From Saab to Subaru: A Journey Through Car Ownership
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Chapter 1: My First Car Experience
I take immense pride in my vehicles. My journey began in 2001 when I bought my first car, a 1987 Saab 900s, from a friend. With a little guidance, I learned to handle a manual transmission and hit the road on the Mass Pike to upstate New York.
The car's fabric ceiling was held up by pins, and I used a Fast Pass on the highway since my driver’s side window wouldn’t roll down. It was the coolest ride, complete with a unique ignition system nestled between the front seats and quirky cow-patterned seat covers I added for flair.
Back in 2001, while there were still a few old Saabs on the streets, they were quite rare, especially in the Subaru-dominated upstate New York. In a sea of mundane, dependable Subarus, my Saab stood out.
I wasn’t just another cautious, middle-aged driver; I was spirited and adventurous, ready for anything life had in store. At least, that’s how I believed my car presented me to the world. I sped along the winding roads of my new hometown, shifting gears with relative ease and utilizing the e-brake for support on inclines.
This was my first vehicle, purchased with my own savings, and it symbolized the start of my adult life after college. I had no idea where my move to New York would lead me, but I was confident my Saab would carry me there.
When I met my now-husband, he was driving a red Ford Explorer. I have a soft spot for red vehicles, and I recognized the practicality of owning an SUV in snowy conditions. His car was just one of the many reasons I found him appealing.
However, my Saab didn’t have the same allure for him. In a fatherly manner, he convinced me that my car was unsafe for winter driving and that the maintenance costs were unsustainable given my student loans.
I sold my beloved car to a classmate, who drove it halfway across the country after graduation, and accepted my husband’s offer of his dependable red SUV. As new residents of upstate New York, it made sense for us to invest in another SUV together.
One chilly, foggy morning, while commuting to my first job, I zoned out listening to David Gray’s debut CD. I failed to check for oncoming traffic before pulling out, and a car without its lights on collided with me.
My red Ford slid down the highway, ultimately stopping in the center of the road. I tried to exit through the driver’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. Confused, I crawled over to the passenger side to escape. My husband was right; his SUV had kept me safe during the impact, which had slammed directly into my driver’s side door.
Miraculously, I emerged unscathed. Unfortunately, the car was totaled, and we had just invested a thousand dollars in a new engine without collision insurance. The following months were a struggle to pay off our credit cards, and I found myself without a car for over six months.
As the years went by, we welcomed two children and a succession of used vehicles, including a Toyota Avalon, several older trucks—one of which caught fire—and my favorite, a battered Dodge Caravan that we bought for $4,000.
I wouldn’t even consider a car unless it had at least 50,000 miles or reflected my personality. That changed when my father-in-law showed up with a little black Nissan Versa. He had owned it for a few years and suggested it would be perfect for me.
At the time, I was still driving the minivan, which was spacious enough for me to stand up and change diapers. I dismissed his comment until the van broke down, and he offered the Versa at an irresistible price.
Despite his generosity, I disliked the car from the moment I drove it. Coming from a minivan, the Versa felt cramped. I could reach the passenger door with my arm extended from the driver’s seat. Its engine often struggled to gain speed, especially on the mountainous terrain of our state.
The black fabric interior did nothing to hide the dirt my kids brought in, nor the remnants of snacks that scattered across the seats. Despite my complaints, it delivered excellent gas mileage and required minimal repairs beyond standard wear and tear. Yet, I could never shake my disdain for the Versa, which I affectionately dubbed the "Tin Can."
A couple of years later, while jogging past a local dealership, I was captivated by a stunning red Honda Element. I darted across the busy road, just steps from where my Ford accident had happened, to peer inside its spacious windows.
The mileage and price were perfect: 100,000 miles for $9,999. I had found my dream red SUV. My parents would have approved, as loyal Honda drivers. When I returned home, my husband wasn’t thrilled but recognized my determination. I went back to the dealership and bought Big Red.
We returned the Versa to my in-laws, as it still drove well despite being dirty. I felt immense pride in my Honda. It handled winter like a champ, was cozy, and was easy to clean, which was important as my kids grew up and continued to make messes.
Like the Saab, Elements were a rare sight on the roads since Honda had discontinued the model for reasons I could never understand. There were even fewer red Elements, which meant I was never lost in a mall parking lot, as my tall, red “toaster” stood out among the other vehicles.
As the years rolled on, I held onto Red despite increasing mechanic bills. Nobody enjoys car payments, so we intended to keep it as long as possible. It was a proud moment when the odometer hit 200,000 miles, followed by a bittersweet day when our mechanic urged us to stop pouring money into it.
Reluctantly, we parked Red in the driveway, deciding I would drive my husband’s secondhand Rav4 while he used our business truck until we could get through the winter months and the holiday season.
Although I was sad to part with Red, it was a wise choice. Taking advantage of the lack of car payments and in need of a getaway, we planned a trip to New Orleans that fall—our first trip without the kids. My mom and in-laws watched the girls while we indulged in the history, food, and drinks of the Big Easy.
On our final evening, we enjoyed drinks and local cuisine. Between appetizers and entrees, we called home to say goodnight to the kids. Charlotte, then eight, gave us a typical rundown of the day and shared her excitement about our return.
Just as I was about to hang up, she blurted, “Something happened that’s going to cost you a ton of money, but it’s okay!”
After a few phone calls, we learned that our well-meaning parents had gotten into a bit of trouble. My mother-in-law had crashed her car into our deck and through our garage—our storage unit. Thankfully, she was unharmed, and they didn’t want to ruin our trip by telling us.
However, the secret didn’t last long, as our neighbors texted us about a car protruding from our garage and debris scattered across the lawn.
Have you ever received a message like, “Hey! When the bus picked your kids up today, my kids saw a car sticking out of your garage with a bunch of stuff all over your lawn, like a fridge and a scooter, and maybe ten bags of recyclables?”
Well, we hadn’t—until that day. The party was long over by the time we returned home, but the mess remained. We spent our last afternoon cleaning up the wreckage. A neighbor helped tow the car out of the garage, and aside from some scrapes, it was still functional.
I realized then that the little Nissan Versa had more lives than a cat.
After parking it behind the Honda Element, we discussed the accident with our parents. About a month later, as snow swirled outside my window after work, I made a snap decision to avoid the back roads and take the highway home.
While shaking the snow off my coat in the mudroom, the phone rang. My husband, who had stayed home with our sick child, decided to take the back roads and lost control of his truck.
The vehicle tipped sideways, precariously suspending our child above him, secured only by her seatbelt. Just like my earlier accident, they emerged unscathed, but the truck was totaled. With Christmas approaching, we returned to driving the Rav4, while I begrudgingly took the Nissan Versa back, with its scratches and dings.
We tried to lift our spirits for the holiday season, but my husband knew I couldn’t start the new year driving a car I despised.
On New Year’s Day, we visited a local dealership and, for the first time in my life, bought a new car. With only 3,000 miles on the odometer, it had been used as a loaner by the dealership. I held my breath as we signed the paperwork, having never spent so much on anything outside of our home and my student loans.
It was spotless, smelled brand new, and came with all the modern features—Bluetooth, XM radio, and a backup camera. My husband drove it home, and while I felt uneasy about the price, it was luxurious and safe.
Reflecting on my journey from the Saab I drove to New York to this moment, I felt like I had finally matured into adulthood.
The next day, I drove to work and stopped by the parking office to get my decal, aware that I would get ticketed without it. Holding the registration, the cashier asked for my vehicle's make and model.
I proudly replied, “Subaru Forester.”