car yarn

Late last month I went shopping (at the yarn store, which I no longer go to so often, 'cause yarn? expensive!) and parked across the street from my car's twin. It's a '93 car, so you don't see them that often. I felt I should commemorate the occasion with a photograph.

It even has the obnoxiously dark tinting my car used to have, until I discovered that DC does not allow such dark tinting.

supereasypass

One of the many challenges of driving from here to New England is the tolls. There's like 15 million of them. (I exaggerate. But they are numerous.) So I was kind of dreading having to slow down and dig up money every few miles.


But the rental car came with an E-Z Pass! So easy! And E-Z! They somehow send the bill to the rental car company and pay it off your credit card. It's kind of awesome. You just have to remember to slide the transponder out of its case before going through the special lane. (Fortunately, Miss Shirley and I are responsible people - and were really excited about the gadgetry - so we always remembered.) I just checked the bill - it was $42.85. Silly tolls.

car facts

This is the rental car after getting its first tank of gas, at a rest stop along the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut.

Fun facts about the rental car:

(1) It had Massachusetts plates, so we felt like we were driving it home, then snatching home away from it. Sorry, car.
(2) I can't heartily endorse the Chevy Malibu. Loud on the inside and really struggling on the uphills. (Not that my ancient car is any better.) It did get decent gas mileage, though - about 32 mpg.
(3) Automatics are weird. I had to squeeze my left foot against the door so I'd remember not to use it.
(4) Hertz has super-handy locations scattered around in hotels and stuff, so you don't have to go the airport and pay big ol' fees. Yay Hertz. Also, they only charged $11/day for a second driver. Double yay.

talk about the weather

This afternoon I was standing at my window watching it rain really hard. They'd predicted big weather for this afternoon, and the skies were starting to deliver. It's really cool watching storms from my window - I have a great view, from the parking lot under my window to the heights a few miles away.

Then while I was watching, the rain got even heavier, really pouring down - and all of a sudden a big oil slick whooshed out from under my car and ran down the drain. Whoops. Sorry about that, Mother Earth. Guess I know now just how much rain it takes to wash off that oil spot. I think the runoff from the parking lot goes into the geothermal system, so at least I'm not delivering my used motor oil *directly* to the Chesapeake Bay.

I just read there was a tornado watch until 5:00 this afternoon - I'm glad I didn't know that. Tornadoes have played starring roles in many of my nightmares.

stock car racing

Today I was outdoors for about four hours, singing or dancing most of that time. It was sunny and hot and by the end I was pretty wiped out. When I got home, I figured reading the New Yorker or watching Stalag 17 was guaranteed to put me to sleep immediately.

Instead, I found myself watching Nascar. They sucked me in with a little spin-out right after I flipped to the station. Then a few minutes later there was a giant crash, and how could I stop watching? This one driver was coming out of the pits and decide he should pull out onto the track right in front of the whole pack, which was going about twice as fast as him. Oops. One car ran up on top of his car and there were cars spinning out and running into each other all over the place. Almost all the cars were involved. (Everybody walked away - they've got impressive safety gear.)

Sample fascinating fact: Nascar cars have restrictor plates, which limit how fast the cars can go and are blamed for some of the nasty crashes, because restricting speed keeps all the fastest cars squished together in a pack.

Another fascinating fact: While the race is stopped after the crash, the crews can't work on the smashed-up cars. They spend the break examining the cars and figuring out how they're going to fix them when things start up again. Then they bash things around, straighten it up, and stick the body together with tablecloth-sized pieces of tape.

I don't think a race would be nearly as interesting to watch in person - it's really loud cars going around in circles - but with the commentary, the instant replay, and the help of the internet, it was totally engaging. It made me want to watch Cars again.

car update

I'm sure you were dying to know what happened to my leaky car. On the third try, my mechanic found and plugged the leak. But by then my parents had left for three months in Colorado and there was no way I was going to get the various linings, pads, and other doodads back in the car on my own. Well, my dad got back on Wednesday, and tonight we put everything back together. My car has a backseat again! And now people can ride in it without getting their rear ends wet!

not teach you how to spell, apparently

Can what?

oops, sorry bout that

I would like to offer an open apology to anyone who has ridden in the backseat of my car recently. Since that's only two or three people, and none of them read this blog, this apology is worthless, but I'm sorry anyway about your wet butt.

