In praise of 10 and 2, the Challenger, and my loyal laptop

Random thoughts while shifting gears:

Advertising copywriters are having a fit trying to script TV commercials for self-driving cars. In one, the driver sits with his hands in his lap. In another, the driver is adjusting his shirt cuffs. In still another, the driver sort of flails his hands. The most creatively bereft writers seem to be those in charge of advertisements for the GMC Denali: In the spot, the actor-driver is so confused as to what to do with his hands that he and his passengers play patty-cake.

The only constructive activity enabled by a self-driving vehicle is in a Ford commercial, when a mother and her young son communicate via sign language, but that seems a relatively narrow market.

Decades of driving have made the steering wheel feel like a natural place to put my hands. And if my hands are on the wheel, it does not feel like a hardship to steer. I was driving a Ford recently that had BlueCruise, one of my favorite self-driving systems, and I just put my hands in my lap for a few minutes.

Then they went back on the wheel. Just feels right.

I am not against self-driving technology, but I won’t pay for it until it will let me curl up in the back seat when I’m on the way to the airport for a 5:20 a.m. flight.

You can argue that the driver-assist systems we have now are a stepping stone to that, and you would be correct. But until then, I’ll just keep my hands on the wheel and my feet on the pedals.

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They aren’t self-driving, but I still see a lot of fresh-from-the-dealer Dodge Chargers and Challengers on the road. I wonder how lonesome those showrooms might feel after those two admittedly ancient models are gone, along with the Chrysler 300, which will soon share its showroom with just one vehicle: The Pacifica minivan.

Dodge still has the Hornet and Durango, but what else? Yes, we’ve seen the hot-rodded electric replacement for the Charger, the Daytona SRT concept, but it’s hard to believe that EV will match the volume of the current car for quite a while. And there’s nothing at all in the Dodge pipeline, according to Automotive News’ usually accurate future predictions, that is likely to appeal to Challenger buyers.

Thankfully, for Dodge and Chrysler dealers, most have the Ram truck brand, and some have Jeep, and those two are doing fine. But this seems like a good place to salute what Dodge did to cosmetically and mechanically update the Charger and Challenger over their long lives, and to tip the hat to how Dodge commemorated the cars’ departure with the Last Call promotion.

All this, and the loss of the Chevrolet Camaro, has to be good news for the Ford Mustang, right?

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Speaking of ancient designs: So long, loyal HP laptop. I know this is supposed to be about cars, and I’ll circle back in a moment.

This particular laptop is the best one I’ve owned, and I’ve owned a bunch since my Radio Shack TRS-80, known to the media members who used them as the Trash 80.

I’ve had this HP for years. The stories it could tell if it talked. Wait, it can! Or did. But it’s gotten so slow and unreliable that I’ve already bought a new laptop, which feels like a betrayal. (I’m writing this on a Hagerty-owned Dell, which has not positioned itself as a long-term companion.)

The old HP came alive for what I suspect was the last time, like an aged cat that manages to lift its chin for a scratch on the way to be put down at the vet. The laptop gave up some family photos I figured I may lose, then it went silent. So long, old buddy.

This is where we segue to cars that manage to serve for far longer than they should. Our family’s best example is my son’s 1980 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am with the unloved 301-cubic-inch Pontiac-built V-8, which had 170 horsepower, 110 less than a Honda Odyssey minivan does now. The car was thoroughly worn out when we got it, with an engine compression ratio of about 2:1.

Fortunately, shade tree mechanic Richard Strain was the local Trans Am whisperer. Repeatedly, he made a badly running car run less badly. He nursed the Trans Am along until we could afford something better, which was a while.

And it wasn’t just Trans Ams. Strain was also a dirt track racer and built my fast-as-hell Chevrolet Chevelle, which was a far better race car than I was a driver. Driving the Chevelle that Richard built made for some of the most memorable Saturday nights of my life.

With the complexity of current cars, I wonder how many Richard Strains there will be in 10 or 20 years, how many shade trees will lack a mechanic.

The Trans Am is long gone. The laptop will get a place gathering dust on the shelf behind me; it just doesn’t seem right to toss it into the trash. Thanks, Hewlett Packard, you built me a real good one.

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