How does one kill big oil?

One of these days people will get wise and realize that I post way too many links to Wired and that I'd be better served by killing this blog altogether and just linking to their web site and letting everyone cherrypick stories they find interesting.

Just not today.

I hit a confluence of stories today with things I'd read there and the buzz created by Barack Obama's speech about the need to start cutting ties with the oil companies. It's pretty exciting, but of course, that's what convention speeches are all about - creating excitement and giving the candidates a strong surge heading into the fall.

Hey, it beats news that the Republican nominee for Vice President is in favor of teaching Creationism in classrooms. Oh my.

First, from a short essay on Thomas Friedman's new book is a call for action and a systems approach to ending oil dependence. In it is a quote that's been with me for the past few weeks:

"The Stone Age didn't end because we ran out of stone," he says. Likewise, the climate-destroying fossil-fuel age will end only if we invent our way out of it.

But he's not suggesting a new Manhattan Project. "Twelve guys and gals going off to Los Alamos won't solve this problem," Friedman says. "We need 100,000 people in 100,000 garages trying 100,000 things — in the hope that five of them break through."

Our current efforts are not only inadequate, they're hopelessly haphazard and piecemeal. Friedman argues it'll take a coordinated, top-to-bottom approach, from the White House to corporations to consumers. "Without a systems approach, what do you end up with?" he asks. "Corn ethanol in Iowa."

Ouch. Sorry, Iowa. You might want to make some calls to the good folks at Jiffy Pop to see how they're doing in terms of stock. You might have some corn on your hands to offload.

In the same issue is a rather lengthy piece that highlights a revolutionary new way of manufacturing, running and marketing electric cars. Intertwined with that are stories of a man and a company that I'd work for without question and I'm not the only one.

I know I rarely read lengthy links, so I'll give you the broad points here, but if you have a little time, I suggest reading through it or picking up this month's hard copy and reading through the cover story.

Shai Agassi is a relative newcomer to the electric car market, but has an impressive pedigree and no major hang ups with slaughtering America's sacred cows (like the internal combustion engine). After accepting to Young Global Leaders, he seriously sunk his teeth into environmental issues.

Starting with home energy use, he set his sights a bit higher and dove into the car market. That's where things started getting interesting. First up for Agassi was to outline life with an electric car and to work on batteries first - an issue since the invention of the first automobiles.

Car batteries, then and now, are heavy and expensive, don't last long, and take forever to recharge. In five minutes you can fill a car with enough gas to go 300 miles, but five minutes of charging at home gets you only about 8 miles in an electric car. Clever tricks, like adding "range extenders"—gas engines that kick in when a battery dies—end up making the cars too expensive.

Agassi dealt with the battery issue by simply swatting it away. Previous approaches relied on a traditional manufacturing formula: We make the cars, you buy them. Agassi reimagined the entire automotive ecosystem by proposing a new concept he called the Electric Recharge Grid Operator. It was an unorthodox mashup of the automotive and mobile phone industries. Instead of gas stations on every corner, the ERGO would blanket a country with a network of "smart" charge spots. Drivers could plug in anywhere, anytime, and would subscribe to a specific plan—unlimited miles, a maximum number of miles each month, or pay as you go—all for less than the equivalent cost for gas. They'd buy their car from the operator, who would offer steep discounts, perhaps even give the cars away. The profit would come from selling electricity—the minutes.

There would be plugs in homes, offices, shopping malls. And when customers couldn't wait to "fill up," they'd go to battery exchange stations where they would pull into car-wash-like sheds, and in a few minutes, a hydraulic lift would swap the depleted battery with a fresh one. Drivers wouldn't pay a penny extra: The ERGO would own the battery.

Damn.

This brings us full circle to a Jalopnik post today asking for a Manhattan Project style overhaul of the process, should Obama win in November. Funny, I had just talked myself out of that after the first link...

I think everyone would be well served by taking a meeting with Agassi and just getting a feel for what he's proposing. In one of life's little twists, Hawaii is the frontrunner for implementation in the United States, with a small land mass that is dependent on imported oil for all of its needs.

So, in a week of high ideals and grand plans that seemingly know no bounds, I point you in the direction of another one - Agassi's. It's a long shot right now and would require Americans to accept something different from what they're used to and see as their birthright - bigger, faster cars that can run through hundreds of miles of desert with the air conditioning on full blast.

