Soul-searching and car-shopping: What’s the best machine for our needs?
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Version 0 of 1. My Lovely Wife never really liked our old car, a boxy and upright station wagon called a Kia Soul. Not enough pep, she said. Blind spots in the back, she said. But what really bothered her were the windows. The first morning she went out to the car after a rainstorm, she rolled down the driver’s side window to clear it of water droplets. When she rolled it back up, the droplets were still there. “Where’s the thing?!” she said. The thing? “The little strip on the door that wipes away water!” Cars used to have little water-wiping window strips. Our metallic green 2012 Kia Soul did not have them. My Lovely Wife drove it under protest for the next seven years. Which takes us to last month, when we decided to replace the car. It has actually performed quite well: never had a major mechanical problem, never been in a crash, accumulated just under 100,000 miles on the odometer. But it was out of its initial drivetrain warranty, and I worried the bills might start racking up. And I confess I was in an acquisitive mood, enveloped in the red mist of capitalism that descends on me from time to time. The fever forces me to pay attention to car commercials on TV, to peruse car magazines and websites, to gaze longingly at vehicles idling next to me at traffic lights, wondering “What if?” Plus, the last seven years have been an eternity in the car world. All sorts of new technologies have been introduced since 2012: blind-spot warning, lane-departure warning, pedestrian detection. Today’s cars not only drive themselves, they crash themselves, too, saving you the trouble. “Whatever we get,” My Lovely Wife said, “it has to be a good machine, no matter what it costs.” This is one of Ruth’s mantras, drummed into her by her father, an engineer. His basement workshop — workshops, I should say; he had two — bristled with quality tools. Is a $10 Phillips-head screwdriver really better than a $1 screwdriver? It depends on whether you’re okay with the tip of it eroding after a few hundred rotations, turning it into a raggedy awl. “So,” I said, “if a Porsche Cayenne GTS, a luxury crossover sport-utility vehicle, is really the best machine, we should get that?” Yes, she said. “Or a BMW X5 M50i, a high-performance SUV with a twin-turbo V8 and an MSRP approaching $85,000?” Yes, she said. But I was just kidding. I’m too secure in my manhood to get a Porsche and too considerate a driver to get a BMW. Besides, the main task any Kelly vehicle must perform is hauling a set of drums to and from my band’s gigs at area dive bars. As much as I might covet a Porsche or a BMW — or an Audi, a Lexus or a Volvo — I just can’t envision myself pulling up in front of Takoma Park VFW Post 350, a.k.a. “Hell’s Bottom,” in one. It would be like asking for Grey Poupon at a tractor pull. Which explains why My Lovely Wife and I are the proud — if sheepish — owners of a brand-new . . . Kia Soul. Does that show a certain lack of imagination? Maybe. But the “good machine” dream must be balanced against the “affordable machine” reality. I flirted with the handsome and well-reviewed Mazda CX-5, but it cost just enough more to get itself crossed off the list. There was a time in America when wealthy sales reps would treat themselves to a new Cadillac Eldorado or Lincoln Continental every year, trading them in like clockwork. I guess this is my version of that. We’ve had the Kia Soul — “inferno” red with a black interior — for a few weeks now. After the first overnight rainfall, Ruth went out and rolled down her window. When she rolled it back up, the raindrops were still there. Perhaps none of today’s car windows wipe away the raindrops. After all, cars don’t have opening vent windows anymore. Our new car has seat warmers, which are nice. And keyless doors and ignition, which are weird. As long as you have the key fob somewhere on your person, all you have to do is walk up, push a button on the door handle and the car unlocks. Inside, you just push a button on the dash and the engine roars to life. You turn the engine off and lock the car the same way. These breakthroughs are taking some time to get used to. We park the car in the driveway, walk to the front door and then stand on the stoop irritated because we have to endure the hardship of pulling a set of house keys out of a pocket or purse. And the keyless ignition seems like a recipe for trouble. One of My Lovely Wife’s colleagues was summoned from a reception not long ago to rescue his teenage daughter at the mall. She’d left the house in the family car, starting it when her mother was standing next to her in the driveway. When she finished her shopping, she realized she couldn’t start the car. Her mother had been holding the key fob. Sometimes we outsmart ourselves with technology. Twitter: @johnkelly For previous columns, visit washingtonpost.com/john-kelly. |