The Mechanic Straightline Archives

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

There's a fallacy going around that there are no more bad cars. It's a fallacy invented by car company execs that make bad cars and the automotive publications that accept their advertising.

But it's a bunch of bull. There are bad cars. A lot of them. Twenty-four on the American market, according to my count. There were more, but Pontiac and Saturn were put out of our misery.

By bad car I mean vehicles you should not buy. Cars that are only bought by fools. Fools that don't take the time to cross shop them with other, better cars. In January nearly 13,000 people bought Chevy Cobalts, making it one of the top 10 selling vehicles in the country. I have no idea why. It is a bad car. And there are about a dozen better cars in its price range. Yet, those 13,000 brainiacs volunteered to drive a Cobalt for the next five years and pay hundreds of dollars a month for the privilege.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Who would have ever thought that Toyota, Apple and Obama would have potentially destroyed themselves all in the same week? Not even I, The Great The Mechanic, could have predicted that one.

But it happened. And history is certain to look back on last week as the Trifecta of Failure. There will be books written about it. They'll be called things like: The Gas Pedal, the iPad and Healthcare Reform -- Don't Let Them Happen to Your Company; How Toyota, Apple and Obama Lost Their Mojo; or Toyota, Obama and Apple -- Three Tales of Unintended Deceleration.

I'll read all three on my Kindle.

Back to Toyota, which is dealing with its first real PR firestorm since the company became the poster child for perfection back in the 1980s. Until now Toyota has been given a pass by the media for dozens of failures, including Echo, Scion and Tundra, and a two-faced product plan, that centered around the Prius and its green image. But Toyota's free ride is over. It now has a target on its back and you know Lutz and the guys at GM are thinking, "Finally, somebody has noticed that Toyota is just as screwed up and greedy as we are."

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

CONCORD, North Carolina -- Whew. It's over. After four days of hearing race drivers, team owners and sponsors insist that they are "taking it to the next level" this year, The Mechanic is still trying to take it to this same level, right here. Next level? Talk to me tomorrow.

What we take away from this week of hearing from teams and touring their shops is a moderately upbeat attitude that suggests the worst is over. This time last year, teams were dumping employees like GM is dumping dealers. Everybody is running lean, prepared for tight budgets, but hopeful. Whether or not everybody is whistling past the graveyard remains to be seen, but this time last year, they were standing in the graveyard with a shovel.

On the final day, NASCAR finally confirmed a bunch of stuff we already knew; the two loudest mouths in motorsports got together for a non-NASCAR announcement, and then everybody hugged and kissed and went home.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

CONCORD, North Carolina - The 200-odd NASCAR-covering media here for the 28th Annual NASCAR Sprint Media Tour Hosted by Charlotte Motor Speedway (CMS) - we promised to spell all that out at least once for our gracious hosts - are getting kind of bored, since everybody pretty much says the same thing. Such as "excited."

Twenty-two times in one brief press conference on Wednesday. Drivers and owners are excited about the new season, excited to be heading to Daytona, excited about Burger King's new $1 value breakfast menu - it doesn't take much to excite what must be the most excitable people north of Haiti.

Well, with one exception, and we'll get to him in a minute. Here's what happened on Day Three:

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

CONCORD, North Carolina - Day Two of the four-day NASCAR media tour, and The Mechanic must give you a warning about Day Three: Day Two ended at Whisky River, the bar owned by Dale Earnhardt, Jr., where we learned, if you ask for a mint julep, bartenders frown. Anyway, the official motto isn't, but should be, "What Happens at Whisky River Stays at Whisky River, Because You Won't Remember Much About It the Next Day Anyhow." So I'm telling you now: I may miss the opening event of Day Three, which is just a breakfast with NASCAR.com, so no big whoop.

This is, as you hopefully know from reading The Mechanic's dispatch from yesterday, the annual scrum of breathless NASCAR journalists, half of whom seem more interested in whether Tony Stewart or Dale Junior will shave their scruffy beards before the Daytona 500 than anything of importance, but this being NASCAR, "importance" is probably relative. So here's what happened on Day Two:

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

CHARLOTTE, North Carolina -- Actually, Concord, North Carolina, but we figured you might not be able to find that on the map. The Mechanic is, yes, on the road, attending the annual NASCAR Media Tour, because NASCAR is the sport of the people, and The Mechanic is, if nothing else, a man of the people.

