Roman Holiday
My Herculean quest to buy a new daily driver!
Pirate Press January 2021
Upon seeing me drowsily slumped over in my chair on Monday morning, my co-worker asked if I’d had a busy weekend? I acknowledged that I did, and that we’d left for Rome early Saturday morning and gotten in late Sunday night. But when he found out that I was talking about Georgia, and not Italy, he suddenly became disinterested and quickly disappeared.
Personally, I don’t blame him. Truthfully, I’ve never aspired to visit Rome, Georgia, and I’ve always felt it was one of those boring little towns that was given a cosmopolitan name just to trick people into thinking it was a noteworthy place. It turns out I was mostly right, but such follows my bad luck when trying to locate obscure cars.
It all started a week prior when I took my 2006 Saturn Ion Red Line to a local mechanic for an under-hood rattling noise. I’d pretty much pinpointed it to either the supercharger pulley coupler or the idler tensioner. He couldn’t tell for sure, but in his examination, he diagnosed a lengthy laundry list of other expensive items that all needed immediate attention. Granted, none of them were a surprise, but it was still depressing nonetheless. Essentially, my Saturn needed a new clutch, new transmission, new brakes and new tires. Even worse, I’ve never had to replace a single accessory items under the hood, so the air-conditioning compressor, alternator, fuel pump, starter and water pump were all original and could fail at any moment. Being 15 years old and with 138,000 miles, KBB pegged my car’s retail value at $3000 with a laughable trade-in allowance of just $900. Sadly, it was finally time to put it out to pasture and start looking for a new daily driver.
Of course, I tried this back in 2019 with the Corvette, but I ultimately deemed it too nice for the daily abuse. I also briefly considered a Cobalt SS, but it was only available with a 5-speed, and that’s my biggest gripe with the Saturn. For the past thirty years, all my cars have been manual transmissions and I’m just plain tired of them.
My problem was that I wanted an automotive unicorn: something that was sporty, yet didn’t have a million miles on it, and wasn’t more than a king’s ransom. Also, I didn’t want a gas-guzzling V8 or a high-strung, forced-induction four, so that left me with a V6, something I haven’t driven since my 1986 Fiero.
I looked at some Honda Accords, but there were either high-mileage (150K+) or generally more than I wanted to spend for a work car. Likewise, I was fond of the ’98 Nissan Altima my parents owned, but later ones are plagued with CVT transmission issues. Finally, I came across the Ford Fusion, a car we initially considered in 2006 before we bought our Freestyle, and it was also Motor Trend's Car of the Year for 2010. At that time, it had a 220hp 3.0-liter V6 that made it pretty quick for a sedan. I remember racing one on the highway in my ’97 Saturn SC2 and it was nearly dead-even.
I began looking at the listings for a Fusion with the V6 and was dismayed to find that most of the local offerings were just four-cylinders. Eventually, I found a 2010 model with 65K miles on it located in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida. Aside from the heavily-tinted windows, it seemed like a good fit for me. But as I expanded my search, I stumbled upon a much rarer version that I didn’t even realize existed. It was known as the Fusion Sport and was only built for two short years, from 2010-2012. The real desirability stemmed from the larger 3.5 V6 which boasted 265 hp, sixty more than my Red Line had when I bought it. And combining the best of both worlds, it offered a six-speed automatic transmission with a sequential manual shift mode— pull back for upshifts, push forward for downshifts, for when I felt like rowing the gears.
But the Sport model was about more than just a larger engine: It was also equipped with 18-inch wheels (an inch larger than the ones fitted to my Red Line and the same size as the Corvette and Ferrari). Also, the suspension was tuned for a firmer and more responsive ride while the body had been upgraded with new pieces that echoed its energetic character. There was an aggressive lower chrome grille, sculpted rocker panels, a subtle rear spoiler, and new chrome exhaust tips that look like they were borrowed from the Mustang GT.
When comparing prices, there was only a roughly $1000 premium for the Sport over the SEL, a pittance when considering that for the extra clams you were getting—among other things—a more powerful engine, better interior, unique body kit, and larger wheels.
