I prize (in this order), comfort, wide field of vision, visibility, crash-survivability, winter traction, and cargo capacity over fuel economy.
Which got me thinking: what criteria drew me to my present set of wheels? Expediency was certainly a factor, since my previous set of wheels had been rendered inoperable and, in the judgment of some auto-insurance type, unfixable, but there were thousands of cars for sale that June day in Oklahoma City, and Carmax would happily have trucked one up from elsewhere had I asked, so there had to be something drawing me to this particular car.
The first order of business was size, and there were two sets of dimensions to consider:
- Many people seeing me seated assume I’m six-five or six-six, until I stand up and reveal myself to be more of a point guard than a power forward: six feet even, with a 28-inch inseam. So I could give a flip about legroom; I just want to make sure I don’t scrape my scalp against the headliner.
- The garage at Surlywood was built in 1951 three years after the rest of the house and was not ideally suited to the longer, lower, wider stuff that Detroit ground out later in the decade. The previous owner drove a Nissan Maxima, so I would consider no vehicles that substantially exceeded its size.
Beyond that, I was looking for some measure of reliability, since I was buying used, and I didn’t like the machine-gun slits that passed for windows in some recent models. I ignored utterly the crash-test results having just had a crash, I was in no mood to contemplate the likelihood of another and I paid only perfunctory attention to fuel economy, inasmuch as all the cars under consideration were what the EPA terms “mid-size,” and that commonality of size suggested to me that gas consumption was likely to be about the same with any of them.
What sealed the deal, though, was a piece of cheap metal: the badge. As I explained at the time:
As a practicing plebe, I’ve always felt that if you want a Camry, you should buy a Camry, and forgo the big L badge. But there’s another side to this story: suppose, just suppose, that the guy who buys the Lexus, knowing he paid the big bucks, actually does a better job of taking care of his pricey little beastie?
And the other side of that coin: the Lexus dealership, by repute anyway, is going to be more anxious to curry the favor (possibly even the favour) of its customers than is your average Toyota store.
Which explains why I have an Infiniti I30, which, were it not for the badge and some glitz and 100 lb of sound insulation and a whole lot of manufacturer obsequiousness, would have been, yes, a Nissan Maxima. It’s something of a tradition around this house.