Each year, for the past 28, Charlotte Motor Speedway has hosted the NASCAR-covering media, who migrate here like the Three Wise Men seeking Baby Jesus; whoever NASCAR's Baby Jesus is that year, maybe Jeff Gordon or Jimmie Johnson or Parker Kligerman. But instead of bearing gifts, we take gifts home, such as a box of Ritz crackers, the Official Round Cracker With Seven Little Holes in It of NASCAR.

This is NASCAR, and sponsorship is everything. Note that this shindig is hosted by the Charlotte Motor Speedway (CMS): It used to be Lowe's Motor Speedway, but the money ran out at Lowe's, so it is CMS again until a big check clears and it becomes Taco Bell Motor Speedway or Dunkin' Doughnuts Motor Speedway or, given the track's love of Toyota hybrid pace cars, Prius Motor Speedway, which would at least allow us to refer to the track as PMS, and snicker out loud.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

You should learn to drive.

Why? Because you probably can't. Chances are you think you can, and you tell your friends you can, but you can't. If this is true, you're a squid: a guy who owns a car he can't even come close to driving near its potential.

Let's be clear. Squids suck.

And we'll all be better off if the squids of the world would put their egos aside and fess up to their squidness. Then we can move on to my larger point, which is that said squids should take the time and make the effort and do what it takes to really learn how to drive.

Now I'm not talking about hogging the left lane or using your turn signal. I'm talking about real driving. Car control. Entry speed. Trail braking. Left-foot braking. Contact patch manipulation. Heel-and-toe downshifting. Proper line.

I'm always amazed how many "car enthusiasts" are constantly talking about doing suspension and engine mods to their Insert Car Name Here when 99% of them can't drive it nearly as fast as it can go the way it left the factory. Trust me, their money and time is much better spent on driver training than it is on a cold-air intake and a fart can exhaust.

And please don't think I'm picking on the import Evo/WRX/Z crowd exclusively. This kind of ego-driven insanity is an across-the-car-world offense. From the Sultan of Money that just took delivery of his new Bugatti Veyron to the stockbrokers of New Porsh Beach to the endless list of Camaro and Mustang guys that have been poorly controlling their V8 beasts for 40 years. Hell, fact is, most performance car owners couldn't drive an Accord as fast as it can go, a point proven every week on Top Gear when they put a star in their reasonably priced car.

I'll give you another example of what I'm talking about. Once, in a previous life, I won a few races and set a few track records driving a Dodge Neon ACR in SCCA Showroom Stock C. About a year later, I attended (just to watch a friend drive) a Porsche Owners Club Squid Day at Willow Springs Raceway northeast of Los Angeles. Out of suspicion I pulled out my stopwatch. The majority were running lap times within a second of the times I was running in the Neon. And these guys were driving new 911 Turbos and were wearing $500 driving shoes, which are known to cause speed.

And they surely told all their friends how they spent the day driving their car fast at the racetrack. These people are delusional.

Basically, we're in the midst of a national epidemic of bad driving, and it's only fed by stability control systems, ABS and ever larger and stickier tires. These things make people feel fast. Especially slow people. Slow people I inevitably end up talking to. Then, of course, I have to hear about how they were ripping through the canyon and flying down the road, when I'm sure they were parking it in the corners like an old lady. As my dad, The Mechanic Sr., once told me, "The Mechanic," he said, "everyone is fast on the straightaways."

The worst offenders might be the auto journalists themselves. They are all fast. Just ask them. But the fact is, most couldn't turn a quick lap time if their life depended on it. I know. I know them. All of them. And I often have to drive cars on racetracks and mountain roads with them. Trust me when I tell you, maybe 50% of them can drive a car competently, 25% can drive a car well and only maybe 10% of American auto writers I would call skilled or fast.

I'm in that last group, of course.

Where do your skills fall? Be honest. Then go learn how to drive. -- The Mechanic, Inside Line Contributor

E-mail me at themechanic@edmunds.com.

Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

As 2009 hits the Great Dumpster of Memory, I've decided to binge on the wife's hard egg nog, reflect on what I've learned over the last 12 months and tell you what it all means for our future. Your future. Now self-reflection doesn't come easily to me, so when I do reflect I don't get nostalgic or weepy. I usually just get pissed off all over again.