So, with my mind made up, I began searching for the Sport model. As expected, it turned out to be even more elusive than the standard V6 Fusion. I finally narrowed the two geographically closest to Russellville, Arkansas and Rome, Georgia, both places that were literally in the middle of nowhere. And while they were each essentially in the Southeast, they were still separated by 500 miles, meaning it would be a single-shot deal; If I didn’t like one, there was no way I could drive the eight hours to cross-shop the other.
Predictably, there were pros and cons to each. I preferred the Oxford White one in Arkansas, but while it was a year newer, it was also $1000 more and had higher mileage. So, by default I chose the 2010 model in Georgia which was ironically nearly the same crimson hue as my Corvette and Ferrari. Officially known as “Red Candy Metallic Tinted” it’s just a shade brighter than the Sport’s other similar color “Sangria Red Metallic.” Call me crazy, but I’m sensing a culinary trend here, wondering if the Ford designers were snacking and drinking heavily when they thought up these eccentric names? Regardless, I’ve been trying for thirty years to acquire a white-colored car and I’ve been foiled yet again.
Friday night, October 9th, we were waiting to see what Hurricane Delta was going to do and Victoria had invited her dance team over, so leaving then for Georgia was out of the question.
So, early Saturday morning we were hastily packing to hit the road by 8 a.m. We had a six-hour drive ahead of us, and we were going to lose an hour to Eastern Time, but fortunately the dealership didn’t close until 6 p.m. Although Hurricane Delta had gradually moved westward and made landfall in Louisiana, it was still spawning massive amounts of rain and wind across Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia. We drove through these miserable conditions for nearly three hours and were almost ready to stop for lunch in Montgomery when Waze alerted us to an impending wreck ahead. With flashbacks of the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge fiasco from our drive to Houston a month earlier, I feared the worst. Fortunately, we were directed to an exit whereby we took some back roads through the rustic community of Sandy Ridge. My Mother always admonished me to try and make the best of a bad situation, so while I was furious that we had been delayed an extra hour, I tried to focus on the bucolic countryside that we would have missed had we stayed on the uninspiring Interstate. Well, that and the fact that the notorious Alabama pissing bandit was thankfully nowhere to be seen!
Approximately two hours of rain-soaked misery later, Waze had us turning near LaGrange, Georgia, which was at odds with the course I had selected. It was the age-old traffic debate as to whether to take the shorter-but-slower rural route or the longer-but-quicker Interstate one? My rationale was that while taking I-85 resulted in a further amount to travel, the extra distance was negated by the ability to drive at faster speeds. Despite my thinking that 1-85 would ultimately be better, I deferred to Waze and took the road less traveled.
As with the voyage earlier through Sandy Ridge, we marveled at the pastoral fall foliage and the beautiful Autumn colors, even while the small-town speed limits and tortoise-slow traffic continued to aggravate me. And all the while, I was still expecting to get to the dealership and discover that the car had been sold. Given my history with these things, I had already prepared myself for that eventual outcome.
Up ahead, the Appalachian Mountains came into full view and it was such a breathtaking sight that I simply couldn’t be upset regardless of what happened. Geologists estimate that they formed around 480 million years ago and were once as tall as the Swiss Alps before natural erosion wore them down.
We made it into the Rome City limits at 5:00, just an hour shy of the dealership’s closing time when I spotted a police car across the highway about to pull out. I didn’t give it much thought until I came to a red light and he was behind me. When the light changed, I put on my blinker to move out of his way and then he suddenly cut on his blue lights. Alarmed, Amanda asked if we were being pulled over and I clarified that we indeed were. When she asked why, I admitted that I had no idea. I had my radar detector on for the length of the trip and it hadn’t made a peep.
He came to my window and stated that he had received a call from another motorist that I was “all over the road” so he wanted to make sure I was okay. I admitted that I was fine and that I was certainly not driving recklessly in the wet conditions with my wife and daughter aboard. He asked to see my license, but strangely not any other documents like my insurance or vehicle registration, and then disappeared back to his patrol car.
A few minutes later, he returned and handed me my license. With no explanation or apology, he simply told me to try and be more careful. I reiterated that I was being extra careful and that we were simply in town to look at buying a car. With that, we were on our way, but I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that we were victims of “Tourist Profiling.” That is, we were detained simply because we were from out of state, not due to any violations or criminal activity. In hindsight, it was the calmest I’ve ever been during a traffic stop because (this time at least) I really was completely innocent.
