Our trusty CR-V is back from the shop, sitting in the driveway with the pod bolted to the roof, ready for adventure. It started making grinding noises at the beginning of the year that I thought might be the clutch or transmission slipping, and they were getting much worse this past month. The week before the parade I poked around to see why the muffler was getting louder and found a pinhole leak in the resonator pipe. This is our vacation vehicle, so we needed to address the issues before shipping out next week. Our trusty mechanic down the street chased the grinding noise down to the serpentine belt and diagnosed a failing water pump, which cured the grinding noise, and replaced the resonator pipe underneath. The ‘V sounds like a new car again. At 117K on the odometer we’re moving into the nickel and dime phase of ownership to fix the stuff that’s beginning to wear out, so it’s not like this is unexpected. I’m just glad it wasn’t the transmission, because that would have been a catastrophic repair bill.
The next thing I’d like to find is a used silver hood to replace the one we have. The clear coat has been peeling off for years now to the point where it’s almost all gone, and it looks shitty. Jen and I love the ‘V and plan to keep it on the road as long as possible, so we gotta make sure it looks good. I haven’t found a decent replacement inside 500 miles yet, but I’m on the lookout every week. If the right one comes up, I’ll go get it.
I’ve got a big box sitting on the porch downstairs, a present for the CR-V. It turns out, after reviewing train, bus, and plane schedules, that there is no inexpensive, direct way to get from here to Syracuse in under 12 hours for less than $400. After boring my sister on the phone for a half an hour while I priced out travel options, she suggested buying a hitch and renting a trailer. Which will cost less in total than any of the other alternatives. Such is the state of public transportation in America. So I have to borrow a pair of ramps from my neighbor and get the hitch installed this weekend (I’m told it’s a 20 minute job, but I don’t have ramps), get an oil change, and she’ll be good to go. This way will also allow me to strap a ladder on the roof of the ‘V, something I wasn’t sure I could do on a 10’ box truck.
I think I’ll also hit up the Harbor Freight for a cheap moving dolly and a 100-pack of bungee cords.
After a sleepy morning, Renie and I returned to Grampy’s barn to go back through the available wood, and we wound up filling the CR-V until the springs compressed. After gearing up for a 20° decrease in temperature and battle with burrdocks, we waded into the weeds with saws and clippers. We made some surgical cuts with an arbor bow saw and walked out with about five 8′ lengths of siding board. Then we dug into a pile leaning up against the silo and found a door and about five more lengths of siding still painted red, with hinges, latch, and striker intact. SCORE. Then we grabbed another 30 or so dry lengths of tongue and groove flooring from under the stack. I pulled the CR-V around through the mud in the cornfield and got it as close to the barn as I could, and we loaded it full in a gentle flurry of snow. AWD for the win!
The 5×5″ beams are still there, so we’re headed back in the spring to grab those, as well as anything else worth taking before Uncle Brian bulldozes it up to the treeline. Renie’s car is loaded tight with flooring and the CR-V is strapped with boards inside and out.
And speaking of Brian, he invited Finn up to his barn for another tractor ride! She got her fill of dogs while waiting for Renie and me (a poodle, a shepherd, and a boxer) and then climbed into a big Deere dually for a spin around the yard. Then she asked to see the combines and he gleefully took her back through the shop to climb around on the equipment. He’s the best, and I don’t know who enjoys those visits more–he or Finn.
…I still can’t get photos off my camera so I’ll dump them all when I get home.
So our CR-V is on the list of cars whose airbags could just up and explode. I’m supposed to be able to check at this NHSTA website, but apparently nobody at the NHSTA has learned about hardening websites for heavy traffic. Update: Honda sez we’re OK.
To the asswipe that sawed the catalytic converter off the CR-V today while it was parked at the train station. And thanks to the local PD for patrolling the area so well.
Saturday morning we took Finn to soccer practice in a new facility close to our house; what used to be a 7-Up distributor’s warehouse is now filled with two indoor soccer fields for rental and two teams’ worth of sweaty high school lacrosse players. We signed her up for a kids’ intro class, and it turned out that we have several friends who had the same idea, so we got to stand around with other parents we know while the kids ran in circles. She took a class at her last school, so we were proud to see her kicking and actually dribbling the ball—until she got bored and decided to go off and do her own thing. Hopefully we can get it through her head that practice will make things more fun for her down the line.
After we were done with soccer we hit the IKEA to pick up one more bookshelf for the den, with the hope of consolidating all of the toys, art supplies, and other stuff that’s been clogging the living room, office, and den. With the big bookcase in the living room free of toys, we were able to uncover the entire collection of books we’ve collected from the library liquidation at her school. It’s really amazing how many good books Jen was able to save, and I hope that Finn takes to reading as much as I did as a kid.
