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Cars: An Homage to Unreliability
I believe one of problems with today’s cars is that they are too reliable. I know it sounds strange, but stick with me for a bit.
When I was 16 years old, my father bought a 1976 Triumph Spitfire that I was allowed to use. He didn’t really buy it “for” me, he bought it for himself. If you’re not aware, British sports cars at the time were notoriously unreliable and required constant maintenance.
To give the most prominent example of this, I could be driving down the road and my engine would simply stop running. My only choice at this point was to coast safely to the side of the road and wait until it would start again. This usually took about 20 to 30 minutes. Fortunately for me, because this typically only occured after an hour or so total driving, so it rarely impacted my ability to get to school or work on time, but it also created some great opportunities for conversations with my stranded passengers. I know what some of you are thinking, that sounds dangerous. Well, it wasn’t really because so many cars were unreliable at the time, every driver understood that there was a constant risk that the car in front of you might break down, so drivers were forced to actually pay attention to the road and the cars around them.
Another trivial example is that not only did I have to check the oil in the engine, I had to check the oil in the carburetor. Yes, that’s right, not only did I have a carburetor (which no modern cars have) but it required oil to function properly.
I worked at the local hamburger drive-in as a car-hop (no skates or short skirts) for well under minimum wage (but decent tips if I showed a little cleavage), so I wasn’t able to pay a professional to fix minor things on the car. That meant I had to do everything I could myself, and back then, you could do a lot yourself. As a result, I figured out how to solve problems, figured out how things functioned, worked with tools, performed cost-benefit analyses, and perhaps, most importantly, knew when to call a professional. These are life skills that have helped me throughout my life.
One consequence of being unreliable was that the engine bay was designed to be worked on. The Triumph Spitfire had relatively long hood, a clamshell design that opened forward. This accomplished two important things, 1) it gave you a lot of room to work on everything in the engine compartment, and 2) you could see everything. I could see the distributor cap and the wires leading to the spark plugs. I could see the oil-filled carburetor leading into the intake manifold. I could see the exhaust manifold leading to the exhaust pipe. You could open the hood of that car and explain to a neophyte how the internal combustion engine worked by walking through the entire process while pointing to the actual devices. Today, you open a hood and you see a big piece of plastic with the manufacturer’s logo on it and maybe a radiator. You used to open your hood so other people could admire your engine; now you open the hood so people can admire the judicious use of logo-emblazoned plastic.
So, why does this matter? Is it just that I learned some useful skills in my youth that still benefit me? No, not really. I probably would have learned more useful skills trying to become an Eagle Scout. No, the real benefit of being forced to work on my car is that I felt connected to the car in a way that you can only be connected with something in which you have invested a lot of time.
Every time I started the engine, I knew it was the spark plugs that I had properly gapped and installed that were igniting the gasoline flowing through the carburetor that I ensured had the proper amount of oil. The battery was being recharged with the alternator I had replaced, which was being turned by the belt I had installed and tightened (and when it wasn’t being recharged enough, I knew just how to push the car down the driveway to jump start the engine.) Every bump I drove over was dampened by the shock absorbers (what the Brits called dampeners) I had installed. Every stop was accomplished through the brake pad I had installed, including those rear drums. I could tell at a glance if the tire pressure was low because I had checked it countless times; I could tell just by looking at them. Every mile that crossed odometer was one mile closer to the next maintenance event, like the oil change every three months or 3,000 miles. Even the foibles I didn’t or couldn’t fix added to the connection, like the broken snaps on the convertible top that ensured the left side of my head would be covered with snow on wintry days. There was the knowledge that your car needed your love and affection to get it to your destination. Even though my name was never on the title, that car was mine in a way that no other car would ever be.
My parents sold that Spitfire when I was in college without even telling me. I teared up a little, but my dad assured me it went to a good home, to another mechanically-inclined teenager who would soon enough be cursing Lucas electronics. I never met the new owner, but I often wonder if he learned to love that car, or if Lucas forced him to sell it on.
About a decade later, I bought a 1990 Mazda Miata. I thought it a great car. It evoked many memories of my old temperamental British sports car (after all, it was allegedly inspired by another British sports car, the Lotus Elan, even mimicking the exhaust noise). During the 13 years that Miata was my only car, I described it to my family as a reliable Spitfire. It was, indeed, very reliable; in fact, that was probably its only shortcoming (well, that and the spare tire taking up most of the trunk.) Yes, I changed the oil, but I rarely did anything else, it simply didn’t need it. I got in, turned the key, and drove it away. I knew without question that it would get me where I needed to go, and somehow, that was it’s only shortcoming.