However, after the seven hours of non-stop rain, the hour-long traffic jam, someone else possibly buying the car, and then getting pulled over just minutes from the dealership, I was starting to feel like the whole trip was doomed from the start.
The size of Rome reminded me a lot of Pascagoula, but the dealership, Heritage Nissan, was much bigger than I envisioned. I then told Amanda that since Heritage was also the name of the company that built our new house, it was most definitely a good omen.
Personally, I don’t blame him. Truthfully, I’ve never aspired to visit Rome, Georgia, and I’ve always felt it was one of those boring little towns that was given a cosmopolitan name just to trick people into thinking it was a noteworthy place. It turns out I was mostly right, but such follows my bad luck when trying to locate obscure cars.
It all started a week prior when I took my 2006 Saturn Ion Red Line to a local mechanic for an under-hood rattling noise. I’d pretty much pinpointed it to either the supercharger pulley coupler or the idler tensioner. He couldn’t tell for sure, but in his examination, he diagnosed a lengthy laundry list of other expensive items that all needed immediate attention. Granted, none of them were a surprise, but it was still depressing nonetheless. Essentially, my Saturn needed a new clutch, new transmission, new brakes and new tires. Even worse, I’ve never had to replace a single accessory items under the hood, so the air-conditioning compressor, alternator, fuel pump, starter and water pump were all original and could fail at any moment. Being 15 years old and with 138,000 miles, KBB pegged my car’s retail value at $3000 with a laughable trade-in allowance of just $900. Sadly, it was finally time to put it out to pasture and start looking for a new daily driver.
Of course, I tried this back in 2019 with the Corvette, but I ultimately deemed it too nice for the daily abuse. I also briefly considered a Cobalt SS, but it was only available with a 5-speed, and that’s my biggest gripe with the Saturn. For the past thirty years, all my cars have been manual transmissions and I’m just plain tired of them.
My problem was that I wanted an automotive unicorn: something that was sporty, yet didn’t have a million miles on it, and wasn’t more than a king’s ransom. Also, I didn’t want a gas-guzzling V8 or a high-strung, forced-induction four, so that left me with a V6, something I haven’t driven since my 1986 Fiero.
I looked at some Honda Accords, but there were either high-mileage (150K+) or generally more than I wanted to spend for a work car. Likewise, I was fond of the ’98 Nissan Altima my parents owned, but later ones are plagued with CVT transmission issues. Finally, I came across the Ford Fusion, a car we initially considered in 2006 before we bought our Freestyle, and it was also Motor Trend's Car of the Year for 2010. At that time, it had a 220hp 3.0-liter V6 that made it pretty quick for a sedan. I remember racing one on the highway in my ’97 Saturn SC2 and it was nearly dead-even.
I began looking at the listings for a Fusion with the V6 and was dismayed to find that most of the local offerings were just four-cylinders. Eventually, I found a 2010 model with 65K miles on it located in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida. Aside from the heavily-tinted windows, it seemed like a good fit for me. But as I expanded my search, I stumbled upon a much rarer version that I didn’t even realize existed. It was known as the Fusion Sport and was only built for two short years, from 2010-2012. The real desirability stemmed from the larger 3.5 V6 which boasted 265 hp, sixty more than my Red Line had when I bought it. And combining the best of both worlds, it offered a six-speed automatic transmission with a sequential manual shift mode— pull back for upshifts, push forward for downshifts, for when I felt like rowing the gears.
But the Sport model was about more than just a larger engine: It was also equipped with 18-inch wheels (an inch larger than the ones fitted to my Red Line and the same size as the Corvette and Ferrari). Also, the suspension was tuned for a firmer and more responsive ride while the body had been upgraded with new pieces that echoed its energetic character. There was an aggressive lower chrome grille, sculpted rocker panels, a subtle rear spoiler, and new chrome exhaust tips that look like they were borrowed from the Mustang GT.
When comparing prices, there was only a roughly $1000 premium for the Sport over the SEL, a pittance when considering that for the extra clams you were getting—among other things—a more powerful engine, better interior, unique body kit, and larger wheels.
