Lubbock Boy's New Used Car

The man said I was real lucky I didn't have a car like this.

     I quit buying new cars a long time ago, about the same time I quit being rich.  Not that I have anything against new cars, I just hate to suffer the depreciation that occurs the first time I drive a new car around the block.  When a new car cost $4000.00, I could drive it around the block for about a thousand dollars, which was bad, but not prohibitive, especially when you consider the admiring looks from your neighbors.  At least I imagined I got admiring looks from my neighbors, and perhaps even some envy from the horse’s butt down on the corner.

     Incidentally, I didn’t quit being rich on purpose.  That happened due to circumstances beyond my control, but it happened, none-the-less.  So, with new cars costing over thirty thousand dollars and the first drive around the block running up around eight thousand, and not being rich anymore, and getting a bit long of tooth, I decided a new car was a luxury I could no longer afford.  Those long, admiring looks from the neighbor ladies and the blatant envy from the horse’s butt on the corner get to be less important as your teeth begin to get longer, and your hair ceases to grow.

     A friend observed that a young man wants everything to be stylish—his car, his clothing, his significant other, everything.  As he grows older, style becomes less important, and familiarity and comfort take on added significance.  Comfort really gets to be important, and, the way memory comes and goes, familiarity is necessary. 

     With a new car, it is no fun to hunt around for the windshield wiper switch while driving thirty-five miles per hour in a sudden downpour.  When feeling around for that switch, I always manage to turn on the blinkers, move the side mirrors, open the tailgate, and set the cruise control.  Stopping the car to locate the switch in relative safety is cheating.  The rules are that I must continue blindly down the street at thirty-five miles per hour and seek the proper control by touch only.  Slowing down or looking away from the road is not allowed, even when, without the wipers, the road is completely obscured by a driving rainstorm, and I couldn’t see a duck perched on the hood ornament.

     All this comes to mind because I recently purchased a “new” car.  I really didn’t intend to buy a “new” car; I was forced into the decision by a sweet old lady, a retired school teacher.  She was from Boerne, late for a dental appointment, and not familiar with our little city, so she was a bit late making a turn.  She turned left from the right lane, across her left lane, across her turn lane, and across my lane in the opposite direction.  She was very sorry my car was totaled, but I needed to understand that if she missed her dentist’s street, she might never find it again and would be late for her appointment.

     My “new” car is a 2004 Buick Rendezvous with all the latest electronic bells and whistles.  Really fancy stuff to a man with long teeth—stuff I haven’t had before and wonder how I lived without.  The vehicle has little sensors to tell me to change the oil, air up the tires, shut the doors, and fill up the gas tank.  All this information is passed on by a little sign in the middle of the dashboard.  It blinks, and if I ignore it, it dings or bongs.

     I have never been a fan of Ralph Nader.  I think he’s mostly to blame for the overabundance of “safety features” on our automobiles.  He is the one who took the responsibility for safely operating and maintaining a vehicle out of the hands of the driver and put it squarely in the lap of the manufacturer.  In so doing, he also helped push the cost of our vehicles out of sight. 

     I’ve always known that if I drive eighty miles per hour down the highway in a car without oil in the crankcase, I will burn up the motor.  After a few lawsuits by Ralph Nader, if I run eighty down the highway without oil in the crankcase, lights will flash, bells will ring, and buzzers will buzz.  If I don’t heed these warnings, the computer will turn off the motor, park the car on the side of the road, and North Star will give a tow truck my grid coordinates.  While I’m waiting, a sexy- voiced Australian beauty will softly ask what she can do to help.

     Last week, my car's early warning system suddenly came alive with a blinking light announcing “low tire pressure, low tire pressure.”  I pulled off the road at the first available station to fix the problem, thinking how great this “new” car was to give me warning before I damaged a tire or lowered my gas mileage. 

     The station had an air hose that I could use for seventy five cents, quarters only, but no tire gage at the hose.  I went inside and paid $4.00 for what appeared to be a disposable tire gauge from China and took my change in quarters.  I went back to the car and took all the caps off the tire valves, so I wouldn’t run out of time on the air compressor before I had a chance to fill all the tires.  I put in my seventy five cents and went to work.

     The first tire was full of air—thirty-five pounds exactly.   I hurriedly went to the back tire on that side and found the same situation.  Working quickly, I backtracked around the front of the car to the other side because the hose was too short to reach all the way around the car.  No air needed.  The back tire on that side was the same—all four tires were full of air—thirty five pounds each.  The compressor quit working, but that was all right.  I had spent seventy five cents to discover I didn’t need any air.  I went around the car to replace the little caps on the valves and was happy that I only lost one of them.

     One of the fringe benefits to always driving used cars is the number and variety of mechanics you get to know.  Typically, I run thru about six or seven of them before I catch one that I think is almost intelligent and semi-trustworthy.  He becomes my mechanic of last resort.  I carried the car to him, with the “low tire pressure” warning light flashing. 

     “No problem,” he says, after plugging his computer into my car's computer and letting them discuss the matter. “Bad sensor.  Sensors only cost about eighteen dollars each.”

     “Which tire?”  I ask.

     “Can’t tell.  The computer doesn’t give that information—only lets you know that one of the sensors is bad.”

     “Can you just turn off the light and I’ll check my own tire pressure?  I have a brand new $4.00 tire gauge.”

     “Oh, no.  Computer won’t allow us to do that.  All systems must check out on line.”

     Inside each tire, up against the steel rim, there is a little pressure sensor that works like a radio transmitter.  It continually transmits information to the on-board computer.  Evidently, not much information, just low tire pressure, but not which tire.  If the sensor goes bad, a tire man will replace it for about fifteen dollars, plus the cost of the sensor.  Sensors range from eighteen to forty-eight dollars each, depending on make and model.

     My tire man says, “We can’t tell which one is bad.  Simplest thing is replace all of them.  I suppose we could remove them one at a time and re-test until we got the right one, but that would require a lot of labor, and labor is real high these days.”

     “How much will the sensors on my car cost?”  That seems to me to be a simple and reasonable request, so I should get a straightforward answer.

     “We won’t know until we pull off a wheel, demount the tire, and remove the sensor.  I expect yours are pretty high end, but you’re lucky you don’t have a Mercedes.  Their tire sensors cost two hundred bucks each.”  I’m lucky I don’t have a Mercedes?

     I decided to live with the “low tire pressure” light and the occasional beep that goes with it.  Last week, one of my grandchildren failed to properly shut the passenger door, and a “door ajar” light started alternating with the “low tire pressure” light.  A ding started to alternate with the beep.  I stopped, got out, and closed the door.  The "door ajar" light went out.

     When the gas tank gets down to one quarter full, the “low fuel” light comes on, and alternates with the “low tire pressure” light, and a beep alternates with a ding.  When this happened last Tuesday, I stopped the car, got out and opened the back passenger door and didn’t close it properly.  I went around back and did the same thing with the rear lift gate.  I just barely engaged the emergency brake, and put on the hazard lights.

    I got back into the car, set the GPS for Junction, and went to pick up my granddaughter from dance class in Comfort.  The dashboard went crazy.  "Low tire pressure," "low fuel," "door ajar," "lift gate ajar," "hazard lights engaged," and "check brake system" lights flashed intermittently, and vied for attention.  Bongs, alternating with beeps, boings and dings created a regular symphony of computer music, accompanied by a sexy Australian cutie who kept urging me to make a u-turn at the next intersection.

     Screw you, Ralph Nader.

Nothing wrong here that a little TLC won't fix.