Too frequently you hear here and elsewhere about the 15-20 year old Volvo or something else that "runs like a top". I saw this article in the New York Times today and thought it was far more representative of what "runs like a top" really means...
From New York Times, January 23, 2004:
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/01/23/automobiles/23JUNK.html
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THERE is a certain type of car owner who takes pride in driving the latest and greatest model. Upon hearing that the Mercedes Deluxe is being followed by the Mercedes Super Ultra, the hairs on their arms tingle. Al Engelhart is not one of those people. Mr. Engelhart, who lives in Hingham, Mass., belongs to another breed of driver entirely. One that, as a consequence of thrift, sentimentality or perhaps plain old inertia, is wedded to the same aging vehicle for a very long time. We're talking decades. Indeed, Mr. Engelhart still owns the 1983 Volvo 244 GL he bought new 20 years ago and calls Blanche for its ivory color. The body is rusted and the car is drafty in the winter. And, frankly, it smells like gasoline. But, Mr. Engelhart, a chemical engineer, argues that it "still runs like a top."
For dedicated old-car owners like him, the routine act of driving can be a highly involved journey. There are frequent mechanical failures, long caucuses with mechanics and salvage yard workers and nickel-and-dime problems - windows that don't shut, broken gauges - that drive everyone but the owners crazy. Not to be forgotten are the social indignities: ribbing from friends, pleas from embarrassed relatives.
"People are always asking me, `When is your father going to get rid of that car?' " said Karen Hewitt, whose 77-year-old father, James McKeon, still drives his beloved 1984 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. When Ms. Hewitt, who lives in Queens, recently borrowed the car, known as the Cadoo, to take her 6-year-old son to a New York Rangers game, it stalled in a busy intersection. "My son slid down in his seat and begged me to never take the car again," Ms. Hewitt said.
Many old-car drivers say the decision to hang on to a clunker is one of simple economics: they're saving a bundle on new-car payments. But it's often only a delusion, said Richard Hart, who lives in Durham, N.C., and owns a 1963 Dodge Dart that has seemingly spent as much time in the shop as on the road. "You always tell yourself, `It's only a couple hundred more bucks,' " Mr. Hart said. "It's like you have amnesia. You think if you get it fixed, it'll be good for another year. Of course, it never is."
A look at Mr. Engelhart's repair records shows just how pricey an old car can be. Told in color-coded, spreadsheet format, the story of Blanche is one of small, routine costs punctuated by eye-popping expenditures, like the $2,400 bill in March 1992 for "Volvo salvage and reconstruction." "My wife slid down a hill on one of those icy days," Mr. Engelhart said. "Totaled the front end." Or the $2,300 he spent in November 1998. "I took it for a paint job and the guy says, `It's rusted. Your whole frame might split in half.' Blanche had to have a complete floor job. There was an argument in my house over that one."
While some hold on to old cars to avoid the costs of buying a new model, others, like Mr. McKeon, do so out of sheer devotion. To hear him recall the day, in 1985, that he walked into Potamkin Cadillac in Manhattan and bought the Cadoo is to attend the beginnings of an epic romance. "The salesman told me, `See that car, Jim? It's the last of the big ones,' " Mr. McKeon said. "The minute I laid eyes on it I fell in love."
Like all passionate affairs, however, his is a bit starry-eyed. In Mr. McKeon's view, the car is "almost like new." If, of course, you overlook the deep scratches on the bumper. And the cracks in the leather upholstery, the duct tape on the taillights and the rust on the wheel wells. Still, at nearly 20 years old, the car has only 87,000 miles on it, and, Mr. McKeon says, people will sometimes leave a note on his window asking if he wants to sell. The answer: an emphatic no.
Then there are people like Jim Travers, who don't seem to be motivated by either love or money. Mr. Travers, an Internet marketer in Dania Beach, Fla., has three old cars, including a 1992 Chrysler Town & Country minivan that, he noted, is "not a car anyone would keep for sentimental reasons unless they're an idiot." It has been recalled several times, and the air-conditioning works only on high. "You have to be seriously motivated to cool down," he said. The speedometer began following its own scientific principles, adding a one to the miles per hour - 145 equals 45 - before quitting entirely and emanating a green glow at night, which, besides being creepy in a Stephen King way, drained the battery.