The other morning when I was trying to get the film off my back window, I spent about half an hour kneeling on the backseat scraping. And at the end of this time, my knees were wet. And I was like, huh, that's not right. I stuck my fingers down behind the seat and discovered...standing water.

So today my dad and I took the bench off the seat and pulled out the lining of the trunk and discovered that my car is basically a pond on wheels. We dried lots of surfaces with rags, took out various fabric bits to dry in the basement, and tried (unsuccessfully) to find a hole where the water was getting in. I bailed about three gallons of water out of the well where the spare tire sits. If it were warmer out, I probably would have been breeding mosquitoes back there.

The stuff in the water wasn't too rusted, so I'm hoping this is a recent problem. The car is at the mechanic's now - I hope he can find the leak!

dmv redemption

You may remember my fully-illustrated visit to the DMV a few weeks ago - there was much waiting, much sitting around, and to top off the fun, I failed for having a bad seal on my gas cap. (Oooops - sorry 'bout those fumes, atmosphere.)

Today was my last chance to get the car re-inspected without having to pay another inspection fee, so I had to go, even though it's a Saturday and a holiday weekend and everyone else would be there, too.

I was ready for a major ordeal. I left the house at about 7:15 with a bag of magazines, snacks, and cough medicines. (The inspection station opens at 7 on Saturday, but I have limits.) When I got close to the DMV, there was no line of cars around the corner and I thought, oh no, it's closed. But no - there just weren't that many people. I waited about 20 minutes, they tested my car, it passed, and I went around the corner to register and get a new title.

Anyway, I am now the proud owner of a pair of D.C. license plates. I thought the Maryland plates were better-looking, but I defy you to find a better license plate slogan than D.C.'s.

Since I said last time I'd bring my real camera on my next visit, here's one of the few photos I had time to take, displaying the extraordinary cleanliness of my back window:


Yesterday I paid my mechanic to get the rest of the tinting film and the horrible glue off the back window - I was afraid some overzealous inspector would fail me for the shreds of purple left behind after the scraping party on the last visit. I kept looking in the rear-view mirror and being shocked at how much I could see.

dmv debacle

I'm taking most of the week off because of the christmas show, so today I decided to get my car inspected and registered in D.C. Heck, I've only lived here six months, don't want to rush things. I'd heard the horror stories of the D.C. DMV, so I was prepared with snacks and magazines and patience.

10:20 I get in line. Actually one of three parallel lines. I read the New Yorker until it makes me sleepy, then the Washington Post magazine, which includes a particularly bad Date Lab. Find my Maryland registration stuck to something in the glove compartment - whew.


10:55 Reach the front of that line and join the line for old cars, which have to do the treadmill test. Sit there for half an hour, gradually realizing that I could be here all day. Eat some nuts. Pose for a few self-portraits.

11:40 Move my car into the inspection building. Honk the horn, flash the lights, turn the wheel to the right and left, demonstrate that it is a functioning vehicle, and go inside to wait. I watch through the window, and at about...
11:50 ...my car is on the treadmill and ready to go, when I notice that the car in front of it is no longer a little white car (as in picture above) but a large red SUV. Witness much discussion and pointing at my car.
11:53 My car gets backed up off the treadmill and the large red SUV has *its* emission test.


12:05 My car is back on the treadmill. Awright! I'll be out of here in ten minutes!
12:15 My car is pulled up to the end! Oh wait. They just drove it into the street. Oh. Now it's in another lane. I go out and this guy explains to me that somehow one of the inspectors pushed a button that meant my car got taken out of the computer system entirely, so my inspection didn't count. Oh, and by the way, it wouldn't have passed anyway because of my window tinting. And I said, ok, how do I get it off? And he says you use a razor blade, and walks away. And I'm like, well, great, because I don't have a razor blade on me. Then he comes back with two razor blades and we both get to work.


