Bumper to Bumper

by Doug DeMuro

  To illustrate my point, I’ve taken a photo of the offending gear selector for your viewing benefit:

  But these issues pale in comparison to the transmission’s biggest drawback, which is: no matter what situation you find yourself in, no matter where you’re sitting, no matter where you’re parked, the 500L rolls in the exact opposite direction of what you want. If you had been stranded on a mountain with your 500L for the last month, with no food or water, and you finally found a path that would lead you back down the mountain to safety, the 500L’s transmission would find a way to roll you back up.

  All of these wonderful features came together in possibly the worst transmission-related incident I’ve ever experienced in my entire automotive life. Picture this: we’re trying to parallel park in a tiny spot on a narrow street with dozens of Istanbul drivers stacked up behind me, all of whom use the horn with the same regularity that you or I might use the mirrors.

  So I’m backing into this tiny spot, and of course it’s night, and of course the 500L doesn’t have sensors or a camera, and of course I have no idea how big it is. So I’m backing up, and HONK HONK HONK from the Istanbul drivers, and I start to go forward, and HONK HONK HONK, because I’m still blocking the road, and then I shift into reverse, and the car begins rolling forward, because that’s what the 500L does, regardless of what gear it’s in, even if you’re on a surface with approximately the same overall grade as Nebraska.

  So I push the pedal and nothing happens, but that’s normal in the 500L thanks to its huge lag time. So I’m waiting for the transmission to kick in, and the people behind me are honking, and nothing’s happening, so I push the pedal even harder, and still nothing’s happening, and now we’ve rolled so far that I’m about three inches away from the car in front of me. And I push the pedal again, and HONK HONK HONK, and then I look down and discover I’m not in reverse, but rather I’m in neutral, because the transmission lever is arranged with the logic of plane crash debris.

  So I shift into reverse, and do you know what happens? We CONTINUE to roll forward, now only about an inch from the car in front. So I JAM the accelerator, and I wait for the Hesitation Period, and FINALLY the car starts to move backwards, except now it’s going at roughly the speed of a bullet train, and we avoid the car behind us by about a centimeter. So then I throw the car back into drive, which is of course manual mode, and now we’re rolling again, and the transmission is hesitating, and HONK HONK HONK, and I can’t see where I’m going, and after about thirty seconds of this I realized I absolutely do not need to park in Turkey, unless I come upon a spot that was recently vacated by a box truck.

  In conclusion, I liked the FIAT 500L for its styling, and its interior, and its cargo room, and its fuel economy. And then, over in the “con” column, I would have to put “transmission designed by Satan to make us all yearn for self-driving cars.” So I’d have to say that I don’t recommend the 500L to anyone on any sort of vacation, even if it’s the last rental car available in the entire city. Because if you ask around, maybe you can find a mule.

  My Neighbor Left an Angry Anonymous Note on My Hummer

  Originally published on Jalopnik—April 21, 2015

  I recently became acquainted with one of my neighbors. Actually, “acquainted” isn’t really the right term. More like: “anonymously berated for owning and operating a giant yellow Hummer.”

  Here’s what happened: I walked out to my street on Friday morning and discovered an angry note tucked under the driver’s-side windshield wiper of my giant yellow Hummer. But before we get into details about the note, a little background. I purchased my giant yellow Hummer about two months ago, following a Jalopnik post where I asked you to help me choose a car to buy and write about. And since then, I’ve parked it on the street in front of my house, day in and day out, without a single issue. Except, of course, for the daily disappointment that comes when I walk outside and remember that I do, in fact, own a Hummer.

  That all changed on Friday. On Friday, I walked outside and discovered the following note on my Hummer:

  This is not an appropriate parking spot for this huge vehicle. It blocks traffic, is an eye sore to the neighborhood and also blocks street vision.

  Please move it.

  Now, a lot of people respond to these neighbor disputes in ways that escalate the situation. For instance: he leaves a passive-aggressive note on my car. I kill a rat and leave it under his doormat. He slashes my tires. I burn his family.

  But I had a different response: I stood there. I read the note. And then I laughed and laughed like a small child who just witnessed a brightly colored mascot fall down the stairs at a minor league baseball game.

  The primary reason that I laughed is that the anonymous letter writer referred to my Hummer as an “eyesore to the neighborhood.” He is right, of course: my giant yellow Hummer sits there, all the time, outside my house, constantly reminding everyone that one of their neighbors probably attends the kind of event where people chant “Drill Baby Drill.” So I could see how this might be an annoyance.

  But here’s the problem: I live in this young, hip neighborhood in Philadelphia that is … what I think we would call … developing. In other words: On one hand, you’ll have a guy throw out the box for his new subzero refrigerator. And then you’ll have a homeless person come by an hour later and take the box, so he can live in it.

  As a result, this neighborhood is full of eyesores, all of which are every bit as offensive as my giant yellow Hummer, including vacant lots, and abandoned cars, and streets that they wouldn’t allow to look like this even in wartime Baghdad.