Over the course of our Saturday errands in the CR-V, it became loudly apparent the passenger’s rear brake pads were grinding on the rotor, so I hit the parts store to buy a new set for the back half. It’s just enough of a project that I didn’t want to attempt it this afternoon with 6-12″ of snow on the immediate horizon, so I loaded the parts in the back and parked it behind the Accord until we can dig out this week. On my way to the store I guesstimated the amount of gas in the Scout and came up about 50′ short, stalling out on an incline within spitting distance of a pump. After borrowing a gas can, priming the carb, and standing on the brake, I got her started again. This being the second time it’s happened in two months (the first being directly across the street from our driveway in the middle of the road), I’m getting impatient to sort out the fuel gauge and tank problems in the spring. Hopefully, a long-awaited hydro boost brake conversion will give me more than 10′ of stopping power (both brakes and steering are powered, so when the engine cuts out so do my options for direction and stopping).
Over the last couple of weekday evenings, I got both speakers rewired, mounted, and tested. Sunday I cut out and glued in 1/2″ corner supports around all the seams, then sealed the front edges and nailed them into place. They sound good! I’m still unsure as to how I’m going to finish the outsides off; I could wrap them completely in Tolex or speaker carpet, but I’m not sure yet.
Our soccer player was on the couch sick today, after waking to an upset stomach and then throwing up several times over the course of the day. She got to spend the day in front of the TV, which was good for her, but hasn’t eaten a thing all day, which is unlike her. At about 7:30 she turned on her side and fell asleep on the couch next to Jen, something that is VERY unlike her. She’s running a fever, so we’ll keep a close eye on her tomorrow.
Tonight we’ll hunker down, tuck the girl into bed, watch some good TV (Downton Abbey and True Detective), maybe sip a beer, and wait to see what the weather brings us tomorrow morning. Just when the lawn was almost clear again too.
This post is one in a series based on a format at another website; much like music, I can measure much of my adult life with the cars I’ve driven.
Ate Up With Motor recently did a comprehensive history of the Honda CRX, a car I owned for a brief while and the sale of which I still regret to this day. Which leads me to the next chapter in my automotive history…
My CRX was a hand-me-down silver HF model from my girlfriend’s father, who had driven it, given it to her, and then let her brother rag it out for a while before parking it in his driveway and then offering it to me. My B2000 was blowing oil and beginning to get expensive. I had a desk job as a designer, having gotten out of the contracting business a few years previously, so I did what any 20-something male with disposable income would do: I sold the truck and bought a beat up sportscar.
It had about 90k on the odometer when I got it, the CV joints were already bad, the brakes were shot, it needed some muffler work, and it smelled like cigarettes and feet. I put some money into repairs, got it running reliably, and, unbelievably, got three years of dependability at 40mpg. It was a stick, and first gear was a dog. But once it was at speed, it was a blast to drive–nothing like the pickup.
It was beat up, sure. Her brother had obviously tried to drag faster and lighter cars, played tag with trashcans and mailboxes, spilled coffee, ash, fast food, and bongwater over every inch of the carpet. It rattled and squeaked. The wiring behind the radio was a rat’s nest, left over from multiple hack installations. The AC worked as long as the car was in motion, but the minute it stopped I had to turn it off. This foreshadowed future problems with overheating in Baltimore traffic and a pattern that repeated itself with several other cars until I bought the CR-V.
But, I could fit two mountain bikes under the hatch, park it in a shoebox, and the money I saved on gas more than offset the thirsty V-8 of my first Scout. Where was the downside?
In its third year, it began to show its age by leaving larger and larger clouds of blue smoke behind, and soon it was burning through a quart of oil every two weeks. The rings were shot, and I was living in the city with no tools and no garage to effect repairs. Regretfully, I placed an ad in the paper and sold it to a guy who told me he was planning on setting it up for SCCA racing against MR2s.
Had I been thinking smarter, I would have driven it up to my sister’s house and parked it in the chicken barn out back until I could have afforded a rebuilt engine, but hindsight is, as they say, always 20/20.
Other entries in this series:
’86 Honda CRX
’84 Subaru GL Wagon
’86 Mazda B2000
’73 Volkswagen Camper Bus
File this under Future Projects: a video podcast on iPod Music Link Installation in the CR-V. Looks like it might be the next gen model from the screenshot, but the general info looks pretty good.
Mama called me early Tuesday afternoon and asked if I could come home early to watch the baby; I knew by the croak of her voice that she was in a bad way. So I came home just in time to get the girl up, fed, and dressed, set a cool glass of water next to my sick wife, then slip quietly out of the house on a combination grocery/Lowe’s run.
