The Confession

      I have a confession to make.  It seems to upset quite a few people.  I’m always in my car when I do this thing.  I am normally alone because I have to be.  When people are with me and I do this they look at me like I beat puppies.  They roll their eyes and in some cases yell at me.

     “What the hell are you doing?”  “What are you thinking?”  “Not with me in the car?”  “I have places to be.  We don’t have time for this shit!”

     I’m not trying to do anything nasty.  I’m not doing it to be a clown or a pain.  I have to admit, I love doing the posted speed limit.  

     This hasn’t always been the case.  Most of my cars have seen speeds north of 120 miles per hour.  There have been acts of raging stupidity on two lane dirt roads with no visibility.  There has been hydroplaning in summer and sliding across ice in the winter.  I have been lucky enough to have walked away from every accident I’ve been in where I was the driver.  

     I don’t know what prompted doing the speed limit.  It could be that there was a significant gas savings.  Adaptive cruise control may have helped.

     For those who don’t know, this is where the car uses its sensors to gauge the space between the car in front of it and itself.  It then uses those sensors to keep a set distance between the two vehicles.

     This means if the car in front of me slows down, the car I’m driving slows down.  I found this out by renting a car when mine was in the shop.  At first I hated it but by the end of the weekend I loved it.

     When I got my car back I embraced the local cruise control life.  I wasn’t slamming on my breaks when I came around a corner and a police car was parked with its radar focused making its quota.  I wasn’t racing other cars just to meet up with them at the next stop light.

     In the past I used cruise on the highway.  I had a 50 mile drive on a relatively straight run for about 8 years.  Would typically leave the house at 5:45 in the morning.  There weren’t many cars on the road until the last 5 miles.  When you have to squeeze every last gallon out of the tank, every little bit helps.

     Turn the interior lights to their lowest setting.  Keep the heat and AC off until you absolutely need them.  Keep the windows rolled up.  Turn off the radio.  Pin the cruise somewhere between 55 and 60.  This can add an extra 5 to 10 miles in a pinch.

     The adaptive cruise control in the rental just let me set it and forget it.    I could just put my mind on autopilot.  My main car doesn’t have adaptive cruise.  It’s 14 years old.  I’m happy the Bluetooth connects to my phone most days.  It’s just regular cruise control so I still have to pay attention to make sure my hood doesn’t end up in the trunk of the car just ahead of me.  

     BUT that’s the thing about doing the posted speed limit.  There aren’t a lot of cars just ahead of me.  They are WAY ahead of me.

     The cars behind me, though, that’s a different story.  I have seen people get unreasonably upset when they are behind a car that is driving the speed limit.  This is especially true when they can’t pass.  I have had lights flashed at me.  People have beeped their horns like they were an ambulance headed to the hospital with a life and death emergency.

     I didn’t set the speed limit.  I didn’t write the rules.  The rules were written for me and have always been imposed on me.  I think that’s why I’ve hated them so much.  It’s amazing how people react when you embrace the rules they’ve set and then expect them to follow the rules they’ve set for you.

     When people finally do get a chance to pass I have been flipped all manners of the middle finger and called every derogatory name you can imagine.  I am not a complete asshole.  If I realize people need to pass and it’s safe enough to do it, I pull off to the side and let them pass.  I know what it’s like to really have to get somewhere faster even if you don’t want to be where you’ve got to go.

     The angriest people seem to think the rules are for OTHER people to follow.  If you check the history of the most ardent rule follower you will typically find the most historically egregious rule breaker.  Hell, I’ve been north of 120 miles/hour many times. When you check to see who wrote the rule, you will find a person who themselves could never follow it.

     I mean they set the limit.  They wrote the rules.  But the rules were written for other people, people like me.  The rules were written to be imposed on other people, people like me.  I love doing the posted speed limit especially when the people who wrote the limit for me are forced to follow that same limit themselves.

The Saab, The Suit & The Shake

      In June 2016 I took my car to my mechanic.  I felt a bit of a shake in the wheel.  I was in the Monday suit because it was Monday and I was on the way to work.  He came out with a look of concern.

