Zander Drives Cars

“Road trip machine,” I said to myself in a Clarkson-esque tone as I climbed out of my 2018 Volvo S60. I had just pulled into Dewey Beach, Delaware, and before anybody who knows me well rolls their eyes and types up a “Hey is this about…” text: no. It isn’t. Actually, I don’t really know what this article is about. It came to my attention that I’m now in year three of S60 ownership, and despite doing an initial “review” of it back when I started this pixel of the internet, I haven’t talked about my car that much. Sure, it’s made Instagram a few times, and my Snapchat private story has seen the interior of it dozens of times, but it’s had little airtime anywhere else. So, I guess this is an owner-report article?

No, that’s boring

It is boring. It’s a Volvo sedan. What do you want me to say about it? In my three years of ownership, nothing has fallen off, nothing exploded, combusted, started a militarized coup; nothing. I’ve had it serviced, I’ve had a rim replaced due to a really nasty pot-hole (thanks, MDOT), and… that’s it. See, I told you: boring. I put the key in the slot, and it starts without fail. That’s the S60’s biggest fault: it’s boring. Great, but boring. Dresden, premium economy, Haagen-Dazs Coffee Ice Cream.

I don’t want to get rid of it.

There are better cars than this. I love my S60 to death, but I know deep down that a 3-Series drives better, a 9-5 is more interesting, a C-Class is more luxurious, and an A4 is, well, actually no this is better an an A4. Scratch that. I could get rid of this car. I would like to get rid of this car. I have the opportunity to pressure other automotive avenues. I have been offered my fair share of more interesting cars to both drive and own. But I don’t want to get rid of it. I’m scared to. I’m scared that the metaphorical and physical vehicle that propelled me through my teenage years will take the memories with it. I’m scared that getting rid of my underpowered front wheel drive glorified Focus will signify the end of my pure youth.

But it’s a car. It is literally just a car.

Do you remember your first road trip? I do. It was the first sentence. My dad called me, and told me to come down to the beach, and in less than 15 minutes, I was pulling out of my driveway with nothing more than a backpack filled with some belongings. I had only owned the S60 for two months. It had served me well in my shorter work commutes, but I hadn’t driven it over an hour yet. 2 hours and 35 minutes. 150 miles. Entering I-695 by myself was weird. I was in control. I mean, I had driven by myself before so that feeling shouldn’t have hit me like it did, but it still clouded my head. My speed, my music, my choice to stop at the Joe Biden Welcome Center- the best highway rest stop -to get Burger King onion rings. It was all mine. Nobody could stop me. It was July of 2021, I was 17, and Bombo by Adelen screamed at max volume the entire way down. I was the happiest I had ever been.

That weekend serves as a memory I hold dearly. It was the first time in my life that I felt in control. I was in charge. I don’t want to repeat the end of that last paragraph. Still, it was a weirdly transformative experience for me, and I’m doing my best to keep this automotive-related so that you keep being interested in this rant. So I don’t start talking about people I don’t like. But back to that memory: it was with the S60. That car was there. It heard what I had to say, it listened to the music I played in it, and it felt me go way, way too fast down I-83 at night. It’s like the stuffed animal you slept with as a kid. You might not sleep with it anymore, but you don’t want to get rid of it. It’s a symbol of a time when you had less to deal with. I’m in college now, I have to worry about my own employment and grocery shopping, and getting an apartment. I don’t have the ability to drop everything in the middle of July and take my new-to-me chariot of freedom and build those memories again. I don’t want to lose the youth that car brings me

You’re 20. Calm down.

I guess this really delves more into my deeper issues as a person, what with me having a weird connection to a time that, in pure retrospect was worse than the time I’m currently living in, but the nostalgia of your first milliseconds of freedom hit hard when that freedom comes around to nip you in the rear. I try to be excited about the new possibilities I have lined up for myself in the future, and I am, but am I going to be doing it in a grey Volvo sedan with a leaky front tire? I don’t know. I’d like to, but I can’t hold onto that pure youth forever. You know that one guy who will never live down the one time he snuck into a concert and got free drinks when he was 18? I don’t want to be that person at 27. Hell, I don’t want to be that person at 20. And again, I know, I’m 20, this should not be a thing I’m thinking, but, as 20 turns 21, and 21 gives many new legal responsibilities, I don’t have that room to act like the dumb high schooler I used to be. And while I will keep the memories that half Belgian half Swedish badge job has given me, it might be time to move on.

Also, I live in New York. I don’t even need a car. So, I guess there was no use for any of that, huh?