Words cannot describe how easy it is to get a child out of a four-door vehicle when you’ve been limited to two doors for sixteen months. Car seats are built and regulated in such a way that they are impossible to use for all creatures except perhaps the octopus; one needs at least four arms to wrestle the baby while the other four are engaged in latching the tiny buckles without getting them caught in clothing, toys, or fingers. Having to do all this while leaning over a bucket seat in a snowstorm is enough to make one swear off automobile travel forever. Being able to remotely open a door, lean in, and handle everything while standing on solid ground is a revelation.
I think the best overall way to illustrate the differences between our Jeep and the CR-V is to say that the Jeep was designed by people who probably had children; the CR-V was designed by people with children for people who have children. I realize I’m dinging Chrysler—actually, American Motors—for a model design that dates back to 1978, but you’d think that in twenty years of production and two(!?!) major refreshes, they could have built in some features to make everyday life a little easier.
The Honda’s cabin is quiet and very roomy, compared to the Jeep; both vehicles share almost the same wheelbase and dimensions but the Honda feels larger and more stable. The doors close with a solid feel. The interior components are sturdy and feel refined and polished. The controls are bright and clear. I’m enjoying the clutch more as I get used to it, although I have to really listen to hear when it’s ready to shift—it’s that quiet. And I’m still not used to the microscopic distance between gears in the shift pattern; that’s going to take more practice. It’s responsive and quick in a very Japanese sort of way, unlike the hairy-chested American manner of the Jeep, which is all sound and fury when the gas pedal is down, but an absolute mess to wrestle back into control.
On the ride, it’s now very easy to turn around and check on Finn; this is partially due to the positioning of the seat, which is in the middle of the 60 side of the 60/40 bench. It’s also due to the wider split between front seats and the thoughtful collapsible tray between them; Jen and I have joked that it’s designed so that of us can easily get to the back seat to administer beatings.
I stopped at a total of five stores, and took the backpack with me for the first time in months. It was a breeze to get Finn out of the seat, open the barn door in back, set her in the pack, stand up and lock the car with the keyfob lock—all without slipping a disc, hitting her head on the roof of the car, hitting my head on the top of the hatch, or having to open one of the front doors to use the switch to lock the car. This was a day where I was able to do five stores in two hours, as opposed to maybe hitting three stores in the same amount of time with the Jeep. That’s a quality of life improvement that I can get behind.
Yep, that’s right. That right there is our new babyhauling chariot. That’s sixteen months of waiting and saving and cursing silently as we hoisted poor Finn into the gaping maw of the Jeep, praying we wouldn’t blow a disc or pull a muscle while simultaneously twisting, stretching, and lifting her into a rear-facing carseat. Now we’ve got four doors,bitches! Four doors and more airbags than a political convention. We waited and watched and saved and compared and test-drove, and when it was time to move, we marched on that Carmax faster than ants at a picnic.
Actually, I bought Jen and I some lunch first. But then we marched into the showroom with a printout in hand, featuring that pretty silver car, with low miles and a stick shift, and said, “This one.” Arthur, our salesman, really didn’t have to do much other than hand us the keys and take a siesta in the back seat. He knew we were there to party. He was professionally mortified, however, when we pointed out the red Sharpie drawings on the back of the C-pillar plastic, and he had their service guys remove it as soon as we finished the test drive.
Did I mention this thing has a table in the back? A fucking table. It’s the cover to the rear well. It’s got legs that pop down, and you can pull it out and use it for tailgating selling lemonade.
When I told Arthur we were paying with a check, he didn’t blink an eye; he just said, “Ok,” and tried to ignore my shaky hand as I wrote out one of the biggest dollar amounts I’ve ever spent (Yes, the down payment on this house was orders of magnitude more expensive, but that was all done by the real estate people, and all I did was sign a paper that said “move this money there.”) It sure did feel good to have done that at least once in my life.
So, power everything, a sunroof, cruise control, 6-disc CD changer (?!?) and enough room in back to comfortably hold a carseat with the LATCH system and not bungee cords. The seats fold and tumble down into a space the size of a deck of cards, unlike the Jeep’s mattress-like bench, which only folds when stood upon. And a stick! It’s not like the stick in the Saturn, which has a clunky, open American feel to it, or the Scout, which is like driving, well, a truck. This has the Honda-style stick which feels miniaturized somehow, and on a spring: The distance between 1st, 3rd and 5th is about a quarter-inch, so one has to be careful not to accidentally downshift when looking for fifth gear merging into traffic. At least the sweet spot is larger than my last Honda. It will take some getting used to, but it’s the kind of getting used to I’m prepared to do for the next 150,000 miles.