about the talking fish

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Writer. Wheelman. Occasional DIY mechanic. Walking collection of hang-ups. Hopeless romantic. Old-school. Analog soul in a digital world. I am all of these things and more.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Large barge

I had to get behind the wheel of my dad’s Trooper before leaving home this morning to put it back in the garage. The drive was less than two minutes long, but it told me enough to realize I am never going to enjoy driving SUVs.

Just turning the tiller was a big effort in itself. Twirling the steering wheel doesn’t offer the same tactile feeling and response as doing the same in any car. You will be stymied, I’m sure, by how much muscle you have to exert in applying lock, only to realize that steering at full lock means you rotate at the same rate as an iceberg.

I was glad I just had to slot it into the straight garage below, not up the tricky curved ramp to our doorway. I would have put in some serious dents if I did.

The appeal of big hulking SUVs is completely lost on me. They’re too heavy, too thirsty and too unwieldy. If I had to have one, I’d pick a three-door RAV4 around the city, or a Mitsubishi Pajero Mini Turbo VR-II or Suzuki Jimny if I wanted a real rock-crawler.

But nothing will persuade me out of my love for pocket rockets.

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