  So the “eyesore” thing seems a bit overblown, and if you walk around my area for a while, you kind of start to wonder if maybe my angry neighbor just doesn’t like how my Hummer looks. This, too, makes sense, considering that my Hummer’s styling sort of resembles a giant yellow file cabinet with wheels.

  But here’s the thing: one of my neighbors owns a first-generation Honda CR-V that has those awful steel wheels and a bunch of unsightly scratches down the side. And I happen to think that is a bit of an eyesore. But do I send my neighbor a passive-aggressive note telling them to move their CR-V? No way! I just shoot them dirty looks and occasionally leave advertisements in their mailbox for the Mazda CX-5.

  And now we come to the angry neighbor’s other complaint: the Hummer’s size. And I admit it’s sort of on the larger side, in the same sense that getting to space is sort of a long flight.

  But here’s the thing: I make sure the Hummer doesn’t even come close to blocking the road, by using a tried-and-true method I like to call parking on the sidewalk. As a result, the Hummer actually sticks out a lot less than many other neighborhood parkers.

  The neighbor’s final complaint is that the Hummer blocks street vision. Unfortunately, this makes no sense: street vision is not a real thing, because the street does not have eyes. It is a street.

  So I’m a little upset about this letter, because I believe my poor Hummer has been singled out for its size, and its color, and its width, and the unfortunate fact that its fuel economy ratings place me somewhere on the environmentalist watch list between “baby seal killer” and “guy who throws away entire piece of paper when there’s only a small mark on it.”

  So, you might be wondering, what are you going to do about this travesty?

  Well, the answer is quite simple: Number one, I’ve already replied to the angry neighbor with a note of my own—a long, disgusted diatribe that manages to include the phrase, “Welcome to the big city! I hear there are wider roads out in the suburbs.” And number two: I’m going to increase my insurance coverage.

  Here’s Why the Ferrari F355 Is a Horrible Used Car

  Originally published on Jalopnik—May 26, 2015

  There’s an old saying that compares exotic cars to beautiful women. Sometimes you can’t resist enjoying her beautiful, sensual curves, the saying goes. Sometimes, you’re stuck on the side of the road because the engine has explod
ed into a thousand pieces no larger than the human eyeball.

  OK, maybe that’s not an old saying. Maybe I just made it up. But it certainly rings true for the Ferrari F355.

  Now, before I get into the F355’s issues—namely that it costs about as much to own as a supersonic fighter jet—I think we should provide a little background on exactly what the Ferrari F355 is, for those of you whose Ferrari knowledge begins and ends with red, fast, and cocaine user.

  So here goes: the F355 was introduced in 1994 for the 1995 model year and it is, without question, the single most beautiful Ferrari manufactured in decades. Now, I know some people will say that looks are subjective, and other people will dispute my opinion. But here’s the thing: they are wrong. The F355 is one of the most beautiful modern cars ever designed. In a competition between the F355 and all other cars, the F355 would be Grace Kelly, and all other cars would be Joe the union longshoreman, who consumes two hot dogs and a large Coke every morning on the PATH train from New Jersey.

  The F355 also sounds amazing. When you step on the gas pedal in an F355, you feel the wind on your face, and you see the beautiful Italian-designed cabin laid out around you, and hear the howl of that glorious 375-horsepower 3.5-liter V8 as it climbs faster, and faster, and faster through the RPMs, delivering a noise that most normal people will never get to hear, in their little economy cars. And you’re all excited, and happy, and laughing, and smiling, and exhilarated.

  And then you stop. This will be the one time you rev your 355 this year. Because you’re worried that the next fun you have could result in a repair bill equivalent to a kitchen remodel.

  And this brings us to the Achilles heel of the F355: everything.

  Now, you might think I am exaggerating here for comedic effect, as I sometimes do. For example: I once referred to the Lincoln Navigator as a “tremendously impressive, seminal vehicle that forever changed the world of the airport limo driver.” And I once said that the original Mini has “about the same horsepower as an escalator.” And I admit, those were exaggerations. Silly, stupid exaggerations, and I apologize if I offended anyone working in PR for a) the Lincoln Navigator, or b) the escalator.

  But my statements about the F355 are not exaggerations. They are the truth. The F355 is a nightmare to own, a nightmare to operate, and a nightmare to maintain. If the federal government had owned an F355 in the ‘60s, they never would’ve landed on the moon. “Sorry President Johnson,” the head of NASA would say. “We can’t afford it this year because we have to do a belt service on our 355.”

  So what’s so bad about it? Let’s start with problem the first: the exhaust manifold, also called the headers, or more appropriately an expensive chunk of poorly designed Italian metal. Here’s what happens to the F355’s headers: they fail. Routinely. So often that many Ferrari mechanics say it’s a 100 percent failure rate. Even worse, you never know when it’s going to happen. Could be 5,000 miles. Could be 40,000 miles. But when the headers finally fail, it ain’t cheap: driving around with damaged headers necessitates a full engine rebuild, which can cost well in excess of $25,000. Want to replace the headers before they fail? That’ll be four to five grand, please.

