According to news reports, $4-a-gallon gas is radically changing my driving behavior.
Within the past week, the talk radio station I listen to (as I commute in my 18-miles-a-gallon car) featured yet another “gas pains” story. In this one, a dealer in electric cars was crowing about his long waiting list. There were also the requisite sound bites from angry gas station customers explaining how they’re combining errands, carpooling and eliminating unnecessary trips.
The message is clear: like some petrochemical Black Plague, this bug is going to get all of us sooner or later. We’re going to be different, and it’s just a matter of time.
It’s of grave concern, therefore, that I report some odd, uncharacteristic behavior behind the wheel of late. Yes, it’s true: I fear I’m coming down with this thing. But before I describe this change, let’s talk about what’s not happening.
It’s not changing how I react to green traffic lights: All too often, I’m still living The Secret Life of Walter “John Force” Mitty, imagining every light is a drag strip Christmas tree, every launch a test of my reaction time, every other driver a rival.
It’s not affecting my cornering. As turns approach, I still fancy myself trailing Helio Castroneves into the final turn at the Long Beach Grand Prix, needing to trail-brake and execute a perfect heel-toe downshift in order to come out of the turn under power and pass Helio for the checkered flag.
It’s not stopping me from my occasional lunchtime Drives to Nowhere, taken solely for the way that a fun, engaging car rewards the senses.
Shoot—even a ticket the other day for doing 56 in a 45 didn’t change me. Within an hour of being cited, I caught myself three times hitting speeds higher than I was ticketed for.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I don’t have a bottomless gasoline budget. No one died and left me an oil well. I don’t like spending 60 bucks for 15 gallons of premium unleaded any better than the next car guy. To support my habit, I’m taking sack lunches to work every day and trying to spend less on other things. Driving is just too fun, too essential a part of my day, to give up.
Still, I’m changing, and here’s how: When coming up on a red light, instead of just letting up on the gas and allowing the engine to help with the braking, I’m now actually taking my manual-transmissioned car out of gear and . . . coasting.
That’s right. Hi, my name is Rob, and I’m a coaster.
I’m not sure exactly how things got this way. At first it was just every once in a while, you know? It seemed so harmless: Hey, there’s a red light ahead and I’m still kinda far away. Wonder what my RPMs would be if I just popped it out of gear? Wow! They dropped from 2,000 to 400!
It was only a novelty until, curious, I checked the digital mileage calculator on the dash: 3,000 miles per gallon!
Okay, it wasn’t that high. But close.
Then, as I contemplated the potential cumulative benefits of conserving all of those wasted RPMs by repeatedly rolling up to red lights with the engine disconnected from the wheels, it started happening more and more. A quarter-mile of rolling here, an eighth-mile there, and pretty soon I was racking up some serious MWPs (Miles Without Power).
Even though I’m exhibiting this disturbing behavior, there is some consolation. Call it “rationalizing” if you must, but the way I figure it, I can redeem all of these MWPs at the other end, see, when the light turns green. One pays for the other, right? Right? Oh, c’mon someone—tell me I’m not in denial!
Ugh. I sincerely hope I haven’t disillusioned anyone.
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