March 8, 2016--Snowbirding: Porsche Panamera (Concluded)

"What do you think about that one,"Rona said excitedly. She was pointed toward a deep blue BMW.

"It does look nice," I acknowledged. "It . . ."

"Yikes," she said, peering at the sticker label affixed to the rear window.

"Yikes what?"

"It's $138,000. That calls for a yikes."

"Again, I thought we wouldn't approach this search for a new car by thinking initially about price."

"I know what you'll say--'We're very fortunate and we can get any car we want, especially,'" she added, "'if it turns out to be one of the last ones we'll ever buy.'"

"I don't remember saying that."

"Which part, Rona asked, "about being able to buy pretty much any car we want--forget Bentleys--or what I said about the last car business?"

Ignoring that, I said, "I guess I mean that $138,000 is a little much for a car. Particularly a BMW, which is not my idea of a Ferrari-kind-of-car."

"I don't think you have any idea what one of those would cost. It's enough to make one think seriously about becoming a socialist and voting for Bernie Sanders. And to tell the truth, I would have no part in spending even $100,000 for a car. A car is a car. It's not like buying a house or paying for college tuition.

"For the price of a Ferrari--whatever that is--I assume one could buy a really nice house and pay for tuition all the way through med school."

"Shouldn't we try to have fun with this rather than making all kinds of political allusions? I get enough of those every day on MSNBC."

"As long as you stop looking at $138,000 cars."

"From what I read in Consumers we should check out the BMW 2-Series. It gets off the chart ratings."

So we did. Even took one out for a test drive and it was a lot of fun. Not exactly the "Ultimate Driving Machine," but very responsive and for us just the right level of luxury. But for Rona who has back issues and for me who has late-in-life issues, the getting in and out could have one of both of us needing the ER. So we eliminated it from consideration and turned our attention to the 328i's. It's a bit stogy with its four doors but after taking it for a spin it wound up on our short list.

"I'm not sure," Rona said as we were driving home, "that we could be comfortable with a BMW in Maine. There everyone drives Subarus and Volvos. It's a reverse kind of status, not making too much of a big deal about one's wheels."

"Wheels? I love it when you talk car slang." I struggled against my seat belt to give her a kiss. "But you're right. We probably should get out of the BMW or, for that matter, Audi mode."

"I think I agree about the BMW but let's keep the Audi alive. I read that there's a new A4 about to arrive in America. The 2017 model that's supposed to be something special."

"It will probably be too high-tech for me. We don't need bluetooth or compatibility with smart phones much less all the sensing devices that take over your car in an emergency situation."

"Good point."

"We still have flip phones and . . ."

"Like Rhiana and Anna Wintour."

"Not exactly, but I prefer a car that a driver drives. Not a computer."

"I do as well. Maybe we should keep . . ."

"No let's keep talk. We need a new car. Ours is becoming unreliable. Above all, I want us to have one we can depend upon. Up in Maine we live on a dirt road that a tow truck would have a hard time negotiating so. And then if we're there during a late fall blizzard, I want a car we can depend upon to start."

"So maybe we should forget about BMWs and Audis and get right to Subarus and Volvos."

"Down Vicente's food chain."

So the next day we tried the Subaru Legacy and found it to the perfect Maine car. Totally practical with all sorts of safety things, including, we learned, that if we were in a head-on collision, rather than the engine crashing into the passenger cabin and crushing us to death, it drops out of the engine compartment and falls on the road, winding up under the car. Amazing! But we found it to be sensible and boring.

"If this is going to be my last . . ."

"Stop right there," Rona said. "Let's get beyond mortality issues and head over to Volvo. I have good feelings about the S60 model. Road and Track says . . ."

"You're reading Road and Track?"

"On line."

"That means soon your computer cookies will generate pop-up ads for assault weapons. Donald Trump says he reads Road and Track. And I didn't raise mortality issues. That Subaru salesman did with all his talk about side-impact air bags and engines winding up under the car after head-on . . ."

"I agree--enough. Pull in there. Let's check out the Volvo. One thing I know, our Maine friends will not make fun of us if we buy one."

"Half of them would prefer it if we bought a Ford pickup."

"Maybe we should check them out too."

"We're now about to look at Volvos. Let's try to concentrate on them and actually try to enjoy ourselves."

And we very much did, with the sensitive help of Donna H, the sales associate, and the manager. Sympathetic, even empathetic as they quickly picked up on our ambivalences--needing a car that worked in New York, Florida, and of course Maine. Preferring it to be luxurious but not too much so. Wanting to fit in in these diverse places, but also not make too much of a concession to what others might think. Minor torments of that kind.

