang “Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round” all the way home.

This stolen Masterfile stock photo entitled "Multi-Ethnic Children Jumping" should help describe for you how happy we all felt.

As a social work student and psych major, whenever I'm really ticked off or unhappy, I try to think of all the things that are good about a situation, or that at the very least don't completely suck. Here are some good things about the log accident:

--Jamie and I were okay.

--Jamie's car didn't require extensive repair.

--The tow truck driver was this awesome veteran guy who drove a '93 Ford with over 300,000 miles on it.

--Everyone who worked with us was polite.

--We were only fifteen minutes from our destination.

...And so on (but let's face it, I'm ending the list because I can't think of anything else good about running over a tree.)

Jamie got his car back the next day.  I got my car back a few days ago, which was I think about 27 days after the accident.  The parts took a long time to order, and then the insurance company dawdled, and then there was a wheel bearing out that I had to get vicious with the insurance company to get it paid for, and then they finished it but for some reason had to wait until the next morning to take it for a test drive?  So anyway, I finally have my car back.  I could have hugged it.  Almost did, except I'm pretty picky about fingerprints.

When I got it, I drove around and blasted music, and then I washed it and vacuumed the inside and emptied it of receipts and chip bags, and then Jamie and I replaced the headlight bulbs and Jamie polished the headlight lenses, and now it looks as good as new.

Thank goodness.

Pepper, post-log, representing some Ahimsa House and some Save the Manuals.

_____
1. Mine.

2. http://www.masterfile.com/stock-photography/image/619-01430515/Multi-ethnic-children-jumping

3. Mine.

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

____

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