Why does he still drive the thing? "I guess it's the familiarity," Mr. Travers said. "I can parallel park it with my eyes closed. And I know how it's going to behave in any weather situation. Plus, it's gotten me out of car-pooling at work." No one will ride in it.
NEARLY everyone has held on to a car too long at one time or another. But it takes a distinct personality to consistently go against our car-conscious society and drive what many would call a clunker. Will power is important, to resist the lure of splashy car advertisements, as well as a certain indifference to advancements in design and even a disregard for safety improvements like antilock brakes and traction control.
Above all, driving an old car requires a good mechanic. "Finding an auto shop near your work is key," said Mr. Hart, an editor at an alternative weekly. "That way being without a car isn't so bad - you can walk to your job." Mr. Hart's Dodge is in the shop again, awaiting a steering column tube, an obscure part he tracked down from a Dart enthusiast near the Arctic Circle in Sweden.
Mr. Engelhart, meanwhile, has assembled around Blanche a crack team of specialists more commonly associated with million-dollar race cars: a tow-truck operator, a body man, a painstaking mechanic who can eke the most out of an aging engine. Which is a good thing, because two Saturdays ago Al Jr. was on his way to a snowboarding meet when Blanche spun out of control and smashed into a guardrail, doing several hundred dollars' worth of damage. Mr. Engelhart's prognosis? "I think we're going to be able to save the car," he said.
But maybe there comes a time when even the most die-hard owner should just pull the plug. Curtis Burrell, reached at Bobby's Junkyard in Cornelia, Ga., is used to seeing drivers comb the lot for parts for their old pickups. Mr. Burrell can sympathize. "I had a car like that for about five years," he said, "a 1988 Ford Bronco II, and I just couldn't get rid of the damn thing. I was obsessed with it. It kept breaking down."
Finally, he had had enough: "I stuck a sign out on it and sold it. I tell you when the guy drove off, it felt like a thousand- pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders."
From New York Times, January 23, 2004:
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/01/23/automobiles/23JUNK.html
---
THERE is a certain type of car owner who takes pride in driving the latest and greatest model. Upon hearing that the Mercedes Deluxe is being followed by the Mercedes Super Ultra, the hairs on their arms tingle. Al Engelhart is not one of those people. Mr. Engelhart, who lives in Hingham, Mass., belongs to another breed of driver entirely. One that, as a consequence of thrift, sentimentality or perhaps plain old inertia, is wedded to the same aging vehicle for a very long time. We're talking decades. Indeed, Mr. Engelhart still owns the 1983 Volvo 244 GL he bought new 20 years ago and calls Blanche for its ivory color. The body is rusted and the car is drafty in the winter. And, frankly, it smells like gasoline. But, Mr. Engelhart, a chemical engineer, argues that it "still runs like a top."
For dedicated old-car owners like him, the routine act of driving can be a highly involved journey. There are frequent mechanical failures, long caucuses with mechanics and salvage yard workers and nickel-and-dime problems - windows that don't shut, broken gauges - that drive everyone but the owners crazy. Not to be forgotten are the social indignities: ribbing from friends, pleas from embarrassed relatives.
"People are always asking me, `When is your father going to get rid of that car?' " said Karen Hewitt, whose 77-year-old father, James McKeon, still drives his beloved 1984 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. When Ms. Hewitt, who lives in Queens, recently borrowed the car, known as the Cadoo, to take her 6-year-old son to a New York Rangers game, it stalled in a busy intersection. "My son slid down in his seat and begged me to never take the car again," Ms. Hewitt said.
Many old-car drivers say the decision to hang on to a clunker is one of simple economics: they're saving a bundle on new-car payments. But it's often only a delusion, said Richard Hart, who lives in Durham, N.C., and owns a 1963 Dodge Dart that has seemingly spent as much time in the shop as on the road. "You always tell yourself, `It's only a couple hundred more bucks,' " Mr. Hart said. "It's like you have amnesia. You think if you get it fixed, it'll be good for another year. Of course, it never is."