After driving a sleek S30 all over Delray and then up to 80 miles per hour on I-95--where plenty of cars still whizzed by us--we placed it on our very short list. With BMWs probably no longer in play, the Volvo was likely the only car at the moment on the list. Short indeed.

Driving home again, Rona feeling weary and overloaded with too much to think about and juggle, referring to Vicente again, she said that maybe the next day we should go over to Toyota and Chevy and get down to the most practical of bottom lines.

"I'm not sure I want to do that. We started out fantasizing about Porsche Panameras and Mercedes--and I get taking them off even our Maybe List--but I think I'm OK with Toyota but Chevy? I don't think so. The Malibu is probably great, but I still have images of Dinah Shore on TV throwing kisses to the audience after singing about Chevy--'See the USA in your Chevrolet. America is asking you to call . . .'"

"Spare me. I get the point."

So just yesterday we drove over to the local Toyota dealer.

The showroom was in a massive new building right down Federal Highway. Dozens of cars on shiny display on the selling floor surrounded by bass-walled offices and comfortable waiting areas.

We checked out the Camry after deciding that the Avalon, if we were going downscale, even if "only" a Toyota was a bit too fancy looking. "Let's see the bead-and-butter model," Rona said.

It drove well, was fairly peppy, cornered almost as well as the BMW, and was a bit more than basic in the cabin. Fit-and-finish too was impressive--a concept I had "discovered" in my due-deligence research. "I think we have to give it serious consideration," Rona whispered, not wanting to show too much interest to the hovering salesman.

I nodded in agreement, to tell the truth feeling a bit deflated.

We started out at the very high end of the food-chain and here we were giving serious thought to a Camry. We'd be fine in Maine with one, OK in Florida, and who cared about New York as the car will just sit in the garage.

"I don't think I want a Toyota," I finally said to the solicitous salesmen.

As we were leaving, I said to Rona, "Look over there in the main waiting room. Who are all those people? There are about twenty of them, all with canes and walkers. Are they here on a field trip from their assisted living home? Again, I don't want to dwell on you-know-what, but do I really want to buy a car from a place that's on the senior citizen circuit? I mean, it's nice of the Toyota people to make them feel welcome, but . . ."

"They're not here as an activity," Rona said. "Notice where they're sitting. They're waiting for their Toyotas to be serviced."

"That does it," I said, "I hate myself for feeling this way and probably half of them are younger than I am. But . . ."

Back home, with the Volvo still the only car for the moment on our short list, looking out at the ocean to connect with something elemental--it's spinner shark season--I noticed a two-story ladder leaning on the side of our neighbor's house.

"What's that?" I asked Rona. "Is someone fixing her window or something?"

"I think it's the window washer. See the pail with a sponge and squeegee in it?"

"You're right," I said. "And look at that," I added. "Notice the car he's driving?"

"I've had it with cars. Can we not talk about them until tomorrow? I'm all relaxed and checking out the sharks."

"But you need to take a look."

Rona reluctantly hauled herself up out of her recliner chair and walked over to where I was standing.

"My God, you're right. He's driving a Mercedes. One just like our old E-450."

August 21, 2105--Friday at the Bristol Diner: Volvos

“We sure can use this rain,” an old-timer said, not looking up from his coffee. “If it keeps up this way for a few more hours it will do us a lot of good.”

“True,” I said. “We haven’t had any for, how long has it been now?”

“’Bout 16 days by my count. The last one we had was the first of the month. Everything‘s sort of parched.”

“Compared to last year, things have been real dry,” Rona recalled.

“True enough. One thing that makes no sense is . . .”

“The weather,” Rona said, completing his sentence.

“That too,” he said with a smile and a wink, though clearly not liking having his thought appropriated. “But don’t tell me about global warming.”

“We weren’t going to,” I said to assure him that things weren’t going to turn political so early in the morning.

Ignoring me, he said, “I know it’s going on and it isn’t any good, but not when it comes to the day-to-day.”

“I’m not sure you’re right about that,” I said in spite of knowing that I might be entering tender territory, “Just the other day I was reading in the Times that . . .”

Rona was poking me under the counter and so instead of hurtling forward I took a big gulp of coffee.

“Read that too he said,” surprising me. I wouldn’t have taken him for a New York Times reader. “They did make a case for that. That some of the weather we’ve been experiencing lately—the storm and floods and in other places the droughts—might be caused by that. But not that it hasn’t rained here, in how long has it been?” He smiled at Rona.

“I think 16 days,” I said, also smiling, relieved not to have to get myself all riled up so early in the morning.

