A fool buys an electric car and goes on a pilgrimage, dragging her ego behind her.
I had to buy a car. Instead I was sent on a long journey into the dark and found points of light along the way -and they weren’t street lights. To get to the car we must begin on Monday when I took my car in for its annual MOT. For non-British readers it is an annual test to suss out if your vehicle is road worthy. Some vehicles pass easily. Practically sauntering out of the place like an attractive person who thinks everyone is naturally nice in the world and offers them a 20 percent discount in every shop. Most of us possess cars of hard-working and slightly rickety means. The car will pass with a little help, and a few replacements. Maybe a tire, brake pads, or a timing belt? And then there are those of us who have cars that are like a family pet that arrived with a few issues, and over the years has cost some significant money because the problems that crop up aren’t minor.
“The goldfish needed a blood transfusion.”
“The dog is always itchy but it might be neurological and you need to see a specialist.”
You get the call, “I am afraid I have some bad news.” You say goodbye to the dreams of a new chair, or a night out.
I got the call saying, “I am afraid I have some very bad news.”
I know the meaning of that “very”. There went a possible holiday, or some extra mortgage payments.The car was not worth saving. It was to be sent to the big open parking lot in the sky. I purchased this car as the pandemic was about to come into our lives. I bought it quickly because of another car that died. (Let’s have a moment for the once famous “Vomit Comet” as named by my children.) My little red Honda Jazz had lived a nice little life and had had a mysterious past and we didn’t ask too many questions. My mechanic was incredibly sad about the whole thing. He gave her a bit of water before I drove her around the corner to be taken to the scrapyard. Just like that, the car was gone and I was in need of a new one.
I was now part of an epic Italian renaissance poem.
To buy a car is to enter into a byzantine world of trying to find a working vehicle that meets your immediate needs, provides some comfort, and can face the terrain of your particular geography, all within your supposed budget (If you are fortunate it might also signify something to the world about the kind of person you might be.) while trying to face possible liars, and relentless carnival barkers who want to shove you into their showroom of murky promises of low APR rates and a car being ready right then and there for a small fee. We looked at used. Not a lot of possibilities. We considered new. I asked for a few quotes, and I met some characters. There was a gentleman who was condescending and didn’t listen to me. He went on about how there was a shortage of a particular vehicle I favoured and most were going for the sticker price. I pointed out a better offer I had received and he proceeded to tell me I was mad to think that I could get that and decided to be a bit snarky. Then there was a man with the most impressive name. Neil Madrid. He was the kind of salesman who has a well rehearsed monologue, tells you that you are beautiful and intelligent and he will do what it takes to get you in the car of your dreams that day and he will match any price and by God he is the king of the lot. Neil Madrid wherever you are, I love your style and I almost wish I could have bought a car from you because it isn’t often you get dinner and a show. I will be saying the name Neil Madrid for the rest of my life. Then came more conversations. “What about electric?”
When you have been married for a long time, someone will get an idea and then the other person might go with the idea and then you agree to get up early one morning to meet a used car in the depths of Dartmoor. A friend warned me about cannibals. Now to be fair that doesn’t happen so much anymore. Especially now that grocery stores deliver nearly everywhere. We met a lovely man who showed his car and while it wasn’t quite right, he shared a great deal of information. The pros. The cons. And we were intrigued. It was suggested we go to a few dealerships. Ah yes, the next level of hell. Upon reflection I should not have visited these places while sleep-deprived, and hungry. I didn’t bite anyone but things happened. There was one place where every man was dismissive, and they all wore a lot of body spray. They were not a subtle crew. We left. Then there was the hipster mostly online car dealership where they practically had foosball in the corner and expensive sofas and soft drinks to make you feel at home. The gentleman who assisted us had rainbow shoe laces, many piercings, and likely had strong opinions about Norwegian metal, and certain table top games. He was pleasant to speak to and gave more pros and cons on electric vehicles. We were drawn in but we chose to go to yet another dealership because I am a person who doesn’t just visit one layer of hell. I want the full experience, and a souvenir spoon. This place was modern, but still had all of the hallmarks of a car dealership. Every single person who worked there looked like they were meeting a quota of “Works at dealership.” Sharp suit, cheesy suit, ill-fitting suit, flamboyant suit, the guy who wears shorts year round and works in detailing. The one woman who works there and uses the power of her eye-liner to run things. And a man who looked a bit like a hedgehog who seemed to know the answer to everything. There was much light, constant top 40 hits from my youth, and impossible dreams. And it was too warm. I found a car that I liked. Was I going to be brave and buy an electric car? I test drove it. It was pulling me in. We agreed to buy it. And that is when they begin to hold you hostage. Paperwork. Upselling. Finance? So many numbers. It was gritty civility. Everyone does this sick dance. Was this a perverse game invented by the patriarchy? I like to think so. If you pressed a little they would suddenly have what you wanted. Or information would come through in your favour. I am not meant for this life. They suggested we get something to eat. If you heard anything on the news of a woman devouring a hamburger and fries in Exeter like a wild animal who hasn’t eaten in days, that was your lass right here. I wore my coat and best jewelry while I did it. (Always wear a good coat to McDonald’s.) I was left to handle the last things as Mr. Jenner had to return home to a work meeting. And thus the adventure began.