So, with my mind made up, I began searching for the Sport model. As expected, it turned out to be even more elusive than the standard V6 Fusion. I finally narrowed the two geographically closest to Russellville, Arkansas and Rome, Georgia, both places that were literally in the middle of nowhere. And while they were each essentially in the Southeast, they were still separated by 500 miles, meaning it would be a single-shot deal; If I didn’t like one, there was no way I could drive the eight hours to cross-shop the other.
Predictably, there were pros and cons to each. I preferred the Oxford White one in Arkansas, but while it was a year newer, it was also $1000 more and had higher mileage. So, by default I chose the 2010 model in Georgia which was ironically nearly the same crimson hue as my Corvette and Ferrari. Officially known as “Red Candy Metallic Tinted” it’s just a shade brighter than the Sport’s other similar color “Sangria Red Metallic.” Call me crazy, but I’m sensing a culinary trend here, wondering if the Ford designers were snacking and drinking heavily when they thought up these eccentric names? Regardless, I’ve been trying for thirty years to acquire a white-colored car and I’ve been foiled yet again.
Friday night, October 9th, we were waiting to see what Hurricane Delta was going to do and Victoria had invited her dance team over, so leaving then for Georgia was out of the question.
So, early Saturday morning we were hastily packing to hit the road by 8 a.m. We had a six-hour drive ahead of us, and we were going to lose an hour to Eastern Time, but fortunately the dealership didn’t close until 6 p.m. Although Hurricane Delta had gradually moved westward and made landfall in Louisiana, it was still spawning massive amounts of rain and wind across Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia. We drove through these miserable conditions for nearly three hours and were almost ready to stop for lunch in Montgomery when Waze alerted us to an impending wreck ahead. With flashbacks of the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge fiasco from our drive to Houston a month earlier, I feared the worst. Fortunately, we were directed to an exit whereby we took some back roads through the rustic community of Sandy Ridge. My Mother always admonished me to try and make the best of a bad situation, so while I was furious that we had been delayed an extra hour, I tried to focus on the bucolic countryside that we would have missed had we stayed on the uninspiring Interstate. Well, that and the fact that the notorious Alabama pissing bandit was thankfully nowhere to be seen!
Approximately two hours of rain-soaked misery later, Waze had us turning near LaGrange, Georgia, which was at odds with the course I had selected. It was the age-old traffic debate as to whether to take the shorter-but-slower rural route or the longer-but-quicker Interstate one? My rationale was that while taking I-85 resulted in a further amount to travel, the extra distance was negated by the ability to drive at faster speeds. Despite my thinking that 1-85 would ultimately be better, I deferred to Waze and took the road less traveled.
As with the voyage earlier through Sandy Ridge, we marveled at the pastoral fall foliage and the beautiful Autumn colors, even while the small-town speed limits and tortoise-slow traffic continued to aggravate me. And all the while, I was still expecting to get to the dealership and discover that the car had been sold. Given my history with these things, I had already prepared myself for that eventual outcome.
Up ahead, the Appalachian Mountains came into full view and it was such a breathtaking sight that I simply couldn’t be upset regardless of what happened. Geologists estimate that they formed around 480 million years ago and were once as tall as the Swiss Alps before natural erosion wore them down.
We made it into the Rome City limits at 5:00, just an hour shy of the dealership’s closing time when I spotted a police car across the highway about to pull out. I didn’t give it much thought until I came to a red light and he was behind me. When the light changed, I put on my blinker to move out of his way and then he suddenly cut on his blue lights. Alarmed, Amanda asked if we were being pulled over and I clarified that we indeed were. When she asked why, I admitted that I had no idea. I had my radar detector on for the length of the trip and it hadn’t made a peep.
He came to my window and stated that he had received a call from another motorist that I was “all over the road” so he wanted to make sure I was okay. I admitted that I was fine and that I was certainly not driving recklessly in the wet conditions with my wife and daughter aboard. He asked to see my license, but strangely not any other documents like my insurance or vehicle registration, and then disappeared back to his patrol car.
A few minutes later, he returned and handed me my license. With no explanation or apology, he simply told me to try and be more careful. I reiterated that I was being extra careful and that we were simply in town to look at buying a car. With that, we were on our way, but I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that we were victims of “Tourist Profiling.” That is, we were detained simply because we were from out of state, not due to any violations or criminal activity. In hindsight, it was the calmest I’ve ever been during a traffic stop because (this time at least) I really was completely innocent.
