Guess who says there's a war on cars

A person can almost always save some time by skipping to the end of a guest commentary in a newspaper, magazine or other publication to get an idea of who the guest is behind the commentary.

Take Denver is waging a war on cars and drivers, as a recent example.

The guest is identified as Tim Jackson, president and CEO of the Colorado Automobile Dealers Association. I could have stopped reading then, but I didn’t. Call me curious.

Key takeaway: If a guy representing car dealers can pin the blame on someone other than those who pay him, he will do exactly that.

Toward the end of his commentary, Jackson quotes an op-ed* from a California newspaper. The authors of that piece maintain that deliberately slowing traffic to increase safety for pedestrians kills anywhere from 35 to 85 victims of cardiac arrest “due to delayed emergency response.”

What Jackson fails to point out: Emergency responders would get to people who need help much more quickly if there weren’t so many damn automobiles on the streets.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

* By a Cato Institute senior fellow and his lawyer co-author.

Now Jeep-less after all these years

Back in the day, by which I mean since x number of years ago until a few hours ago, I had a Jeep. Not just any Jeep. I had a 1991 Wrangler Renegade, which I bought from my car-salesman brother-in-law. He got almost all of my business while he was in that business.

wrangler1The story went that the previous owner lived in Madison, Wisconsin, and drove the red
Renegade mostly to church on Sundays. She was the proverbial little old lady.

Stop laughing.

The Renegade had only 30,000 or so miles on it at the time, after 10+ years, so I was inclined to believe it.

That thing could handle snow. When I bought the Renegade, we lived in Iowa, halfway down the hill on a dead-end street, so 4WD was important. I drove it to work and back for years. I could go anywhere. I drove it from Iowa to Colorado twice, and all the way back to Iowa once.

We went fishing together. We drove some bad Colorado mountain roads that tested our nerves, and our wariness of heights, and our shocks. We flew down the highway topless, usually when it wasn’t raining and the sun was hot overhead.

Then came the day.

The choice: Sell the 2007 Prius, which faithfully takes us 50 miles on a gallon of gasoline, or the Renegade (17 mpg on a good day). Something had to give if we were to leap into the 2017 Escape we were eyeing.

What would you do?

Used to be it was easy to spot my ride in a huge, crowded parking lot. A boxy, rusting, red thing the likes of which I’ve never seen elsewhere. Now, to find my car at the park-n-ride or the parking lot at DIA, I will look for the teeny Iowa Hawkeyes sticker in the left-rear window of my little black Prius among a sea of little black Priuses. I have to hope no one else out here puts that same sticker anywhere near the same place.

Mrs. Smith Compound drives the sleek, white Escape. It looks great on her.