12:40 He finishes scraping. (He found a proper scraping tool - I was totally hopeless with the razor blade. He ended up doing almost the whole thing. He is my new favorite DMV guy. He broke two or three blades on my window.)
12:45 They test my car again.
12:55 My car FAILS. I need a new gas cap. Two and a half hours, and I'm not done yet.

So I'll be repeating this whole ordeal later in the week. Maybe that time I'll bring my real camera.

henry ford

Pretty, huh? Looks a little like England?


Well, it's a cottage from the Cotswolds (17th century, I believe), but it's in Dearborn, Michigan. One of the things I learned last weekend was that Henry Ford had a lot of money. Enough money to buy dozens of buildings and move them to Greenfield Village. Ok, a lot are replicas - some of the Thomas Edison buildings just had "some structural elements" from the original - but it's still pretty impressive.

When J.Vo dropped me off at Greenfield Village, I asked the ticket lady for a ticket, we discussed the fact that I was not a student and not a member of AAA, and she said, ok, that's $25. And I said, wait, I thought it was $20. And she said, parking is $5. And I said, but I don't have a car. And she just stared at me blankly. [Does. Not. Compute.] Ah, Michigan. Eventually we sorted it out, but she was really confused at first.

pointless post

This is my steering wheel. My choices at Target when I bought the cover were this one and Dale Earnhardt Jr. (There were boring ones, too, but...please. Would I do that?) But in the two or three years I've had it, the flowers have all come off, and I found one of the ladybugs in the parking lot when I went out to my car this morning.

I suppose I could get a new cover, but I feel that this one goes well with the aesthetic of the car. (Aesthetic of my car = "old.") Going without a cover isn't an option - the black stuff on the steering wheel comes off on my hands when it gets wet. Not that it has gotten wet recently, since it's rained, like, twice since June. Stupid drought.

Ok...I have no point. I like this picture, though.

parking lot

I love my little car. But I'm afraid it'll be embarrassed - it's now parked in the lot behind my building (yay - I got a spot that isn't a five-minute walk away) and, well, it's not the prettiest car out there. In fact, as viewed from my window above, it's definitely the crappiest-looking one in the lot.

Oh well - I guess this means it's the last in line to get broken into.

my dad

When I was about to come back to this area for my first summer internship as a wannabe science writer in 2002, my dad wrote an e-mail explaining why he thought it was important for me to learn to drive, and specifically learn to drive a stick shift, while I was home for the summer. It was funny, so I went and dug it up to paste here.

[Towwas]:

I am not thinking of buying a land rover. You see, when [location of internship] and [coincidentally, my current employer] offer to send you on your first science writing assignment to compare the alpine meadows of deserted Colorado mining camps with the deserts of Mexico, the first question is, of course, whether you can drive the old jeep that the "old timer" has available at the outpost at the end of the graded road. You say "yes" and land the assignment. And, it is a good thing that you can, because when you arrive you find that the best science writign material is all beyond the end of the road where all of the automatic transmission cars have broken down (surrounded by camel skeletons) and it is only you who can persevere to reach the flora and fauna that make you rich and famous. Furthermore, the stick shift, saves a bunch of starving, lost boy scouts with infected mosquito bites whose lives you are able to save by wisking them back to civilization in the vehicle with a stick shift. Incidentally, along the way you find the perfect, deserted cabin which, with only a minor bit of fixing, provides an ideal spot for small family reunions.

So, it is all a matter of being practical, as I said.

Dad

carless life

New reader (and stranger!) Sarah Moffett, who bravely uses no pseudonym in the blog world (she appears to be promoting a book, so it makes sense), asked last week how people live without cars. J.Po, Sophist, help me out here. How *does* one survive to the late 20s (and beyond) without driving? I'll kick things off with my narrative of the carless life, but there must be many ways.