However, after the seven hours of non-stop rain, the hour-long traffic jam, someone else possibly buying the car, and then getting pulled over just minutes from the dealership, I was starting to feel like the whole trip was doomed from the start.
The size of Rome reminded me a lot of Pascagoula, but the dealership, Heritage Nissan, was much bigger than I envisioned. I then told Amanda that since Heritage was also the name of the company that built our new house, it was most definitely a good omen.
Sure enough, we pulled in and the Fusion was parked directly in front. It was still steadily raining, but after I got Amanda and Victoria inside, the salesman, Dustin arranged to pull it into the covered service department so I could inspect it. He volunteered that the Fusion was traded in less than a week earlier by an old man who hardly drove it. Indeed, it was a 2010 that just had 34,000 miles on it. I asked him if he was sure it wasn’t owned by a nymphomaniac who only used the back seat? He laughed and shook his head stating that the old man inexplicably traded it in on a new 370Z with a six-speed manual transmission. I admitted that it sounded like he was a masochist completely in the throes of a late-life crisis.
Despite that, the car reflected the low miles with glossy paint and a wear-free interior. Pointing to the back seat, Dustin exclaimed that it looked like it had never been used, sadly shooting down my nympho theory. The upgraded Charcoal Black leather, exclusive to the Sport model, featured silver stitching on the seats, steering wheel, shifter and door panels. I was pleased, but in disbelief that the Fusion actually had a nicer interior than the 2016 Hellcat I recently rented.
It also possessed nearly every creature comfort I’ve been missing in my Saturn thanks to the optional $4,030 “Moon & Tune” package. That bundle included a moon roof, 12-speaker Sony sound system, and backup camera. The other items like ambient lighting, automatic headlights, blind-spot warning system, dual-zone HVAC and reversing sensors are nice, but pretty much superfluous in my opinion. Also, I don’t care how cold it gets, I’m never going to use the heated seats! Granted, my wife or daughter might, but I won’t ever.
For better or worse, this was my first test drive ever in the rain, so I purposely abbreviated it. However, I did discover that the windshield wipers were obviously new, and it rode much smoother than I expected with the 18” wheels.
But as we pulled back into the dealership, I was startled when I heard a groaning sound coming from the engine bay. As I steered around the parking lot, I found that it got louder.
We drove it back into the service department and I left the engine running as I popped the hood. Of course, I was replaying all the day’s events in my mind—and all the hurdles we had overcome—only to be seemingly defeated at the very end by a mysterious mechanical malady.
It felt like the final straw that broke the camel’s back.
However, I decided that after having come so far and through so much, I wasn’t going to just give up. I noticed the noise was most pronounced whenever I was turning the steering wheel, so I popped the cap off the power steering fluid reservoir to inspect it. Sure enough, it was nearly empty, and the tiny amount of fluid present was just gurgling in the bottom. The service department and parts department were both closed, so there was no way we could get our hands on any power steering fluid.
Dustin suggested we drive to the nearest auto parts store and pick some up. I agreed and that’s how I got a VIP tour of downtown Rome, Georgia.
We ended up at an AutoZone since it was the closest, and he magnanimously sprung for the $6 bottle of synthetic power steering fluid. I was fairly confident that it would fix the problem, but on the off-chance it didn’t, I wasn’t going to be responsible for lugging around a quart of power steering fluid I’d bought.
Once back at the dealership, he filled the reservoir to the full mark, and the sound immediately vanished. Thankfully, it was a case of looking for the simple things. Initially, I had expected the worst, so I was relieved when it was such an easy fix. However, I didn’t see any leaks, so I was a little concerned as to why the fluid was low to begin with? Despite that, I’ve now driven it over 3,000 miles and the fluid level has remained unchanged and there are no puddles under the car. Besides, a power steering pump is rather cheap and easy to replace, unlike an engine or transmission.
After the usual back-and-forth negotiations, and we’d agreed on a price that was significantly lower than the advertised amount, Amanda and Victoria left in the Santa Fe and I followed behind them in the Fusion. While we were leaving, Dustin told me to be sure and let him know we made it back to Mississippi safely. I was pleased at his gesture of concern but didn’t think we had anything to worry about.