     “Where did you drive this from?”  I had just come from a weekend at my Mom’s place, 55 miles up north.
     “The family spot,” I said matter of factly.  “You know. I stay up north every once in a while.  Help Mom out with errands and groceries.”
     “Didn’t you feel the wobble?”  Their eyes widened.  His apprentice had joined him.
     There was a spot on route 8 south where you could just open up.  There was no place for the police to hide.  On a good day, like that day, I would drop from fifth to third gear and the Saab would roar to life.  She would jump from 70 to 100 miles per hour in a matter of seconds.  That morning there had been a bit of a shake.
     “Yes, I felt a little wobble,” I said, neglecting to mention the 100 mile an hour morning.  “That’s why I’m here.  Is it another bald spot on the tire?  Are we at threads already?”
     It had been 4 years and 92,000 miles.  The majority of the service had been oil changes.  This was the replacement, the in between car.  The engine had blown on the first Saab due to overwork and general neglect.  I felt obligated to get it fixed because my lack of maintenance was the reason the engine blew in the first place.
     Three weeks after the repairs were done, it was destroyed by a tree on a back road in northwestern Connecticut. 
     The car between Saabs was a Nissan Altima.  That car ran for 4 years and 104,000 hard highway miles.  This was when I first experienced the shake due to tire wear.  The Altima did what it was supposed to do until it didn’t and eventually couldn’t.  This car, this inexpensive little Saab, was supposed to be a holdover until I could afford the car I wanted.  4 years and 92,000 miles later, I still wasn’t there.
     “You’ve got to come see this,” the mechanic said, shaking his head.
     New tires for the Saab were $600.  If I could get away with replacing the two bald tires today for $300, I’d be back in a month to get the other two when I had some more space open on the credit card.
     I walked onto the shop floor.  The tires didn’t really look all that bad.
     “See this?” He walked over to the front driver’s side tire and gave it a good shake.  It was solid.  No movement.
     “Yep.”  I said.
     He walked over to the passenger’s side front tire.
     “You see this?”  He barely touched it.  The whole wheel wobbled.
     “Oh shit,” I whispered through my teeth.
     “If you hit a pot hole just right, this wheel will fly off.  2 of your brake pads are at 3%, 1 is at 10% and one is at 5%.”
     “How is that possible?”
     “Because your back right brake is frozen open.”
     “I,” I started
     “You’re e-brake is disconnected.”
     I felt my shoulders drop.
     “What are we looking at?”
     “Give me a few minutes to write this up.”
     My shoulders were at my knees.
     I went back and sat in the lobby.  I immediately began looking for cars online.  As much as I loved this car, it had only cost me $2800.  It was supposed to be the holdover car.  It had taken me back and forth to work for a solid 4 years and had taken 92,000 miles of craziness.  As much as I loved the car, there had to be limits.  I couldn’t justify, let alone afford, more than $600.
     “We can have you up and running for $1800.”
     I heard the laughter before I realized it was me.  “Can I get it home?”
     His eyes widened.  “The tire could fly off.”
     “Not up north,” I clarified.  “The local spot.”
     “I mean you can but, I really wouldn’t recommend it.”
     “I … I,” I stammered over my words.  I was in the suit.  What I was about to say didn’t make sense.  “I just don’t have it.  I don’t have $1800 to spend on a $2800 car that will need another $1500 in 6 months.”
     He looked at me with the eyes of a man who just lost a sale but he also seemed genuinely worried.
     “Yes, you can get it home, but DON’T take the highway and, for god’s sake, don’t go over 35.”
       I just wanted to make sure I could get home.  I didn’t have to head back north for a little while.  I had a local place to park the car and lay my head.  Once I got there and took a few deep breaths, I could take time to make time to make a delicate decision without an immediate sense of urgency upon me.
     The suit and Saab may have been solid but they hid the fact that if I hit even the smallest bump in the road, the wheels would fall off.