Before I bought this little car, I had done some research on electric cars. I had a sense of range. How far you can get with a battery charge. Some are better than others. (I chose a car where you lease the battery so if the battery dies, it can be replaced and you don’t have an expensive car-shaped ornament for the garden.) Mine is supposed to be pretty good. I left Exeter with about 50 miles. I knew I would have to stop and charge up a bit before I made it all of the way home. And off I went on a freezing cold day on the motorway. Getting close to my exit I noticed that the battery had gone down quite a bit and I now had 25 miles left. It made me a bit anxious and I saw there was a charging station. I downloaded an app, I followed the directions and attached the cable. It wasn’t keen to charge. And I noticed my phone’s battery was dying. I was far from home, it was freezing cold, and I was on my own. Two very nice women in the petrol station allowed me to charge my phone, and let me borrow their phone so that I could call home and explain the situation. I said I was going to try and find another station around Okehampton and figure out what to do. I found ONE charging spot at a youth hostel but it was a three pin outlet and I lacked that cable. HOW? I had forgotten to check that before I left. Then I found zapmaps which tells you of all kinds of available charging points that google maps doesn’t share. I looked at the miles left on my car. Thirteen. There was a B&B that supposedly had one. It was getting dark and even colder. I followed the directions and there was the charging spot, and there was a man wrestling with a garden hose. He turned out to be the most perfect man. I rolled down my window and he said, “Do you need to charge your car?”
I said, “Yes, I am in a bit of a pickle. Here is my situation.” And I explained how I just bought the car, and things had happened and I was not entirely sure what to do. He helped me connect the cable. It was a slow charging station, so it wouldn’t make a full charge unless I stuck around all night, and I am sure if I had stayed I would be there three years later like Oscar Levant.
The man told me, “Come into my house. You can stay warm.”
I followed this man into this enormous old Arts & Crafts manor. It had been turned into flats and there were various people going into their flats. He said, “Sorry, it is a bit of a mess.”
It was West country rural clutter that I know very well. Many wellies/shoes by the front door. Muddy rugs. The main room was an open kitchen/living room with large sofas, many winter vegetables on the countertops, newspapers strewn across the table, and winter coats on the backs of chairs. It was truly comforting. All that was missing was a dog. The man introduced himself as John and insisted upon making me a cup of tea. He also helped me charge my phone and proceeded to sit me down and tell me all about being an early adopter of electric cars. As I explained what had happened to me, he said, “Of course. Motorways take a lot of the battery power. You have to go slow. And when it is this cold out? More of the charge goes. This is why these are great cars in California.”