We drove it back into the service department and I left the engine running as I popped the hood. Of course, I was replaying all the day’s events in my mind—and all the hurdles we had overcome—only to be seemingly defeated at the very end by a mysterious mechanical malady.
It felt like the final straw that broke the camel’s back.
However, I decided that after having come so far and through so much, I wasn’t going to just give up. I noticed the noise was most pronounced whenever I was turning the steering wheel, so I popped the cap off the power steering fluid reservoir to inspect it. Sure enough, it was nearly empty, and the tiny amount of fluid present was just gurgling in the bottom. The service department and parts department were both closed, so there was no way we could get our hands on any power steering fluid.
Dustin suggested we drive to the nearest auto parts store and pick some up. I agreed and that’s how I got a VIP tour of downtown Rome, Georgia.
We ended up at an AutoZone since it was the closest, and he magnanimously sprung for the $6 bottle of synthetic power steering fluid. I was fairly confident that it would fix the problem, but on the off-chance it didn’t, I wasn’t going to be responsible for lugging around a quart of power steering fluid I’d bought.
Once back at the dealership, he filled the reservoir to the full mark, and the sound immediately vanished. Thankfully, it was a case of looking for the simple things. Initially, I had expected the worst, so I was relieved when it was such an easy fix. However, I didn’t see any leaks, so I was a little concerned as to why the fluid was low to begin with? Despite that, I’ve now driven it over 3,000 miles and the fluid level has remained unchanged and there are no puddles under the car. Besides, a power steering pump is rather cheap and easy to replace, unlike an engine or transmission.
After the usual back-and-forth negotiations, and we’d agreed on a price that was significantly lower than the advertised amount, Amanda and Victoria left in the Santa Fe and I followed behind them in the Fusion. While we were leaving, Dustin told me to be sure and let him know we made it back to Mississippi safely. I was pleased at his gesture of concern but didn’t think we had anything to worry about.
It turns out I was very wrong.
As we drove away from Rome, the already rainy weather began deteriorating rapidly. The sun was also setting, robbing us of what little daylight we had, and making our drive even more treacherous. We had planned to drive an hour southeast to Kennesaw, where the closest Chuy’s was for dinner, and then spend the night at a nearby hotel.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, Amanda called me in a panic because the emergency alerts on her phone were going off. A tornado had been spotted in the area and they were warning people to seek shelter immediately. Unfortunately, we were on a desolate stretch with nothing but the Appalachians around us, so I just told Amanda to keep going and not stop. My hope was that eventually we would drive out of it. In the meantime, I kept scanning the horizon for any signs of an impending twister. And while I didn’t see a full-fledged one, I witnessed the mist being pulled off the mountain tops and sucked up in cyclic formations, indicating conditions were ripe for tornadic activity. The next morning, we would learn that a terrifying seven tornadoes were confirmed in Georgia as Hurricane Delta passed over. Furthermore, The Weather Service was still trying to determine if other unaccounted for tornadoes had touched down.
On the 400-mile drive home, I never realized how noisy and run-down my Saturn had become until I bought the Fusion. Of course, I’ve always sought out cars that emphasized performance over luxury, and with that there’s not a lot of concessions to comfort. I knew that, and thought it didn’t matter, but it turns out it did.
Truthfully, I’m pretty spoiled with the Fusion’s opulent conveniences that I never experienced in the Corvette or Ferrari. It’s been 20 years since I’ve had a car with a sunroof, and I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the open-air motoring. Of course, the Corvette had a removable targa top, but it was so cumbersome and unwieldy that I was reluctant to use it much. With the Fusion, it has a one-touch button that automatically opens or closes the sunroof.
On the 400-mile drive home, I never realized how noisy and run-down my Saturn had become until I bought the Fusion. Of course, I’ve always sought out cars that emphasized performance over luxury, and with that there’s not a lot of concessions to comfort. I knew that, and thought it didn’t matter, but it turns out it did.
Truthfully, I’m pretty spoiled with the Fusion’s opulent conveniences that I never experienced in the Corvette or Ferrari. It’s been 20 years since I’ve had a car with a sunroof, and I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the open-air motoring. Of course, the Corvette had a removable targa top, but it was so cumbersome and unwieldy that I was reluctant to use it much. With the Fusion, it has a one-touch button that automatically opens or closes the sunroof.
