Hot wheels

Cruising for a car that feels right.

The ink dried pretty quickly on my attitude toward cars. Fresh out of high school at the age of 16, my pockets flush with $190 a week from my job as a copyboy at the state’s biggest newspaper, there was really only one choice: a 1967 MG Midget in British racing green.

It cost me $A7,500. I got a reconditioned engine, so I couldn’t drive over around 30 miles an hour for the first few months. That was handy, as the rear window of the soft top was so yellowed I couldn’t see out of it, which meant I’d spend every drive counting the cars around me and memorizing where they were so I could change lanes safely. There were holes in the floor to drain water, the Momo steering wheel shuddered at any meaningful speed, and you were so low to the road you felt like a bug ready to be squashed.

But, boy, was it fun to drive.

It was my daily driver—why own a car and not drive it as much as possible?—and I often took it out late in the evening to stretch its short legs by bombing around Brisbane’s Mount Coot-tha, a small boombox on the seat next to me since there was no radio. I left it parked at my parents’ house when I went backpacking, fired it up six months later on my return, and had it long enough to be its owner when it formally became a vintage car by passing the 25-year mark in 1992.

After five years and additional spending of about $A7,500—the engine, a new soft top, new wire wheels, replacing the dodgy clutch, myriad small fixes—I sold it for … $A7,500. Not a great investment, but that’s not really what cars are about unless you have way more to spend.

I’ve recently been thinking about what we drive and what it says about someone. After the MG, I had a white Mazda Astina and then a sweet Land Rover Discovery. That was a little cumbersome on moving to Sydney, so I got a cheap blue Hyundai Excel hatchback with no air conditioning or power steering. It did the trick but it wasn’t me. At all.

Yet in the States, I’ve never owned a car I’ve fully wanted. There’s been a series of Volvos, a VW Jetta, and a lovely Audi Q5, which was the closest to something I’d choose for myself. For the past three-plus years, it’s been a VW Atlas, which is huge and best described as practical. That’s important to a degree, but if that was the ultimate criteria we’d all be driving minivans, which is a fate worse than death.¹

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not complaining, at least too much. I’m fortunate to be able to drive good cars and not have to worry too much about them breaking down or where the next tank of gas will come from. And I totally get that a car’s only real function is to get you safely from A to B and anything beyond that is a luxury.

But … it’s nice to feel good in a car. At least, I like to feel good in a car. Since the lease on the Atlas is up next month, I’ve been doing some mental gymnastics around what I really want and what I can afford, balanced against that dreaded word—practical—when it comes to the needs of two young sons who need to clamber in and out, like to keep a beach shovel and bucket at hand, and generally will only accumulate more stuff as the years pass.

The first-order decision is electric or not? EVs remain pricey in a country where cars are comparatively good value: as an example, the BMW’s X5 four-wheel drive starts at $49,500 for the gas model but its electric equivalent, the iX, is $87,250 (for the sake of comparison, a gas X5 in Australia starts $A154,504. Yes, you read that correctly). There’s always Tesla, of course, but I have a particular aversion to them: not only because I refuse to funnel money to Elon Musk, but because it seems every time a driver does something incredibly stupid, they’re driving one. It’s uncanny.

So, the real question becomes what’s increasingly important in every dimension of my life: what would make me feel the way I want, having taken affordability and practicality into account? I mean, I’d love a G-Class Mercedes but my lotto numbers haven’t come in. Smaller SUVs seem tricky on the space front. And anything new is kinda insane: cars are so reliable these days, so why pay full freight for something that loses 20% of its value the minute it leaves the lot?

I’m coalescing around going back to the future by finding a Range Rover Sport, which strikes a great balance of being understated but classy, roomy but not garguantuan, luxurious but not precious. They’re also reasonably priced if they’re a few years old, and I’ll cross fingers the company’s “buy a second one for parts” reputation has been laid to rest.

I loved my Discovery back in the day—it personified a time in my life where I was surrounded by family and friends, personally content, and professionally growing. Almost thirty years later, I’m grateful to be in the same place. With those I love piled in and some tunes for the road, I’ll be all set.

1. I could apologize to minivan owners but, I mean, seriously?

A note about whatever this is …

After writing a few thousand articles for newspapers and magazines, I spent a long time trying a bunch of other stuff. I guess I figured what came (relatively) easily must by definition be less valuable, so I wandered in the corporate wilderness, becoming increasingly frustrated and doing work that felt increasingly lousy.

Sometimes with age comes wisdom, and I’ve realized finding something (relatively) easy ain’t a bad thing. So, this is a space where I’m resurrecting writing for myself, on topics weird and wild and wonderful.

Posts will appear when the mood takes me, but I do try to be consistently inconsistent—sometimes it’ll be a couple of days between drinks; sometimes a week. But if you subscribe, you’ll get a email letting you know I’m ranting. Again.