I was captivated. I had so much to learn. He told me about his present electric car and what made him love it. I asked how he became hooked on them, and it was a case of economics. Back in the beginning there weren’t any charging points. Only garages. Cars had little range. If he and his wife were lucky they could get to Exeter on a full charge, get a garage to recharge it, and barely make it home. But with each car, things improved and the infrastructure expanded. His wife showed up, and I was told an amazing story of the early days of trying to get to London and how it took 14 hours on a Sunday. (Garages were only open after 10 and only until four. And there were just a couple of charging stations on the motorway services.) Then they told me about their lives and the house they lived in. It had been built for a fancy general who only lived in it for a few years before it was sold off to become a boys boarding school for many decades. After that it sat derelict for many years, before a relative bought it and ran it as a B&B. Then John and his missus (Kay) ran the B&B. They talked about how they had visitors who had attended the school as children and they liked to return there. There were fantastic and tragic tales of being sent away at seven, the end of the line for weekly baths as punishment, where various rooms once were. Then John and Kay transformed the place into flats.They were truly living a sustainable life, Their home had underfloor heating, solar panels, rainwater harvesting. They were such an inspiration. They had some really definite opinions about the oil industry. As we were talking, a tenant of theirs showed up for a chat and there was much talking and learning about each other’s lives. I took everything in and felt reassured. Kay said the best thing to me. “You will learn this car. And you won’t have range anxiety. You will know how to plan for things and you will get through this.” They had such faith. Before I met them I felt so isolated, anxious, and full of regret. “Had I made the most expensive decision in choosing this car?” There was that loop of self-loathing and berating of what I had done. Why had I made this mistake? I should have done better. I shouldn’t have let the car get like that. But I was reminded that I was learning. They showed me what to look for in charging stations. How certain lines were not very good, (Genie) I was taught that I had to unlearn everything I knew about a petrol car and shift my point of view. I had been given an allegorical stop in my journey to allow my anxiety to be tended to. Sometimes the universe sends you people to tend to you and teach you what you need to know to keep moving. And on that day I ignored my hyper-vigilant instincts and said, “Please help me.” I wasn’t judged as stupid, foolish, or seen as a disappointment. I would stumble but figure out how to take this knowledge and thrive.
There was a bit of a charge on the car and I would be able to make it to the next station that had a faster charging point. And there was a pub. Kay said, “The best part of having an electric car are all of the eating experiences. You get to know so many fantastic places to eat around England. And you will plan trips around good food.”
Kay was another kind of salesman and I loved her for it.
I set off into the dark. No heating or ac on. (Which can affect the charge when it is low.) And I followed John’s advice: go slow.
I made it to this pub, hooked up the cable and went inside where I was met by a full cast of characters. Semi-toothless Devon farmers who teased me about my car. A carpenter who was having his tea as he wasn’t getting along with his mum at the moment, A happy silent bald man with a pint, and a barmaid (with the most amazing sparkly nails) who was a recovering alcoholic and telling everyone about her latest failed relationship. She had been seeing a man of forty seven, who had his dinner prepared by his mother four nights a week, and he had wanted to propose to the barmaid after five months of dating. She realized that she didn’t even like him or his family all that much, and she wasn’t being herself in his presence. She had a macabre sense of humour about her many wild life decisions. She made everyone feel at home, and listened to my woes with the car. There was a roaring fire, scampi, and chips, and everyone shared freely the madness of living. Sometimes we have to remember we aren’t all alone in our misery, anxiety, and sadness. And we can bring warmth and recognition to one another. Chips also help.
I went out to see how the car was charging. The car had stopped charging after 15 minutes. This wasn’t great. (I later learned that Renault Zoe cars can be a bit less inclined to charge at a place if they don’t feel if the other side is grounded enough. Just like the French to be so particular.) I stood there in the darkest part of rural north Devon and considered everything. I wanted to get home. I had to get home. I wanted to show that I could get home with this car that I liked. I had just enough battery to make it home if I drove slowly and took advantage of the hills. (When you brake, it adds a bit of juice to the battery.) There were 18 miles to go. I went onto winding roads past farms, Methodist chapels, and other pubs that dot the way. I drove up and down the valleys and arrived at home with a few miles left. My house all covered in vines was waiting for me, along with my family.
I had a day where I had to rely upon my wits. I found myself more capable than I ever thought; especially when I consider the years I spent emotionally paralyzed by everything I experienced in the world, and it was often incredibly isolating. The fear of letting anyone see this wild imperfect mess was often too much. It still grabs a hold of me at times. But today when I had to sit still, random people would step forward to care or help me. Just as I would for anyone else. Someone I love once told me that it is important to let people bring their service to you. Even in small ways. It refills everyone a bit. Just like this car I bought. I have decided to call the car Joan. After Joan of Arc. Modest in origin, but surprisingly capable.
