I don't like Tuesdays

Now I'm in the "I hate Tuesdays" mode.

Beginning at 7:30 a.m., I don't reach our office until 9:30. Two excruciating hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic at a pace I've personally clocked (on foot!) in front of our test-gear's calibrated radar gun. Fourteen stinking miles-per hour. Last Tuesday, I was behind the wheel of our long-term Sonata, today it was the Civic Si. I'll get to the cars in a minute. Other than feeling like some kind of a prisoner in car-bound solitary confinement being subjected to the high-larity of morning radio programs, listening to the bad news issuing from the local Public Radio station, and generally bemoaning humanity in general and Los Angelenos in particular, I've taken to counting cars on my way to work.

Last week, after I lost interest in the woman on the other side of me, I began keeping track of Toyota Priuses whizzing past in the carpool lane. I wasn't having the expected sort of two-strangers-in-traffic fantasy. She wasn't even attractive. No, instead, the woman in the number-two was carefully balancing and eating an ordinary, shallow bowl of cereal behind the wheel of her mobile cafeteria/office/salon. Seriously. I was, as I'm sure you would be, anticipating what seemed like an inevitable impact and resulting case of spilled milk. But it never occurred. Hey, it was interesting to watch, and I had nothing but time. Apparently, she'd done this before and it was just as much a part of her routine as not signaling her lane change in front of me.

If you don't live in California or Virginia, you probably don't realize that Toyota Priuses (and Honda Civic Hybrids and Insights) are allowed to travel in the carpool-restricted lane adjacent to the center guard rail on the freeway without a single passenger other than the driver. There's an application process (and an $8 fee in CA) to procure a special sticker that alerts law enforcement that you "belong." Usually, the carpool lane's speed is exactly as fast as the slowest person in the front of the line of cars, but generally, if I'm stopped, the "High-Occupancy-Vehicle" (HOV) lane is going at least 60 mph.

Guess how many hybrid-powered Priuses I counted that day? Mind you, I counted only those Priuses which passed me going north on the dreaded I-405 freeway; not a single one going south. Forty-nine. No joke. That's a bunch, isn't it? It's almost twenty-five per hour or one every two-minutes, twenty-four seconds. Some were the ugly first-gen models only Ed Begley Jr. would buy, but most were brand-new. Some even had nifty, new aftermarket wheels and tinted glass, but all of them had "the" sticker and a single occupant. Some were separated by three minutes and other times I witnessed three and four go past in a convoy. Furthermore, I know some of the Priuses were bought for the sole reason that they can drive alone in the HOV lane. Scandalous! I've heard people utter it in a low, nearly unintelligible conversation, "I'm getting a Prius so I can go in the carpool lane…Yes they can, haven't you noticed the stickers?" That's not the kind of thing a Prius owner would admit, even when grilled. I thought you cared about the environment; about our reliance on foreign sources of oil; about setting a good example.

Still, the net effect is the same regardless of the drivers' true reasons, right? I'm certain the 49 Priuses (and about 30 estimated Civic Hybrids I sort of counted) were averaging well over 45 miles-per-gallon minimum that's required to get the coveted sticker. Okay, I'll admit that I'm jealous and see the temptation.

Oh, the Sonata was an easy car in which to mindlessly wile away two hours of my life. The seats never made my backside numb. The Civic? Well, not so much. The clutch take-up, driveline lash, and tendency to hold revs (not allow engine braking) conspire to make the 36-mile slog irritating and nearly unbearable. I wish I had a Prius.

Inside Line Chief Road Test Editor Chris Walton, 16,385 miles.