The Prius phase

It seems there are phases both genders - and I'm going to limit it to two for the purpose of this post - go through.

For boys, it's usually firetrucks, dinosaurs and baseball. For girls, it's often horses, dolls and photography.

But eventually time catches up with us all, and the childhood phases slowly recede as we discover more expensive, adult phases to pass through. However, there's a new phase adults of both sexes seem to be grudgingly surrendering to.

The Prius phase.

As phases go, I suppose it's an admirable one, as opposed to, say, shoplifting or cutting yourself. But if you appreciate a finely tuned, high-performance, road-eatin' ride, the fact is it can be just as damaging.

What happens is one day a person is overcome with the uneasy feeling perhaps they need to be more socially conscious. Or that the coming derision is more tolerable than the $500 a month tab for gas. Perhaps they feel compelled to make a statement. Statements range anywhere from "I'm environmentally forward thinking" to "Yes I'm a better person than you" to "Is this thing on?" to "Did I tell you I get 55 MPG?"

Many times, especially when they try to show off their smaller carbon footprint by speeding and cutting you off on the freeway, the statement becomes "Look at me, I'm a douche in a Prius." I'm pretty sure this last one is unintended. But it doesn't make it any less true.

Inevitably after a while living with the car, the Prius phase begins to run its course. Drivers begin to miss the sound of an engine when they press the accelerator (in the Prius, it's called the "pedal on the right"). They long for a less tinny sound when they close the car door. The idea of a car - like the one they traded in for the Prius - that can run a curve and stick like glue becomes a yearning. It's all they can think about.

Next thing you know, the same guy that drives the service department shuttle is taking your Prius around back while they're writing up the paperwork on your new A6, 530i or AMG C63. The siren call finally gets answered.

And the good news is once it's over, you can finally stop wearing that t-shirt. You know, the one that says "Prius. Because a gas-guzzlin’, ass-kickin’, fast-movin’, sweet-soundin’, head-turnin’, envy-causin’, great-feelin’ car just isn’t me."

Baby you can't drive my car

There are a whole trunkful of copywriters and art directors who, at any given hour of any given day, are working on car accounts. It's their job to put into words and pictures the experience of driving whichever car model their client makes. If your client makes a fun, sporty performance car, it makes your job easier. If they make a minivan, well, it makes your job a paycheck.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

But minivan or sports car, the point is it's meant to be driven.

I'm talking about the thrill of driving. Where you feel the feedback from the road through your hands on the wheel. Where your tires stick like Krazy Glue while you’re taking a curved on-ramp at 70mph. And ride like you’re on rails in the straightaways. That never-get-tired-of-it feeling of being slammed back in your seat as you hit the gas and accelerate past some rustbucket doing nothing but standing between you and where you want to go.

You know, the experience of driving. You know that experience? Well forget it.

From Google to Mercedes to GM, everyone is jumping on the new automotive fad of a car that drives itself bandwagon.

To which I say, what’s the point? (I say that to a lot of things, but this – really?)

Isn’t the definition of driving to drive? Not to wax too poetic, but no one wants to be the ballerina that never dances. The thoroughbred that never races. The swimmer that’s never sliced through the water. Alright, so analogies aren't my strong suit. But you see where I'm going.

This is one I really don’t get. I mean, I understand the appeal of driving my car into a parking garage, then getting out and letting it find it’s own parking space while I go off to Five Guys. I mean the gym. But then, I don’t get the full parking experience, an essential adjunct to the driving experience.

Taking refuge behind the cause of "safety," some cities are now installing roadside sensors for cars that drive themselves to follow. This is very reassuring. These cities can’t even repair potholes.

The picture above is a Mercedes prototype called the FO15. It drives itself, although there’s a steering wheel should you become overwhelmed with nostalgia or the urge to shut off the auto-pilot and drive yourself.

This other picture is the inside of the F015. Apparently carmakers believe if you don’t have to worry about driving, you’ll spend your commute time more productively by working on the way to and from the job.

I barely work at work. I don’t see it happening.

There’s a bigger story here about technology for its own sake, and questions that need to be asked. For example, just because we can do something, should we? Coincidentally the same question I asked about my high school girlfriend.

Because there’s a tangled web of liability questions, routes, judgment calls the car would have to make in a split second, I don’t see the self-driving car as a realistic option for decades, if ever.

But in the unlikely event self-driving cars hit the road sooner rather than later, I’d have to tell it the same thing I tell my kids.

If you can drive yourself, you can pay for your own gas and insurance.