Count me as someone who loves those cars - and has made no secret of his outright lust for the old gas guzzlers of the 1950s, 60s and 70s - but it's time to face facts and to stop chasing down the same arid dead ends.

Agassi seems to be on the right track - he doesn't think like normal people do.

When I ask Shai if he's worried about a competitor stealing his idea, he stares at me like I'm an idiot. "The mission is to end oil," he says, "not create a company."

Truck is a dirty word in Chicago

I'll admit that I'm in the minority here in Chicago by owning my own vehicle and the fact that said vehicle is a truck.

Of the five people in my apartment building, my wife and I own both cars. As younger folks in the city, the three people downstairs have no vehicles between them. I've tried to be as unapproachable as possible to ward off any conversations regarding borrowing my truck.

Sure, I'd be happy to drive someone to the hospital in an emergency - but if there's blood, they're riding in the bed, no doubt about it.

It's no secret that the city would prefer that I drive something more sensible, like a Honda Accord, that takes up less space, adds less to the carbon footprint of the city and isn't so tough on the streets.

But there's the rub.

I drive a Ford Ranger that is small in comparison to modern SUVs and sips gas by comparison. I can't help but be a little frustrated when shelling out $180 for my yearly city sticker. Where do I file an appeal?

For those who haven't had the pleasure of purchasing city stickers, Chicago requires a sticker for street parking every year. In theory, you're paying for city services that are required by vehicle owners and they're more than happy to ticket the hell out of you for non-compliance. For newbies to the city, get ready to see those tickets pile up through the end of June as the city nails people who skated by without a sticker this year.

(Additionally, here is the link for online sticker purchase if you don't feel like standing in line at the local currency exchange for what will seem like hours on end.)

As a fairly rational person, I saw the difference between sticker charges - $75 for a car and $180 for a truck - and tried to work out the price jump. Trucks are usually heavier, creating a disproportionate amount of wear and tear on the roads and, they're longer, taking up more space, even when parked on the street.

The funny thing is that when I was looking up the vehicle weight for the form, I needed another vehicle to compare it to, so I chose my wife's six-cylinder coupe.

The tale of the tape shows that my truck gets roughly the same gas mileage (two miles better in the city, two miles worse on the highway) and is just over a foot longer. Still, the truck costs twice the price, but is a hair narrower and only 18 pounds heavier. So much for the wear and tear theory.

I understand the idea behind different plates for the big trucks and why the city tries to police the scrapper trucks that patrol the alleys of the city for reusable junk and metal. I understand the law keeping bigger pickups off Lake Shore Drive, even if I think it's stupid.

But to charge extra for a truck, regardless of the license plates, which for smaller trucks are the same as the city's cars? How can I not feel screwed?

If I'm going to pay for it, I'm getting my money's worth - if you need to find my truck, it'll be the one parked diagonally, halfway on the sidewalk.

(Photo taken for Siberia, Minnesota - it's my Toby Keith portrait of the old truck, strategically hiding the destroyed rear fender on the passenger side.)

Good Samaratins and Bad Language

Having time on my hands, I started to dig out from the last day's worth of snow. I was feeling pretty good this morning, so I started in front of our apartment and kept going down to the alley to help out our neighbors.

The snow is pretty light, so it's actually a good snowstorm to rack up the big accumulation numbers.

Anyone who has lived in a cold climate knows that powder is better than packing snow on your back, just like they know that rear wheel drive cars can be hell in the snow.

As I was coming back from walking around the neighborhood, I see a car stuck with the back wheels just churning up snow and making ice. Some poor knucklehead had his Porsche stuck in a small drift, while another guy had stopped to try and push him out into the plowed part of the street.

I stop to help push and realize that the guy in the car has no idea how to rock the tires up and over the snow drift and he's just laying down as much rubber as the good people in the Porsche production facility will let him. It was a total circus.

As we're pushing, the other guy who stopped is cursing away about what a clown the driver is and he's yelling at the driver to slow it down, drop it a gear if he can, etc., but every time he leans over to get him in line, the driver sprays him with a new tirefull of slush.

It was good work from everyone on the team.

