I was, famously, without a car for 23 days across March and April, a period three times as long as the nuclear-scare thriller “Seven Days in May,” and almost as tense.
To refresh your memory, the gear shifter of my 2015 Fiat broke, without which my car was undrivable. My mechanic in Montclair, however, could not find a replacement gear shifter anywhere, locally or nationally. So my car sat in the shop while the search continued.
Meanwhile, I got around by bus or train and on foot. It was an adventure, filled with triumphs. I managed to get to assignments in Riverside, San Bernardino, Redlands and Rancho Cucamonga, all by transit.
However, I had to rely on my wits, and my wits were not necessarily up to the task. On the bright side, having qualified for senior discounts on some transit lines, I could get around on the cheap. And this was right as gas prices were peaking.
Looking out a bus window at people pumping gas at service stations, at ever-higher prices, I couldn’t help but think smugly, “Suckers.”
I briefly wondered if I even needed a car. A pleasant, modern idea, but impractical. In my line of work, sometimes every minute counts. My column deadline might come and go while I was tapping my foot impatiently at a bus stop.
Finally, my mechanic found a comparable gear shifter at a junkyard. A junkyard seemed like an appropriate place to find a part for my car. I was back on the road in late April. But for how long?
I’d known for a year that my car was nearing the end of its natural life. Various parts were giving out, like an older person’s knees and hips.
This year the passenger door handle broke off in my hand. Weeks later, the battery died. The old joke about what Fiat means held true: Fix it again, Tony!
But with gear shifters unavailable, it was sobering to think that the parts that were wearing out might not be available, even for a vehicle from Obama’s second term. It was as if I were driving a classic car, except without the prestige.
I’d bought the car in 2018 after my Mini Cooper was clobbered on the freeway by a big rig driver who abruptly turned into my lane. I loved the Fiat as I’d loved the Mini Cooper. They each had a little trouble going uphill, but their small size made the cars fun to drive and easy to park.
The Fiat was electric blue, which made it stand out in parking lots filled with gray cars. Granted, there were often oversized trucks on either side of the Fiat, which sat demurely between them out of view, but I located it eventually.
I knew I should look for a replacement car but hadn’t motivated myself. Now, like a smoker after a heart attack, my Fiat’s near-death experience was a sign that I needed to get out of neutral and into gear.
Adding to the urgency: My auto registration was days away from expiring. There’s nothing like a deadline to concentrate the mind.
I went car shopping on a Friday after work. My plan was simple: to go name-brand, guaranteeing that parts will be available far into the future, and to get a hybrid.
A hybrid has a gas engine and an electric motor. The battery charges from driving and from braking. Something like that. It’s a modest step away from Big Oil and toward the future.
The dealership had a half-dozen used hybrids. Good. Like Charlie Brown, I am a wishy-washy person. The fewer choices the better!
I test-drove three cars and settled on a 2025 Toyota Camry. This process took an hour. For a task I was indifferent about, an hour seemed about right.
The paperwork took another hour. I had to sign my name or write my initials about three dozen times, as if I were a signatory to the Treaty of Ghent.
The Camry came with a full tank. I think the $34,000 price was for the gas, and they threw in the car for free.
I like this Camry. It’s my first modern car. It’s got features completely new to me, like keyless entry, backup camera, touchscreen and alerts if I drift out of my lane or if a driver is in my blind spot.
Personally, I’d considered the power windows in my Fiat to be a touch of elegance.
The backup camera shows the view behind me on the touchscreen, with arrows showing the path my car will travel, such as through a rose bush or into a pole. If a vehicle or person is approaching from either side as I back out of a parking space, the system will beep at me in warning.
When I shift the car into drive, the camera image disappears. I wish there were a forward-facing camera. I’m looking out my windshield, sure, but maybe the camera would pick up something I missed. You can’t be too safe, right?
The screen replaces a CD player, which is no longer standard. That’s too bad. I used my CD player daily. I’m not sure what to do without it.
The first month I streamed music via my phone. This put me over my data allowance, which cost me $25. Should I get unlimited data?
In the meantime, while ignoring increasingly frantic entreaties from Sirius XM to take advantage of a free trial, I downloaded an audiobook from the library and am listening to that instead of music.
Bluetooth is an adjustment too. Even alone in my car, I am self-conscious about using voice commands. I’ve only tried it once and it didn’t go well.
The car’s clock is, strangely, five minutes fast. There seems to be no way to change it manually. I tried a voice command: “How do I change the clock’s time?” The reply was, “Consult your owner’s manual.”
If adjusting the clock is beyond AI’s abilities, a newspaper columnist sure isn’t going to figure it out.
Have I mentioned the Camry’s color? Contrasting with, or maybe complementing, my former electric blue Fiat, my Camry is red. Thankfully, the shade is muted rather than obnoxious. The official description is, no kidding, “supersonic red.”
Supersonic red? I tend to drive at or under the speed limit. About the most exciting place I go is Sprouts. But OK.
I’m calling it Cardinal red, for my favorite baseball team. Which, by the way, will be in Anaheim against the Angels three nights this week.
As for the full tank of gas, it lasted a full month, thanks to the electric motor. Previously I filled up once a week. In two months of hybrid ownership, I’ve gone to a gas station twice. I’m getting 47 miles per gallon.
Climbing gas prices? The Strait of Hormuz is closed again? Gee, that’s a shame.
David Allen writes Sunday, Wednesday and Friday, which is also a shame. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.