And having owned a 2006 Ford Freestyle, there’s also a similarity that extends to the interior with the Fusion possessing the same steering wheel, door locks, and other switch gear. It lends a comforting familiarity to the cabin, although there were quite a few new features I had to figure out on my own. For instance, the Fusion is my first vehicle with a USB port and it was harder to find than the G-Spot. While the A/C adapter was in plain view under the radio, I spent the first 30 days of ownership thinking it didn’t have a USB port. It was only after I read about it in the owner’s manual—and used a flashlight—that I found it hidden in the bottom of the center console armrest.
The radio in my Red Line got fried five years ago when the battery died and I had to jump-start it, so I’ve gotten used to not listening to music on my drives. As such, I made the six-hour drive from Georgia in silence but made a startling discovery when I turned on the radio a week later to change the time zone from Eastern to Central. Apparently, the previous owner was a music enthusiast who’d purchased a subscription to SiriusXM Satellite Radio. Accustomed to just a handful of FM stations, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the music at my fingertips. I quickly developed a fondness for the 80s on 8, although it was fun to also hear what was playing on the 90s on 9 and the 2000s on 10. But when I pick up my daughter, she turns it to KIIS FM out of Los Angeles as they play her favorites like Billie Eillish and Harry Styles. I don’t know how long I’ll continue to have free Satellite radio, but hopefully it will go unnoticed for a while as I’m too cheap to pay the $13 per month myself!
Surprisingly, that wasn’t the only gift the old man (albeit unintentionally) bestowed upon me. As it turns out, the Fusion has a small, drop-down compartment in the headliner and he left his aviator-style sunglasses in there. Not only that, but they’re pretty nice, too. Granted, they’re no Ray-Bans but they are fairly sturdy, and the lenses are polarized. I should mention this is becoming quite common for me, as the Corvette owner forgot his twelve CDs in the trunk-mounted CD changer. Hopefully on my next car purchase, I’ll hit the jackpot and find a really nice stash of money or drugs!
The radio in my Red Line got fried five years ago when the battery died and I had to jump-start it, so I’ve gotten used to not listening to music on my drives. As such, I made the six-hour drive from Georgia in silence but made a startling discovery when I turned on the radio a week later to change the time zone from Eastern to Central. Apparently, the previous owner was a music enthusiast who’d purchased a subscription to SiriusXM Satellite Radio. Accustomed to just a handful of FM stations, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the music at my fingertips. I quickly developed a fondness for the 80s on 8, although it was fun to also hear what was playing on the 90s on 9 and the 2000s on 10. But when I pick up my daughter, she turns it to KIIS FM out of Los Angeles as they play her favorites like Billie Eillish and Harry Styles. I don’t know how long I’ll continue to have free Satellite radio, but hopefully it will go unnoticed for a while as I’m too cheap to pay the $13 per month myself!
Surprisingly, that wasn’t the only gift the old man (albeit unintentionally) bestowed upon me. As it turns out, the Fusion has a small, drop-down compartment in the headliner and he left his aviator-style sunglasses in there. Not only that, but they’re pretty nice, too. Granted, they’re no Ray-Bans but they are fairly sturdy, and the lenses are polarized. I should mention this is becoming quite common for me, as the Corvette owner forgot his twelve CDs in the trunk-mounted CD changer. Hopefully on my next car purchase, I’ll hit the jackpot and find a really nice stash of money or drugs!
It sounds silly (and Alfred Hitchcock would approve), but I’m also enjoying the unobstructed rear window. For the past ten years, I’ve had to contend with the Red Line’s ridiculously high spoiler which blocked the middle thirty-percent of my outward view. Granted, it looked cool (and provided a lot of downforce) but it was still like an annoying, silver censorship bar. I had a comparable experience with both the Corvette and Ferrari in that while there were no physical items hindering my view, both glasses were so radically raked that it distorted everything, making them nearly as useless. Fortunately, the Fusion retains a modest spoiler, but it’s one that doesn’t interfere with rearward visibility.