Not that 2010 isn't going to be a great year. It is. But it ain't all going to be beers on the beach either. In fact, the auto industry has a critical 365 days ahead of it. It's sink or swim time for everybody.

Anyway, here's what I see clogging our automotive sewer line over the next 12 months. Happy New Year.  

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Categories: Acura,Auto Industry,BMW,Chevrolet,Chrysler,Coupes,Crossovers,Ford,Future Vehicles,General Motors,Hatchbacks,Honda,Hybrids,Hyundai,Lincoln,Luxury Cars,Mercury,SUVs,Sedans,Sports Cars,Subaru,The Mechanic,Trends

Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Before I begin, let me say that the following is not an attack on the people who buy Corvettes. They are good, clean, patriotic car lovers, and I think they should all be applauded for buying American.

I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Every barrel-chested baldy (sorry, retirees) and stripper (sorry, Bambi) who bought a Corvette recently deserves our respect and admiration for spending their hard-earned cash on America's sports car. God bless them all. I hope they enjoy their cars.

This column is not about them. It's about the Corvette itself, which sucks.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Cash for Clunkers officially ended exactly one minute ago. Sad. A real shame. Now what is America's trailer trash going to do? Where's their next handout going to come from? Meth isn't getting any cheaper, ya know. Not even in this down market. Obama better get busy figuring out another way to give away my tax dollars.

Oh wait, that's right, his health care system will supply the great unwashed with plenty of my hard-earned money. Something to look forward to.

One good thing about Cash for Clunkers is how quickly it rid the world of Pontiacs. The brand just had its best few months in years. It's practically sold out of the very same crapmobiles it couldn't give away before Obama made Bubba's rusting lawn art worth $4,500.

What's that? You need a Pontiac G5 for target practice (basically the only thing it's good for), well you're out of luck. Some big-bellied, chain-smoker with beer on his breath and food stamps in his pocket just traded in his 1992 Bonneville SSEi on the last one. He's a guest on The Jerry Springer Show tonight and wanted to arrive in style.

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Categories: Auto Industry,Chrysler,Coupes,General Motors,Hatchbacks,Pontiac,Sedans,The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Cars are the most important thing in my life. Cars are my No. 1. They're my work, my play, they're the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I eat, sleep and drop the kids off at the pool. When it comes to cars I'm all in. I pick cars above all else. Cars or family? Cars. Cars or financial stability? Cars. Cars or the planet? Cars. Cars or peace on Earth? Cars. Cars or health care for everyone? Cars. Cars or food? Cars. Cars or shelter? Cars. Cars or America's unhealthy dependency on foreign oil? Cars. Cars or my physical well-being? Cars. Cars or the love of you Inside Line readers? Cars. Cars or Megan Fox? Megan Fox.

OK, so there is the rare exception when Cars would come in second, but for me, life is about the cars. I couldn't live without them. How about you? Can you live without cars? Are you all in, or are you one of those so-called car enthusiasts who just likes cars because your friends do, or it makes your dad happy or because you're in between interests you actually like. Or maybe you're one of those guys who claims to love cars but really likes the car industry. You like the business of cars more than the cars themselves.

Not me. I'm a car lover, and I don't have much patience for car likers. Every time I rail against anything and everything that threatens the car (the government, high gas prices, hybrids, etc.) the car likers out there call me a narrow-minded, outdated redneck. Which I just might be, if defending the car at all costs is being a narrow-minded, outdated redneck. And if that's wrong, then I don't want to be right.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Hmmm, what to rant about this week. Maybe I'll bitch about car names and how lame and repetitive they've gotten. Do I really want to drive around in a Venza? I can't decide between a Highlander, an Outlander, an Outlook or an Outback. Screw it, I'll get the MDX. Or is it the MKX? Hey, Rocko, I just bought myself a 3. A 3 Series? Nope. A Mazda 3? Nope. Audi A3? Nope, a G3. A what? A Pontiac G3. They're giving them away. Gets good mileage.

Nah.

I could complain about Obama and the fact that he's destroying the American auto industry and my freedom to choose my personal vehicle based on my personal likes, dislikes and desires, not some nationalistic agenda founded solely on totalitarian ideals and increasing federal involvement in the day-to-day lives of Americans.

