Luciano: The old gray car ain't what she used to be — nor is the owner

Monday
Jan 1, 2018 at 1:46 PM Jan 1, 2018 at 5:07 PM

Phil Luciano Journal Star columnist @lucianophil

It’s said that over time couples begin to resemble one another, which is kind of charming.

The same thing is happening with me and my car, which isn’t charming at all, for either of us.

I’ve noticed this odd dynamic during the recent cold snap. We have a one-car garage, and that prime spot goes to the newer, 2012 vehicle. That means my 14-year-old road warrior has to lurk outside in sub-zero temps. Over the past few days, under mummy-like covering, I've slogged to fire up the engine a few times a day, to try to keep it from falling into a motionless deep freeze. As the mercury keeps dropping, the wheezing — by each of us — gets a little more labored.

Right now, as I plunk my keyboard from home, I’m procrastinating the first New Year’s Day start-up of the car. It’s minus 16, with a wind chill of minus 26. Out one window, I see my snow-dusted car — gray, with flecks of white, like its owner — looking almost sullen, as if wearily thinking, “Seriously, who doesn’t have a two-car garage in this day and age? Can’t you at least cover me with a blanket or something?”

I know it’s just a hunk of metal and wire. And with more than 220,000 miles on the odometer, it’s been relegated to backup status. My wife and I can navigate responsibilities — work, errands, whatever — usually with the newer vehicle. But the old car's survival is important to me. We've been to a lot of places and through some sticky situations. It's played a role in these pages, as well: I can’t begin to think the number of stories to which it’s escorted me, planned and otherwise.

So, I see the old gray car as important, not just for occasional drives but as my longtime companion. Of all the sets of wheels I've owned, though I stopped counting cars and crashes long ago, this one I've had the longest. By far. 

I take care of it as well as can be expected. For example, I recently bought a new battery, which is important to a car. Still, with every turn of the ignition, the dashboard’s warning lights flash like a Christmas tree. Still, I try to stay away from mechanic shops as much as the doctor's office: Too much possible bad news lurks there. I want to keep the machine humming, but not at the mortal expense of my wallet. The car's "do not resuscitate" order is any repair costing more than a couple hundred bucks.

So, that's why the car seems much like me. It doesn’t like to move fast anymore (45 mph is a comfortable top speed) or too far (traveling anyplace past the range of Pekin would seem risky). And, like yours truly, it occasionally blurts odd and disturbing internal sounds, though they usually subside with proper rest.

Actually, though the car has the pickup of a golf cart, I'm proud that it still rumbles along at all. Consumer Reports says the average car lasts about 11 years on the road, and mine is at 14. Meanwhile, the average U.S. lifespan is 78.6 years. Throw all that together, and my car’s age — in human years — is 100.

That’s an impressive number, especially to this 53-year-old. I'm going to handle my four-wheeled centenarian with care.

Just now, I stepped away from the keyboard, bundled up and trudged outside. Lungs searing and crackling with cold, I said a prayer for the old car as I creaked open the door and shoved the key into the slot. At the turn of the ignition, there was a long pause, as if the old car (like me in bed just a little bit earlier) didn’t want to relinquish slumber, especially to work on a holiday.

More pause, then a sudden VROOM. Well, maybe more like vroom, with a little coughing in the mix. The engine reluctantly cranked along with a chilly squeak, like a rusty hamster wheel. 

But I was smiling, thankful for another day — for the car, as well as myself — still alive and chugging into a new year.

PHIL LUCIANO is a Journal Star columnist. He can be reached at pluciano@pjstar.com, facebook.com/philluciano and (309) 686-3155. Follow him on Twitter.com/LucianoPhil.

Monday
Jan 1, 2018 at 1:46 PM Jan 1, 2018 at 5:07 PM

Phil Luciano Journal Star columnist @lucianophil

It’s said that over time couples begin to resemble one another, which is kind of charming.

The same thing is happening with me and my car, which isn’t charming at all, for either of us.

I’ve noticed this odd dynamic during the recent cold snap. We have a one-car garage, and that prime spot goes to the newer, 2012 vehicle. That means my 14-year-old road warrior has to lurk outside in sub-zero temps. Over the past few days, under mummy-like covering, I've slogged to fire up the engine a few times a day, to try to keep it from falling into a motionless deep freeze. As the mercury keeps dropping, the wheezing — by each of us — gets a little more labored.

Right now, as I plunk my keyboard from home, I’m procrastinating the first New Year’s Day start-up of the car. It’s minus 16, with a wind chill of minus 26. Out one window, I see my snow-dusted car — gray, with flecks of white, like its owner — looking almost sullen, as if wearily thinking, “Seriously, who doesn’t have a two-car garage in this day and age? Can’t you at least cover me with a blanket or something?”

I know it’s just a hunk of metal and wire. And with more than 220,000 miles on the odometer, it’s been relegated to backup status. My wife and I can navigate responsibilities — work, errands, whatever — usually with the newer vehicle. But the old car's survival is important to me. We've been to a lot of places and through some sticky situations. It's played a role in these pages, as well: I can’t begin to think the number of stories to which it’s escorted me, planned and otherwise.

So, I see the old gray car as important, not just for occasional drives but as my longtime companion. Of all the sets of wheels I've owned, though I stopped counting cars and crashes long ago, this one I've had the longest. By far. 

I take care of it as well as can be expected. For example, I recently bought a new battery, which is important to a car. Still, with every turn of the ignition, the dashboard’s warning lights flash like a Christmas tree. Still, I try to stay away from mechanic shops as much as the doctor's office: Too much possible bad news lurks there. I want to keep the machine humming, but not at the mortal expense of my wallet. The car's "do not resuscitate" order is any repair costing more than a couple hundred bucks.

So, that's why the car seems much like me. It doesn’t like to move fast anymore (45 mph is a comfortable top speed) or too far (traveling anyplace past the range of Pekin would seem risky). And, like yours truly, it occasionally blurts odd and disturbing internal sounds, though they usually subside with proper rest.

Actually, though the car has the pickup of a golf cart, I'm proud that it still rumbles along at all. Consumer Reports says the average car lasts about 11 years on the road, and mine is at 14. Meanwhile, the average U.S. lifespan is 78.6 years. Throw all that together, and my car’s age — in human years — is 100.

That’s an impressive number, especially to this 53-year-old. I'm going to handle my four-wheeled centenarian with care.

Just now, I stepped away from the keyboard, bundled up and trudged outside. Lungs searing and crackling with cold, I said a prayer for the old car as I creaked open the door and shoved the key into the slot. At the turn of the ignition, there was a long pause, as if the old car (like me in bed just a little bit earlier) didn’t want to relinquish slumber, especially to work on a holiday.

More pause, then a sudden VROOM. Well, maybe more like vroom, with a little coughing in the mix. The engine reluctantly cranked along with a chilly squeak, like a rusty hamster wheel. 

But I was smiling, thankful for another day — for the car, as well as myself — still alive and chugging into a new year.

PHIL LUCIANO is a Journal Star columnist. He can be reached at pluciano@pjstar.com, facebook.com/philluciano and (309) 686-3155. Follow him on Twitter.com/LucianoPhil.

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