If the tires would have grabbed at any point, we would have seen the car's touted 0 to 60 speeds headed for the broadside of the cars parked across the street. (OK, maybe that's the biggest reason I stopped - you can't miss that.)

I just shook my head at how worthless a Porsche is in the snow (like it's distant cousin, the Mustang) and how a random guy walking with his wife will have it in his heart to stop and help, but have such a foul mouth while doing it.

The driver fell into the "not from around here" category (European-ish) and thanked us after he got free. He promised he'd look into getting a "shovel, no?" Good for him.

As the car slipped down the street, the other pusher thanked me for stopping and made the easiest called shot imaginable - "That guy would have been here all fucking day, otherwise."

I'm not sure if that's true - eventually he would have melted his way down to pavement or been hit by a passing garbage truck, right?

(Image from: viewimages.com)

The future is going to suck

Thinking about cars tonight reminds me of a conversation Frankie and I had about American muscle cars a few months back when I tried to convince him that I could move to Ireland, work on Chevys and Fords and charge an extra 140 percent margin for servicing "foreign cars."

I saw it as a can't miss opportunity for career advancement, but Frankie thinks I'm an idiot.

The part we didn't see eye to eye on was the overwhelming loyalty to the American muscle car. I still think that there will always be a spot in someone's garage for an old Nova or a Mustang that won't run. I refuse to believe anything else.

At the very least, there will be morons like myself who will overpay for a car just because it runs. I guess it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, huh?

The big thing I think about whenever we go to car shows now is what we'll be seeing in 15, 20 or 30 years from now when we go to "classic" shows. There's not much difference between most sedans anymore and I have no interest in seeing a Corolla for free, much less for 10 bucks a head. Or whatever the currency of the future might be - my money is on the Shrutebuck.

(Image from: ThePlasticExplosives.com)

If I ever have to move to Naperville, I'm getting one of these

All apologies to Frank the Tank, but if I ever get shuffled out to the burbs, I'm totally going this route with my state-issued crotchfruit transport vehicle.

I love this sort of crazy shit.

There are whole subsections of car culture focused on tricking out cars that have no business being worked on. Station wagons, old delivery trucks, Good Humor trucks and others. If you need any other evidence, I'm pretty sure College Humor has all sorts of redneck-constructed vehicles that you can mock for hours on end.

So, having seen this, I know what Frankie and I will be doing the first few months after I move back, when the weather turns and life is better lived in a warm garage.

It's a pretty simple phrase, "220 mile per hour Volvo."

(As a really funny side note a Google search for "drag race" brings up a lot of stories and pictures of drag queens, racing in high heels. Considering the demographic who actually search the web for drag racing stories, I think this is funny on several levels. It's awesome.)

(Image from Draglist.com)

Heaven or Hell?

Today was the middle day of the Minnesota Street Rod Association's annual Back to the 50's Weekend. Every year for the past 34 years (that's back to 1973, so 13 years after the actual 50s, but who's counting?) the MSRA has gathered to load in old cars and the whole thing has become a high-water mark for a Twin Cities summer.

Well, for me at least.

For a little perspective, there are supposed to be over 11,000 vehicles on the fairgrounds this weekend, which sounds like a lot on paper, but I can't easily covey how many cars that is.

From talking to a friend who owns a custom shop, the event staff only wants cars made before the middle of 1964 rolling at any point during the day.

If you need to move your SUV or truck for your business, they'll escort you out as quickly as possible to not spoil the parade of old rods.

It's a really cool event and I have pictures up at the Flickr page if anyone is really itching to see pictures of old cars.

The only question is if it's really street rod heaven or if being around that many classics without one of your own is a very special level of hell.

(Image taken for Siberia, Minnesota)

Rubbin' is racin'... or so I'm told

Let's make one thing clear - I'm not really a NASCAR guy.

I should be and think I'd make a damn fine representative of the NASCAR nation, but I just can't get over the red state stink that coats the whole thing.

Of course, I realized I should have live-blogged the whole Daytona 500 about 15 minutes too late on Sunday, but I offer you these pearls of wisdom days late and subject to the inaccuracies of my sick, sick mind.

* In the pre-race discussions, one of the commentators was discussing the angles of the banks in the turns that help keep the cars on the track at 180 miles an hour.