And while the Sport model makes do with conventional halogen headlamps instead of HID units, they are immensely more effective than the ones on my Saturn. The Red Line’s headlights were never great to start with, and they became progressively worse after the minor front-end accident in 2017. Although the body shop that repaired it swears otherwise, I’m convinced the frame was bent as evidenced by one infuriatingly cock-eyed headlight beam at night.
But, perhaps my biggest gripe about the Fusion centers around the cheap, “tinny” feeling when shutting the doors. If caution isn’t exercised, they can slam so hard it feels like the window might shatter. Moreover, the leather seats (which are an obvious upgrade over the ones in the Freestyle) still lack the support of the Recaros in my Saturn.
Dustin thoughtfully topped off the Fusion’s gas tank before we left, but I knew I’d have to stop at least once to fill it up myself, and I was actually looking forward to it. That’s because it would be the first time in ten years that I wouldn’t have to pay the exorbitant prices for premium fuel, and I could run 87 octane which is what the Fusion’s V6 was designed for.
A conservative estimate shows that over the past decade and 100,000 miles, I’ve spent nearly $4000 just for the premium fuel surcharge in my Saturn. Of course, it’s been a blast, but I’m not convinced the fun-to-dollar ratio is still worth it. My priorities have shifted, and for better or worse, I’d rather save $15 on every weekly fill-up than have an extra 15 hp. I’m not saying that I won’t ever run 93 octane again—and I’ll definitely consider it if prices drop— but even an 87 octane tune can produce impressive gains in drivability and overall enjoyment.
And it’s a good thing I can run regular unleaded as the Fusion appears unnaturally thirsty: So far, I’m seeing around 24 MPG, which seems awfully low given that the Corvette averaged 23 MPG. The thermodynamic laws of combustion suggest that a modern V6 with variable valve-timing and a fuel-efficient six-speed transmission should easily trounce an aging, four-speed push-rod V8 at the gas pump.
Also, while I like the convenience of a cap-less fuel tank (which originated on the 2005 Ford GT super car), I did unfortunately learn that it doesn’t play nicely with pour-in bottles of fuel system cleaner. I have a long-standing ritual of adding such elixirs to my new cars when I get them, so I was quite dismayed when I had half a bottle of Royal Purple splash out on my shoes. Thankfully, my Tony Robbins motivational course of walking on hot coals had been postponed that day. Despite that, Ford apparently anticipated this predicament, so they included a “Fuel Filler Funnel” in the trunk. The problem is, like most people, I didn’t discover it until it was too late. But given its creepy similarity, I’d likely have mistaken it for the old man’s portable urinal and tossed it out anyway.
I was pleased that the Fusion had brand new tires, though I suspect in this litigious society that it was mostly done for liability reasons. And rather than throw on the cheapest set possible, I’m glad that they outfitted it with Goodyear Eagle RS-A, the original tires it came with. They’re V-Rated for speeds up to 149 mph, which makes it all the more puzzling as to why Ford limits the Sport to just 126 mph? Even worse, the 3.0 V6 SEL is governed to 112 mph, a speed my 85-hp Saturn SL1 could muster. No matter, an aftermarket tune can easily remove that silly governor and let my Sport sail up to its true top speed of 150+ mph. Because, let’s be honest, you never know when you may need it!
In the past, I’ve purchased Ultra High-Performance Summer Tires and run them year-round as temps rarely drop below freezing. But the RS-A sacrifices some extreme grip for better wet-handling, as well as a quieter and more comfortable ride, which I’m 100% fine with. Quite frankly, it’s a nice vacation from the jarring jolts of the Red Line’s stiff suspension and worn tires.
It’s bittersweet, but I’m starting 2021 without a Saturn, thus breaking my 29-year ownership streak. Luckily, my brother-in-law bought the Red Line, so it’s remaining in the family. Of course, I’m secretly eager to discover which part fails first, and he’s already bragged about racing (and beating) some showoff in a new truck.
As for the Fusion, I’m finding an unexpected level of sophistication and satisfaction that eluded me with the Corvette and Ferrari. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t experienced it, but I’m really starting to embrace the notion of owning a sports sedan!
As for the Fusion, I’m finding an unexpected level of sophistication and satisfaction that eluded me with the Corvette and Ferrari. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t experienced it, but I’m really starting to embrace the notion of owning a sports sedan!
COMING SOON: The Fusion's very first Maintenance and Modifications!
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