Almost two months ago I had the opportunity to drive a Ford Escape, categorized as a smaller SUV, or less-than-full-sized SUV. Let the record reflect, I hate SUVs. They are big, clunky and waste gas.
So when I got this car at the rental counter, I asked for another. They didn’t have any. I resigned myself to a heavy lurching experience, too high off the ground and an inability to park in anything but a king-sized space.
Rather remarkably, driving the Escaped reformed my opinion, and actually made me want to buy the vehicle. It was smooth, accelerated well, handled nicely and was extremely comfortable, none of which I expected.
Since returning from that trip, I have told the story to multiple friends about how I want my next car purchase to be a Ford Escape. I am somewhat kidding and somewhat serious when I make the statement, as I still want to get exceptional miles per gallon, and the SUV does not make the grade on that front. But on some qualities, it woke me up.
I am not a car person, and haven’t been for years. For 4-and-a-half years in my early 20’s, I chose not to have a car when I lived in Milwaukee and Washington, D.C. I lived close to where I worked, played and socialized. This allowed me to walk, bicycle or take mass transportation anywhere.
Getting rid of my car had been easy, and was facilitated by one of my college professors in Milwaukee. He and his wife had lived in NYC (where he taught at Fordham), Greenville, NC (East Carolina University) and Milwaukee without a car, and maybe even Tulsa, OK, if memory serves me correctly. Regardless, they were able to do everything they wanted without driving, and he helped spur me towards getting rid of my wheels.
Once you do this, you come to understand how often you drive when you don’t need to, and the consequences -- from air pollution, to paving over farmland and beautiful country so we can have roads and parking lots, to the incessant traffic and congestion in urban areas. It’s when you get “out” of the car that you see all those problems more clearly.
This further fueled my non-love affair with the automobile. Bicycling across the United States in 1982 cemented many of my views about living without a gasoline-powered vehicle.
When I backed into buying one next, I had few requirements: High gas mileage; leg and head room; space for my golf clubs. Comfort did not matter.
For almost 30 years, those standards have remained the same, though getting married and having kids has mandated a slightly larger vehicle to transport three kids. Still, small, environmentally-friendly cars have been my modus operandi.
Which is why the Escape, and my feelings toward it, seem so unusual. I loved the sound system, the cushy seats and the acceleration.
Getting back to my Hyundai Accent upon returning home felt like climbing into a tin can. The doors rattle when shut. The engine strains every time you need you to get up to highway speed. When we drove it into the country last weekend, every time a pebble kicked up, you could hear it rattle the undercarriage. The seats are hard, cut into my hamstrings and strain my back when riding long distances.
I’m become soft, that is clear. I want a nicer car. It’s something I never thought I’d say. I’m going to fight the urge. But someday the call of the Ford Escape may prove too hard to ignore.
So when I got this car at the rental counter, I asked for another. They didn’t have any. I resigned myself to a heavy lurching experience, too high off the ground and an inability to park in anything but a king-sized space.
Rather remarkably, driving the Escaped reformed my opinion, and actually made me want to buy the vehicle. It was smooth, accelerated well, handled nicely and was extremely comfortable, none of which I expected.
Since returning from that trip, I have told the story to multiple friends about how I want my next car purchase to be a Ford Escape. I am somewhat kidding and somewhat serious when I make the statement, as I still want to get exceptional miles per gallon, and the SUV does not make the grade on that front. But on some qualities, it woke me up.
I am not a car person, and haven’t been for years. For 4-and-a-half years in my early 20’s, I chose not to have a car when I lived in Milwaukee and Washington, D.C. I lived close to where I worked, played and socialized. This allowed me to walk, bicycle or take mass transportation anywhere.
Getting rid of my car had been easy, and was facilitated by one of my college professors in Milwaukee. He and his wife had lived in NYC (where he taught at Fordham), Greenville, NC (East Carolina University) and Milwaukee without a car, and maybe even Tulsa, OK, if memory serves me correctly. Regardless, they were able to do everything they wanted without driving, and he helped spur me towards getting rid of my wheels.
Once you do this, you come to understand how often you drive when you don’t need to, and the consequences -- from air pollution, to paving over farmland and beautiful country so we can have roads and parking lots, to the incessant traffic and congestion in urban areas. It’s when you get “out” of the car that you see all those problems more clearly.
This further fueled my non-love affair with the automobile. Bicycling across the United States in 1982 cemented many of my views about living without a gasoline-powered vehicle.
When I backed into buying one next, I had few requirements: High gas mileage; leg and head room; space for my golf clubs. Comfort did not matter.
For almost 30 years, those standards have remained the same, though getting married and having kids has mandated a slightly larger vehicle to transport three kids. Still, small, environmentally-friendly cars have been my modus operandi.
Which is why the Escape, and my feelings toward it, seem so unusual. I loved the sound system, the cushy seats and the acceleration.
Getting back to my Hyundai Accent upon returning home felt like climbing into a tin can. The doors rattle when shut. The engine strains every time you need you to get up to highway speed. When we drove it into the country last weekend, every time a pebble kicked up, you could hear it rattle the undercarriage. The seats are hard, cut into my hamstrings and strain my back when riding long distances.
I’m become soft, that is clear. I want a nicer car. It’s something I never thought I’d say. I’m going to fight the urge. But someday the call of the Ford Escape may prove too hard to ignore.