Nah.

How about the new 2010 Ford Taurus SHO? I've driven one. Wasn't very impressed. I thought it would be faster. I also thought it would handle better. The steering is really bad. Electric assist? Kiss of death. Feels like video game steering, especially on-center. Funny thing is that our long-term Ford Flex has better steering. And why does the brake pedal have to feel like I'm pushing it into a bowl of mashed potatoes?

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Categories: The Mechanic

Categories: Citroen,Future Vehicles,Jaguar,Luxury Cars,Sedans,The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Phone rings: It's Uncle Bubba calling, which he does a lot now that he has one of those Jitterbug cell phones they advertise in the AARP magazines that have numbers so big you can see them from space. Used to be he would have to wake up six or seven innocent citizens with wrong numbers before he finally got The Mechanic. Or the liquor store that delivers.

So Uncle Bubba says: "I was watching Katie Couric the other night and she said, near as I can remember, 'Yadayadayada CASH FOR CLUNKERS yadayadayada.' It occurred that we have clunkers, and I need cash, so tell me what to do."

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Categories: The Mechanic

Photo illustrations by Nick Wilcox (http://automotiverenderings.blogspot.com)

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Forget about bankruptcy. GM's big problem is the 2010 Chevrolet Camaro. The fools in the Center of Renaissance aren't building enough of them. They need to be cranking out more badass versions of their new red-hot hot rod; like right now. You know, before Obama and the Green Brigade take it away from us.

The Camaro needs saving. Here are my brilliant ideas how to save it.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Are you like me? Did you grow up dreaming of power, the open road and individual automotive freedom? Of course you did. But the dream is over. President Obama has smashed it into a million little Tata Nano-shaped pieces.

The new fuel economy and emissions regulations proposed by the Obamanation on Tuesday won't save much fuel and won't save the planet, but they will crush the life out of the car business. From here on out, cars are going to shrink in size, shrivel in power and grow more expensive.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

Man, what a couple of weeks. Between the swine flu and every single company in America except ol' Edmunds Inc. declaring bankruptcy, I'm ready to fire up the kerosene generator and find my way in the dark for a while. Live off the grid, as they say.

I could probably do it, but not without the DTs. The things I would miss the most are the cars and my iPhone. Don't laugh. I'm not really a techie, but I just got this great app. It's called Get a Life. You share it with your iPhone-addicted friends and it kills them.

Which brings me to Pontiac. It's been sentenced to death, as I'm sure you've heard, and I'm not really that cool with it. Fact is, it shouldn't have happened. Pontiac's demise wasn't fate. It was murder. Cold-blooded murder. A result of bad management, and proof that people who don't like cars shouldn't work at car companies.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

It happened twice this week. Somebody poked a head into my cubicle and said, "Hey, The Mechanic, have you heard? Kids don't like cars anymore. Cars to them are just transportation. The passion for the car in this world is dead."

Both times I thought to myself, "Oh no, not again." The demise of the passion for cars has been predicted for the past half century, and always by those who think the car should be nothing more than an A-to-B conveyance. It was said during the turmoil of the 1960s, the gas crisis of the early and late 1970s, the recession of the early 1980s, during the industry's switch to computer controls and EFI in the late 1980s and almost continuously since the Internet fired up more than 10 years ago.

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Categories: The Mechanic

This semi-regular column is written (in his own blood) by an automotive sage and noted malcontent, known as The Mechanic. Mercilessly beaten as a child with rolled-up back issues of old car magazines, our free-spoken hero developed a unique "for your own good" take on cars and the auto industry, along with an unfortunate habit of setting himself ablaze. Later, after a distinguished career as an automotive journalist and magazine editor, he cast off the reins of his musty oppressors, carved out his superego with a plastic spork and became The Mechanic.

I don't know how to save General Motors. Do you?

Wait, before you answer do me a favor and shut up. You don't know. Nobody does.

Oh, there are plenty of people out there, from senators to meth dealers, who think they know how to turn the once great automaker back to great, but they don't know either. I've been covering the auto industry for more than 20 years. And in that time I've seen GM try anything and everything more than once, only to see things get worse.

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Categories: The Mechanic