Announcer: "Those are 30-degree angles on the banks there! That's a steeper angle than the roof on your house!"
My mind: "Well, no shit - most mobile homes just have a piece of corrugated metal welded straight to the the top, right?"

* I nearly went into patriotic shock while watching an American Idol alumnus, several huge American flags and a stars and stripes outline of the USA. It was a little over the top if you ask me.

Or anyone whose middle name isn't Lee, Ray, Jean, or Sue and is used as part of their full name in casual conversation.

Or who have received a gun rack as a gift at some point in their lives. I'll stop now.

* Everyone should add Idiocracy to their NetFlix queues right now. It's a cautionary tale, but just seeing a few crowd shots - in addition to Danny's photojournalism essay a few years back - made it all a little too real for me.

(Photo from: ThirdWayBlog.com)

Zen and the art of tailgating

I was just having a conversation with a customer on my last stop of the day today about traffic and all things being relative and should have known I'd be asking for trouble getting home during the evening commute.

My point was that by moving from Chicago to Northern Virginia and back to Chicago, Minneapolis traffic doesn't do a whole lot to scare me.

I should have kept my fool mouth shut.

At the heart of the conversation was the fact that Joe and I are both pretty mellow guys at this stage in our lives - This stage in our lives, you snickering hyenas who knew me when... - but nothing beats a good traffic snarl to fuck up our good moods.

I used to love being the coolest guy on the roads on sweltering afternoons stuck on the Stevenson, cranking the radio with a big, dumb smile on my face as I smoked and did the cabbage patch, just to make the furious drivers around me more furious. Now, I just watch the clock, compose blog posts in my head, play with my iPod and try to ignore the new noises my truck develops daily.

With all of this and the recent conversation floating around my head tonight I sat and waited for traffic to clear as I inched my way home over the final four-mile stretch.

I paid attention to the roadway information signs, which told me there was an accident on the left-hand side ahead just before my exit. I waited and watched the suckers take the left lane, sure that I'd have the last laugh when their lane was blocked by a fiery wreck ahead.

The problem was those suckers vanished and I never saw their tail lights again.

Not only was there no accident ahead, the only thing causing the traffic snarl was some yahoo pulled over on the opposite side of the highway and drivers slowing to watch him talk to a cop, while nearly sideswiping merging traffic.

I guess for me, that's the best part of a good gapers block - by the time I realize what's going on and I'm ready to melt down and begin spewing my profanity-laced venom at my fellow motorists, it's already too late.

I think being stuck in traffic is the only problem in my life that actually fixes itself.


(Image from Transport2000.org.uk)

Vroom, vroom...

I'm surfing CraigsList tonight looking for a possible work truck to keep the miles off my baby for unknown reasons - really, what do I have to gain by keeping a truck with 125,000 miles on it at this point? - and every few minutes I lean over to The Girl and make her laugh.

Sorry if the links go down before you see them - the pertinent quotes have been included and I hope you get a chance to see some of these trash heaps.

The highlights?

* This little gem - Only one bullet hole. Well shit, only one? Awesome, how late will you be up tonight? I'll run right over.

* Also, there are a minimum of two school busses on sale (sweet) which I bet would make hauling gear to work sites pretty simple.

* This guy got screwed pretty badly - "I have a loan on this truck for $3,700 dollars." That's for 189,000 miles on a banged up Toyota. And there's nearly 4,000 bucks left. Wow.

* And this is really great - "Please take it away, starts runs good no forward gears... " That might be a problem. Unless you want it to just sit around in such a sweet ride to wait for the girls to be drawn to it like iron shavings to a magnet.

Man, that guy sounds more desperate than the dude with four grand left on that other heap.

Something tells me this isn't over quite yet...

(Photo from CraigsList posting)

Today's garage tip

Seeing as this information exists no where else on the Internet (trust me, I checked), here is the simple code for resetting the oil change/service light in a 2002 Mercury Cougar.

First, get the old oil out of the car somehow and get some new stuff in.

Then, press the "Units" and "Reset" buttons at the same time and hold for five seconds.

The little wrench light will turn off and you will be free to resume your life.

Seriously, kids - if you keep your gas tank full and replace the oil regularly, you'll keep a car running for decades. It's really not that difficult anymore.

(Photo from consumerguide.com)