BRIAN LIBBY

The Ugliest Car In the World

Ever since childhood I've been passionate about cars and their design. I think it was a small-town precursor of my interest in architecture and visual arts, a bit of engineering and sculpture rolled into a practical everyday package.

My tastes usually tend to be a bit vintage, as seen in the 1984 BMW I own know as well as my first car, a '65 Ford Mustang. But I'm also a perfect target for the newer generation of retro-styled cars, such as the VW Beetle and Mini Cooper.

However, perhaps the most consistently popular retro-looking car is the one that I find unabashedly hideous: the Chrysler PT Cruiser. Or, as I call it, the "P-U Loser".

Inspired by the modified surfing vans made in the 1960s as that sport hit its apex of popularity, the PT Cruiser is kind of like a mini-van disguised as something more bold. Unlike other popular retro cars, it has plenty of room for the whole family. As a result, its sales are still going strong seven years after it was introduced, while Beetles and Mini Coopers sell only a fraction of what their well-hyped introductions brought in.

Taste is a subjective thing, of course. Obviously there are millions of people who find the PT Cruiser delightfully styled. It's unique looking yet harkens back to a time of Baby-Boomer youth. That's their right.

But I've got to say that I find this the absolutely most wretched-looking excuse for an automobile ever thrust upon us by Detroit. It's got these riduculous wheel wells that flare out from the car's body, and the combination of grill and headlights is downright goulish to me. It looks like someone with thin, beady little eyes but a huge jaw and nose. This car could scare young children!

Worse yet, there's a PT cruiser in my neighborhood (the one pictured) that has fake wood panelling. This is another allusion to the old '60s jalopies, but the faux aspect of it makes my skin crawl. Wood panelling? What's the matter with people?

I've tried to figure out why the Beetle and Mini appeal to me so much while the PT Cruiser makes my skin crawl. I think it's partially related to the fact that the original Beetle and the Mini aspired to be aerodynamic, forward-thinking cars. But the old vans that surfers converted for holding their boards were pieces of shit. The surfers just had fun with them. But how do you recall the beauty of something whose beauty wasn't really visual? The surfer rigs were cool because they belonged to surfers. And as a result, the retro design that comes up later is a tribute to something that was never good in the first place.

Then again, maybe that's just a convenient intellectual justification for my highly subjective tastes. Either way, I'd rather look at Dom Deloise applying oinment to his delicate areas than stare at one of these atrocities. (Well, maybe I'm exaggerating just slightly.) Thank God Mercedes finally cut Chrysler loose from their tainted portfolio of otherwise gorgeous sedans.

200,000 and Counting

Over the last few weeks I’ve noticed the mileage on my car, a 1984 BMW 733i, approaching the 200,000 mark. Despite all the repair bills, I adore my car, so I decided that when it surpassed the mark, I wanted it to be while I was doing, going to or coming from somewhere enjoyable, something I could look back upon fondly.

This morning I had a mere fifteen miles to go, and the destination seemed perfect. I was on my way to the Rose Garden to do a short interview with Portland Trail Blazers point guard Sebastian Telfair for Men’s Fitness magazine. A mild but warm autumn sun shone brightly as I strolled into the media room at the Rose Garden. As sports reporters from The Oregonian and KATU talked shop, I gazed at portraits from the Blazers’ championship-winning season. In one shot, Bill Walton stretched in mid-air to block a shot by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Nice. In another, all of Broadway was a sea of people as the championship parade slowly made its way down the street.

Then came my interview with Telfair, who I was very excited to see the Blazers draft last year as an 18-year-old high school senior. I think he's going to be a superstar. And although our interview was very brief, Telfair was very personable and gave great answers to my questions. I can tell you he loves Jay-Z and that the alley-oop play is all about subtle eye contact between the guy who tosses up the ball and the one who catches it for a dunk.

Although it was exciting to see the whole Blazer roster there on the Rose Garden court shooting baskets and practicing post-ups, players like Zach Randolph and Darius Miles, I actually felt far more star-struck seeing assistant coach Maurice Lucas, whose jersey is retired by the Blazers for his crucial contributions to Portland's 1977 NBA championship. (He was their leading scorer and a major intimidator who had Walton's back.) I suppose as a reporter I could have made up an excuse to ask Lucas a few questions, but in truth I couldn't think of anything to say except, "Thank you." So I left old Luke be so he could keep instructing Miles on footwork.

But then, as I got into my car, I realized that with 11 miles to go, the trip home would not be long enough to get me to 200,000. And the only other trip I had planned in the car for the day was to attend a funeral for my uncle and aunt’s mother in law. (They're a brother and sister married to a brother and sister.) Obviously paying respect to Marie von Behren is infinitely more important than the odometer on my car, but I'm a bit superstitious sometimes, and I still didn’t want to reach the 200,000 mark on my way to a funeral. (Incidentally, I think it's often been a weakness of mine over the years to try and force something meaningful out of a particular prescribed moment, like to have a good day on my birthday or whatever.)

So instead of driving home, I headed for the Interstate 5 onramp near the Rose Garden. With the stereo playing one of my favorite albums, Smart Went Crazy’s Con Art, I took a speedy but scenic drive on Interstate 405 over the Freemont Bridge and past the western edge downtown. I could see countless cranes in the Pearl District erecting condos, and a haze hanging over Mt. Hood in the distance.

As the mileage approached that big round number, I had to laugh at a possible omen coming from one of the songs on the album, “Song of the Dodo”:

proud and doomed
as a dodo bird
in a history textbook
under a puddle of drool
on your desk

obsolescence burst right out
of a birthday cake
with a bright bikini
and a festive grin

If you tell people your car has 200,000 miles on it, they assume it’s an obsolete, beat-up piece of shit and you’re going to trade it in as soon as humanly possible. While my car has certainly had its troubles over the years—multiple catalytic converters, a busted radiator, numerous air conditioning fluid leaks, a fender bender with a city bus, all but obsolete tires that have to be special ordered from Louisiana for a fortune, and much more—I have no intention of getting rid of it. I don’t subscribe to the notion of buying a new car every few years. Many of the cars I see people pay tens of thousands of dollars for seem pretty flimsy, and stylistically banal. I feel as though I have a great car, a distinctly beautiful and a very solid one built for the long haul. If a part breaks or wears out, I have it fixed or replaced, even if it's something as big as a motor or transmission. Sooner or later the end of this car will come, either because of fossil fuels' end or a car accident. But in the meantime, this is my car.

As it happens, “Song of the Dodo” finished a few minutes before the milestone and I kept the car kept rolling, now heading back toward home on I-5 as the odometer creeped its final mile toward 200,000. And when it finally arrived, I was crossing the Marquam Bridge over the Willamette River, with a postcard view of downtown Portland. The symbolism was almost too perfect.