The cars

I bought a new car over the weekend. I'll keep you in suspense until I actually take delivery, at which point I'm sure there'll be a post about it. But it got me thinking about a couple of things.

One is that no matter how faux friendly the salesman is with their mimicing technique-"You have a German Shepherd? I grew up with German Shepherds." "You used to live next to the beach? I live a block from the water." "So you like Breaking Bad? Best show ever!"—the car buying experience is awful.

Again, details for another post.

The other thing it reminded me of was all the cars I've owned.

Like the 1965 Plymouth Fury. It was my first car and it was an eight-cylinder beast. It ran great when it ran, which was usually about ten minutes at a time before something broke on it and had to be fixed. My parents bought the car for $500 from my cousin Mark, who I don't think I ever saw again after that. Wonder why?

By the way, the Fury was my first and last American car. Sorry Detroit, you had your chance.

Then there were the VWs. First was a 1971 Orange Super Beetle. I can still hear the gas sloshing around over my lap when I came to a stop since the gas tank was in front. That car got wiped out in a bad accident which left me with a little souvenir you can read about here.

Anyway I swore I'd never own a VW again, much less an orange one. That was right up until my 1973 Karmann Ghia called to me from the showroom floor. I loved that car, but what I didn't know is that it had originally come from the east coast. I found that out when the rocker panels started disintegrating. Rust never sleeps.

Just as a side note, when I met the wife she was driving a 1972 orange VW convertible, fully restored. Coincidence? I think not.

With my 1980 Celica, 1986 Supra, 1999 Land Cruiser and 2010 Lexus ES350, Toyota was well reprensented in my garage over the years.

Of course I speak metaphorically. There hasn't been room for a gnat's ass in my garage since the wedding. I'm not naming names.

There was the 1986 Mercedes E190 we bought from the wife's grandma in 1994. It was eight years old and had 12,000 grandma miles on it. There was a four and a six-cylinder model, and grandma had the four. It was like driving a brick, but the car didn't have the power to get out of its own way. Neither did grandma.

Then there was the 1995 Volvo 960 Wagon, which despite being the longest car I ever owned, could turn on a dime in the middle of the street. Volvo made its chops selling safety. They should've been selling turning radius.

My second experience with a Swedish car brand was the Saab 90 I bought off my friend Rob. It was a stick shift, and was technically my son's first car. But I was the one who wound up driving it the most, zipping around town and reliving my VW days when I learned to drive a stick. You know, real driving.

My 2000 Audi A6 was great right until it caught fire, which actually was a more pleasant experience than having the oil changed at the Audi dealer (there may be a hint there as to my new car).

Now you're up to date on my wheels. Or you will be when I post about the newest addition soon. And if you're keeping score on colors, it's one blue, two orange, two silver and six black.

They say the car you drive says a lot about you. Mine say, "Oh yeah, I'll have one of those."

Make some noise

My car is making a noise. It's a new noise, one it hasn't made since I've owned it.

It's a hard to describe noise. One of those "You'll know it when you hear it..." noises.

I, of course, hear it all the time.

I couldn't tell if the noise was doing damage or not, so I took it to my mechanic to have it checked out. Here's the funny part: he couldn't get the car to make the noise.

He kept it for two or three days, but it was no go. My car was as quiet as a church mouse and purring like a kitten when he drove it. So I went back, picked it up and drove it home. And guess what? It made the noise all the way home.

I thought to myself if my independent guy can't find it, maybe someone who has a lot of experience with my model car day in and day out would have better luck. So last Thursday, I drove my car to the dealer. I picked it up today. For those of you keeping count, that's six days they had to find the noise.

They couldn't find it.

Here's my theory. I believe, much like Stephen King's Christine, that my car is alive. Somehow it's found out I've been online looking at new cars to replace it, and now it's decided to punish me for it.

With a noise no one else but me can hear, it's made me think twice about selling it. I'm afraid when I'm least expecting it, the car will let the noise rip while every prospective buyer takes it for a test drive. I could always trade it in and take the financial hit, but I'm sure just as they were pulling it into the garage it would do it again and they'd offer me even less than they normally would.

As far as I can tell, I have two choices: run it into the ground, or wait and see if the noise disappears over time (just like my high school girlfriend).

Whichever road I decide to take, I'm sure you'll hear about it. If the car wants you to.