“Quite something,” he said, nodding toward the window, “Where the sun is low in the sky is over Monhegan Island. Lots of artists made their way there. The Wyeths and Winslow Homer and even old Ed Hopper. Did I tell you I knew him?” We shook our heads. “Not all that well, but well enough to run him back and forth when I had my boat. I did some line fishing in my day. Lots of cod out there then. Pretty much all fished out by now. Sort of like what’s happenin’ with global warming when you think about it.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I stammered.

“That’s OK,” he said. “You and I are pretty much on the same page about that.” And with that, with some difficulty, he lifted himself from the stool. “That arthritis gets me every time,” he chuckled, “But got to get going anyway. Too much to do to linger with you folks. Though I enjoyed talking with you. Have as nice a day as you can.” And with that he was gone.

“I like him,” Rona said. “A little cranky but that’s how I generally am before I’ve had my coffee.”

“I agree,” I said, “We’ve been running into so many people like him up here. Friendly, but they also keep a bit of a distance.”

“As I would,” Rona said, “If I was a ‘native,’ so to speak. They have a long history here of having mixed feelings about people like us. ‘Cottage people,’ is how they refer to us. They depend upon us for the money we bring to the local economy but see them, or truthfully us, as also not always respecting their way of life. Wanting to do things our way.”

“Too often insensitively. I was reading the other day that along the coast here in many towns, including ours, there are now more outsiders than local people. And that this is even changing some town governments. Seasonable people register to vote here and manage to get recent residents elected to town boards and things like that.”

“Which often means,” Rona said, “that they want to keep things the way they are—rural and rustic and ‘charming’—while some who have been here for generations want to see the economy modernize so their children can find good jobs and be able to buy houses and stay here rather than feeling they have to leave and go to Portland or out of state to find work. It’s complicated.”

“True enough. On the way here this morning I saw a car in the parking lot with a bumper sticker that said:

Save A Lobster
Boil A Tourist.

"A little hostile but I guess it captures what some feel.” Rona nodded as she paid the check.

Back in the parking lot, based on our conversation about local people and outsiders, I said, “Let’s look at license plates to see who’s here.”

Even a quick survey revealed mainly Massachusetts, New York, and New Jersey cars.

“And look,” Rona said, “Look at the kinds of cars.”

I glanced around. “Mainly Subarus and Volvos and various kinds of SUVs and pickup trucks. But Subarus are clearly the vehicle of choice. Everyone seems to need, or want, four-wheel drive. It’s better in the snow.”

“How many of these people do you think are here in the winter? Who from New York is going to trek up here at that time? I’ll bet none. I think it’s an affectation.”

“An affectation?”

“Yeah, as a way of seeming intrepid. You know, ‘We have this place up in Maine and it’s so rural and remote and rugged that we need a 4WD to get up the road that leads to our place.’ I can just hear that.”

“Probably true. Look, even when we were looking for a car last year a Subaru was on my list of ones to consider. But then we reminded ourselves that we’ll never be here in the winter and though our cottage is on a dirt road we hardly need four-wheel drive.”

“So, what did we consider? Volvos of course. The other car of choice. And the one we finally bought, the Volkswagon.”

“Didn’t we agree at the time that we didn’t want to look like flatlanders? Folks from out of state? Or too yuppified? So that took Volvos off the list.”

“We even debated getting an American car. A Ford, which most of the locals drive.”

“But I said, we’re not locals and shouldn’t even think of trying to pass ourselves off as that. And I think American cars still have a ways to go before they’re as reliable as European or Japanese cars.”

“So we got the VW, which is working out well.”

Feeling good about ourselves we headed toward our Passat. “Look,” I said. “See how it’s getting all muddy. Talk about fitting in. Which cars here aren’t a mess? Interesting how when we’re other places we can’t wait to get it washed and detailed but up here the muddier the better.”

While I was opining about the virtues of mud, Rona whispered to me, “Look at that. Over there. Look what’s going on in that Volvo. The one between the two Subarus.”

I assumed she was pointing out a summer-peoples’ vehicular trifecta—a massing of Subarus and Volvos. “No, not the kind of cars but what that women from New York is doing on the back of her Volvo wagon.”

The hatch was up and from what I could see she was trying to load something into it. “I should go and help her. It looks as if she’s alone and struggling with something.”

“Not with what you think. Decidedly not an antique chair, if that's what you're thinking.” In fact that’s what I thought was going on. “Take a closer look. She’s far from alone and I don’t think she’d welcome your help.”

I moved past Rona so I could get a better look and saw that on the floor of the open hatch she had set up a changing mat, and wiggling on it was an infant whose soiled diaper she had just expertly removed.

“How clever,” I said. Rona nodded in agreement and I sensed she was tempted to go over to help or take a closer look. “If you’re going to have one of these kind of cars put it to good use.”