  That doesn’t sound so bad, right? Four or five grand? On a Ferrari? That’s POCKET CHANGE! Did you expect this thing to be a Chevy Traverse? Where people complain about $80 oil changes? And ask if it’s covered under warranty when their child pours orange juice in the rear DVD player? Well, read on.

  Next up on the “common failure list” is the valve guides. Ferrari famously fitted the 355 with weak bronze valve guides that fail under high RPM, or middle RPM, or low RPM, or if they hear you talking about them from the driver’s seat. Although the exact scope of this problem is disputed, even the most conservative estimates say 20 percent of all 355 models are affected. Given the potential issues that could accompany valve guide failure, most owners choose to replace the guides before they kick the bucket—at a cost of around $10,000. Do it with a routine engine-out service, however, and that figure drops to a far more reasonable six grand.

  What’s that? You heard “routine engine-out service”? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that’s right: every three to five years, the F355 requires a complete engine-out service in order to change the timing belts. This is another six to eight grand or so—remember, every three to five years—depending on where you do it. Some Ferrari dealers charge as much as $10,000. Although Ferrari is famous for these engine-out services, the 355 is the last modern model to require it. My 360 had a far cheaper engine-in belt service every three to five years, while the 430 requires no such service, as its engine is chain driven.

  And then we come to what F355 owners call “minor incidentals,” which are about as expensive as what you and I would call “property taxes.” Expect $1,000 every year to change the fluids. The interior parts eventually become sticky and require replacement or refinishing, which usually runs two to three grand. If you’re unlucky enough to get a 355 with an F1 transmission, expect to pay more than $10,000 when your F1 pump fails. And if your F355 Spider top gives up, you’ll be looking in the something-teen-thousand-dollar range for a replacement.

  If all this is getting a little dizzying, here’s a nice round figure. If you bought a 355 new in 1995, and you ONLY did all the “normal” maintenance—a couple sets of tires, a brake job, belt services every four years, annual fluid changes, and the reliability upgrades for the headers, the sticky interior parts, and the valve guides—you would’ve spent almost $75,000 doing all this work. You also would’ve lost about $85,000 in depreciation, and you probably would’ve only driven around 20,000 miles, for a grand total of about eight bucks per mile, not including fuel, insurance, and any other repairs that aren’t listed here—of which, let’s be honest—there will be many. Essentially, it’s like driving into Manhattan every single time you go for a ride.

  Now, the F355 owners over on the Ferrari forums will see this, and they’ll say that it’s all relative. So what? they’ll say. It’s beautiful, it’s fast, it’s gorgeous, and it sounds better than any other modern Ferrari. And the thing is, they’re right: it’s all those things. But the 360 costs about half as much to own as the 355, and it’s faster and more modern. The 430 costs even less to own than the 360, and it’s even faster and even more modern. So is it worth paying that premium just to own one of the most beautiful cars in the world?

  There’s an old saying about this, too. You cannot put a price on the most beautiful car in the world, the saying goes. Your bankruptcy attorney will do that for you.

  I Raced My Hummer on an Actual Racetrack

  Originally published on Jalopnik—May 28, 2015

  A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from a racing instructor named Ron, asking if I wanted to get some track time in my Nissan Skyline GT-R. So I pondered Ron’s question for several minutes, and I really thought about it, and then a light bulb went off in my head. And this is how I ended up on a racetrack with a 7,000-pound military vehicle designed to support a machine gun turret.

  Here’s what happened. First, I should say that I was expecting a relaxed event, given the rather casual nature of Ron’s e-mails. (At one point, he said: “I love doing stupid things with vehicles.”) But then I showed up, and I realized this event was far from casual. Although this was merely a National Auto Sport Association (NASA) practice day, there were guys with heavily modified, track-only Porsches. Guys with Corvettes that looked like LeMans race cars. Guys with trailers that cost more than a Princeton degree. One guy was using a BMW X5M as his tow vehicle. It was around this time I started to realize that I was going to die, and my place of death was going to be New Jersey Motorsports Park.

  But Ron calmed my nerves by informing me that I wouldn’t be going out on the track with any of those guys. Instead, he said, I’d be going out at lunchtime. This made me happy, because it meant that a) I wouldn’t be taking away track time from anyone, and b) I wouldn’t be killed.

  Unfortunately, my fears returned when I starte
d talking to a few of the other drivers. One instructor, Jordan, gave me a brief overview of what I could expect from the course, before noting that I had picked a great track for my Hummer adventure. “Why’s that?” I asked. “Because,” he replied, “there’s a lot of runoff.”

  So there wasn’t much faith in the Hummer when we set off a few minutes later with Jordan in my passenger seat as an instructor (“I’m going to wear my fire suit”) and Ron following behind in his Subaru BRZ with a GoPro mounted to the hood. Several other drivers also decided to tag along on the track, because—let’s be honest here—you don’t turn down hot laps with a Hummer in favor of a track day sandwich and a bag of Fritos.

  So how was the Hummer on the track? I think I can sum it up for you in one word: Slow. Actually, just “slow” doesn’t quite do it. Glacially slow. Pathetically slow. Insanely slow. So slow that I think we could’ve easily been passed by a nine-year-old boy with a Razor scooter and a racing helmet.