Diatribe

Venting' my spleen

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

I don’t know exactly how many individual parts there are in a vehicle but for the sake of argument let’s say 10,382. At that rate I'll have enough ammunition to write columns until Methuselah and I reach parity.

My rant this time is about vent placement. Vents are wonderful things. Positioned correctly they can keep you cool in the summer…and keep you warm in the winter. Positioned incorrectly, however, and you’re going to either have frostbite on your legs or face the prospect of having your plastic surgery melt.

Four-Speed transmissions were a rite of passage

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE

By Al Vinikour

I’ve written previously of my disdain for those who have a high-performance car like a Corvette or a Mustang GT and equip it with an automatic transmission. I can’t stress enough the necessity of taking those people to a blacksmith’s shop, tying their hands to an anvil and giving a ball-peen hammer a workout until it becomes too bloody to maintain traction.

Heaven help me – I’m a horsepower junkie

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE

By Al Vinikour

If you’re anything like me you’re sick of somebody else always trying to tell you enough is enough. Who died and put them in charge? It seems to begin at childhood when you’re sitting at the dinner table and decide you want more potatoes. Your mother tells you, “You’ve had enough.” Years later you’re sitting in front of the television watching your favorite situation comedy and your father comes in and says, “You’ve had enough television for one day, Junior. Go to your room and read a book.” You get the picture; when is it your turn to call the shots?

Auto dealer commercials…a Three-penny Opera…and worth it!

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

Some of the best commercials on television are those from the domestic and import automakers. Some of the worst commercials are those by the auto industry’s dealers. It’s hard to believe that such polar-opposite talent can be expended for the same industry.

The road to hell is paved with…cell phones

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

I know

what you’re thinking…Al, have you finally made peace with cell phone users who still drive while they’re holding conversations? Sorry, you’re dead wrong.

If anything, my disdain for people who drive erratically because they’re engrossed in a phone conversation is growing. Instead of minding their

driving it’s getting to the point that it’s less dangerous to walk through downtown Tehran wearing a U.S. Army uniform than it is to drive down I-75 amid cell phone talkers.

Rear seat leg room? Stop living in the past

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE

By Al Vinikour

As an auto writer I a

lways peruse the interior dimensions of the vehicles I drive and even those I just look at like at auto shows. Even though I speak in generalities it never ceases to amaze me how little leg room there is for the rear seat occupants in far too many vehicles.

For all practical purposes about the only usable function for a rear seat is extra storage. Have you ever seen the back seat of a Nissan Juke? It’s handy to have a place to stow packages, shopping bags, etc., when off on a “mission.” However, try to put anything short of either small children or Lt. Dan in the rear seat and you have some very uncomfortable riders.

A pain in the neck — when headrests became head restraints

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

I vividly recall auto seats when I was growing up and as I got taller how uncomfortable they could be, especially if I were leaning back to take a nap. Sometimes my head would bob around like apples in a barrel.

Then in the year I forgot, the manufacturers developed headrests and then adjustable headrests whereas they could be set at various heights to accommodate the comfort of the passengers in the seats. Even as a young Hoosier I could see that in the event of a rear-end collision such devices would have a better chance of holding your head still and not having it snap off like an abused Pez dispenser.

Bouncy, Bouncy

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE

By Al Vinikour

alk about being ahead of one’s time, there used to be a hit song in the ‘50s by Bobby Rydell called Rubber Ball. The background singers would sing the words, “Bouncy, bouncy” during the chorus. Where am I going with this, you ask? Just read to the end and you’ll see where my mind was when I wrote this. I think of this song quite often as I drive through the flak-laden “skies” we commonly refer to as our nation’s roads.

Stick it

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

Does this headline give me your undivided attention? Good, because it has nothing to do with what you filthy-minded readers think it does. “Au contraire,” as that famous stinky Frenchman, Pepe LePew would say. I’m referring to a manual transmission.

What you’ve missed by being young

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Diatribe

DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

Last month my wife and I attended an auto manufacturer’s dinner held in conjunction with the North American International Auto Show in Detroit. We were sitting with two other couples at the dinner and one of our table mates was on the sunny-side of 25. I pointed to a journalist colleague of mine and mentioned that his lifelong best friend is the famous actor Dabney Coleman.