The Perfect Car

To me, you are just perfect.

My dream car. At least, when I was 14, this is the car I dreamed of. I saw a dark, maroon version of it in a movie once– I forget which one. Probably some kind of spy film. I remember that it was occupied by a very large, bald man and he was coming to kill the hero. He wasn’t the real bad guy– just a henchman. That’s the car I dreamed of owning some day.

I saw this in an ad a few years ago. I suddenly realized that, if I had really wanted to, I could have bought it right then and there. It was about $14K.

Anywhere, here, for my own personal contemplation, the actual car.  Fourteen thousand dollars.  I could have bought it, but I’m old and more sense than that.

 

The Mythical Open Road

As you sit in your car in the middle of yet another traffic jam in almost any major city and stare at your white knuckles, think about those beautiful car advertisements.

Obviously, Ford and Toyota and General Motors are never going to show you where you will really spend all your time in their glorious automobiles. But just because it’s obvious doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve a round of good old fashioned outrage.

The ads show the beautiful cars– almost always perfectly, minty clean– cruising all by their lonesome selves down endless stretches of awe-inspiring roads that channel through hills and valleys, mountains and rivers, prairies and open plains. What is most astonishing about these scenarios is that there are never any other cars on the road. Nobody. Nowhere. No trucks. No cars. No ugly, fat, disgusting, gas-guzzling Winnebago’s. Nada. What a wonderful driving experience. You bet.

It’s like when they show anorexic models eating diet yogurt. Right. You’ll look like that someday. Some day if you manage to kidnap Kate Moss and transplant your brain into her body.

Nobody is surprised if car companies want to show their products in the best light. We probably generally laugh to ourselves and continue to wait for the normally scheduled program to resume. But why should we put up with this crap? Why are we so damn passive? Why can’t we muster a little righteous indignation for the outright fraud perpetuated on the consumer by these ads?

Let’s not mince words: these ads are indeed a fraud. They are filled with lies and distortion. You will never ever get to take the drive that is being offered to you. It doesn’t exist anywhere in the civilized world anymore. Why not? Because every idiot on the planet wants that driving experience so they are all stacked up behind each other on the freeways grinding their teeth and wondering why everyone else doesn’t just get off the road.

My Cars

love cars.

I mean, public transit is great, and we should use it more often. That way, there’d be less of you people in the way when I get on the road with my car.

As you an see from the list on the right, I have owned 12 different cars in my life. Well, the Studebaker was my brother’s, but I ended up with it. The Impala was my Dad’s, but I drove it most of the time. The Beetle never made it to the road.

Not one of them is a mini-van. I am trying to round up pictures of all them just so you can see how wonderful they all were.

That’s a quite a pile of cars. Where are they now? Oh, just anywhere. I got rid of them. They have disappeared from my life. It was easy: you tow them off somewhere and leave them. Someone else takes care of it. It’s not my problem anymore. Two tons of rusted, decaying metal and rubber and plastic— poof! Gone! You try to get rid of a gallon of toxic herbicide like that! Forget it. They make you fill out a form at least.

When my 1964 Dodge Dart, a car I dearly loved, broke down for good, in Calgary, I called the Ministry of Fear and told them that though the car was registered in Illinois, I would like to junk it in Calgary. They nearly had a fit. You couldn’t do that, they said. You had to import it first. When you import a car, you pay taxes based on the assessed value of the car. But the government liked the car a lot more than I did. They thought it was still worth thousands of dollars. A government official warned me that there would be dire consequences if I didn’t pay up.

I didn’t want to pay a lot of money just to tow it to a junk yard. We argued for days. I was ready to try to fix the thing just so I could drive it down to Montana and ditch it in the first Forest Preserve I could find. I got an estimate for fixing the broken starter motor and the transmission and the door. Then I realized it might be cheaper to import it after all. I called the government back.

Then I read an article in the paper about a man who had bought some golf clubs in the United States and then smuggled them into Canada without paying duty. You know what the police did? They seized the golf clubs.

That was good enough for me. I called the government back: seize away, it’s yours. The government official said, well, we’d rather not have to tow it. Could you drop it off at the compound? So, my friend Sid came over with his Malibu and we towed it to the government compound and left it there to be seized. Gone. Poof.

If you put all twelve of those cars in my backyard today, it would make a pretty cool tower of jagged steel. It would stand about 80 feet high, towering over the houses in the neighborhood. It would tell you something: this is the kind of monumental mess a single human being can create in only twenty-five years here in the affluent West.

I never paid a cent to dispose of my old cars. Usually, I got a few bucks. Think about it. In our society, do people ever do anything for you for nothing? Would your neighbor like it if you dropped five bags of leaves onto his driveway? Does he want your old stereo? Your old freezer? No, never! This leads me to believe that there are people out there who want your old car. Old cars are so good for the environment, that the government doesn’t even charge you to dispose of them, the same way they never charge corporations to clean up their big polluted dumps or poisoned rivers. I’ll bet there are lots of people out there just crawling over each other for a chance to have a wrecked car. And that’s where my next wrecked car is going to go.