A look at Mr. Engelhart's repair records shows just how pricey an old car can be. Told in color-coded, spreadsheet format, the story of Blanche is one of small, routine costs punctuated by eye-popping expenditures, like the $2,400 bill in March 1992 for "Volvo salvage and reconstruction." "My wife slid down a hill on one of those icy days," Mr. Engelhart said. "Totaled the front end." Or the $2,300 he spent in November 1998. "I took it for a paint job and the guy says, `It's rusted. Your whole frame might split in half.' Blanche had to have a complete floor job. There was an argument in my house over that one."
While some hold on to old cars to avoid the costs of buying a new model, others, like Mr. McKeon, do so out of sheer devotion. To hear him recall the day, in 1985, that he walked into Potamkin Cadillac in Manhattan and bought the Cadoo is to attend the beginnings of an epic romance. "The salesman told me, `See that car, Jim? It's the last of the big ones,' " Mr. McKeon said. "The minute I laid eyes on it I fell in love."
Like all passionate affairs, however, his is a bit starry-eyed. In Mr. McKeon's view, the car is "almost like new." If, of course, you overlook the deep scratches on the bumper. And the cracks in the leather upholstery, the duct tape on the taillights and the rust on the wheel wells. Still, at nearly 20 years old, the car has only 87,000 miles on it, and, Mr. McKeon says, people will sometimes leave a note on his window asking if he wants to sell. The answer: an emphatic no.
Then there are people like Jim Travers, who don't seem to be motivated by either love or money. Mr. Travers, an Internet marketer in Dania Beach, Fla., has three old cars, including a 1992 Chrysler Town & Country minivan that, he noted, is "not a car anyone would keep for sentimental reasons unless they're an idiot." It has been recalled several times, and the air-conditioning works only on high. "You have to be seriously motivated to cool down," he said. The speedometer began following its own scientific principles, adding a one to the miles per hour - 145 equals 45 - before quitting entirely and emanating a green glow at night, which, besides being creepy in a Stephen King way, drained the battery.
Why does he still drive the thing? "I guess it's the familiarity," Mr. Travers said. "I can parallel park it with my eyes closed. And I know how it's going to behave in any weather situation. Plus, it's gotten me out of car-pooling at work." No one will ride in it.
NEARLY everyone has held on to a car too long at one time or another. But it takes a distinct personality to consistently go against our car-conscious society and drive what many would call a clunker. Will power is important, to resist the lure of splashy car advertisements, as well as a certain indifference to advancements in design and even a disregard for safety improvements like antilock brakes and traction control.
Above all, driving an old car requires a good mechanic. "Finding an auto shop near your work is key," said Mr. Hart, an editor at an alternative weekly. "That way being without a car isn't so bad - you can walk to your job." Mr. Hart's Dodge is in the shop again, awaiting a steering column tube, an obscure part he tracked down from a Dart enthusiast near the Arctic Circle in Sweden.
Mr. Engelhart, meanwhile, has assembled around Blanche a crack team of specialists more commonly associated with million-dollar race cars: a tow-truck operator, a body man, a painstaking mechanic who can eke the most out of an aging engine. Which is a good thing, because two Saturdays ago Al Jr. was on his way to a snowboarding meet when Blanche spun out of control and smashed into a guardrail, doing several hundred dollars' worth of damage. Mr. Engelhart's prognosis? "I think we're going to be able to save the car," he said.
But maybe there comes a time when even the most die-hard owner should just pull the plug. Curtis Burrell, reached at Bobby's Junkyard in Cornelia, Ga., is used to seeing drivers comb the lot for parts for their old pickups. Mr. Burrell can sympathize. "I had a car like that for about five years," he said, "a 1988 Ford Bronco II, and I just couldn't get rid of the damn thing. I was obsessed with it. It kept breaking down."
Finally, he had had enough: "I stuck a sign out on it and sold it. I tell you when the guy drove off, it felt like a thousand- pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders."