I knew better
Oops.
I screwed up. I knew better, but I did it anyway.
For the last two and a half months, I drove my Outback in the salt and snow while my BMW hibernated in the garage. That’s fine; the Outback is a great winter car — it even has heated seats!
The problem occurred today when I fired up the BMW in celebration of the warm, sunny weather. I slipped behind the wheel, turned the key, and sped off into the yonder. It was bliss. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I think that applies to cars. The BMW is so much quieter, quicker, and more luxurious than the Outback that the difference really is like night and day. It is an esoteric joy. I loved every minute of the drive — and there’s the rub.
You see, I have been thinking about selling the BMW for about two years now. Unfortunately, every time I’m just about to convince myself to part ways with the car, I have a really good drive in it, the kind of drive that reminds me why I bought it in the first place, and I decide that I can’t live without it. That scenario has repeated itself dozens of times. My mistake this time was that I once again drove it before listing it.
There are forums dedicated to these cars, and of mine (a 540i) in particular, there is a common saying. To paraphrase, if you’re thinking about buying one, don’t. Run away. Run away as fast as you can. If you take a test drive, you’ll fall in love with it, and you’ll buy it, and it will bleed you dry.
It starts small. Gas. Car wash. Wax to keep it shiny. Then it gets a little more expensive. Oil changes with synthetic oil and factory filters. Surprisingly expensive interior plastic bits. Insurance rates worthy of an exotic V-8 being driven by a young male. Still not so bad, but then the real pain begins.
Thousand-dollar sets of tires that will last less than 20,000 miles. New spark plugs — eight of them — at twelve dollars a pop. Hundred-dollar oxygen sensors — four of them. The list goes on. The point is that maintenance is expensive. Expensive, but worth every penny. That’s why it’s so hard to get rid of it.
Regardless, I subscribe to the school of thought that says it is better to experience perfection and lose it than to never experience it at all, so I do not regret my purchase. I only hope that I can bring myself to sell it before I once again succumb to its sweet song.
Keacher, I empathize. One workday a week, I work downtown in the and just take the subway to work, and on the weekends, I don’t drive my car. I can walk everywhere — the market, bars, parks. If I need to hit up Best Buy, there is one only a few subway stops away. If I always worked downtown (which soon may be very possible), I’ve seriously thought about selling my car.
But then comes the time when I’m meeting a friend for Sunday brunch somewhere, and my car is zigzagging between lanes, hugging the road, and accelerating faster than Superman. I just can’t part with it. But with the good comes the bad. My O2 sensors go out faster than a 21 year old on his birthday. V-rated Toyo tires aren’t the bargain price at Sam’s. Maybe if I do decide to get rid of it, I’ll just give it to my Mom and she can store it. But I can’t do that just yet.