But in the meantime, here I come! Out of the way, you slow-moving eco-baby freaks! I’m coming by at 120 kilometres per hour! I don’t care where I’m going: I just want to drive!

My Cars and the Years I Owned Them:

1960 Mini Morris [1970]
1961 Studebaker [1970]
1965 Peugeot [1971]
1965 Chevrolet Impala [1972]
1965 Volkswagen Beetle
 [1974]
1964 Dodge Dart [1975]
1967 Plymouth Valiant [1978]
1972 Plymouth Valiant [1979]
1971 Dodge van [1981]
1983 Lada [1983]
1978 Ford Fairmont [1987]
1983 Chevrolet Malibu [1989]
1987 Toyota Camry [1998]
1987 Toyota 4Runner [1998]
1999 Honda Accord (1999)
2004 Toyota Corolla (2007-11)
2001 Honda Accord (2005?)
2002 Honda CRV (2010-11)
2010 Toyota Corolla
2012 Toyota Rav4

Traffic

I was driving to Huntsville, Ontario the other day. I had a meeting scheduled at 10:00 a.m., so I had to leave Kitchener by 6:00 a.m. It is still dark at that time in this neck of the woods. I get in my car, stop by at the nearest Tim’s for a coffee, and I’m off. I’m thinking– at least there won’t be any traffic. Poor deluded me: the highway was crammed with cars.

What happened? Did I miss something? A hurricane? An alien invasion? Amway salesmen?

No, just people heading off to work. This is insane. It is six in the morning. It is dark. It is not fun getting up at six– your body wants to stay in bed. Yet, here they are, thousands of people, all racing around in their cars as if they were going somewhere interesting.

I stopped for a second coffee in Guelph. It is now 6:30 a.m., and the Tim’s is packed. There is a line-up.

Has our society gone berserk?! People are getting up at six in the morning, getting dressed, going out into these giant mechanical beasts, and racing to the coffee shop. I think they’re doing it just to annoy me.

I used to get up at 6:00 a.m. sometimes in the summer to go fishing. Now, I am not, by nature, an early riser, but there was one compensating charm. It was quiet and there was no traffic on the roads. I drove to a pier in a small village and dropped my line into the water and actually took pleasure in watching the nearby towns quietly, gradually, wake up. After an hour or so, you’d see people walking around, getting into their cars. By 8:00, there would be a few more fishermen, retirees who didn’t feel strongly enough about catching anything to want to get up any earlier.

This is sane. This makes sense.

But nowadays– 6:00 in the morning and the highways are full. There are delays. There are tie-ups, traffic snarls, enraged drivers pounding their dashboards. Racing, racing, racing— where to? That’s the bizarre thing. There are so many cars on the road at all hours of the day that you can’t go anywhere anyway. You just sit there in traffic, waiting, waiting, waiting. This is madness.

People— stay home! Don’t get up. Don’t get on the road. Don’t line up at Tim’s at 6:30 a.m. for coffee. Stay in bed. Sleep. Ignore the alarm. Quit your jobs. Join a religious order. Work at home. Spend more time with your families. Just stay off the roads.

I do have a solution. It’s so simple, I can’t believe that nobody else has thought of it before now.

You have to understand that we really do have lots of roads. There are millions of miles of roads. They go everywhere. Some of these roads are 16 lanes wide. That’s plenty. We don’t need any more. We also have enough cars. Everybody has one. That’s enough. So the problem is, that too many people are putting their cars on the highway at the same time. And you know the crazy thing: we let them! We have this big traffic jam in the 401 and people are moving about an inch an hour and somebody else wants to get on the highway— and we let them! This is insane. Let’s work it out. We need to tell these people, “sorry, there’s no more room.” It’s simple.

First, we figure out how many cars can be on the highway on any given day before we start getting traffic congestion. Then we convert this figure to what I call “driver miles”, which is, the number of miles people can drive on a given day before exceeding the capacity of our highways. In other words, at a certain point, we can calculate that we have no more driver-miles left– there is no more space on the roads. Then we take the driver miles and share it out with all the drivers of Ontario. Maybe we put a little computer in everybody’s car, with a cell-phone and a modem. And that’s it. You can only drive your allocated driver-miles on any given day. When you’ve used them up, you have to get off the roads. You’ll have to stay home. And no company will be allowed to fire an employee just because he had to obey the law and stay home. This will make the law popular with workers, if not corporations. But then, there’s a lot more workers than corporations anyway.

Simple, isn’t it? Of course, people who don’t need all of their driver-mile credits can sell them to other people if they want to. Or, you could save them up and one day make a really big trip.

And the biggest advantage of all: when you make your trip, you will actually be able to go somewhere.