In high school I didn't go out. So that was easy. When I had stuff after school, I took the "activity bus" home. In college, you could walk all the way across campus in 10 minutes, and out to the Happy Chef in about 20. And when it was -37 degrees out, well, a car probably wouldn't have started anyway.

In Norway, I took buses, although this kind of sucked. It sucked even more when the bus drivers went on strike. I walked a lot. In Japan, I was all about the awesome public transportation and, for longer outings, friends. Besides, they drive on the wrong side of the road there. No way was I going to learn to drive with *that* nonsense.

At My First Graduate Alma Mater, more buses, plus I finally learned to ride a bike. Long-suffering friends took me along when they went to grocery stores, parties, airports, and whatnot. At MSGAM, I finally bought a damn car. And here we are, five years and a few thousand miles later.

(S.Vix is carless, too, but she followed a normal carless pattern - knows how to drive a car, but gave it up because she lives in a city with high insurance rates, good public transportation, and zipcar. J.Po, Sophist, and I just never learned how to drive.)

car karma

I didn't get a car (and didn't really learn to drive) until I was 26. This wasn't a problem when I lived abroad, but there were a few years there where I got a lot of rides. A friend at MFGAM took me along when he went to the grocery store. Other friends dropped me off at the airport. There were expeditions to Target, to San Francisco, to various parks. The summers during college I more or less had to be driven everywhere. (Or stay in one place - there was a lot of that, too.) Good thing you could walk pretty much everywhere in college. (But thanks for the rides, Spice and J.Vo!)

So the upshot of this is that I now owe a ride to everyone in the world. This weekend I had two rehearsals and a barn dance, and I drove other people to all of them. Rawr. I think now I just have to give the other science writer who lives in my neighborhood a couple million rides to Giant and the airport, and the world and I will be even.

for J.Bro

To answer your question, J.Bro, they do have wheeled transportation in Norway. Totally modern and impressive wheeled transportation, too. See?

car troubles

The lady dancer is known for many things. Her outstanding dancing, for example. All the dashing young men who she has turned into national dance stars. And also, her unrelenting car problems. Wednesday night of the dance week we drove about an hour, hour and a half to Bø to go to the weekly dance there. (I rode in the tall one's car - he entertained me and his other passengers by telling funny stories, mostly in Norwegian, some of which we understood. Also by driving like a complete freakin maniac. I told myself, ok, he's a firefighter, he probably knows what he's doing, let's not think about it.)

So the whole way there, the lady dancer was driving really slow. It turned out her car had been overheating, so the menfolk bought her some coolant before we started back to the hotel. But apparently that wasn't enough to fix it. In this picture, I think the third time we stopped on the way back, all the men are standing around her car talking about what to do. Good thing there was basically no one else on the road that night, since we all kept pulling over in a line on these snowy mountain roads and standing in the way of traffic.

In the end, one of the guys traded cars with her and drove hers back. He didn't even drive it up the road to the hotel - it was still sitting just off the main road, waiting for a tow, when we drove by two days later.

exhaust

I have the week off, so today I took my car to get its emissions inspection. Newer cars can get plugged into a computer or something, but mine is old enough to get the treadmill test. They bring a tube up to the exhaust pipe, blow a real fast fan at the engine, and run it at 60 mph on giant rollers. It's pretty darn cool.

brakes are important

I have the Wikihow RSS feed on my google home page, and often the articles are kind of pointless. But this one struck me as one a person might actually want to read and memorize for use someday. A friend of mine was once driving down a fairly steep hill in a residential neighborhood in Monterey in an ancient car, which she hadn't had very long - she'd just learned to drive - when she discovered her brakes were not as interested in stopping at a four-way stop as she was. So she decided to hang a right at the corner, but unfortunately there was a car there. Oops. Good thing nobody was moving very fast.