“And she surely is,” Rona added.

“But still,” I said, “I’m glad we didn’t get one of them.”

“A baby?” Rona was not understanding me as she was so engrossed in what was going on.

“You’re being silly,” I said. “Of course not. I mean a Volvo. Though I can now see its virtues.”

First posted August 18, 2010

October 10, 2014--Best of Behind: Gay Wheels

A piece of fluff from April 13, 2007--

Here I was all excited about the car we rented for an upcoming trip to Europe. For years I’ve had my eye on the Mini Cooper, thinking it’s not only fuel efficient but also pretty cool. I’ve been fantasizing about tooling around in one along the shores of the Mediterranean.

But now I read that if I’m seen in a Mini everyone will think I’m gay. At least according to the New York Times. They report that everyone on the TV show The L Word drives around in Minis so what will they think of me? I’m pretty secure in my sexuality, but then again . . . 

Maybe I should switch to a Land Rover.

If I’m reacting in this homophobic way, you might think that the last thing in the world an auto manufacturer would want would be to have one of its models come up on About.com’s list of “Top 10 Gay Cars” or on Gaywheels.com’s. You will be surprised to learn, then, that a number of car makers are unabashedly pitching their products to the gay market. For some years, Subaru most prominently featured Martina Navratilova in print ads with the double-entendre nature-nurture tag line “It’s not a choice. It’s the way we’re built.” The campaign was so effective that Subaru Outbacks have become known as Lesbarus.

This could easily be seen as a sign of progress. Not only have more and more gay people become liberated by emerging from the closet but many are becoming increasingly comfortable either throwing off or embracing homosexual stereotypes by driving, for example, cars such as black Mazda 3 hatchbacks that they consider butch.

On the other hand, some nervous straight guys drive “gay” Miatas by day but when dating rent Escalades to fend off the perception that they might be . . . you know what.

And I naively always thought that the dudes who drive Muscle Cars are the gay ones.

August 20, 2013--Midcoast: Mud Splattered

We don't need a new car but it's fun to look around.

Rona the other day was saying that we don't really need our VW Passat station wagon. That it's too big and hard to maneuver in and out of our narrow driveway. What's more, she says, "It's a little boring. Shouldn't we, for the summer at least, have something a little smaller and more fun? Maybe even a convertible?"

Up here in the midcoast of Maine, vehicles of choice are pick-ups, Volvos, and lots of Subaru Outbacks. All well-splattered with mud.

Driving back from our once-a-month car wash, we spotted a rare, sleek BMW ragtop. "Something like that," Rona suggested, pointing and  craning her neck to get a better look at it as it raced up the Bristol Road.

"Really?" I said, "No real Mainer would drive something that fancy. Even the very rich people here drive broken-down pickups. It's not like East Hampton where everyone has a Range Rover or Boca Raton where Bentleys outnumber Chevys."

"And none of those come coated with mud. Every other place in Florida is a car detailer." I knew from this that Rona was only playing with the idea of getting something spiffy to drive that would make us stand out and alienate us from all our friends.

"I don't think we've seen one Range Rover," Rona said, feeling good about that. "That's one of the reasons we like being here so much--you don't have to drive a Mercedes to show off or fit in."

"And I can get away with having only five pairs of pants to wear."

"Actually, four," she corrected me.

Not disputing that, I said, "There's another reason to keep our current car, though after washing it it looks a little inappropriate. I sort of liked the mud."

"What's that?"

"The other day in the New York Times I saw an article about a study, an actual study that compared how rich and lower-income people drive."

"Which concluded?"

"Essentially," I said, "that BMW drivers as compared to people with Fords are much more aggressive and discourteous."

"Why am I not surprised. Show it to me when we get home."

Later, while reading it, Rona quoted from the piece, "'The [study] team watched a four-way-stop intersection [in Los Angeles] over a week, noting how likely drivers were to cut in front of others when it was not their turn to go. In their observation of 274 cars, the researchers found that the more expensive ones were more likely to jump their turns in the four-way rotation.'"

"Didn't they also find," I recalled, "that about 80 percent of the drivers did the right thing?"

"Yes, that's the good news. 'But,'" she read from the article again, quoting the lead researcher, who did a study of cars and pedestrians in crosswalks--in California the law requires cars to yield, "'But you see a huge boost in driver's likelihood to commit infractions in more expensive cars. In our crosswalk study, none of the cars in the beat-up car category drove through the crosswalk.'"

"That settles it," I said, "No BMW for us. I like my VW. Especially when it's all splattered."

"That should be by later this afternoon," Rona said to assure me that we would soon lapse back into inconspicuousness.