I’m sure somewhere along the way I changed the spark plugs, but I don’t remember doing so. At one point, I replaced the rear shocks, but they were struts that required professional installation, so I couldn’t do it myself. I’m sure I had new brake pads put on it, but I didn’t change them myself and I can’t swear I ever actually changed them. That is all I ever did in 13 years. I really liked that Miata, but it was never mine the way that old buggy Triumph was. So, a few years after my oldest was born, I changed jobs and started driving to work rather than taking the train, so I bought a new four-door car and sold the Miata. The only pull on my heart strings was the years I had spent in the car, not the hours I had spent under the car. So, it was just a car I owned, not “my” car.
More than a decade later, I eventually bought another Miata thinking it would be an awesome first car for my 16-year-old son. While my son has some vague interest in getting his license (meaning he is constantly asking about it), his interest vanishes when we tell him the criteria he needs to meet to be able to get his license. One of those criteria is to learn how to do some basic maintenance like change a tire and the oil. To my son, cars are not meant to be worked on, they are simply appliances that take you from one place to the next. Time spent changing the oil is time that can’t be spent playing a video game or keeping up with his “streaks” on snapchat (which, near as I can tell, means sending random pictures to dozens of people at least once a day.) I feel somewhat sorry for my son, not just for the skills he will never gain, putting him at the mercy of overpriced mechanics, but for the connection he will never feel for a car into which he has invested his time and energy. And he has no idea what he is missing.
I listened to an episode of EconTalk recently where the guest discussed the “future of cars,” and one topic was that electric cars will eliminate all the jobs currently focused on repairing and maintaining the drive train. I think more will be lost than just those jobs — a portion of the American soul. And I, for one, think that is not necessarily an unmitigated good.
Published in General
An electric car with unlimited range due to the same on the road refueling time as an ICE (fill the gas tank for the generator) would be worth billions.
I had a chance to talk about this with an engineer in the business, and he said this:
A car has to rapidly stop and start a lot in its life. If you are doing all highway driving within a narrow speed range, with little street driving, then a system like this would work well. But if you are doing all city driving, then a system like this would kill its battery unless you had a big motor. Cars just have to meet too many different driving situations, so one that’s optimal for highway would be very much sub-optimal for street use. Thus the cars we have are the “best fit” for all of the many different demands that the millions of car owners put them through.
I’m not impressed with your engineer in the business. His assessment denies the facts on the ground.
If he were correct, Tesla couldn’t be shipping working electric cars — cars that have the most abusive charge/discharge profiles out there. A genset-based hybrid isn’t going to put any more load on the batteries than a pure electric vehicle. And it will have an overall more “gentle” charging profile — comparable to overnight chargers. And even more gentle when charging at modest speeds, as part of the genset output will be providing base load to the wheels. That behaviour also eliminates part of the charge/discharge energy loss over the complete driving cycle.
Your engineer is displaying precisely the motivated thinking I expect from someone bought into the status quo.
Not. A too rapid drain might damage a battery, but a simple regulator would prevent that: In general a larger battery allows a higher ampacity drain. Not sure what he means by “big” motor, but physical size has little to do with it unless he’s talking some special technology. On the other hand, if he means more horsepower, that might provide for greater acceleration and hence shorter battery life but certainly not longer battery life. Again, in any case, a simple regulator to limit the rate of power drain is sufficient.
Batteries, just like gasoline, are a means of storing energy. Gasoline is just more efficient. But whatever energy source, it takes less energy to just travel along at a constant speed than to accelerate. There are trade-offs. One of the Tesla vehicles I remember seeing a picture with a button on the dash to allow one to use energy at a higher rate. I have a battery operated hedge trimmer with a similar button. Push the button and you have less time between charges and presumably you will need a replacement battery sooner.
There are gasoline engine cars that will go 0-60 in 3.5 seconds and some that do it in 5 seconds and some that do it in longer. Those are all cost/performance/reliability tradeoffs that the consumer takes into account when he purchases a traditional automobile, as he should for an electric vehicle.